John saw the men in it very clearly.

He could even discern the German cast of countenance where all except the one at the wheel that controlled the two rudders had thrown back their hoods and taken off their glasses.
The three carried rifles which they held ready for use, in case they detected an enemy.
Whirling around like a vast primeval bird of prey the biplane began to rise, as if disappointed of a victim, and winding upward was soon above the trees.

Then John heard the rapid crackle of rifles.
"Shooting at our flag again!" he exclaimed.
But the whizz of a bullet that buried itself in the earth near him told him better.
"It isn't possible that they've seen us!" he exclaimed.
"No," said Weber, "they're merely peppering the woods and vines in the hope that they'll hit a concealed enemy, if such there should be." "That being the case," said John, "I'm going to make my body as small as possible, and push myself into the ground if I can." He lay very close, but the rifle fire quickly passed to other portions of the wood, and then died away entirely.

John straightened himself out and saw the biplane becoming smaller, as it flew off in the direction whence it had come.
"I hope you'll come to no good," he said, shaking his fist at the disappearing plane.

"You've scared me half to death with your shots, and I hope that both your rudders will get out of gear and stay out of gear! I hope that the wheel controlling them will be smashed up! I hope that the top plane will crash into the bottom one! I hope that a French shell will shoot your tail off! And I hope that you'll tumble to the earth and lie there, nothing but a heap of rotting wood and rusty old metal!" "Well done, Mr.Scott!" said Weber.