【英文短篇小说】An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge

搜索关注在线英语听力室公众号：tingroom，领取免费英语资料大礼包。

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 stout¹ cross-timber above his head and the slack fell to the level of his knees.

 

An Occurrence at Owl² Creek³ Bridge

by Ambrose Bierce

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 sleepers⁴ supporting the metals of the railway supplied a footing for him and his executioners--two private soldiers of the Federal army, directed by a sergeant⁵ 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, vertical⁶ in front of the left shoulder, the hammer resting on the forearm thrown straight across the chest--a formal and unnatural⁷ position, enforcing an erect⁸ 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 acclivity topped with a stockade¹¹ of vertical tree trunks, loopholed for rifles, with a single embrasure through which protruded¹² the muzzle¹³ of a brass¹⁴ cannon¹⁵ commanding the bridge. Midway of the slope between the bridge and fort were the spectators--a single company of infantry¹⁶ in line, at "parade rest," the butts¹⁷ of the rifles on the ground, the barrels inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands crossed upon the stock. A lieu tenant¹⁸ 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 stonily¹⁹, motionless. The sentinels, facing the banks of the stream, might have been statues to adorn²⁰ 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 manifestations²¹ of respect, even by those most familiar with him. In the code of military etiquette²² silence and fixity are forms of deference²³.

 

The man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently²⁴ about thirty-five years of age. He was a civilian²⁵, 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 pointed²⁷ beard, but no whiskers; his eyes were large and dark gray, and had a kindly²⁸ expression which one would hardly have expected in one whose neck was in the hemp²⁹. 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 plank¹⁰ upon which he had been standing³⁰. The sergeant turned to the captain, saluted³¹ and placed himself immediately behind that officer, who in turn moved apart one pace. These movements left the condemned³² 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 tilt³³ and the condemned man go down between two ties. The arrangement commended itself to his judgment³⁴ 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 swirling³⁵ water of the stream racing³⁶ 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 sluggish³⁸ 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 disturbance³⁹. Striking through the thought of his dear ones was a sound which he could neither ignore nor understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic⁴⁰ percussion⁴¹ like the stroke of a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil⁴²; it had the same ringing quality. He wondered what it was, and whether immeasurably distant or near by--it seemed both. Its recurrence⁴³ was regular, but as slow as the tolling⁴⁴ of a death knell⁴⁵. He awaited each stroke with impatience⁴⁶ and--he knew not why--apprehension. The intervals⁴⁸ 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 shriek⁴⁹. 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 noose⁵⁰ and spring into the stream. By diving I could evade⁵¹ 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 doomed⁵² man's brain rather than evolved from it the captain nodded to the sergeant. The sergeant stepped aside.

II

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 ardently⁵³ devoted⁵⁴ to the Southern cause. Circumstances of an imperious nature, which it is unnecessary to relate here, had prevented him from taking service with the gallant⁵⁵ army that had fought the disastrous⁵⁶ campaigns ending with the fall of Corinth, and he chafed⁵⁷ under the inglorious restraint, longing⁵⁸ 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 humble⁵⁹ for him to perform in aid of the South, no adventure too perilous⁶⁰ 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 assented⁶¹ to at least a part of the frankly⁶² villainous dictum that all is fair in love and war.

 

One evening while Farquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic⁶³ 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.

 

"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 interfering⁶⁴ 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 the creek?"

 

"Only a picket⁶⁵ 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 elude⁶⁶ 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 lodged⁶⁷ a great quantity of driftwood against the wooden pier⁶⁸ at this end of the bridge. It is now dry and would burn like tow."

 

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 plantation⁶⁹, going northward⁷⁰ in the direction from which he had come. He was a Federal scout⁷¹.

III

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 suffocation⁷². Keen, poignant⁷³ agonies seemed to shoot from his neck downward through every fiber⁷⁴ of his body and limbs. These pains appeared to flash along well-defined lines of ramification⁷⁵ and to beat with an inconceivably rapid periodicity. They seemed like streams of pulsating⁷⁶ fire heating him to an intolerable temperature. As to his head, he was conscious of nothing but a feeling of fulness--of congestion⁷⁷. These sensations were unaccompanied by thought. The intellectual part of his nature was already effaced⁷⁸; he had power only to feel, and feeling was torment⁷⁹. He was conscious of motion. Encompassed⁸⁰ in a luminous⁸¹ cloud, of which he was now merely the fiery⁸² heart, without material substance, he swung through unthinkable arcs of oscillation, like a vast pendulum⁸³. Then all at once, with terrible suddenness, the light about him shot upward with the noise of a loud splash; a frightful⁸⁴ 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 suffocating⁸⁵ 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 inaccessible⁸⁶! He was still sinking, for the light became fainter and fainter until it was a mere⁹ glimmer⁸⁷. Then it began to grow and brighten, and he knew that he was rising toward the surface--knew it with reluctance⁸⁸, 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 apprised⁹⁰ him that he was trying to free his hands. He gave the struggle his attention, as an idler might observe the feat²⁶ of a juggler⁹¹, 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 pounced⁹² 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 undoing⁹³ of the noose had been succeeded by the direst pang⁹⁴ 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 wrenched⁹⁵ with an insupportable anguish⁹⁶! But his disobedient hands gave no heed⁹⁷ 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 supreme⁹⁸ and crowning agony his lungs engulfed⁹⁹ a great draught¹⁰⁰ 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 exalted¹⁰¹ and refined them that they made record of things never before perceived. He felt the ripples¹⁰² 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 veining¹⁰³ of each leaf--saw the very insects upon them: the locusts¹⁰⁴, the brilliant-bodied flies, the grey spiders stretching their webs from twig¹⁰⁵ to twig. He noted¹⁰⁶ the prismatic colors in all the dewdrops upon a million blades of grass. The humming of the gnats¹⁰⁷ that danced above the eddies¹⁰⁸ of the stream, the beating of the dragon flies' wings, the strokes of the water-spiders' legs, like oars¹⁰⁹ 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 silhouette¹¹⁰ against the blue sky. They shouted and gesticulated, pointing at him. The captain had drawn¹¹¹ his pistol, but did not fire; the others were unarmed. Their movements were grotesque¹¹² 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 grey eye and remembered having read that grey 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 into the forest on the bank opposite the fort. The sound of a clear, high voice in a monotonous¹¹³ singsong now rang out behind him and came across the water with a distinctness that pierced and subdued¹¹⁴ all other sounds, even the beating of the ripples in his ears. Although no soldier, he had frequented camps enough to know the dread¹¹⁵ 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 intonation¹¹⁶, presaging¹¹⁷, and enforcing tranquillity¹¹⁸ in the men--with what accurately¹¹⁹ measured inter⁴⁷ vals fell those cruel words:

 

"Attention, company! . . 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 dulled thunder of the volley and, rising again toward the surface, met shining bits of metal, singularly flattened¹²⁰, 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, gasping¹²¹ 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 sockets¹²². 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 dodge¹²³ 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 appalling¹²⁴ 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!

 

A 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 commotion¹²⁵ of the smitten¹²⁶ water he heard the deflected¹²⁷ 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 apprise⁸⁹ 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 commingled¹²⁸ and blurred¹²⁹. Objects were represented by their colors only; circular horizontal streaks¹³⁰ of color--that was all he saw. He had been caught in a vortex and was being whirled on with a velocity¹³¹ of advance and gyration¹³² that made him giddy and sick. In a few moments he was flung upon the gravel¹³³ at the foot of the left bank of the stream--the southern bank--and behind a projecting point which concealed¹³⁴ him from his enemies. The sudden arrest of his motion, the abrasion¹³⁵ 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, rubies¹³⁶, 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, inhaled¹³⁷ the fragrance¹³⁸ of their blooms. A strange, roseate light shone through the spaces among their trunks and the wind made in their branches the music of Æolian harps¹³⁹. He had no wish to perfect his escape--was content to remain in that enchanting¹⁴⁰ spot until retaken.

 

A whiz and rattle¹⁴¹ of grapeshot among the branches high above his head roused him from his dream. The baffled cannoneer had fired him a random¹⁴² farewell. He sprang to his feet, rushed up the sloping bank, and plunged¹⁴³ 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 fatigued¹⁴⁴, 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 dwelling¹⁴⁵ 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 rift³⁷ in the wood, shone great garden stars looking unfamiliar¹⁴⁶ and grouped in strange constellations¹⁴⁷. He was sure they were arranged in some order which had a secret and malign¹⁴⁸ 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 swollen¹⁴⁹. He knew that it had a circle of black where the rope had bruised¹⁵⁰ 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 delirium¹⁵¹. 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 veranda¹⁵² to meet him. At the bottom of the steps she stands waiting, with a smile of ineffable¹⁵³ 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 stunning¹⁵⁴ 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.

分享到：