Washington.—William Wilson of Paterson, N. J., appeared at the capitol the other day in the guise of the savior of the United States navy.
    He has walked through the dark valleys that lie at the bottom of the sea. He has stood, hand in hand with a mermaid, on the crests of submerged mountains. He has communed with the shark and the scuttlefish. He has learned from the swordfish how the waters of the mighty ocean may be hacked to pieces. The secrets of the seas are his and the mysteries of the waters are like A B C to him.
    Therefore, William Wilson has thought it to be a grievous error to let this knowledge go for naught. William Wilson did not let it go for naught. He has invented a device that will mean millions, possibly billions, of dollars to the government’s capacious pocket. William Wilson has an invention that, at a nominal cost, will so fortify the ships of the American navy as to make the swiftest torpedoes of other navies mere minnows nibbling in vain at the sides of Uncle Sam’s men-of-war. The strongest subsurface projectile will strike the ships and fall, vain and useless, to the bottom of the ocean when once the chips have been provided with the new invention.
    William Wilson’s contrivance is is the nature of an endless chain. It consists of links visible and invisible. It is to be hung around the hulks of vessel, and, in time of battle, it is to be dropped into the sea, completely surrounding the part of the ship that is under water. Torpedoes will get mixed up in this chain-armor effect, kick against the links in useless energy, signal the surface that there’s nothing doing in the destruction line, and then drop out of existence forever.
    But William Wilson cannot give up his knowledge for nothing. He carries in every pocket copies of a bill he wants introduced providing that to William Wilson $75,000 shall be given and that, in return for this paltry sum, William Wilson shall drop in on navy department officials and teach them how the ships of the navy shall be made impregnable.
    William Wilson has a sublime confidence in his invention. He has pictures of it in sections, and as a whole. He has a water color painting of a battleship safeguarded by the chain-like fort.
    He is a stout man, of medium height, with whiskers that look like the beard of Neptune. On his face there is a crimson hue that comes from braving the dangers of the deep, conversing with mermaids on the crests of submerged mountains and communing with the shark. He smiles but rarely. He is tremendously in earnest.
    “The invention is entirely reliable,” he explained. “I have tested it on a rowboat in Chesapeake bay. It will not injure a ship’s speed, and it is absolutely impossible for a torpedo to make any impression on it. I am giving it away, when I say the government can have it for $75,000.”
    William Wilson, however, has found no enthusiasm at the capitol regarding his invention. No member of congress cares to introduce the bill he carries in his pockets. One member told him he had been approached by John M. Jones of New York, who wanted $50,000 to build an airship, and, having refused John Jones’ request, he would have to refuse William Wilson’s.
    As William Wilson retired from the abode of the lawmakers, declaring he would return to take up again the fight for recognition, an irreverent employe of the capitol sang a few bars from “Swim Out, O’Grady.”
    But William Wilson regarded him with an expression of profound pity.

From—Williston Graphic. (Williston, Williams County, N.D.), 06 Aug. 1908. Chronicling America: Historic American Newspapers. Lib. of Congress.