Dave Darrin After The Mine Layers Part 11

The Hun seamen were even now drowning, caught without a show for their lives, just as they had probably sent many souls to graves in the ocean.

For some minutes more the dirigible moved back and forth through the air, her observers watching for the presence of hidden enemy craft. Then, without warning, came the message:

"Sorry, but engine trouble threatens and will compel our return to land, and to our base if possible."

"The best of luck to you," Dave ordered wirelessed back to these British comrades. "We'll stand by until we're as close to sh.o.r.e as we can go."

For he knew that, near sh.o.r.e, the shoals became dangerous shallows at this point on the coast.

Away limped the "blimp," the "Grigsby" following, and standing ready to do rescue work should the dirigible need a.s.sistance.

But the "blimp" not only made her way over to sh.o.r.e, but vanished slowly in the distance.

All of the mine-sweepers that had come up were ordered by signal to continue sweeping over the shoals.

"I want to see more of this work personally," Dave told his executive officer, who was now to be left in command. "Clear away one of the power launches. I'll take Mr. Ormsby with me."

So Dave was taken over to one of the mine-sweeping, snub-nosed craft that had formerly been a steam trawler on the Dogger Banks. The commanding officer, Hartley, proved most glad to welcome them.

"We'll make you as comfortable as we can," promised Hartley.

"Now, please don't do anything of the sort," Darry protested. "Let us be mere spectators, or pupils, and have no fuss made over us. Instruct your men, if you'll be good enough, to omit salutes and to chat with us, if they have a chance, like comrades or pals. We want to see your real working ways, not a demonstration."

"All right, then," sighed Mr. Hartley, and pa.s.sed the orders.

"When do you men sleep?" Dave inquired of a sailor who paused to light a pipe as he stood well up in the bow.

"When the blooming s.h.i.+p is hin dry-dock, sir," answered the British tar.

"Don't you have regular watches?"

"Yes, sir."

"How long are the watches?"

"Usually twenty-four hours in each day, sir."

Darry laughed, for he knew no living man could stand working twenty-four hours a day for any length of time.

"You were a trawler before you came into this branch of the service?"

Ormsby asked.

"No, sir. Hi was a chimney sweep; that's wot made me good for this bally old business, sir."

"You like this work?" Ormsby next asked.

"Yes, sir, hit's the next best thing to being killed, sir," was the solemn response.

"Have you seen any mine-sweepers destroyed while at work?"

Instantly the sailor dropped his bantering tone, his face becoming solemn in his expression.

"You may well say that, sir," he answered. "More mine-sweepers are lost than any other kind of naval craft."

"Why is that?"

"Princ.i.p.ally, sir, because we 'ave only a trawler's speed, and everything else that floats, including the National Debt, can overtake us."

"Is there any scarcity of men for this sort of work?" Ormsby queried.

"No, sir, it's the 'eight hof a British sailorman's ambition, sir, to die early and be buried, sir, in water a mile deep. We fairly long for hit, sir."

"Hedgeby!" came, indignantly, from Mr. Hartley, who had approached unnoticed. "What do you mean by chaffing these American officers so outrageously."

"Must 'ave mistook my horders, sir," returned Hedgeby, saluting his commander. "Some blooming bloke told as 'ow these gentlemen wanted to be treated like pals."

"The fault is mine, I guess," admitted Mr. Hartley, turning to Darrin and Ormsby. "These men are always chaffing each other, and they thought you wanted some of the same thing."

"We don't object," Dave smiled. "If hot air is the motive power that drives these men, then we want to sample it."

Hedgeby regarded this last speaker with a puzzled expression.

"If you're talking about fuel, sir," he went on, as Mr. Hartley moved away, "Hi'll say that 'ot air engines wouldn't be no good wotever on these 'ere craft. Gasoline is what we use, mostly, for our engines, sir, though some of the biggest use petroleum."

"Hot air is furnished by the men themselves," Dave explained. "It's a favorite fuel at sea."

"Maybe, sir, maybe," admitted Hedgeby, slowly, looking as solemn as an owl. "Of course you know, sir, wot's used on the Yankee boats, anyway, sir, and if your Admiralty recommends 'ot air then no doubt hit's because you Yankees know 'ow to use it better than other fuel."

"And the joke of it is," muttered Ormsby, as Hedgeby sprang to obey an order, "one can't tell whether a chap like that is laughing at us, or trying to sympathize with our ignorance."

Dave laughed, then soon forgot the chaffing, for he was greatly interested in what he saw of the work that was being carried on.

Certainly, for such a comparatively slow craft, a large area of sea surface could be covered in a forenoon.

Presently Hedgeby came back to them, and Ormsby tried once more to extract some real information.

"With the amount of speed you can command," he resumed, "what does a craft like this do, Hedgeby, if a German destroyer comes racing along after you?"

"We just shut off speed, sir, and the blooming destroyer goes by so fast that nine times hout of ten she doesn't see us at all."

"But if the destroyer sees you and stops to engage, what then?"

Once more the quizzical expression faded from the British sailorman's eyes. He stepped back, resting one hand on a light gun mounted on a swivel pedestal.

"We do hour best with this piece, sir."

"An unequal combat, Hedgeby!"

"You may well say it, sir, but hat least we come hout of the fracas as well as does the submarine that our sweep locates on the bottom."