'Cotched one, I reckon,' remarked Gill briefly, and hurried on deck followed by the two boys.
The 'Maid of Sker' was the ordinary type of North Sea trawler, and so far as Ken and Roy could see, her fellow, whose name Gill told them was the 'Swan of Avon,' was her double. They were moving exactly parallel, at a distance of about a cable (220 yards) apart. Between them towed a thin steel hawser set to a depth just sufficient to catch the mooring cables of the mines which were plentifully strewn in the channel.
'Caught one, you say?' whispered Ken in Gill's ear. 'A mine, you mean?'
'Ay. Look at the cable. She's foul of it all right.'
Certainly the cable was sagging in a curious fashion.
'What do you do with them?' asked Roy.
But Gill had already run aft to assist. Low-voiced orders were heard, and the 'Maid of Sker' began to forge slowly ahead.
'I think they're going to tow it out of the channel,' Ken said to Roy. 'That's what I believe they do.'
'But I thought the beastly things exploded when you touched 'em,' said Roy.
'Some do. That's the sort with steel whiskers on them. The others are what they call tilting mines. They blow up when their balance is upset.'