Harry knew that it was touch-and-go. The bulk of the army was across, and if necessary they must sacrifice Ashby's cavalry, but that sacrifice would be too great. Harry had never seen Ashby and his gallant captains show more courage. They fought off the enemy to the very last and then galloped for the bridge, under a shower of shell and grape and bullets. Ashby's own horse was killed under him, falling headlong in the mud, but in an instant somebody supplied him with a fresh one, upon which he leaped, and then they thundered over the burning bridge, Ashby and Sherburne the last two to begin the crossing. Harry, who was just ahead of Ashby and Sherburne, felt as if the flames were licking at them. With an involuntary motion he threw up his hands to protect his eyes from the heat, and he also had a horrible sensation lest the bridge, its supporting timbers burned through, should fall, sending them all into the rushing flood. But the bridge yet held and Harry uttered a gasp of relief as the feet of his horse struck the deep mud on the other side. They galloped on for two or three hundred yards, and then at the command of Ashby turned. The bridge was a majestic sight, a roaring pyramid that shot forth clouds of smoke and sparks in myriads. “How under the sun did we cross it?” Harry exclaimed. “We crossed it, that's sure, because here we are,” said Sherburne. “I confess myself that I don't know just how we did it, Harry, but it's quite certain that the enemy will never cross it. The fire's too strong. Besides, they'd have our men to face.” Harry looked about, and saw several thousand men drawn up to dispute the passage, but the Northern troops recognizing its impossibility at that time, made no attempt. Nevertheless their cannon sent shells curving over the stream, and the Southern cannon sent curving shells in reply. But the burning bridge roared louder and the pyramid of flame rose higher. The rain, which had never ceased to pour in a deluge, merely seemed to feed it. “Ah, she's about to go now,” exclaimed Sherburne. The bridge seemed to Harry to rear up before his eyes like a living thing, and then draw together a mass of burning timbers. The next moment the whole went with a mighty crash into the river, and the blazing fragments floated swiftly away on the flood. The deep and rapid Shenandoah flowed a barrier between the armies of Jackson and Fremont. “A river can be very beautiful without a bridge, Harry, can't it?” said a voice beside him. It was St. Clair, a heavy bandage over his left shoulder, but a smoking rifle in his right hand, nevertheless. “I couldn't stand it any longer, Harry,” he said. “I had to get up and join the Invincibles, and you see I'm all right.” Harry was compelled to laugh at the sodden figure, from which the rain ran in streams. But he admired St. Clair's spirit. “It was by a hair's breadth, Arthur,” he said.