"Sorry, but engine trouble threatens and will compel our return to land, and to our base if possible." "The best of luck to you," Dave ordered wirelessed back to these British comrades. "We'll stand by until we're as close to shore as we can go." For he knew that, near shore, the shoals became dangerous shallows at this point on the coast. Away limped the "blimp," the "Grigsby" following, and standing ready to do rescue work should the dirigible need assistance. But the "blimp" not only made her way over to shore, but vanished slowly in the distance. All of the mine-sweepers that had come up were ordered by signal to continue sweeping over the shoals. "I want to see more of this work personally," Dave told his executive officer, who was now to be left in command. "Clear away one of the power launches. I'll take Mr. Ormsby with me." So Dave was taken over to one of the mine-sweeping, snub-nosed craft that had formerly been a steam trawler on the Dogger Banks. The commanding officer, Hartley, proved most glad to welcome them. "We'll make you as comfortable as we can," promised Hartley. "Now, please don't do anything of the sort," Darry protested. "Let us be mere spectators, or pupils, and have no fuss made over us. Instruct your men, if you'll be good enough, to omit salutes and to chat with us, if they have a chance, like comrades or pals. We want to see your real working ways, not a demonstration." "All right, then," sighed Mr. Hartley, and passed the orders. "When do you men sleep?" Dave inquired of a sailor who paused to light a pipe as he stood well up in the bow. "When the blooming ship is hin dry-dock, sir," answered the British tar. "Don't you have regular watches?" "Yes, sir." "How long are the watches?" "Usually twenty-four hours in each day, sir." Darry laughed, for he knew no living man could stand working twenty-four hours a day for any length of time. "You were a trawler before you came into this branch of the service?" Ormsby asked. "No, sir. Hi was a chimney sweep; that's wot made me good for this bally old business, sir." "You like this work?" Ormsby next asked. "Yes, sir, hit's the next best thing to being killed, sir," was the solemn response. "Have you seen any mine-sweepers destroyed while at work?" Instantly the sailor dropped his bantering tone, his face becoming solemn in his expression. "You may well say that, sir," he answered. "More mine-sweepers are lost than any other kind of naval craft." "Why is that?" "Principally, sir, because we 'ave only a trawler's speed, and everything else that floats, including the National Debt, can overtake us." "Is there any scarcity of men for this sort of work?" Ormsby queried. "No, sir, it's the 'eight hof a British sailorman's ambition, sir, to die early and be buried, sir, in water a mile deep. We fairly long for hit, sir."