Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge
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 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 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.
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 of vertical tree trunks,
loopholed for rifles, with a single embrasure through which protruded the
muzzle of a brass cannon commanding the bridge. Midway of the slope between
the bridge and fort were the spectators--a single company of infantry in
line, at "parade rest," the butts of the rifles on the ground, the barrels
inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands crossed
upon the stock. A lieu tenant 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.
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 mustache 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.
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 judgment 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!
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
through the thought of his dear ones was a 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 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 thrust
of a knife; he feared he would shriek. What he heard was the ticking of
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
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.
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 the gallant army
that had fought the disastrous campaigns ending with the fall of Corinth,
and 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 war time.
Meanwhile he did what he could. No service was too humble for him to perform
in aid of the South, no adventure too 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
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 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.
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."
far is it to the Owl Creek bridge?" Farquhar asked.
there no force on this side the creek?"
a picket post half a mile out, on the railroad, and a single sentinel at
this end of the bridge."
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?"
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
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.
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 fulness--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."
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!
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--saw the
very insects upon them: the locusts, the brilliant-bodied flies, the grey
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, like 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.
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.
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.
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 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 lieu. tenant on shore was taking a part
in the morning's work. How coldly and pitilessly--with what an even, calm
intonation, presaging, and enforcing tranquillity in the men--with what
accurately measured inter vals fell those cruel words:
company! . . Shoulder arms! . . . Ready! . . . Aim! . . . Fire!"
dived--dived as deeply as he could. xSome 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.
he rose to the surface, gasping 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. The two sentinels fired again,
independently and ineffectually.
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.
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!"
appalling 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!
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 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.
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."
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.
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 Ćolian harps. He had no wish to perfect his escape--was content
to remain in that enchanting spot until retaken.
whiz and 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
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.
nightfall he was fatigued, 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 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 garden 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.
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!
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 forward 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!
Farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side
to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.