CHAPTER VIII—THE YANKEE WAY
The sharp hull of the three hundred foot destroyer cut through rather than rode the waves. She was seaworthy enough, but in a cross sea like this, she rolled and dipped tremendously, as well as bucking right through the combers after the fashion of a pilot fish. One had to be well seasoned to her habit to stand such a tumbling about as the Colodia gave her crew.
If George Belding felt any qualms, he was able to repress them. He was a good sailor anyway, and having just come from a stiff cruise in the Bay of Biscay in his father’s transformed yacht, he proved himself to be a tolerable seaman.
Belding was a manly fellow without being as rough as many of the sailors. Like the four Navy Boys, he was greatly interested by the view they all acquired very soon of the floating débris that had first been spied from the mast. The distance being so great, they could not immediately be sure whether the wreck was that of a boat or an airship. It was at first merely a blotch of darker color on the tumbling grey sea.
“Looks more like a dead whale with a framework of scantling about it than anything else,” Ensign MacMasters told the boys.
“It might be a whale at that,” commented Al Torrance eagerly. “They say that many a whale has been killed by depth bombs.”
“Hi!” ejaculated Frenchy Donahue. “There’s a flag flying from a staff. I can see it.”
“No dead whale would be likely to fly a flag,” Whistler said, smiling.
“Commander Lang had better have a care,” grumbled George Belding. “This may be a trap, after all.”
The Colodia steamed on at undiminished speed. The outlines of the wreckage grew clearer despite the raging rainstorms that swept now and then across the gray waves.
The vast hulk of a collapsed bag of silk cloth—it was never canvas—could have belonged to nothing but one of the German airships.
“Half sunken Zep, sure as you are a foot high!” declared Al Torrance.
“No argument on that score,” admitted another of the boys. “Do you suppose any of the poor chaps can be alive?”
“‘Poor chaps’ is good!” growled Al. “Like Willum, the coster, I don’t believe in wasting sympathy on ‘the ’Un.’”
The dashing rain and spray almost blinded at times the Colodia’s boys, but they searched the remains of the wrecked dirigible keenly as the destroyer drew nearer.
Now and then a great wave dashed completely over the twisted framework and sprawling bag of silk cloth. And, yes! over several specks that were apparently lashed to the wreckage. These specks were bodies of men, whether dead or alive could not at first be decided with the wind driving the spindrift head-on.
Commander Lang discussed the situation with his chief officers amidships. How could they reach the wreck of the Zeppelin under such weather conditions as these? Scarcely could a boat live in such a sea!
“I’ll order no boat’s crew out into such a mess as that,” said the commander, with a gesture indicating the gray, leaping waves. “And I hate to ask for volunteers when those people out there are what they are. It is hardly possible for the boys to think of them as human beings. They are set aside from us; they belong to another race—a race that has shown neither mercy nor compassion.”
“It will have to be volunteers, if anybody,” said one of the other officers. “But I’ve a wife and children. If I am ordered, I’ll go. But no volunteering to get those Huns, for me!”
Among the crew the indications were that they felt about the same as the officers. Said Hans Hertig:
“Who would volunteer to save them squareheads yet? Not me!”
“What would they do if they were in our place?” another of the seamen asked. “They can watch women and babies drown! Why should we worry about them?”
“Because we’re Americans, I suppose,” said Al Torrance gravely. “It’s not done any more—not by real folks. Yankees to the rescue, old man! Somebody’s got to go and pick those Heinies off like ripe blackberries off the vine.”
But more than a few of the seamen shook their heads and said “Not me!”
Of course, volunteers had not yet been asked for, nor did anybody seem to know just what course should be pursued in striving to rescue the crew of the Zeppelin. Whistler Morgan and George Belding, standing well forward, looked long and earnestly at the imperiled men on the wreck, then they looked into each other’s faces.
“What do you think?” Belding asked, his lips making no sound that Phil Morgan could hear, but his words easily read by Whistler.
“If the Colodia shoots beyond the wreck?” asked Whistler, moving his lips in the same way so that George could read what he said. “I could drift down to it with the current.”
“In a boat?” asked Belding doubtfully.
“With life buoys,” Whistler explained.
Belding understood the scheme and nodded. Whistler said:
“I’ll speak to Mr. MacMasters.”
He went aft immediately to find the ensign. Finding Belding close at his shoulder, Whistler said:
“You don’t need to get into this, George. What would your folks say?”
“Just about what yours will say if you chuck your life away for the sake of a lot of Heinies,” returned Belding briefly. “You can’t do it alone. It will take two of us to fasten each Heinie into the buoy so he can be dragged back to the ship.”
“You’ve got the right idea,” agreed Phil, and turned to speak to Mr. MacMasters.
“What do you two chaps want to do—throw your lives away for scum like them?” was the ensign’s first comment upon Whistler’s proposal.
MacMasters had risen from the forecastle himself, having won his billet by hard work. He was apt to look upon most things from the sailor’s standpoint. The crew of the Colodia had already seen enough of the despicable work of the Hun to hate almost with the intensity of Willum Johnson.
“They have to be saved, haven’t they?” Whistler asked quietly and respectfully.
“But why should you do it?” rejoined MacMasters, who really loved the lad and feared for his safety. “Those men over there are not worth it.”
“We are worth it, sir,” put in George Belding with earnestness. “Phil has the right idea, and I want to help him. One fellow can’t do it alone, anyway.”
MacMasters threw up his hands in a helpless gesture. “Of course,” he grumbled, “I’ll take your proposal to Commander Lang,” and strode away toward the bridge.
Whistler’s suggestion was in line with what the chief officers had already seen must be done. “If those lads demand the privilege, I will not stop them,” said the Commander. “They are both smart and well set-up boys. But I wish some of the older men had come before them. In a case of this kind, it’s ‘first come, first served.’ Tell them to make ready, Mr. MacMasters. And I adjure you to take care that they have proper help.”
When Mr. MacMasters brought back the word Whistler Morgan and George Belding at once prepared to put their idea into practice. But the Colodia had yet to steam past the mass of wreckage that had been the Zeppelin. There were nine men lashed to the half sunken framework. Feeble gestures from some of the figures showed they were alive.
As the destroyer drew so near and the sorry state of the Germans was made apparent, the Americans grew silent. There were no more curses for the Huns. The most bitter suddenly thought of the castaways in different mood. Those were dying men lashed there to the sorry wreck of the Zeppelin.
Word swiftly passed all over the ship that Morgan and Belding were about to make an attempt to rescue those of the castaways who were still alive. Al Torrance came raving to his chum and wanted to know what it meant—why he was left out of it? If Whistler Morgan was going to risk his “fool neck to rescue a parcel of Huns, (so he put it) why couldn’t he be in it?”
“You can, old man,” said the wise Whistler. “You are just the fellow I want to hang on to the life buoy line and pay out for me. My life will be in your hands. Catch hold here!”
Al grumbled some, but did as he was bid. Cold as it was, the two boys making the attempt to reach the wrecked Zeppelin stripped to their underclothes. The Colodia had passed the wreck, and now swerved so that the current would carry the two venturesome lads straight down upon the wreck.
The two buoys were flung overboard, and Morgan and Belding slipped down the ropes and plunged into the sea. The first shock of it was tremendous. It seemed as though the water would freeze the blood in their veins and the marrow in their bones.
But they cheered each other, each diving and coming up within the ring of the buoyant life buoy assigned him. Al and others payed out carefully but swiftly. All realized how icy the waters were. This rescue—if it was to be successful—must be made in quick time.
The two rescuers whirled down upon the wreck. The framework was raised high upon first one wave and then another. There was danger of its parting and carrying away the men lashed to it. Phil Morgan and Belding knew that they had to do their work swiftly if they would accomplish the task they had set out upon.