AN OCCURRENCE AT OWL CREEK BRIDGE
by Ambrose Bierce
Fahrquhar dived -- dived as deeply as he could. The water
roared in his ears like the voice of Niagara, yet he heard
the dull thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the
surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattened,
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 for breath, he saw that he
had been a long time under water; he was perceptibly farther
downstream -- 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. 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 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 splash 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 an hand in the game. As he shook
his head free from the commotion of the smitten water he
heard the deflected 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 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 and
blurred. Objects were represented by their colors only;
circular horizontal streaks of color -- that was all he saw.
He had been caught in a vortex and was being whirled on with
a velocity of advance and gyration that made him giddy and
sick. In few moments he was flung upon the gravel at the
foot of the left bank of the stream -- the southern bank --
and behind a projecting point which concealed him from his
enemies. The sudden arrest of his motion, the abrasion 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, 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 the fragrance of their blooms. A
strange roseate light shone through the spaces among their
trunks and the wind made in their branches the music of
AEolian harps. He had not wish to perfect his escape -- he
was content to remain in that enchanting spot until retaken.
A whiz and a rattle of grapeshot among the branches high
above his head roused him from his dream. The baffled
cannoneer had fired him a random farewell. He sprang
to his feet, rushed up the sloping bank, and plunged 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, footsore, famished. 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
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 in the wood, shone great
golden stars looking unfamiliar and grouped in strange
constellations. He was sure they were arranged in some order
which had a secret and malign 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. He knew that it had a circle of black
where the rope had bruised 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. 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 to meet him. At the bottom of the steps she stands
waiting, with a smile of ineffable joy, an attitude of
matchless grace and dignity. Ah, how beautiful she is! He
springs forwards with extended arms. As he is about to clasp
her he feels a stunning 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 Fahrquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck,
swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the
Owl Creek bridge.
FINIS
Directory to Greenwoods Village
Village Square
*
Business School
*
Library
*
Reading Room
*
Music Hall
*
Arcade
*
Miz Moon's Inn
*
Chapel
*
the Neighborhood
All applicable elements copyright 2005-2008 by greenwoodsvillage.com