Slowly her bows dipped. Her stern rose until the tips of her twin propellers were visible, then with the violent inrush of water she disappeared from sight and narrowly missed taking with her the "Anzac's" picquet-boat that was engaged in towing her.
But retribution was at hand. Heading swiftly towards the German aircraft was a British seaplane. So intent were the Hun airmen upon their task of scattering the little flotilla that they failed to notice the danger until the seaplane opened fire with her automatic gun.
Vainly the German aviators attempted to circle and bring their fixed gun to bear upon their attackers. The British seaplane had the equivalent to the weather-gauge of the old days of sailing—the advantage of superior altitude.
Struck in a vital part, the enemy battleplane appeared to crumple up in mid-air. Falling like a stone, the machine struck the water a tangled mass of struts and canvas. Quickly a picquet-boat hurried to the aid of the foe, but she was too late.
The wreckage, upside-down, was kept from sinking by the only undamaged float. Strapped to their seats, the Hun pilot and observer, even if they had escaped the hail of bullets, were drowned like rats in a trap.
"It's not been so dusty," commented the lieutenant in charge of the steamboat flotilla as he gave the signal for the various boats to return to their respective ships. "Sorry we didn't get that 'U' boat into port. Still, there's one the less."
CHAPTER XXXI
MONITORS IN ACTION
Under a screen of smoke from a far-flung line of destroyers the "Anzac" picked up her steamboat's crew. Being under fire, she could not hoist in the picquet-boat. Wind and tide being favourable, the boat was cut adrift. Unless sunk by a chance shot, she could be recovered when the monitors withdrew at the conclusion of the bombardment.