"He wants them to keep back," I called, and the word was passed down the length of the ship.
Instead of coming to rest before the slip, the plane turned and went away, making a complete circle, then coming to rest. To the surprise of every one, the rapid staccato bark of the Lewis gun broke the silence. Kennedy was evidently firing, but at what? There was nothing in sight.
Suddenly there came a tremendous detonation, which made even the launching-slip tremble, and a huge column of water, like a geyser, rose in the air about eight hundred feet out in the river, directly in front of us.
The truth flashed over us in an instant. There, ten feet or so in the dark water out in the river, Craig had seen a huge circular object, visible only against a sandy bottom from the hydro-aeroplane above, as the sun-rays were reflected through the water. It was a contact submarine mine.
Marlowe looked at me, his face almost pale. The moment the great hulk of the Usona in its wild flight to the sea would have hit that mine, tilting it, she would have sunk in a blast of flame.
The air-boat now headed for the shore, and a few moments later, as Craig climbed into our stand, Marlowe seized him in congratulation too deep for words.
"Is it all right?" sang out one of the men in the gangs, less impressionable than the rest.
"If there is still water enough," nodded Craig.
Again the order to saw away the sole pieces was given, and the gangs resumed. "Zip—zip," again went the two saws.
There were perhaps two inches more left, when the hull quivered. There was a crashing and rending as the timbers broke away.