The first two shots missed the bottle, but hit the pipe.

The third shattered the bottle.

I hoped that the young ruffian would be content; but he emptied the other barrels at the pipe, and one, skimming over the pipe, whistled through my hair as I crouched on the other side.
"'Ware bridge!" a voice cried, to my relief.
Rupert and De Gautet cried, "A moment!" and ran across.

The bridge was drawn back, and all became still.

The clock struck a quarter-past one.