"Stop that confounded ringing!" it bleated out, in the peculiar nasal tone these navyphones always have. That was the Gunnery-Lieutenant's irritated voice, so Uncle Podger kept silent.
Then he heard, loud and clear through the trumpet mouth: "Transmitting-room! Transmitting-room! Tell the Major and Mr. Meiklejohn" (one of the Lieutenants) "that the port 6-inch will fire first."
"Aye, aye, sir! Port guns will fire first."
He passed on the message to the Lamp-post, and the Lamp-post, who was in charge of the port broadside gun instruments, commenced telephoning to the Major, aft, and Mr. Meiklejohn, up in B1 casemate, above them.
Then more orders came down, rapidly, one after the other; ranges, worked from the foretop, ticked themselves off in the slits of the little brass boxes, were verified, and passed on to the port guns and the turrets.
"Commence with common shell," sounded the trumpet mouth. Uncle Podger repeated it.
"It's showing all right on my dial," the Lamp-post said, a little bothered with so many telephones asking him questions.
"All right, Lampy. Don't lose your wool. Pass it on to the guns."
"What range is showing?" called the trumpet.
"One—two—nine—five—o." "One—two—nine—five—o." "One—two—nine—five—o," the Lamp-post, the Padre, and the ship's corporal told Uncle Podger.