"Stand back!" he cried. "Don't touch it! Don't go near it! It's a mine—a contact mine! If it's moved only an inch there'll be an explosion. See those spikes on the top of it? They're the detonators. One of them's resting on the rail! If it breaks—it's glass—if it breaks, we're all done for!"
The skipper, pocketing his pipe, looked through screwed-up eyes into the boy's face.
"Any c'nection with this yer war, Mester Redisham?" he coolly inquired.
"It has every connection with it," Mark answered calmly.
He went cautiously nearer to examine the exact position of the mine. It was balanced on its own circumference, held against the side by the trawl board; but every slightest movement of the ship threatened to explode it.
"We can't cut it away," he decided. He turned to the mate. "Dick," he ordered, "launch the boat very carefully and let us all quit."
Fortunately the boat was at the farther end, hanging outward from the davits. Mark advised the skipper exactly what to do. He pointed out that by passing a warp round the trawl gear and hauling upon it from seaward the mine might be released and slip back into the sea. This was the only chance, and in case it should fail, every one was to get into the boat.
He was himself the last to leave the ship. They took the longest rope, and, rowing round, contrived at great risk to lash an end of it to the lower extremity of the trawl beam. Four men were at the oars. Paying out the rope over the stern as they rowed away, they hauled upon it until it became fairly taut.
"Steady!" commanded the skipper. "Back 'er a bit—belay—row starboard!"
He manoeuvred the boat until the pull of the rope was at the proper angle, then the tension was slowly tightened. The trawl beam swayed very slightly at first; but suddenly there was a heavy jerk, the mine moved, but it was not dislodged. Mark Redisham saw one of the detonators bending.