The advance company had gone on barely a hundred yards beyond the river, and there had halted to permit the rear company and the machine gun to catch up. The men on the drag ropes of the gun mount were on dry land when the midshipmen left Lieutenant Morrison, with whom they had been walking, and started ahead to rejoin the leader. A savage cry from out the jungle on the left brought the entire command to immediate attention. The cry was taken up and increased in volume until the woods rang, and then suddenly came a scattering volley of musketry fire. Phil and Sydney drew their revolvers. They had halted, gazing in bewilderment into the dense bush, from which there continued to come a multitude of savage shouts with a scorching rifle fire. The sailors ahead had deployed along the road and were excitedly but blindly firing. Phil gazed behind him and saw the machine gun had been hurriedly replaced upon its mount, yet the gunner’s mate, Childers, was storming furiously at the men about him. They had dipped the breech of the gun into the water in their sudden shock and surprise at the weirdness of the attack. Phil hastened back in hopes of being able to lend a hand: his familiarity with the gun qualified him for the task, but Childers had already deftly put back the mechanism and was about to feed in the cartridge tape carrying the ammunition. “Got any oil?” Phil asked excitedly. Childers pointed to a can in the accessory box whose top was open. Phil unscrewed the top of the oil can and poured its contents over the wetted breech and into the mechanism. “Bring up the gun,” was the cry from the advance company. With a rush the sailors carried the gun and carriage up the road and swung its muzzle toward the concealed foes. Childers snapped a cartridge in place while Lieutenant Morrison, seating himself upon the trail of the mount, pointed and pulled the trigger. One shot was heard and then the mechanism jammed. Again Childers drew back the gas lever, but only one shot could be fired. “It’s put together wrong,” the gunner’s mate cried out aghast as he slipped out the bolt and examined it. “The Colt gun won’t work!” was the disheartening news that spread up and down the line. The unseen enemy had now become bolder. Many of them disregarding the danger, in their exultation, revealed their half-naked bodies from behind trees, while the sailors made good their expended ammunition in dropping these in their tracks. The white men were being attacked from all sides save one and the volume of fire told only too plainly that nearly a thousand rifles were against them. “We’ve got to get off this road and take cover,” Phil cried in exasperation as he saw men drop sorely hit near him. Lieutenant Morrison’s face was pale and as he rose from his seat on the gun carriage, he steadied himself upon Patterson’s shoulder. His right leg hung useless; a bullet had shattered the bone below the knee.