The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce | Page 7

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--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, 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.
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 markmen 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 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
tranquillity in the men--with what accurately measured intervals 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 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 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.
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