An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge - Ambrose Bierce

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brose Bierce

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tle: An Occurrence at Owl Creek

thor: Ambrose Bierce

lease Date: March 19, 2008 [EBook #375]

nguage: English

* START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN OCCURRENCE AT OWL CRE

*

AN OCCURRENCE AT OWL

CREEK BRIDGE



by



Ambrose Bierce

THE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION, 1988

A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down in

e swift water twenty feet below. The man's hands were behind his back, th

ists bound with a cord. A rope closely encircled his neck. It was attached tout cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to the level of his knee

me loose boards laid upon the ties supporting the rails of the railway suppli

footing for him and his executioners—two private soldiers of the Fede

my, directed by a sergeant who in civil life may have been a deputy sheriff. A

hort remove upon the same temporary platform was an officer in the unifor

his rank, armed. He was a captain. A sentinel at each end of the bridgod with his rifle in the position known as "support," that is to say, vertical

nt of the left shoulder, the hammer resting on the forearm thrown straig

ross the chest—a formal and unnatural position, enforcing an erect carria

the body. It did not appear to be the duty of these two men to know wh

as occurring at the center of the bridge; they merely blockaded the two en

the foot planking that traversed it.

Beyond one of the sentinels nobody was in sight; the railroad ran straig

way into a forest for a hundred yards, then, curving, was lost to view

oubtless there was an outpost farther along. The other bank of the stream w

en ground—a gentle slope topped with a stockade of vertical tree trunk

opholed for rifles, with a single embrasure through which protruded tuzzle of a brass cannon commanding the bridge. Midway up the slo



tween the bridge and fort were the spectators—a single company of infan

line, at "parade rest," the butts of their rifles on the ground, the barre

clining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands crossed up

e stock. A lieutenant stood at the right of the line, the point of his sword upo

e ground, his left hand resting upon his right. Excepting the group of four

e center of the bridge, not a man moved. The company faced the bridg

ring stonily, motionless. The sentinels, facing the banks of the stream, mig

ve been statues to adorn the bridge. The captain stood with folded arm

ent, observing the work of his subordinates, but making no sign. Death is

gnitary who when he comes announced is to be received with form

anifestations of respect, even by those most familiar with him. In the code

litary etiquette silence and fixity are forms of deference.

The man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently about thirty-fi

ars of age. He was a civilian, if one might judge from his habit, which was th

a planter. His features were good—a straight nose, firm mouth, bro

rehead, from which his long, dark hair was combed straight back, falli

hind his ears to the collar of his well fitting frock coat. He wore a moustac

d pointed beard, but no whiskers; his eyes were large and dark gray, and a kindly expression which one would hardly have expected in one who

ck was in the hemp. Evidently this was no vulgar assassin. The liberal milita

de makes provision for hanging many kinds of persons, and gentlemen a

t excluded.

The preparations being complete, the two private soldiers stepped aside ach drew away the plank upon which he had been standing. The sergea

ned to the captain, saluted and placed himself immediately behind th

ficer, who in turn moved apart one pace. These movements left th

ndemned man and the sergeant standing on the two ends of the same plan

hich spanned three of the cross-ties of the bridge. The end upon which t

vilian stood almost, but not quite, reached a fourth. This plank had been heplace by the weight of the captain; it was now held by that of the sergeant. A



ignal from the former the latter would step aside, the plank would tilt and t

ndemned man go down between two ties. The arrangement commend

elf to his judgement as simple and effective. His face had not been cover

r his eyes bandaged. He looked a moment at his "unsteadfast footing," th

his gaze wander to the swirling water of the stream racing madly beneath h

et. A piece of dancing driftwood caught his attention and his eyes followed

wn the current. How slowly it appeared to move! What a sluggish stream!

He closed his eyes in order to fix his last thoughts upon his wife and childre

he water, touched to gold by the early sun, the brooding mists under t

nks at some distance down the stream, the fort, the soldiers, the piece of dr

all had distracted him. And now he became conscious of a new disturbanc

riking through the thought of his dear ones was sound which he could neithnore nor understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stroke of

acksmith's hammer upon the anvil; it had the same ringing quality. H

ondered what it was, and whether immeasurably distant or near by—

emed both. Its recurrence was regular, but as slow as the tolling of a dea

ell. He awaited each new stroke with impatience and—he knew not why

prehension. The intervals of silence grew progressively longer; the delacame maddening. With their greater infrequency the sounds increased

ength and sharpness. They hurt his ear like the trust of a knife; he feared

ould shriek. What he heard was the ticking of his watch.

He unclosed his eyes and saw again the water below him. "If I could free m

nds," he thought, "I might throw off the noose and spring into the stream. Bving I could evade the bullets and, swimming vigorously, reach the bank, tak

the woods and get away home. My home, thank God, is as yet outside th

es; 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 flash

o the doomed man's brain rather than evolved from it the captain nodded e sergeant. The sergeant stepped aside.



II

Peyton Farquhar was a well to do planter, of an old and highly respect

abama family. Being a slave owner and like other slave owners a politicia

was naturally an original secessionist and ardently devoted to the Southe

use. Circumstances of an imperious nature, which it is unnecessary to relare, had prevented him from taking service with that gallant army which h

ught the disastrous campaigns ending with the fall of Corinth, and he chaf

der the inglorious restraint, longing for the release of his energies, the larg

e of the soldier, the opportunity for distinction. That opportunity, he fe

ould come, as it comes to all in wartime. Meanwhile he did what he cou

o service was too humble for him to perform in the aid of the South, nventure to perilous for him to undertake if consistent with the character of

vilian who was at heart a soldier, and who in good faith and without too mu

alification assented to at least a part of the frankly villainous dictum that all

r in love and war.

One evening while Farquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic bench nee entrance to his grounds, a gray-clad soldier rode up to the gate and ask

r a drink of water. Mrs. Farquhar was only too happy to serve him with h

wn white hands. While she was fetching the water her husband approach

e dusty horseman and inquired eagerly for news from the front.

"The Yanks are repairing the railroads," said the man, "and are getting read

r another advance. They have reached the Owl Creek bridge, put it in ord

d built a stockade on the north bank. The commandant has issued an ord



hich is posted everywhere, declaring that any civilian caught interfering w

e railroad, its bridges, tunnels, or trains will be summarily hanged. I saw t

der."

"How far is it to the Owl Creek bridge?" Farquhar asked.

"About thirty miles."

"Is there no force on this side of the creek?"

"Only a picket post half a mile out, on the railroad, and a single sentinel

s end of the bridge."

"Suppose a man—a civilian and student of hanging—should elude the pick

st and perhaps get the better of the sentinel," said Farquhar, smiling, "wh

uld he accomplish?"

The soldier reflected. "I was there a month ago," he replied. "I observed th

e flood of last winter had lodged a great quantity of driftwood against t

ooden pier at this end of the bridge. It is now dry and would burn like tinde

The lady had now brought the water, which the soldier drank. He thank

r ceremoniously, bowed to her husband and rode away. An hour later, aft

ghtfall, he repassed the plantation, going northward in the direction from whi

had come. He was a Federal scout.

III



As Peyton Farquhar fell straight downward through the bridge he lo

nsciousness and was as one already dead. From this state he was awaken

ages later, it seemed to him—by the pain of a sharp pressure upon his thro

lowed by a sense of suffocation. Keen, poignant agonies seemed to sho

m his neck downward through every fiber of his body and limbs. These pai

peared to flash along well defined lines of ramification and to beat with conceivably rapid periodicity. They seemed like streams of pulsating fi

ating him to an intolerable temperature. As to his head, he was conscious

thing but a feeling of fullness—of congestion. These sensations we

accompanied by thought. The intellectual part of his nature was alrea

faced; he had power only to feel, and feeling was torment. He was conscio

motion. Encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which he was now merely try heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs

cillation, like a vast pendulum. Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, t

ht about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a frightful roari

as in his ears, and all was cold and dark. The power of thought was restore

knew that the rope had broken and he had fallen into the stream. There w

additional strangulation; the noose about his neck was already suffocatim and kept the water from his lungs. To die of hanging at the bottom of

er!—the idea seemed to him ludicrous. He opened his eyes in the darkne

d saw above him a gleam of light, but how distant, how inaccessible! He w

l sinking, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a mere glimm

hen it began to grow and brighten, and he knew that he was rising toward t

rface—knew it with reluctance, for he was now very comfortable. "To nged and drowned," he thought, "that is not so bad; but I do not wish to

ot. 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 h

at he was trying to free his hands. He gave the struggle his attention, as

er might observe the feat of a juggler, without interest in the outcome. Whendid effort!—what magnificent, what superhuman strength! Ah, that was



e endeavor! Bravo! The cord fell away; his arms parted and floated upwar

e hands dimly seen on each side in the growing light. He watched them with

w interest as first one and then the other pounced upon the noose at his nec

hey tore it away and thrust it fiercely aside, its undulations resembling those

water snake. "Put it back, put it back!" He thought he shouted these words

hands, for the undoing of the noose had been succeeded by the direst pa

at he had yet experienced. His neck ached horribly; his brain was on fire, h

art, which had been fluttering faintly, gave a great leap, trying to force its

t at his mouth. His whole body was racked and wrenched with

upportable anguish! But his disobedient hands gave no heed to t

mmand. They beat the water vigorously with quick, downward strok

rcing him to the surface. He felt his head emerge; his eyes were blinded by t

nlight; his chest expanded convulsively, and with a supreme and crowni

ony his lungs engulfed a great draught of air, which instantly he expelled in

riek!

He was now in full possession of his physical senses. They were, indee

eternaturally keen and alert. Something in the awful disturbance of his organ

stem had so exalted and refined them that they made record of things nevfore perceived. He felt the ripples upon his face and heard their separa

unds as they struck. He looked at the forest on the bank of the stream, sa

e individual trees, the leaves and the veining of each leaf—he saw the ve

ects upon them: the locusts, the brilliant bodied flies, the gray spide

etching their webs from twig to twig. He noted the prismatic colors in all t

wdrops upon a million blades of grass. The humming of the gnats that dancove the eddies of the stream, the beating of the dragon flies' wings, t

okes of the water spiders' legs, like oars which had lifted their boat—

ese made audible music. A fish slid along beneath his eyes and he heard th

sh of its body parting the water.

He had come to the surface facing down the stream; in a moment the visiborld seemed to wheel slowly round, himself the pivotal point, and he saw t



dge, the fort, the soldiers upon the bridge, the captain, the sergeant, the tw

vates, his executioners. They were in silhouette against the blue sky. Th

outed and gesticulated, pointing at him. The captain had drawn his pistol, b

d not fire; the others were unarmed. Their movements were grotesque a

rrible, their forms gigantic.

Suddenly he heard a sharp report and something struck the water smarthin a few inches of his head, spattering his face with spray. He heard

cond report, and saw one of the sentinels with his rifle at his shoulder, a lig

oud of blue smoke rising from the muzzle. The man in the water saw the e

the man on the bridge gazing into his own through the sights of the rifle. H

served that it was a gray eye and remembered having read that gray ey

ere keenest, and that all famous marksmen had them. Nevertheless, this od missed.

A counter-swirl had caught Farquhar and turned him half round; he w

ain looking at the forest on the bank opposite the fort. The sound of a clea

gh voice in a monotonous singsong now rang out behind him and came acro

e water with a distinctness that pierced and subdued all other sounds, eve beating of the ripples in his ears. Although no soldier, he had frequente

mps enough to know the dread significance of that deliberate, drawlin

pirated chant; the lieutenant on shore was taking a part in the morning's wor

ow coldly and pitilessly—with what an even, calm intonation, presaging, a

forcing tranquility in the men—with what accurately measured interval f

ose cruel words:

"Company!… Attention!… Shoulder arms!… Ready!… Aim!… Fire!"

Farquhar dived—dived as deeply as he could. The water roared in his ea

e the voice of Niagara, yet he heard the dull thunder of the volley and, risi

ain toward the surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattenecillating slowly downward. Some of them touched him on the face and hand



en fell away, continuing their descent. One lodged between his collar an

ck; it was uncomfortably warm and he snatched it out.

As he rose to the surface, gasping for breath, he saw that he had been a lo

me under water; he was perceptibly farther downstream—nearer to safet

he soldiers had almost finished reloading; the metal ramrods flashed all at on

the sunshine as they were drawn from the barrels, turned in the air, and thruo their sockets. The two sentinels fired again, independently and ineffectuall

The hunted man saw all this over his shoulder; he was now swimmi

gorously with the current. His brain was as energetic as his arms and legs;

ought with the rapidity of lightning:

"The officer," he reasoned, "will not make that martinet's error a secon

me. It is as easy to dodge a volley as a single shot. He has probably alrea

ven the command to fire at will. God help me, I cannot dodge them all!"

An appalling splash within two yards of him was followed by a loud, rushi

und, DIMINUENDO, which seemed to travel back through the air to trt and died in an explosion which stirred the very river to its deeps! A risin

eet of water curved over him, fell down upon him, blinded him, strangled him

he cannon had taken an hand in the game. As he shook his head free from th

mmotion of the smitten water he heard the deflected shot humming throu

e air ahead, and in an instant it was cracking and smashing the branches in t

rest beyond.

"They will not do that again," he thought; "the next time they will use a char

grape. I must keep my eye upon the gun; the smoke will apprise me—t

port 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. T

ater, the banks, the forests, the now distant bridge, fort and men, all wemmingled and blurred. Objects were represented by their colors on



cular horizontal streaks of color—that was all he saw. He had been caught

vortex and was being whirled on with a velocity of advance and gyration th

ade him giddy and sick. In few moments he was flung upon the gravel at t

ot of the left bank of the stream—the southern bank—and behind

ojecting point which concealed him from his enemies. The sudden arrest

motion, the abrasion of one of his hands on the gravel, restored him, and

ept with delight. He dug his fingers into the sand, threw it over himself

ndfuls and audibly blessed it. It looked like diamonds, rubies, emeralds;

uld think of nothing beautiful which it did not resemble. The trees upon t

nk were giant garden plants; he noted a definite order in their arrangemen

haled the fragrance of their blooms. A strange roseate light shone through th

aces among their trunks and the wind made in their branches the music

Eolian harps. He had not wish to perfect his escape—he was content

main in that enchanting spot until retaken.

A whiz and a rattle of grapeshot among the branches high above his he

used him from his dream. The baffled cannoneer had fired him a rando

ewell. He sprang to his feet, rushed up the sloping bank, and plunged into t

rest.

All that day he traveled, laying his course by the rounding sun. The for

emed interminable; nowhere did he discover a break in it, not even

oodman's road. He had not known that he lived in so wild a region. The

as something uncanny in the revelation.

By nightfall he was fatigued, footsore, famished. The thought of his wife an

ildren urged him on. At last he found a road which led him in what he kne

be the right direction. It was as wide and straight as a city street, yet

emed untraveled. No fields bordered it, no dwelling anywhere. Not so mu

the barking of a dog suggested human habitation. The black bodies of t

es formed a straight wall on both sides, terminating on the horizon in a poine a diagram in a lesson in perspective. Overhead, as he looked up throu



s rift in the wood, shone great golden stars looking unfamiliar and grouped

ange constellations. He was sure they were arranged in some order whi

d a secret and malign significance. The wood on either side was full

gular noises, among which—once, twice, and again—he distinctly hea

hispers in an unknown tongue.

His neck was in pain and lifting his hand to it found it horribly swollen. Hew that it had a circle of black where the rope had bruised it. His eyes f

ngested; he could no longer close them. His tongue was swollen with thir

relieved its fever by thrusting it forward from between his teeth into the co

. How softly the turf had carpeted the untraveled avenue—he could n

nger feel the roadway beneath his feet!

Doubtless, despite his suffering, he had fallen asleep while walking, for no

sees another scene—perhaps he has merely recovered from a delirium. H

nds at the gate of his own home. All is as he left it, and all bright and beauti

the morning sunshine. He must have traveled the entire night. As he push

en the gate and passes up the wide white walk, he sees a flutter of fema

rments; his wife, looking fresh and cool and sweet, steps down from tranda to meet him. At the bottom of the steps she stands waiting, with a sm

ineffable joy, an attitude of matchless grace and dignity. Ah, how beautif

e is! He springs forwards with extended arms. As he is about to clasp her h

els a stunning blow upon the back of the neck; a blinding white light blazes

out him with a sound like the shock of a cannon—then all is darkness an

ence!

Peyton Farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gent

m side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.



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