Promptly Captain Syllenger gave orders for the Capella's motors to stop, then "Easy astern" until way was off the ship.
Making a graceful volplane, the sea-plane alighted with a faint splash upon the surface of the water, and "taxied" to leeward of the motionless vessel.
The sea-plane was a "two-seater". The rearmost or observer's seat was unoccupied. In the foremost was a young Flight-Sub-lieutenant heavily clad, and his clean-shaven face almost hidden by an airman's helmet. For the first time, the officers on the bridge of the Capella noticed that the light steel plating was holed in many places, while the planes bore testimony to the accuracy of the enemy's shrapnel.
"A casualty!" sang out the Flying officer. "My pilot's been hit. Can you take him on board?"
Two of the Capella's crew swarmed over the side and gained the nearmost float, whence they clambered upon the body of the sea-plane. At the same time, one of the davits from which the Capella's shattered boat had hung was slung outboard. By dint of careful manoeuvring, the sea-plane was brought alongside with her main planes practically parallel to the side of the ship.
The injured man was lying on the floor of the fuselage. A canvas band was strapped round his waist, and, supported by the two seamen, he was gently hoisted on board the ship by means of the davit tackle.
The Flight-Sub swung himself over the side of the Capella and ascended the bridge.
"Got it hot at fifteen hundred feet," he explained. "My pilot was winged. Hit twice, I believe. Luckily the old bird kept fairly steady until I could clamber into the pilot's seat and take control. Rough luck, too. We were just doing a useful bit of spotting. I suppose, sir, there's no one on board who can handle a 'plane?"
"I'm afraid not," replied Captain Syllenger.
"Rough luck!" exclaimed the Sub despondently. Then, brightening up, he asked: