"The mine-layers must be actively at work in these waters," said Dave. "Undoubtedly they plant the mines at night, then toward daylight move in toward the shoal and hide there during the day. We'll try that shoal again after daylight to-morrow morning—weather permitting."
This last Darrin said because there were now lurking indications of a coming storm. Dave returned to his own craft in time.
By nine o'clock that night, or an hour after the new watch had gone on, the wind was howling through the rigging in a way that made conversation difficult on the bridge.
"Mr. Fernald, at the rate the weather is thickening I shall be on the bridge all night. I shall be glad, therefore, if after your last rounds of the ship, and after you have turned in your report, you will seek your berth and get all the sleep you can until you're called."
"Very good, sir," agreed the executive officer.
He would have liked to stand watch in Darrin's place, but he knew that, with a gale coming, Darrin would not consent.
By this time the destroyer was rolling at such an angle that the order was passed for the life-lines. Soon after that a second order was issued that all men on outside duty must don life-belts. Even up on the bridge, with an abundance of hand-holds, Dave and Ensign Andrews wore the belts.
With a nearly head wind from the northeast the "Grigsby" labored in the running seas, spray dashing over the bridge and against the rubber coats and sou'westers of the two officers. Below, on the deck, the water was sometimes several inches deep, gorging the scuppers in its flow overboard. Officers and men alike wore rubber boots.
"All secure, sir," reported Lieutenant Fernald, returning after his last rounds. "A nasty time you'll have of it, sir, to-night."
"Like some other times that I've known since I took to the sea," Dave shouted back through the gale.