"Yes; he is lying over the side of the pit; see, he is motionless; take a look for yourself," said Ralph, as he handed the glasses back to the lieutenant.
"I am very sorry, as we were dependent on Dupuy for the day's work. Report to the captain."
Ralph quickly made his way to the station occupied by the captain. "I am requested to report to you that Dupuy has been injured or killed, and that is his machine now coming down beyond the lines," said Ralph.
The gun crew glanced in the direction indicated. As the machine neared the earth two of the French machines more venturesome than the rest flew low, hoping, no doubt, that the wind would be sufficiently strong to carry poor Dupuy into friendly territory, but in this they were disappointed.
Almost immediately another Farman sailed across the battery and signaled. As it did so the order came from the captain, to the lieutenant in charge of the three guns on the right. "Line up with Farman D 63, range 4700 meters."
The men stood at attention, all eyes riveted on the disappearing machine. Every second a voice would call out: "27, 27 and a half, 28, 28 and a half," and so on, and at each call the gun pointer would turn a small wheel, and the gun muzzle of the gun would move up a trifle. Soon a puff was plainly visible below the airplane.
"Tirez!" shouted the officer, and instantly there was a sharp, crashing roar. The aeroplane had, in the meantime, made a turn, and a puff appeared above the machine.
"Too high!" shouted the officer. Two more puffs appeared. "Two degrees lower!" was the next order.
The guns were reloaded before the foregoing orders were completed. Bang! bang! bang! Again another signal; still too far overhead. Another adjustment, and another round. The flying machine sent up a succession of puffs, and the lieutenant's face glowed with pleasurable excitement, as he shouted: "You have it. Give them forty shots; then depress."