"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.
"Generally," replied the Clerk.
"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.
Everyone held his breath and expected to see a trawler hit, directly.
There was a shout of "The Triumph's started!" A yellowish cloud shot out from her, then another; they shot out all along her broadside, and, right in among the scrub, where the Turkish guns had been firing, burst her 7.5 lyddite shells.
Then splashes began falling close to the Triumph herself—short—short—far over her—right under her stern. "Hit under the fore bridge!" someone shouted. The "Action" bugle blared out in the Achates; officers and men rushed to their stations; and the last thing Uncle Podger and the Lamp-post saw was the trawlers turning round and scuttling back, followed by columns of water leaping up close to them.