“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!”