"The trawlers have finished—that's the signal," the Sub swore angrily, "and we've not helped them. Go back to the ship, Orphan. Curse it all!"
And then at last the Turks woke up. Flash! Bang! Flash! Bang! Guns began firing one after the other, and the Orphan ducked as he heard shells whistling through the darkness.
He could have kicked himself for ducking, because the shells were not really coming his way, but bursting hundreds of yards beyond the little white light. It was that the Turks had seen, not the picket-boat. She had, however, to pass it on her way back.
"Which side shall I pass the light?" he asked nervously.
"Keep inside; they won't see us, and they won't hit us if they do—I almost wish they would," the Sub growled miserably. "Shove her along!"
As the picket-boat increased speed and approached the light the noise of shells came much nearer. One especially seemed to be very close, and burst in the water not a hundred yards ahead.
"Confound you! Keep your head still; you aren't a jumping marionette," swore the Sub as the Orphan ducked again.
"Sorry!" he stuttered. "I try, but I can't help it."
"Shove her along! Open her out! Let her rip!" roared the Sub. He was more happy now that there was some danger.
The picket-boat dashed through the water. She came abreast the white light, swinging from a pole on a buoy quite unconcernedly.