CHAPTER XXIII
GUN DRILLS AND LIFE ON A MAN-O'-WAR
Toot, toot! Toot, toot! Toot, toot-a-root toot!
It was the loud blare of a bugle which aroused Larry at exactly five o'clock on the following morning. For the moment on awakening he opened his eyes and stared around him. Where was he? Surely not on the deserted island, nor even in the dingy forecastle of the Columbia.
"Lively, lad!" shouted Striker, leaping from his hammock. "Lively, I say, or you'll hear from the master-at-arms! You've got jest six minutes in which to dress yourself, roll up your hammock, and stow it away in the netting."
"All right, Luke, I'm with you!" answered the youth, now wide awake. With a turn he was out on the floor. "Dressing won't take me long, with nothing but a shirt and a pair of trousers to take care of. My, but I feel quite like myself again, don't you?"
"Aye, aye, Larry; the sleep did us both a power
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