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.