"One--four--seven--six--and a half," repeated the Orphan very solemnly.
"There you are! China! try again!" and they made him give the order. "Train seventeen degrees on the port beam."
The Orphan, thinking hard, shook his head and shouted back "Repeat!"
"Train seventeen degrees on the port beam," the China Doll repeated.
As solemn as a judge, the Orphan sang out, "Tame seven clean fleas in the cream;" and as the poor Assistant Clerk squeaked, "Don't be silly!" there were yells of "He called you silly, Orphan; you aren't going to stand that. Go for him, Orphan. We'll hold him; he shan't hurt you." But Uncle Podger told them all to stop fooling and smooth out the table-cloth. "We can't get things washed properly on board," he said.
Next morning, the 6th March--a glorious sunny morning it was--the three ships and the trawlers again moved in towards battered Yeni Kali. The trawlers went ahead to sweep through the mine-field under the protection of the _Triumph_, whilst the _Achates_ and _Swiftsure_ followed astern.
Breakfast was at seven o'clock--a hurried meal--and everyone bolted down his food in order to get on deck quickly and see the fun.
"Rotten bad form of 'em not to fire at us yesterday," Uncle Podger remarked, emptying half the sugar basin on his porridge. "In all the wars I've been in, we've fired first, then the enemy fired back; we spotted their guns and knocked them out."
"And landed for a picnic afterwards," suggested his neighbour, skilfully bagging the sugar basin.
"In the last war I was in," began the China Doll, "we generally asked the enemy to lunch. The Captain said that made them so happy."
"If we're to have breakfast at this silly time," Bubbles chuckled, "I call it a rotten war."
They heard shouts on deck. The half-deck sweeper put his head in to tell them that the Turks were firing, and they all stampeded on deck.
Right ahead, the little trawlers could be seen, in pairs, close in to the old fort and the low-lying land to the right of it. Right on top of the mine-field they were, and spurts of water were splashing up, every other second, among them. Flashes twinkled out from the scrub on the low-lying ground, three, four, five at a time, and the splashes of their shells sprang up, one after the other, between the trawlers.