Hallo, there's another just beyond her--a pair of
'em.'
'Two, are there? Then I tell you what they are--trawlers.'
'Trawlers!' echoed Roy. 'What--catching herrings for the Admiral's
breakfast?'
'No, you ass--mines. They're mine-sweepers of course.' Roy gave a low
whistle.
'I'd sooner catch herrings,' he said. 'But never mind. So long as they're
British, that's all that matters.' And he set to pulling again with all
the energy left him.
The trawlers were creeping along at very slow speed, and without a light
of any sort showing. There was not even the usual glow from the funnel
top. Lucky it was for Roy and Ken that they were going so slowly, for they
were still some little distance from the nearest trawler when the ripples
began to wash over the gunwale of the water-logged boat.
'Help!' shouted Roy hoarsely. 'Help!'
'Pull on!' said Ken, as he still baled frantically. 'Pull on! They can't
come round if they've got their sweeping cable out.'
Roy made a last effort, and whether it was Roy's shout or the sound of the
oars, some one aboard the trawler heard them.
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