In the distance, in three different directions, as many British mine-sweepers could be seen patiently combing the seas for mines.
"What number recovered?" Dave signalled.
"Three," replied one craft. "Five," said another. "One," came from the third sweeper.
"Nine in all," Dave remarked to Fernald. "We're in a mine field, then. We shall need to be vigilant."
The sun soon rose, strong and brilliant, only to pass behind a bank of clouds and leave the air damp and chilly. An hour later a fog settled over the English Channel, soon becoming so dense that one could not see beyond about three hundred yards.
Dave went below to a hurried breakfast. Returning, he sent Lieutenant Fernald to his meal and rest.
"I'll remain on the bridge all day, unless this fog lifts," Darrin decided. He increased the number of lookouts and ordered slow speed, so that the long, narrow destroyer, capable of racing rapidly over the waves, now merely crept along.
When the watch was changed Dave barely returned the salutes of the departing and oncoming watch officers, for his whole attention was centered on the sea. Half an hour after that he started slightly, then stared hard.
Off the starboard bow he thought he made out something moving as slowly as the "Grigsby" herself was proceeding.
"Pick that up, Mr. Ormsby, and see if it's anything more than a dream," ordered Dave, pointing.