“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.”