As soon as the midshipman saw that his captain and the pilot were safely on the other side, he and Sydney silently selected two sailors to follow; then in turn two more to cross the intervening space. Slowly those on the wrong side of the bridge decreased; Phil could see that Commander Hughes had deployed his men to protect the bridge in case of a sudden attack, while he and Langdon at the far side of the bridge were receiving and instructing the men after they had crossed the swaying structure. Then without warning, a flash of flame shot out into the night from the direction of the Chinese graves, and the screech of hostile bullets sounded loudly about the foreigners. Phil, from his position, saw the figures beyond the bridge seek refuge behind a high mound, and then the reverberation of the sailors’ rifles told him that Commander Hughes was returning the fire in the hopes of protecting from the hot fire of the enemy those still to cross the ditch. The bridge was already swept by a hail of lead; a groan from a man at his side told him that unless they crossed quickly, there would be but few remaining at all to cross the tottering bamboo. He sent five men at a time, watching fearfully until he saw them disappear in the gloom; then six followed; the bridge stood the weight, but swayed and seemed on the point of falling. There were now but four remaining, Sydney and two men, one of whom lay sorely wounded on the ground at his feet. “Go, Syd!” the lad exclaimed to his brother midshipman. The lad shook his head, forcing the remaining sailor before him; then by mutual consent he and Phil lifted tenderly the wounded man. Carefully they picked their way across the bullet-swept, swaying structure. With their burden, they reached the middle in safety; Phil shuddered as his eyes took one fleeting glance at the fall below him. Amid the noise of strife, the tearing of the thongs, holding the bridge on the far side, gave the two officers no warning, and not until the floor tilted to an unnerving angle did they see that they must hasten if they would not be precipitated to the bottom of the ditch. The wounded man was a dead weight on their hands; Phil, when he had felt the bridge sinking under him, ran his hand nervously over the face of the wounded sailor; the drooping jaw told him that he had passed beyond mortal aid. “He’s dead; save yourself!” he cried loudly to his companion as he let fall his burden and sprang forward. By almost superhuman effort, side by side, the whistle of the enemy’s bullets in their ears, they threw themselves at the rising earth as their platform with increasing speed sank beneath them. Clutching at the crumbling earth, digging their fingers deep into the rank grass, while the bridge behind them fell with a great crash into the stagnant and noisome water fifty feet below, the two lads drew themselves up, breathless but safe.