"There's not very much in the way of catches to-night, sir," reported the commander of the sweeper, a ruddy-faced, square-shouldered young Englishman in his twenties, who had been watch officer on a steamship at the outbreak of the war. "Sometimes the fishing is much better."
"This is the area in which we have been ordered to make a strict search," Dave observed.
"I know, sir. But, according to my experience, we may search for hours and find nothing at all, and then, of a sudden, run into a mine field and take up a score of the pests."
"What is your present course?"
The commander of the mine-sweeper named it, adding the distance he had been ordered to go.
"And the other sweeper sticks near by you?"
"Yes, sir. In that way there's a much better chance of one of us striking a regular mine field. Then again, sir, if one of us gets into trouble, as sometimes happens, the other craft can stand by promptly."
"What is the most common trouble?"
"First," explained the Englishman, "being torpedoed by a submarine; second, touching off a mine by bad handling; third, being sunk by some raiding German destroyer."
"Then you often hit mines?"