【英文短篇小说】An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge

A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below. The man's hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck. It was attached to a stout 1 cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to the level of his knees.
 
An Occurrence at Owl 2 Creek 3 Bridge
by Ambrose Bierce
A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below. The man's hands were behind his back, the wrists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck. It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to the level of his knees. Some loose boards laid upon the sleepers 4 supporting the metals of the railway supplied a footing for him and his executioners--two private soldiers of the Federal army, directed by a sergeant 5 who in civil life may have been a deputy sheriff. At a short remove upon the same temporary platform was an officer in the uniform of his rank, armed. He was a captain. A sentinel at each end of the bridge stood with his rifle in the position known as "support," that is to say, vertical 6 in front of the left shoulder, the hammer resting on the forearm thrown straight across the chest--a formal and unnatural 7 position, enforcing an erect 8 carriage of the body. It did not appear to be the duty of these two men to know what was occurring at the center of the bridge; they merely blockaded the two ends of the foot planking that traversed it.
 
Beyond one of the sentinels nobody was in sight; the railroad ran straight away into a forest for a hundred yards, then, curving, was lost to view. Doubtless there was an outpost farther along. The other bank of the stream was open ground--a gentle acclivity topped with a stockade 11 of vertical tree trunks, loopholed for rifles, with a single embrasure through which protruded 12 the muzzle 13 of a brass 14 cannon 15 commanding the bridge. Midway of the slope between the bridge and fort were the spectators--a single company of infantry 16 in line, at "parade rest," the butts 17 of the rifles on the ground, the barrels inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands crossed upon the stock. A lieu tenant 18 stood at the right of the line, the point of his sword upon the ground, his left hand resting upon his right. Excepting the group of four at the center of the bridge, not a man moved. The company faced the bridge, staring stonily 19, motionless. The sentinels, facing the banks of the stream, might have been statues to adorn 20 the bridge. The captain stood with folded arms, silent, observing the work of his subordinates, but making no sign. Death is a dignitary who when he comes announced is to be received with formal manifestations 21 of respect, even by those most familiar with him. In the code of military etiquette 22 silence and fixity are forms of deference 23.
 
The man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently 24 about thirty-five years of age. He was a civilian 25, if one might judge from his habit, which was that of a planter. His features were good--a straight nose, firm mouth, broad forehead, from which his long, dark hair was combed straight back, falling behind his ears to the collar of his well-fitting frock coat. He wore a mustache and pointed 27 beard, but no whiskers; his eyes were large and dark gray, and had a kindly 28 expression which one would hardly have expected in one whose neck was in the hemp 29. Evidently this was no vulgar assassin. The liberal military code makes provision for hanging many kinds of persons, and gentlemen are not excluded.
 
The preparations being complete, the two private soldiers stepped aside and each drew away the plank 10 upon which he had been standing 30. The sergeant turned to the captain, saluted 31 and placed himself immediately behind that officer, who in turn moved apart one pace. These movements left the condemned 32 man and the sergeant standing on the two ends of the same plank, which spanned three of the cross-ties of the bridge. The end upon which the civilian stood almost, but not quite, reached a fourth. This plank had been held in place by the weight of the captain; it was now held by that of the sergeant. At a signal from the former the latter would step aside, the plank would tilt 33 and the condemned man go down between two ties. The arrangement commended itself to his judgment 34 as simple and effective. His face had not been covered nor his eyes bandaged. He looked a moment at his "unsteadfast footing," then let his gaze wander to the swirling 35 water of the stream racing 36 madly beneath his feet. A piece of dancing driftwood caught his attention and his eyes followed it down the current. How slowly it appeared to move, What a sluggish 38 stream!
 
He closed his eyes in order to fix his last thoughts upon his wife and children. The water, touched to gold by the early sun, the brooding mists under the banks at some distance down the stream, the fort, the soldiers, the piece of drift--all had distracted him. And now he became conscious of a new disturbance 39. Striking through the thought of his dear ones was a sound which he could neither ignore nor understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic 40 percussion 41 like the stroke of a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil 42; it had the same ringing quality. He wondered what it was, and whether immeasurably distant or near by--it seemed both. Its recurrence 43 was regular, but as slow as the tolling 44 of a death knell 45. He awaited each stroke with impatience 46 and--he knew not why--apprehension. The intervals 48 of silence grew progressively longer, the delays became maddening. With their greater infrequency the sounds increased in strength and sharpness. They hurt his ear like the thrust of a knife; he feared he would shriek 49. What he heard was the ticking of his watch.
 
He unclosed his eyes and saw again the water below him. "If I could free my hands," he thought, "I might throw off the noose 50 and spring into the stream. By diving I could evade 51 the bullets and, swimming vigorously, reach the bank, take to the woods and get away home. My home, thank God, is as yet outside their lines; my wife and little ones are still beyond the invader's farthest advance."
 
As these thoughts, which have here to be set down in words, were flashed into the doomed 52 man's brain rather than evolved from it the captain nodded to the sergeant. The sergeant stepped aside.
II
Peyton Farquhar was a well-to-do planter, of an old and highly respected Alabama family. Being a slave owner and like other slave owners a politician he was naturally an original secessionist and ardently 53 devoted 54 to the Southern cause. Circumstances of an imperious nature, which it is unnecessary to relate here, had prevented him from taking service with the gallant 55 army that had fought the disastrous 56 campaigns ending with the fall of Corinth, and he chafed 57 under the inglorious restraint, longing 58 for the release of his energies, the larger life of the soldier, the opportunity for distinction. That opportunity, he felt, would come, as it comes to all in war time. Meanwhile he did what he could. No service was too humble 59 for him to perform in aid of the South, no adventure too perilous 60 for him to undertake if consistent with the character of a civilian who was at heart a soldier, and who in good faith and without too much qualification assented 61 to at least a part of the frankly 62 villainous dictum that all is fair in love and war.
 
One evening while Farquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic 63 bench near the entrance to his grounds, a gray-clad soldier rode up to the gate and asked for a drink of water. Mrs. Farquhar was only toe, happy to serve him with her own white hands. While she was fetching the water her husband approached the dusty horseman and inquired eagerly for news from the front.
 
"The Yanks are repairing the railroads," said the man, "and are getting ready for another advance. They have reached the Owl Creek bridge, put it in order and built a stockade on the north bank. The commandant has issued an order, which is posted everywhere, declaring that any civilian caught interfering 64 with the railroad, its bridges, tunnels or trains will be summarily hanged. I saw the order."
 
"How far is it to the Owl Creek bridge?" Farquhar asked.
 
"About thirty miles."
 
"Is there no force on this side the creek?"
 
"Only a picket 65 post half a mile out, on the railroad, and a single sentinel at this end of the bridge."
 
"Suppose a man--a civilian and student of hanging--should elude 66 the picket post and perhaps get the better of the sentinel," said Farquhar, smiling, "what could he accomplish?"
 
The soldier reflected. "I was there a month ago," he replied. "I observed that the flood of last winter had lodged 67 a great quantity of driftwood against the wooden pier 68 at this end of the bridge. It is now dry and would burn like tow."
 
The lady had now brought the water, which the soldier drank. He thanked her ceremoniously, bowed to her husband and rode away. An hour later, after nightfall, he repassed the plantation 69, going northward 70 in the direction from which he had come. He was a Federal scout 71.
III
As Peyton Farquhar fell straight downward through the bridge he lost consciousness and was as one already dead. From this state he was awakened--ages later, it seemed to him--by the pain of a sharp pressure upon his throat, followed by a sense of suffocation 72. Keen, poignant 73 agonies seemed to shoot from his neck downward through every fiber 74 of his body and limbs. These pains appeared to flash along well-defined lines of ramification 75 and to beat with an inconceivably rapid periodicity. They seemed like streams of pulsating 76 fire heating him to an intolerable temperature. As to his head, he was conscious of nothing but a feeling of fulness--of congestion 77. These sensations were unaccompanied by thought. The intellectual part of his nature was already effaced 78; he had power only to feel, and feeling was torment 79. He was conscious of motion. Encompassed 80 in a luminous 81 cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery 82 heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum 83. Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a frightful 84 roaring was in his ears, and all was cold and dark. The power of thought was restored; he knew that the rope had broken and he had fallen into the stream. There was no additional strangulation; the noose about his neck was already suffocating 85 him and kept the water from his lungs. To die of hanging at the bottom of a river!--the idea seemed to him ludicrous. He opened his eyes in the darkness and saw above him a gleam of light, but how distant, how inaccessible 86! He was still sinking, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a mere 9 glimmer 87. Then it began to grow and brighten, and he knew that he was rising toward the surface--knew it with reluctance 88, for he was now very comfortable. "To be hanged and drowned," he thought? "that is not so bad; but I do not wish to be shot. No; I will not be shot; that is not fair."
 
He was not conscious of an effort, but a sharp pain in his wrist apprised 90 him that he was trying to free his hands. He gave the struggle his attention, as an idler might observe the feat 26 of a juggler 91, without interest in the outcome. What splendid effort!--what magnificent, what superhuman strength! Ah, that was a fine endeavor! Bravo! The cord fell away; his arms parted and floated upward, the hands dimly seen on each side in the growing light. He watched them with a new interest as first one and then the other pounced 92 upon the noose at his neck. They tore it away and thrust it fiercely aside, its undulations resembling those of a water snake. "Put it back, put it back!" He thought he shouted these words to his hands, for the undoing 93 of the noose had been succeeded by the direst pang 94 that he had yet experienced. His neck ached horribly; his brain was on fire; his heart, which had been fluttering faintly, gave a great leap, trying to force itself out at his mouth. His whole body was racked and wrenched 95 with an insupportable anguish 96! But his disobedient hands gave no heed 97 to the command. They beat the water vigorously with quick, downward strokes, forcing him to the surface. He felt his head emerge; his eyes were blinded by the sunlight; his chest expanded convulsively, and with a supreme 98 and crowning agony his lungs engulfed 99 a great draught 100 of air, which instantly he expelled in a shriek!
 
He was now in full possession of his physical senses. They were, indeed, preternaturally keen and alert. Something in the awful disturbance of his organic system had so exalted 101 and refined them that they made record of things never before perceived. He felt the ripples 102 upon his face and heard their separate sounds as they struck. He looked at the forest on the bank of the stream, saw the individual trees, the leaves and the veining 103 of each leaf--saw the very insects upon them: the locusts 104, the brilliant-bodied flies, the grey spiders stretching their webs from twig 105 to twig. He noted 106 the prismatic colors in all the dewdrops upon a million blades of grass. The humming of the gnats 107 that danced above the eddies 108 of the stream, the beating of the dragon flies' wings, the strokes of the water-spiders' legs, like oars 109 which had lifted their boat--all these made audible music. A fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard the rush of its body parting the water.
 
He had come to the surface facing down the stream; in a moment the visible world seemed to wheel slowly round, himself the pivotal point, and he saw the bridge, the fort, the soldiers upon the bridge, the captain, the sergeant, the two privates, his executioners. They were in silhouette 110 against the blue sky. They shouted and gesticulated, pointing at him. The captain had drawn 111 his pistol, but did not fire; the others were unarmed. Their movements were grotesque 112 and horrible, their forms gigantic.
 
Suddenly he heard a sharp report and something struck the water smartly within a few inches of his head, spattering his face with spray. He heard a second report, and saw one of the sentinels with his rifle at his shoulder, a light cloud of blue smoke rising from the muzzle. The man in the water saw the eye of the man on the bridge gazing into his own through the sights of the rifle. He observed that it was a grey eye and remembered having read that grey eyes were keenest, and that all famous marksmen had them. Nevertheless, this one had missed.
 
A counter-swirl had caught Farquhar and turned him half round; he was again looking into the forest on the bank opposite the fort. The sound of a clear, high voice in a monotonous 113 singsong now rang out behind him and came across the water with a distinctness that pierced and subdued 114 all other sounds, even the beating of the ripples in his ears. Although no soldier, he had frequented camps enough to know the dread 115 significance of that deliberate, drawling, aspirated chant; the lieu. tenant on shore was taking a part in the morning's work. How coldly and pitilessly--with what an even, calm intonation 116, presaging 117, and enforcing tranquillity 118 in the men--with what accurately 119 measured inter 47 vals fell those cruel words:
 
"Attention, company! . . Shoulder arms! . . . Ready! . . . Aim! . . . Fire!"
 
Farquhar dived--dived as deeply as he could. The water roared in his ears like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dulled thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattened 120, oscillating slowly downward. Some of them touched him on the face and hands, then fell away, continuing their descent. One lodged between his collar and neck; it was uncomfortably warm and he snatched it out.
 
As he rose to the surface, gasping 121 for breath, he saw that he had been a long time under water; he was perceptibly farther down stream nearer to safety. The soldiers had almost finished reloading; the metal ramrods flashed all at once in the sunshine as they were drawn from the barrels, turned in the air, and thrust into their sockets 122. The two sentinels fired again, independently and ineffectually.
 
The hunted man saw all this over his shoulder; he was now swimming vigorously with the current. His brain was as energetic as his arms and legs; he thought with the rapidity of lightning.
 
The officer," he reasoned, "will not make that martinet's error a second time. It is as easy to dodge 123 a volley as a single shot. He has probably already given the command to fire at will. God help me, I cannot dodge them all!"
 
An appalling 124 plash within two yards of him was followed by a loud, rushing sound, diminuendo, which seemed to travel back through the air to the fort and died in an explosion which stirred the very river to its deeps!
 
A rising sheet of water curved over him, fell down upon him, blinded him, strangled him! The cannon had taken a hand in the game. As he shook his head free from the commotion 125 of the smitten 126 water he heard the deflected 127 shot humming through the air ahead, and in an instant it was cracking and smashing the branches in the forest beyond.
 
"They will not do that again," he thought; "the next time they will use a charge of grape. I must keep my eye upon the gun; the smoke will apprise 89 me--the report arrives too late; it lags behind the missile. That is a good gun."
 
Suddenly he felt himself whirled round and round--spinning like a top. The water, the banks, the forests, the now distant bridge, fort and men--all were commingled 128 and blurred 129. Objects were represented by their colors only; circular horizontal streaks 130 of color--that was all he saw. He had been caught in a vortex and was being whirled on with a velocity 131 of advance and gyration 132 that made him giddy and sick. In a few moments he was flung upon the gravel 133 at the foot of the left bank of the stream--the southern bank--and behind a projecting point which concealed 134 him from his enemies. The sudden arrest of his motion, the abrasion 135 of one of his hands on the gravel, restored him, and he wept with delight. He dug his fingers into the sand, threw it over himself in handfuls and audibly blessed it. It looked like diamonds, rubies 136, emeralds; he could think of nothing beautiful which it did not resemble. The trees upon the bank were giant garden plants; he noted a definite order in their arrangement, inhaled 137 the fragrance 138 of their blooms. A strange, roseate light shone through the spaces among their trunks and the wind made in their branches the music of Æolian harps 139. He had no wish to perfect his escape--was content to remain in that enchanting 140 spot until retaken.
 
A whiz and rattle 141 of grapeshot among the branches high above his head roused him from his dream. The baffled cannoneer had fired him a random 142 farewell. He sprang to his feet, rushed up the sloping bank, and plunged 143 into the forest.
 
All that day he traveled, laying his course by the rounding sun. The forest seemed interminable; nowhere did he discover a break in it, not even a woodman's road. He had not known that he lived in so wild a region. There was something uncanny in the revelation.
 
By nightfall he was fatigued 144, footsore, famishing. The thought of his wife and children urged him on. At last he found a road which led him in what he knew to be the right direction. It was as wide and straight as a city street, yet it seemed untraveled. No fields bordered it, no dwelling 145 anywhere. Not so much as the barking of a dog suggested human habitation. The black bodies of the trees formed a straight wall on both sides, terminating on the horizon in a point, like a diagram in a lesson in perspective. Overhead, as he looked up through this rift 37 in the wood, shone great garden stars looking unfamiliar 146 and grouped in strange constellations 147. He was sure they were arranged in some order which had a secret and malign 148 significance. The wood on either side was full of singular noises, among which--once, twice, and again--he distinctly heard whispers in an unknown tongue.
 
His neck was in pain and lifting his hand to it found it horribly swollen 149. He knew that it had a circle of black where the rope had bruised 150 it. His eyes felt congested; he could no longer close them. His tongue was swollen with thirst; he relieved its fever by thrusting it forward from between his teeth into the cold air. How softly the turf had carpeted the untraveled avenue--he could no longer feel the roadway beneath his feet!
 
Doubtless, despite his suffering, he had fallen asleep while walking, for now he sees another scene--perhaps he has merely recovered from a delirium 151. He stands at the gate of his own home. All is as he left it, and all bright and beautiful in the morning sunshine. He must have traveled the entire night. As he pushes open the gate and passes up the wide white walk, he sees a flutter of female garments; his wife, looking fresh and cool and sweet, steps down from the veranda 152 to meet him. At the bottom of the steps she stands waiting, with a smile of ineffable 153 joy, an attitude of matchless grace and dignity. Ah, how beautiful she is! He springs forward with extended arms. As he is about to clasp her he feels a stunning 154 blow upon the back of the neck; a blinding white light blazes all about him with a sound like the shock of a cannon--then all is darkness and silence!
 
Peyton Farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.