e few
merchant ships which passed that way through the labyrinth of these
defences, laid temporarily as a trap for the wily "Fritz" if he should
chance to be cruising in the vicinity.

The drifters were adequately armed with guns and depth charges to attack
any such monster of the deep which betrayed its presence by becoming
entangled in the fine wire mesh and so attaching to itself a flaming
tail, which would then be dragged along the surface, marking it as a
target for all the pleasant surprises lying ready on the decks of the
patrols.

_Fishing for Fritz_ was a popular sport in the anti-submarine service
until the "fish" became shy and its devotees _blase_; then the primitive
net was changed for the more scientific devices already described. It
required infinite patience and meant very hard work, with a _soupcon_ of
danger thrown in. For when the tons of steel wire-netting, with its
heavy sinkers and floats, had been laid, days were spent in watching and
repairing, then endless resource employed to induce a submarine to enter
the trap. Occasionally the voyage ended in an exciting chase, with the
flaming buoy as the guiding light.

It was in the early period of the war, when Paris was still threatened
by the Teutonic armies and the Allies waited confidently for the clash
of the great battle fleets. Every dark night on the northern sea eyes
and ears were silently watching and listening for the comings and goings
which would herald the storm. The strain was great though the work was
not spectacular, for all knew that the safety of England, or at least
its freedom from invasion, might, for one brief historical instant,
depend on the vigilance and nerve of that heterogeneous, irregular
horse, the sea patrols.

The great cruiser squadrons were scouring the North Sea. Battle seemed
imminent, and that vague wave of human electricity which passes along
the firing line before the attack at dawn, and even extends to the lines
of communication, was in the air on this dark night in 1915.

Six bells had just struck when a faint, cool breeze swept across the
surface, and a few minutes later the first vivid flash of lightning
forked the eastern sky. There was a scramble for oilskins on Drifter 42
as the rain came hissing down like a flood released. The storm was
severe while it lasted. The thunder rolled over the placid surface.
Lightning darted athwart the sky, illuminating the black void beneath.
For about thirty minutes the