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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 ties supporting the rails of the railway
Supplied a footing for him and his executioners--
Two private soldiers of the Federal army
Directed by a sergeant 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 in front of the left shoulder
The hammer resting on the forearm thrown straight across the chest--
A formal and unnatural position, enforcing an erect 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 slope topped with a stockade of vertical tree trunks, loopholed for rifles
With a single embrasure through which protruded the muzzle of a brass cannon commanding the bridge
Midway up the slope between the bridge and fort were the spectators--
A single company of infantry in line, at "parade rest," the butts of their rifles on the ground
The barrels inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder
The hands crossed upon the stock
A lieutenant 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, motionless
The sentinels, facing the banks of the stream
Might have been statues to adorn 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 of respect
Even by those most familiar with him
In the code of military etiquette silence and fixity are forms of deference
The man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently about thirty-five years of age
He was a civilian, 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 moustache and pointed beard, but no whiskers
His eyes were large and dark gray
And had a kindly expression which one would hardly have expected in one whose neck was in the hemp
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 upon which he had been standing
The sergeant turned to the captain, saluted and placed himself immediately behind that officer
Who in turn moved apart one pace
These movements left the condemned 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 and the condemned man go down between two ties
The arrangement commended itself to his judgement 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 water of the stream racing 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 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
Striking through the thought of his dear ones was sound which he could neither ignore nor understand
A sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stroke of a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil
It had the same ringing quality
He wondered what it was, and whether immeasurably distant or near by--
It seemed both.
Its recurrence was regular, but as slow as the tolling of a death knell
He awaited each new stroke with impatience and--he knew not why--apprehension
The intervals 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 trust of a knife; he feared he would 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 my hands," he thought, "I might throw off the noose and spring into the stream
By diving I could evade 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 man's brain rather than evolved from it the captain nodded to the sergeant
The sergeant stepped aside.
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 devoted to the Southern cause
Circumstances of an imperious nature, which it is unnecessary to relate here
Had prevented him from taking service with that gallant army
Which had fought the disastrous campaigns ending with the fall of Corinth
He chafed under the inglorious restraint, longing 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 wartime
Meanwhile he did what he could
No service was too humble for him to perform in the aid of the South
No adventure to perilous 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 to
At least a part of the frankly villainous dictum that all is fair in love and war
One evening while Farquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic 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 too 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 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 of the creek?"
"Only a picket 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 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 a great quantity of driftwood
Against the wooden pier at this end of the bridge
It is now dry and would burn like tinder."
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
Going northward in the direction from which he had come
He was a Federal scout
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