In the opposite direction, up the road, where the twisted wreck of the Zeppelin lay, the American lad could distinguish the figures of some of his friends. He hurried in that direction, and as he drew near he saw that the crowd here gathered was very much excited. The man who had previously used the shotgun was waving his weapon threateningly, and some of the other people of the countryside were shouting at the group of gray-green figures that was plainly the crew and officers of the wrecked airship.
One of these Germans—a big fellow—showed marks of a serious beating. He was the fellow, Whistler was sure, that Willum Johnson had attacked.
The giant British seaman and the Colodia boys were right up in the forefront of the threatening crowd facing the Germans. But Whistler saw that there was a British Naval officer and several constables in charge of the prisoners.
“Remember, my man, that you wear the King’s uniform,” the British officer was saying to the giant as Phil approached. “I shall have to report your attack upon this prisoner. They all gave themselves up—”
“And they were all armed—every one of them,” put in Frenchy, sotto voce.
The officer glared at him; but it gave Willum Johnson courage to add:
“Who says they didn’t try to escape? Hi got the first bloke hout of the machine, Hi did. Then hother folks run up an’ ’twas hall over.”
“I saw one run,” Frenchy declared, looking boldly at the Naval officer.
“So did I, sir,” added Al Torrance.
“You mean that one of these Germans tried to run after the seaman here made his unwarranted attack upon them?” asked the officer sharply.