en
back again and again, came back like bounding rubber balls. Finally they
gained the trenches, and one general, horrible melee of struggling,
shouting, furious combatants set in. The shooting had died down; they
were fighting with bayonets and knives now. Finally the tumult died
down. But nearly every Austrian on that height died. Few escaped and not
very many were taken prisoners. Then, under cover of the night, the
Serbians spread over the other heights and captured the whole line of
defense works.

No Serbian slept that night. They tugged and dragged at their heavy guns
through all the dark hours, up toward the city, and placed them on
heights commanding the pontoon bridges that had been thrown over the
Save from Semlin.

When dawn broke on December 15, 1914, a heavy mist hung over the river,
but the Serbians knew with accuracy the location of the pontoon bridge.
All during the previous day and during the night the retreating
Austrians had been crowding over this bridge to escape into Austrian
territory. At first the retirement had been orderly, but later in the
day, as the news from the front became more serious, as the low, distant
roar of rifle and machine gun rolled nearer, the movement increased in
intensity, and, during the night, developed into a hurried scamper.
Cannon were unlimbered and thrown into the river, and troops fought
among themselves over the right of way along the narrow plank walk. In
the midst of this confusion, while yet thousands of the invaders were
still on the Serbian side of the river, just as dawn was breaking, there
came a deep report, the hissing of a flying steel missile, and a shell
dropped in the middle of one of the pontoon supports, hurling timber and
human beings up into the air. The confusion now became a wild panic.
Some tried to return to the Serbian shore, others fought on. Dozens of
the struggling figures rolled over the side of the bridge into the
eddying currents of the waters.

Again came the dull, heavy report, then another and another, followed by
the screeching overhead. Shells dropped into the water on all sides. And
then another bomb burst on the pontoon where the first shell had landed.

Even the roar of the shouting soldiers could not be heard above the
crashing of timbers, the snapping of mooring chains. The bridge swayed,
then caved in, where the pontoon had been struck and was sinking.
Between the two broken-off ends, still crowded with struggling humanity