"We're past them both," the Sub said, chuckling quietly, shaking his huge fist at them, and guffawing loudly as he watched first one and then the other switching on and then switching off—out would shoot one light from shore—bang would go a gun—off switched the light—darkness—the other light would try—and disappear again. "Peeping Tom's" crew were even more flustered than "Squinting Susan's"; they hardly waited to be fired on before switching off.
It was the funniest sight in the world.
"Bet Bubbles is nearly choking himself," the Sub said, "and Uncle Podger making funny remarks."
"They're 'court-martialling' the China Doll in the gun-room," the Orphan told him.
"Oh, of course; I forgot that."
The picket-boat was now steaming in darkness, made more intense by the glare, two miles ahead of her, of "Glaring Gertrude's" huge beam. This light, by a lucky chance that night, never seemed to leave the white salt-heaps on the opposite shore.
"We're right on top of the mines now, sonny. Feeling gay?"
"Ra—ther!" answered the Orphan, the uncomfortable feeling in his stomach entirely forgotten.
"Worth a guinea a minute! My jumping Jimmy, it is!" the Sub kept saying to himself. "Starboard a little! That's the ticket. Keep her as you go. We're nearly past the mines now."
Presently the Orphan could see a dark line to starboard—perhaps a thousand yards away—and knew that this was the low-lying ground which swept along to the right of Yeni Kali fort, the land from which the guns had fired on the trawlers last Saturday.