s of the deep and wide Straits.

Roy pulled like a machine, but the weight of water made his efforts almost
useless. The boat sogged slowly forward like a dead thing.

'She won't last another five minutes,' said Ken.

'And there's no landing place, old chap. We're right up against it.'

'Tell you what there is, though,' said Ken keenly. 'There's a craft of
some sort out there. Don't you hear her engines?'

Roy stopped pulling a moment. In the silence a faint chug, chug reached
their ears.

'What do you think she is--one of our warships?' he asked in a whisper.

'Haven't a notion. But she's probably British or French. The Turks haven't
got much in the way of craft--at least not this side of Gallipoli.'

'Then I vote for trying to make her,' said Roy. 'Right you are,' Ken
answered, and began baling harder than ever Roy, pulling on his left-hand
oar, got the boat round, and made a last spurt in the direction of the
sound.

It seemed a very forlorn hope. They could not even see the craft--whatever
she was--and their boat manifestly had but a short time to live. If she
sank out in mid-straits there was no earthly chance of reaching the shore.
Drowning was certain.

Three minutes passed. The water in the boat was nearly knee deep. Pull as
he might, Roy could hardly keep her moving. Ken raised his head and peered
out through the gloom.

'I see her,' he said with sudden eagerness. He pointed as he spoke to a
dim shape not more than a couple of hundred yards away.

Roy glanced back over his shoulder. 'She's very small,' he said, 'and
she's working upstream. 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 st