“But your seaplanes will be shot to pieces by the fire of our battleships.” “Some will be, but not many. Our attack will be too swift and sudden. It’s hard to hit an aeroplane going a mile in a minute and, before your gunners can get the ranges, the thing will be over.” “Besides,” put in General Wood, “every man in our fleet is an American who has volunteered for duty involving extreme risk. Every man will give his life gladly.” About ten o’clock in the morning on February 3rd our front line flyers, miles ahead of us, wirelessed back word that they had sighted the German fleet, and, a few minutes later, we saw smoke columns rising on the far eastern horizon. I shall never forget the air of quiet authority with which General Wood addressed his prisoner at this critical moment. “I must inform Your Imperial Highness that I have sent a wireless message to the admiral of the German fleet informing him of your presence here as a voluntary passenger. This seaplane is identified by its signal flags and by the fact that it carries no torpedo. We shall do everything to protect Your Imperial Highness from danger.” “I thank you, sir,” the prince answered stiffly. General Wood withdrew to his place in the observation chamber beside Mr. Edison. Swiftly we flew nearer to the enemy’s battleships, which were advancing in two columns, led by two super-dreadnoughts, the _Kaiser Friedrich_ and the _Moltke_, with the admiral’s flag at her forepeak and flanked by lines of destroyers that belched black smoke from their squat funnels. With our binoculars we saw that there was much confusion on the German decks as they hastily cleared for action. Our attack had evidently taken them completely by surprise and they had no flyers ready to dispute our mastery of the air. Presently General Wood re-entered the cabin. “I have a wireless from Commodore Tower saying that everything is ready. Before it is too late I appeal to Your Imperial Highness to prevent the destruction of these splendid ships and a horrible loss of life. Will Your Highness say the word?” “No!” answered the Crown Prince harshly. General Wood turned to the cabin window and nodded to the assistant pilot, who dropped overboard a signal smoke ball that left behind, as it fell, a greenish spiral trail. Straightway, the Commodore’s seaplane, a mile distant, broke out a line of flags whereupon six flyers from six different points leaped ahead like sky hounds on the scent, shooting forward and downward towards their mighty prey. The remainder of the sky fleet circled away at safe distances of three, four or five miles, waiting the result of this first blow, confident that the _Moltke_ was doomed.