On the Thursday morning the Fierce One came out in his fussy little "Z" motor-boat, and all the ten picket-boats followed him, making a circle round him whilst he inspected them.
The maxims—he could see them; anchors—he could see them too; but when he shouted through his megaphone "Screened lanterns!" every snotty had to hold up his lantern with one hand and the canvas screen in the other. The same with the semaphore flags, boats' signal-books, axes, compass-boxes, and ammunition-boxes.
"Work your pumps!" he roared; and after a furious interval all ten picket-boats began squirting jets of water.
Then he bellowed "Megaphones!" and all held up their megaphones except the Cheese-mite.
He dashed alongside Lord Nelson No. 1, and seized the Cheese-mite by his coat collar.
"Where's your megaphone? you—you—you——"
"Please, sir, I had it this morning; but when that destroyer went past just now the picket-boat rolled, and it went overboard."
"I'll roll you overboard," he growled, holding up the Cheese-mite as though he were a kitten. "You'll get another before night, or I'll—I'll——"
"Knives!" he shouted.
Now nearly all the snotties had taken for granted that every man aboard would have one. But only a few had them, and the Fierce One flew in a towering rage.