"And that is what all naval vessels are now, lad—floating forts, or fighting machines, as some call 'em. They don't float because they have the wood to keep 'em up, but because their metal sides keep out jest so much water. Make a good hole in a warship's side, and she'll drop to Davy Jones' locker as quick as a lump o' lead—that is, unless some of the water-tight compartments that are closed keep her afloat."
Striker was right; there was plenty to do, even with no enemy in sight, and as the fleet swept on straight for the island of Luzon, Larry found the time passing swiftly. He was one, as we know, to make friends quickly, and soon he was on the best of terms with half a dozen members of the gun crews.
"You'll get into it, my boy, and make a good one," said Barrow, the head gunner of the piece to which he and Striker had been assigned. "I can see it by the cut of your jib. You're no land-lubber, even if you are a bit green around here." And he willingly gave both Striker and Larry "points" about the gun, which was as new to the down-east tar as it was to the boy, for guns are being improved constantly, and the present piece was of a different pattern from that which Striker had helped to manage on the Pensacola.
