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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
Keen, poignant agonies seemed to shoot from his neck downward
Through every fiber of his body and limbs
These pains appeared to flash along well defined lines of ramification
And to beat with an inconceivably rapid periodicity
They seemed like streams of pulsating fire heating him to an intolerable temperature
As to his head, he was conscious of nothing but a feeling of fullness--of congestion
These sensations were unaccompanied by thought
The intellectual part of his nature was already effaced
He had power only to feel, and feeling was torment
He was conscious of motion
Encompassed in a luminous cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery heart
Without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum
Then all at once, with terrible suddenness
The light about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash
A frightful 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 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!
He was still sinking, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a mere glimmer
Then it began to grow and brighten, and he knew that he was rising toward the surface--
Knew it with reluctance, 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 him that he was trying to free his hands
He gave the struggle his attention, as an idler might observe the feat of a juggler
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 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 of the noose had been succeeded by the direst pang 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 with an insupportable anguish!
But his disobedient hands gave no heed 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 and crowning agony his lungs engulfed a great draught 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
And refined them that they made record of things never before perceived
He felt the ripples 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 of each leaf--he saw the very insects upon them:
The locusts, the brilliant bodied flies, the gray spiders stretching their webs from twig to twig
He noted the prismatic colors in all the dewdrops upon a million blades of grass
The humming of the gnats that danced above the eddies of the stream
The beating of the dragon flies' wings, the strokes of the water spiders' legs
The oars 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 against the blue sky
They shouted and gesticulated, pointing at him
The captain had drawn his pistol, but did not fire; the others were unarmed
Their movements were grotesque 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 gray eye and remembered having read that gray 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 at the forest on the bank opposite the fort
The sound of a clear, high voice in a monotonous singsong now rang out
Behind him and came across the water with a distinctness that pierced and subdued all other sounds
Even the beating of the ripples in his ears
Although no soldier
He had frequented camps enough to know the dread significance of that deliberate
Drawling, aspirated chant; the lieutenant on shore was taking a part in the morning's work
How coldly and pitilessly--with what an even, calm intonation, presaging
And enforcing tranquility in the men--
With what accurately measured interval fell those cruel words:
"Company! . . . Attention! . . . 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 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 a 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 Farquhar was dead;
His body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side
Beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge
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