Following the course of the river the seaplane flew onwards. Four hundred feet beneath her lay the locks of Tyne dock, the great commercial basin controlled by the North-Eastern Railway Company, and which, in time of war, would form the principal coaling and oil-fuel base for British destroyers obliged to replenish their bunkers and tanks in the Tyne.
At this juncture two companies of the 7th Battalion of the Durham Light Infantry were on their way from their drill hall. Luckily they were armed and provided with ball ammunition, and without hesitation the officer in command ordered them to open fire. It was realized that the danger of the bullets falling to earth was less than the peril from the bombs of the modern terror of the skies. Soon the sharp crackle of musketry began.
Several times the seaplane was struck, but without serious result, till without warning one of her wings appeared to crumple up. Round and round spun the stricken craft, dropping rapidly towards the ground, with her propellers still buzzing at a furious rate. "Cease fire!" came the order, and with bated breath the Territorials watched the result of their work.
Presently the downward fall was retarded. One of the crew of the seaplane had released the umbrella-like parachute. Nose downwards the stricken craft continued to plunge; only by means of leathern straps were the ill-fated Germans prevented from being thrown clear of the wreckage.
Ever so slowly it seemed to the watchers did the seaplane fall, till, with a dull crash, the framework struck an open space between the dock office and the buildings of the chemical works.
The crash was instantly followed by the petrol taking fire, while above the hiss of the flames could be heard the shrieks of the luckless Germans who were unable to disentangle themselves from the wreckage.
No longer were they looked upon as enemies; they were human beings in peril. The "Terriers", dropping their rifles, began to run to the aid of the burning airmen, but before the foremost got within a hundred yards of the wreckage a tremendous explosion sent most of the men over like ninepins. The remaining bombs that had survived the impact of the fall had exploded, and when the would-be rescuers approached the scene of the disaster they found a hole nearly twenty feet in diameter and six feet deep blown out of the ground.
Another seaplane, winged by the gunners of the Spanish battery—where two seven-pounders of a modern type had only recently been mounted—fell into the sea off Freestone Point. Her crew were promptly rescued and captured by the coastguards, and the damaged seaplane was dragged ashore in triumph.
As for the other hostile aircraft menacing the Tyne ports, not one came near enough to make use of its powerful means of offence. Many were destroyed; the rest, realizing the hopelessness of the task, turned and flew towards the coast of Germany.
Nor did the German submarines and destroyers meet with any better luck.