Ambrose Bierce.......................................................................................................................................1

The Boarded Window ..............................................................................................................................1

THE DAMNED THING ..........................................................................................................................3

CHAPTER I. ONE DOES NOT ALWAYS EAT WHAT IS ON THE TABLE ..................................3

CHAPTER II. WHAT MAY HAPPEN IN A FIELD OF WILD OATS...............................................5

CHAPTER III. A MAN THOUGH NAKED MAY BE IN RAGS ........................................................7

CHAPTER IV. AN EXPLANATION FROM THE TOMB .................................................................8

The Library.............................................................................................................................................9

MOXON'S MASTER............................................................................................................................11

An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge .....................................................................................................16

I..............................................................................................................................................................17

II ............................................................................................................................................................18

III ...........................................................................................................................................................19

In 1830, only a few miles away from what is now the great city of Cincinnati, lay an immense and almost

unbroken forest. The whole region was sparsely settled by people of the frontierrestless souls who no

sooner had hewn fairly habitable homes out of the wilderness and attained to that degree of prosperity which

today we should call indigence, than, impelled by some mysterious impulse of their nature, they abandoned

all and pushed farther westward, to encounter new perils and privations in the effort to regain the meager

comforts which they had voluntarily renounced. Many of them had already forsaken that region for the

remoter settlements, but among those remaining was one who had been of those first arriving. He lived alone

in a house of logs surrounded on all sides by the great forest, of whose gloom and silence he seemed a part,

for no one had ever known him to smile nor speak a needless word. His simple wants were supplied by the

sale or barter of skins of wild animals in the river town, for not a thing did he grow upon the land which, if

needful, he might have claimed by right of undisturbed possession. There were evidences of

"improvement"a few acres of ground immediately about the house had once been cleared of its trees, the

decayed stumps of which were half concealed by the new growth that had been suffered to repair the ravage

wrought by the ax. Apparently the man's zeal for agriculture had burned with a failing flame, expiring in

The little log house, with its chimney of sticks, its roof of warping clapboards weighted with traversing poles

and its "chinking" of clay, had a single door and, directly opposite, a window. The latter, however, was

boarded upnobody could remember a time when it was not. And none knew why it was so closed;

certainly not because of the occupant's dislike of light and air, for on those rare occasions when a hunter had

passed that lonely spot the recluse had commonly been seen sunning himself on his doorstep if heaven had

provided sunshine for his need. I fancy there are few persons living today who ever knew the secret of that

The man's name was said to be Murlock. He was apparently seventy years old, actually about fifty.

Something besides years had had a hand in his aging. His hair and long, full beard were white, his gray,

lusterless eyes sunken, his face singularly seamed with wrinkles which appeared to belong to two intersecting

systems. In figure he was tall and spare, with a stoop of the shouldersa burden bearer. I never saw him;

these particulars I learned from my grandfather, from whom also I got the man's story when I was a lad. He

One day Murlock was found in his cabin, dead. It was not a time and place for coroners and newspapers, and

I suppose it was agreed that he had died from natural causes or I should have been told, and should

remember. I know only that with what was probably a sense of the fitness of things the body was buried near

the cabin, alongside the grave of his wife, who had preceded him by so many years that local tradition had

retained hardly a hint of her existence. That closes the final chapter of this true storyexcepting, indeed, the

circumstance that many years afterward, in company with an equally intrepid spirit, I penetrated to the place

and ventured near enough to the ruined cabin to throw a stone against it, and ran away to avoid the ghost

which every wellinformed boy thereabout knew haunted the spot. But there is an earlier chapterthat

When Murlock built his cabin and began laying sturdily about with his ax to hew out a farmthe rifle,

meanwhile, his means of supporthe was young, strong and full of hope. In that eastern country whence he

came he had married, as was the fashion, a young woman in all ways worthy of his honest devotion, who

shared the dangers and privations of his lot with a willing spirit and light heart. There is no known record of

her name; of her charms of mind and person tradition is silent and the doubter is at liberty to entertain his

doubt; but God forbid that I should share it! Of their affection and happiness there is abundant assurance in

every added day of the man's widowed life; for what but the magnetism of a blessed memory could have

One day Murlock returned from gunning in a distant part of the forest to find his wife prostrate with fever,

and delirious. There was no physician within miles, no neighbor; nor was she in a condition to be left, to

summon help. So he set about the task of nursing her back to health, but at the end of the third day she fell

into unconsciousness and so passed away, apparently, with never a gleam of returning reason.

From what we know of a nature like his we may venture to sketch in some of the details of the outline picture

drawn by my grandfather. When convinced that she was dead, Murlock had sense enough to remember that

the dead must be prepared for burial. In performance of this sacred duty he blundered now and again, did

certain things incorrectly, and others which he did correctly were done over and over. His occasional failures

to accomplish some simple and ordinary act filled him with astonishment, like that of a drunken man who

wonders at the suspension of familiar natural laws. He was surprised, too, that he did not weepsurprised

and a little ashamed; surely it is unkind not to weep for the dead. "Tomorrow," he said aloud, "I shall have to

make the coffin arid dig the grave; and then I shall miss her, when she is no longer in sight; but nowshe is

dead, of course, but it is all rightit must be all right, somehow. Things cannot be so bad as they seem."

He stood over the body in the fading light, adjusting the hair and putting the finishing touches to the simple

toilet, doing all mechanically, with soulless care. And still through his consciousness ran an undersense of

conviction that all was rightthat he should have her again as before, and everything explained. He had had

no experience in grief; his capacity had not been enlarged by use. His heart could not contain it all, nor his

imagination rightly conceive it. He did not know he was so hard struck; that knowledge would come later,

and never go. Grief is an artist of powers as various as the instruments upon which he plays his dirges for the

dead, evoking from some the sharpest, shrillest notes, from others the low, grave chords that throb recurrent

like the slow beating of a distant drum. Some natures it startles; some it stupefies. To one it comes like the

stroke of an arrow, stinging all the sensibilities to a keener life; to another as the blow of a bludgeon, which in

crushing benumbs. We may conceive Murlock to have been that way affected, for (and here we are upon

surer ground than that of conjecture) no sooner had he finished his pious work than, sinking into a chair by

the side of the table upon which the body lay, and noting how white the profile showed in the deepening

gloom, he laid his arms upon the table's edge, and dropped his face into them, tearless yet and unutterably

weary. At that moment came in through the open window a long, wailing sound like the cry of a lost child in

the far deeps of the darkening woods! But the man did not move. Again, and nearer than before, sounded that

unearthly cry upon his failing sense. Perhaps it was a wild beast; perhaps it was a dream. For Murlock was

Some hours later, as it afterward appeared, this unfaithful watcher awoke and lifting his head from his arms

intently listenedhe knew not why. There in the black darkness by the side of the dead, recalling all without

a shock, he strained his eyes to seehe knew not what. His senses were all alert, his breath was suspended,

his blood had stilled its tides as if to assist the silence. Whowhat had waked him, and where was it?

Suddenly the table shook beneath his arms, and at the same moment he heard, or fancied that he heard, a

He was terrified beyond the power to cry out or move. Perforce he waitedwaited there in the darkness

through seeming centuries of such dread as one may know, yet live to tell. He tried vainly to speak the dead

woman's name, vainly to stretch forth his hand across the table to learn if she were there. His throat was

powerless, his arms and hands were like lead. Then occurred something most frightful. Some heavy body

seemed hurled against the table with an impetus that pushed it against his breast so sharply as nearly to

overthrow him, and at the same instant he heard and felt the fall of something upon the floor with so violent a

thump that the whole house was shaken by the impact. A scuffling ensued, and a confusion of sounds

impossible to describe. Murlock had risen to his feet. Fear had by excess forfeited control of his faculties. He

There is a point at which terror may turn to madness; and madness incites to action. With no definite intent,

from no motive but the wayward impulse of a madman, Murlock sprang to the wall, with a little groping

seized his loaded rifle, and without aim discharged it. By the flash which lit up the room with a vivid

illumination, he saw an enormous panther dragging the dead woman toward the window, its teeth fixed in her

throat! Then there were darkness blacker than before, and silence; and when he returned to consciousness the

The body lay near the window, where the beast had left it when frightened away by the flash and report of the

rifle. The clothing was deranged, the long hair in disorder, the limbs lay anyhow. From the throat, dreadfully

lacerated, had issued a pool of blood not yet entirely coagulated. The ribbon with which he had bound the

wrists was broken; the hands were tightly clenched. Between the teeth was a fragment of the animal's ear.

If you should have comments, suggestions or problems to share with us, or if you want to share information

By the light of a tallow candle which had been placed on one end of a rough table a man was reading

something written in a book. It was an old account book, greatly worn; and the writing was not, apparently,

very legible, for the man sometimes held the page close to the flame of the candle to get a stronger light on it.

The shadow of the book would then throw into obscurity a half of the rooms, darkening a number of faces

and figures; for besides the reader, eight other men were present. Seven of them sat against the rough log

walls, silent, motionless, and the room being small, not very far from the table. By extending an arm any one

of them could have touched the eighth man, who lay on the table, face upward, partly covered by a sheet, his

The man with the book was not reading aloud, and no one spoke; all seemed to be waiting for something to

occur; the dead man only was without expectation. From the bland darkness outside came in, through the

aperture that served for a window, all the ever unfamiliar noises of night in the wilderness the long

nameless note of a distant coyote; the drone of great blundering beetles, and all that mysterious chorus of

small sounds that seem always to have been but half heard when they have suddenly ceased, as if conscious

of an indiscretion. But nothing of all this was noted in that company; its members were not overmuch

addicted to idle interest in matters of no practical importance; that was obvious in every line of their rugged

faces obvious even in the dim light of the single candle. They were evidently men of the vicinity

The person reading was a trifle different; one would have said of him that he was of the world, worldly, albeit

there was that in his attire which attested a certain fellowship with the organisms of his environment. His coat

would hardly have passed muster in San Francisco; his footgear was not of urban origin, and the hat that lay

by him on the floor (he was the only one uncovered) was such that if one had considered it as an article of

mere personal adornment he would have missed its meaning. In countenance the man was rather

prepossessing, with just a hint of sternness; though that he may have assumed or cultivated, as appropriate to

one in authority. For he was a coroner. It was by virtue of his office that he had possession of the book in

which he was reading; it had been found among the dead man's effects in his cabin, where the inquest was

When the coroner had finished reading he put the book into his breast pocket. At that moment the door was

pushed open and a young man entered. He, clearly, was not of mountain birth and breeding: he was clad as

those who dwell in cities. His clothing was dusty, however, as from travel. He had, in fact, been riding hard

"We have waited for you," said the coroner. "It is necessary to have done with this business tonight."

The young man smiled. "I am sorry to have kept you," he said. "I went away, not to evade your summons, but

to post to my newspaper an account of what I suppose I am called back to relate."

"The account that you posted to your newspaper," he said, "differs, probably, from that which you will give

"That," replied the other, rather hotly and with a visible flush, "is as you please. I used manifold paper and

have a copy of what I sent. It was not written as news, for it is incredible, but as fiction. It may go as part of

The men about the sides of the cabin talked in whispers, but seldom withdrew their gaze from the face of the

corpse. Presently the coroner lifted his eyes and said: "We will resume the inquest."

"I was visiting him at this place to shoot and fish. A part of my purpose, however, was to study him and his

odd, solitary way of life. He seemed a good model for a character in fiction. I sometimes write stories."

Some of the jurors laughed. Against a sombre background humour shows high lights. Soldiers in the intervals

"Relate the circumstances of this man's death," said the coroner. "You may use any notes or memoranda that

The witness understood. Pulling a manuscript from his breast pocket he held it near the candle and turning the

"...The sun had hardly risen when we left the house. We were looking for quail, each with a shotgun, but we

had only one dog. Morgan said that our best ground was beyond a certain ridge that he pointed out, and we

crossed it by a trail through the chaparral. On the other side was comparatively level ground, thickly covered

with wild oats. As we emerged from the chaparral Morgan was but a few yards in advance. Suddenly we

heard, at a little distance to our right and partly in front, a noise as of some animal thrashing about in the

"Morgan, who had stopped and was intently watching the agitated chaparral, said nothing, but had cocked

both barrels of his gun and was holding it in readiness to aim. I thought him a trifle excited, which surprised

me, for he had a reputation for exceptional coolness, even in moments of sudden and imminent peril.

"'Oh, come,' I said. 'You are not going to fill up a deer with quailshot, are you?'

"Still he did not reply; but catching sight of his face as he turned it slightly toward me I was struck by the

intensity of his look. Then I understood that we had serious business in hand, and my first conjecture was that

we had 'jumped' a grizzly. I advanced to Morgan's side, cocking my piece as I moved.

"The bushes were now quiet and the sounds had ceased, but Morgan was as attentive to the place as before.

"'That Damned Thing!' he replied, without turning his head. His voice was husky and unnatural. He trembled

"I was about to speak further, when I observed the wild oats near the place of the disturbance moving in the

most inexplicable way. I can hardly describe it. It seemed as if stirred by a streak of wind, which not only

bent it, but pressed it down crushed it so that it did not rise; and this movement was slowly prolonging

"Nothing that I had ever seen had affected me so strangely as this unfamiliar and unaccountable phenomenon,

yet I am unable to recall any sense of fear. I remember and tell it here because, singularly enough, I

recollected it then that once in looking carelessly out of an open window I momentarily mistook a small

tree close at hand for one of a group of larger trees at a little distance away. It looked the same size as the

others, but being more distinctly and sharply defined in mass and detail seemed out of harmony with them. It

was a mere falsification of the law of aerial perspective, but it startled, almost terrified me. We so rely upon

the orderly operation of familiar natural laws that any seeming suspension of them is noted as a menace to

our safety, as warning of unthinkable calamity. So now the apparent causeless movement of the herbage and

the slow, undeviating approach of the line of disturbance were distinctly disquieting. My companion

appeared actually frightened, and I could hardly credit my senses when I saw him suddenly throw his gun to

his shoulder and fire both barrels at the agitated grain! Before the smoke had cleared away I heard a loud

savage cry a scream like that of a wild animal and flinging his gun upon the ground Morgan sprang

away and ran swiftly from the spot. At the same instant I was thrown violently to the ground by the impact of

something unseen in the smoke some soft, heavy substance that seemed thrown against me with great

"Before I could get upon my feet and recover my gun, which seemed to have been struck from my hands, I

heard Morgan crying out as if in mortal agony, and mingling with his cries were such hoarse, savage sounds

as one hears from fighting dogs. Inexpressibly terrified, I struggled to my feet and looked in the direction of

Morgan's retreat; and may Heaven in mercy spare me from another sight like that! At a distance of less than

thirty yards was my friend, down upon one knee, his head thrown back at a frightful angle, hatless, his long

hair in disorder and his whole body in violent movement from side to side, backward and forward. His right

arm was lifted and seemed to lack the hand at least, I could see none. The other arm was invisible. At

times, as my memory now reports this extraordinary scene, I could discern but a part of his body; it was as if

he had been partly blotted out I cannot otherwise express it then a shifting of his position would bring

"All this must have occurred within a few seconds, yet in that time Morgan assumed all the postures of a

determined wrestler vanquished by superior weight and strength. I saw nothing but him and not always

distinctly. During the entire incident his shouts and curses were heard, as if through an enveloping uproar of

such sounds of rage and fury as I had never heard from the throat of man or brute!

"For a moment only I stood irresolute, then throwing down my gun I ran forward to my friend's assistance. I

had a vague belief that he was suffering from a fit, or some form of convulsion. Before I could reach his side

he was down and quiet. All sounds had ceased, but with a feeling of such terror as even these awful events

had not inspired I now saw again the mysterious movement of the wild oats, prolonging itself from the

trampled area about the prostrate man toward the edge of a wood. It was only when it had reached the wood

The coroner rose from his seat and stood beside the dead man. Lifting an edge of the sheet he pulled it away,

exposing the entire body, altogether naked and showing in the candle light a claylike yellow. It had,

however, broad maculations of bluish black, obviously caused by extravasated blood from contusions. The

chest and sides looked as if they had been beaten with a bludgeon. There were dreadful lacerations; the skin

The coroner moved round to the end of the table and undid a silk handkerchief which had been passed under

the chin and knotted on the top of the head. When the handkerchief was drawn away it exposed what had

been the throat. Some of the jurors who had risen to get a better view repented their curiosity and turned away

their faces. Witness Harker went to the open window and leaned out across the sill, faint and sick. Dropping

the handkerchief upon the dead man's neck the coroner stepped to an angle of the room and from a pile of

clothing produced one garment after another, each of which he held up a moment for inspection. All were

torn, and stiff with blood. The jurors did not make a closer inspection. They seemed rather uninterested. They

had, in truth, seen all this before; the only thing that was new to them being Harker's testimony.

"Gentlemen," the coroner said, "we have no more evidence, I think. Your duty has been already explained to

you; if there is nothing you wish to ask you may go outside and consider your verdict."

"I shall like to ask one question, Mr. Coroner," he said. "What asylum did this yer last witness escape from?"

"Mr. Harker," said the coroner gravely and tranquilly, "from what asylum did you last escape?"

Harker flushed crimson again, but said nothing, and the seven jurors rose and solemnly filed out of the cabin.

"If you have done insulting me, sir," said Harker, as soon as he and the officer were left alone with the dead

Harker started to leave, but paused, with his hand on the door latch. The habit of his profession was strong in

"The book you have there I recognize it as Morgan's diary. You seemed greatly interested in it; you read

"The book will cut no figure in this matter," replied the official, slipping it into his coat pocket; "all the

As Harker passed out of the house the jury reentered and stood about the table, on which the now covered

corpse showed under the sheet with sharp definition. The foreman seated himself near the candle, produced

from his breast pocket a pencil and scrap of paper and wrote rather laboriously the following verdict, which

"We, the jury, do find that the remains come to their death at the hands of a mountain lion, but some of us

In the diary of the late Hugh Morgan are certain interesting entries having, possibly, a scientific value as

suggestions. At the inquest upon his body the book was not put in evidence; possibly the coroner thought it

not worth while to confuse the jury. The date of the first of the entries mentioned cannot be ascertained; the

"...would run in a halfcircle, keeping his head turned always toward the centre, and again he would stand

still, barking furiously. At last he ran away into the brush as fast as he could go. I thought at first that he had

gone mad, but on returning to the house found no other alteration in his manner than what was obviously due

"Can a dog see with his nose? Do odours impress some cerebral centre with images of the thing that emitted

"Sept. 2. Looking at the stars last night as they rose above the crest of the ridge east of the house, I

observed them successively disappear from left to right. Each was eclipsed but an instant, and only a few

at a time, but along the entire length of the ridge all that were within a degree or two of the crest were blotted

out. It was as if something had passed along between me and them; but I could not see it, and the stars were

"Sept. 27. It has been about here again I find evidences of its presence every day. I watched again all

last night in the same cover, gun in hand, doublecharged with buckshot. In the morning the fresh footprints

were there, as before. Yet I would have sworn that I did not sleep indeed, I hardly sleep at all. It is terrible,

insupportable! If these amazing experiences are real I shall go mad; if they are fanciful I am mad already.

"Oct. 3. I shall not go it shall not drive me away. No, this is my house, my land. God hates a coward....

"Oct. 5. I can stand it no longer; I have invited Harker to pass a few weeks with me he has a level

"Oct. 7. I have the solution of the mystery; it came to me last night suddenly, as by revelation. How

"There are sounds we cannot hear. At either end of the scale are notes that stir no chord of that imperfect

instrument, the human ear. They are too high or too grave. I have observed a flock of blackbirds occupying

an entire treetop the tops of several trees and all in full song. Suddenly in a moment at

absolutely the same instant all spring into the air and fly away. How? They could not all see one another

whole treetops intervened. At no point could a leader have been visible to all. There must have been a

signal of warning or command, high and shrill above the din, but by me unheard. I have observed, too, the

same simultaneous flight when all were silent, among not only blackbirds, but other birds quail, for

"It is known to seamen that a school of whales basking or sporting on the surface of the ocean, miles apart,

with the convexity of the earth between, will sometimes dive at the same instant all gone out of sight in a

moment. The signal has been sounded too grave for the ear of the sailor at the masthead and his comrades

on the deck who nevertheless feel its vibrations in the ship as the stones of a cathedral are stirred by the

"As with sounds, so with colours. At each end of the solar spectrum the chemist can detect the presence of

what are known as 'actinic' rays. They represent colours integral colours in the composition of light

which we are unable to discern. The human eye is an imperfect instrument; its range is but a few octaves of

For there be divers sorts of deathsome wherein the body remaineth; and in some it vanisheth quite away with the

spirit. This commonly occureth only in solitude (such is God's will) and, none seeing the end, we say the man is lost, or

gone on a long journeywhich indeed he hath; but sometimes it has happened in sight of many, as abundant testimony

showeth. In one kind of death the spirit dieth, and this it hath been known to do while yet the body was in vigor for many

years. Sometimes, as is veritably attested, it dieth with the body, but after a season is raised up again in that place

Pondering these words of Hali (whom God rest) and questioning their full meaning, as one who, having an

intimation, yet doubts if there be not something behind other than that which he is discerned, I noted not

whither I had strayed until a sudden chill wind striking my face revived in me a sense of my surroundings. I

observed with astonishment that everything seemed unfamiliar. On every side of me stretched a bleak and

desolate expanse of plain, covered with a tall overgrowth of sere grass, which rustled and whistled in the

autumn wind with heaven knows what mysterious and disquieting suggestion. Protruded at long intervals

above it stood strangely shaped and sombercolored rocks, which seemed to have an understanding with one

another and to exchange looks of uncomfortable significance, as if they had reared their heads to watch the

issue of some foreseen event. A few blasted trees here and there appeared as leaders in this malevolent

The day, I thought, must be far advanced, though the sun was invisible; and although sensible that the air was

raw and chill my consciousness of that fact was rather mental than physicalI had no feeling of discomfort.

Over all the dismal landscape a canopy of low, leadcolored clouds hung like a visible curse. In all this there

were a menace and a portenta hint of crime, an intimation of doom. Bird, beast, or insect there was none.

The wind sighed in the bare branches of the dead trees and the gray grass bent to whisper its dread secret to

the earth; but no other sound nor motion broke the awful repose of that dismal place.

I observed in the herbage a number of weatherworn stones, evidently shaped with tools. They were broken,

covered with moss and half sunken in the earth. Some lay prostrate, some leaned at various angles, none was

vertical. They were obviously headstones of graves, though the graves themselves no longer existed as either

mounds or depressions; the years had leveled all. Scattered here and there, more massive blocks shoed where

some pompous tomb or ambitious monument had once flung its feeble defiance at oblivion. So old seemed

these relics, these vestiges of vanity and memorials of affection and piety, so battered and worn and

stainedso neglected, deserted, forgotten the place, that I could not help thinking myself the discoverer of

the burialground of a prehistoric race of men whose very name was long extinct. (1)

Filled with these reflections, I was for some time heedless of the sequence of my own experiences, but soon I

thought, "How came I hither?" A moment's reflection seemed to make this all clear and explain at the same

time, though in a disquieting way, the singular character with which my fancy had invested all that I saw and

heard. I was ill. I remembered now that I had been prostrated by a sudden fever, and that my family had told

me that in my periods of delirium I had constantly cried out for liberty and air, and had been held in bed to

prevent my escape outofdoors. Now I had eluded the vigilance of my attendants and had wandered hither

toto where? I could not conjecture. Clearly I was at a considerable distance from the city where I

No signs of human life were anywhere visible nor audible; no rising smoke, no watchdog's bark, no lowing of

cattle, no shouts of children at playnothing but that dismal burial place, with its air of mystery and dread,

due to my own disordered brain. Was I not becoming again delirious, there beyond human aid? Was it not

indeed all an illusion of my madness? I called aloud the names of my wives and sons, reached out my hands

in search of theirs, even as I walked among the crumbling stones and in the withered grass.

A noise behind me caused me to turn about. A wild animala lynxwas approaching. The thought came to

me: If I break down here in the desertif the fever returns and I fail, this beast will be at my throat. I sprang

toward it, shouting. It trotted tranquilly by within a hand's breadth of me and disappeared behind a rock.

A moment later a man's head appeared to rise out of the ground a short distance away. He was ascending the

far slope of a low hill whose crest was hardly to be distinguished from the general level. His whole figure

soon came into view against the background of gray cloud. He was half naked, half clad in skins. His hair

was unkempt, his beard long and ragged. In one hand he carried a bow and arrow; the other held a blazing

torch with a long trail of black smoke. He walked slowly and with caution, as if he feared falling into some

open grave concealed by the tall grass. This strange apparition surprised but did not alarm, and taking such a

course as to intercept him, I met him almost face to face, accosting him with the salutation, "God keep you."

"Good stranger," I continued, "I am ill and lost. Direct me, I beseech you, to Carcosa."

An owl on the branch of a decayed tree hooted dismally and was answered by another in the distance.

Looking upward, I saw through a sudden rift in the clouds Aldebaran and the Hyades! In all this there was a

hint of nightthe lynx, the man with the torch, the owl. Yet I sawI saw even the stars in the absence of

darkness. I saw, but was apparently not seen nor heard. Under what awful spell did I exist?

I seated myself at the root of a great tree, seriously to consider what it was best to do. That I was mad I could

no longer doubt, yet recognized a ground of doubt in the conviction. Of fever I had not trace. I had, withal, a

sense of exhilaration and vigor altogether unknown to mea feeling of mental and physical exaltation. My

senses seemed all alert; I could feel the air as a ponderous substance; I could hear the silence.

A great root of the giant tree against whose trunk I leaned as I sat held inclosed in its grasp a slab of stone, a

part of which protruded into a recess formed by another root. The stone was thus partly protected from the

weather, though greatly decomposed. its edges were worn around, its corners eaten away, its face deeply

furrowed and scaled. Glittering particles of mica were visible in the earth around itvestiges of its

decomposition. This stone had apparently marked the grave out of which the tree had sprung ages ago. The

A sudden wind pushed some dry leaves and twigs from the uppermost face of the stone; I saw the lowrelief

letters of an inscription and bent to read it. God in Heaven! my name in full!the date of my birth!the

A level shaft of rosy light illuminated the whole side of the tree as I sprang to my feet in terror. The sun was

rising in the east. I stood between the tree and his broad red diskno shadow darkened the trunk!

A chorus of howling wolves saluted the dawn. I saw them sitting on their haunches, singly and in groups, on

the summits of irregular mounds and tumuli filling a half of my desert prospect and extending to the horizon;

and then I knew that these were ruins of the ancient and famous city of Carcosa.

Such are the facts imparted to the medium Bayrolles by the spirit Hoseib Alar Robardin. (2)

I got no immediate reply; Moxon was apparently intent upon the coals in the grate, touching them deftly here

and there with the firepoker till they signified a sense of his attention by a brighter glow. For several weeks

I had been observing in him a growing habit of delay in answering even the most trivial of commonplace

questions. His air, however, was that of preoccupation rather than deliberation: one might have said that he

"What is a 'machine'? The word has been variously defined. Here is one definition from a popular dictionary:

'Any instrument or organization by which power is applied and made effective, or a desired effect produced.'

Well, then, is not a man a machine? And you will admit that he thinksor thinks he thinks."

"If you do not wish to answer my question," I said, rather testily, "why not say so?all that you say is mere

evasion. You know well enough that when I say 'machine' I do not mean a man, but something that man has

"When it does not control him," he said, rising abruptly and looking out of a window, whence nothing was

visible in the blackness of a stormy night. A moment later he turned about and with a smile said:

"I beg your pardon; I had no thought of evasion. I considered the dictionary man's unconscious testimony

suggestive and worth something in the discussion. I can give your question a direct answer easily enough: I

That was direct enough, certainly. It was not altogether pleasing, for it tended to confirm a sad suspicion that

Moxon's devotion to study and work in his machineshop had not been good from him. I knew, for one thing,

that he suffered from insomnia, and that is no light affliction. Had it affected his mind? His reply to my

question seemed to me then evidence that it had; perhaps I should think differently about it now. I was

younger then, and among the blessings that are not denied to youth is ignorance. Incited by that great

The reply, coming with less than his customary delay, took his favorite form of counterinterrogation:

"Ah, plants also belong to the philosopher class! I should be pleased to know some of their conclusions; you

"Perhaps," he replied, apparently unaffected by my foolish irony, "you may be able to infer their convictions

from their acts. I will spare you the familiar examples of the sensitive mimosa and those insectivorous

flowers and those whose stamens bend down and shake their pollen upon the entering bee in order that he

may fertilize their distant mates. But observe this. In an open spot in my garden I planted a climbing vine.

When it was barely above the surface I set a stake into the soil a yard away. The vine at once made for it, but

as it was about to reach it after several days I removed it a few feet. The vine at once altered its course,

making an acute angle, and again made for the stake. This manoeuver was repeated several times, but finally,

as if discouraged, the vine abandoned the pursuit and ignoring further attempts to divert it traveled to a small

"Roots of the eucalyptus will prolong themselves incredibly in search of moisture. A wellknown

horticulturist relates that one entered an old drainpipe and followed it until it came to a break, where a

section of the pipe had been removed to make way for a stone wall that had been built across its course. The

root left the drain and followed the wall until it found an opening where a stone had fallen out. It crept

through and following the other side of the wall back to the drain, entered the unexplored part and resumed

"Can you miss the significance of it? It shows the consciousness of plants. It proves they think."

"Even if it didwhat then? We were speaking, not of plants, but of machines. They may be composed partly

of wood wood that has no longer vitalityor wholly of metal. Is thought an attribute also of the mineral

"Because you cannot without affirming what you wish to deny, namely, intelligent cooperation among the

constituent elements of the crystals. When soldiers form lines, or hollow squares, you call it reason. When

wild geese in flight take the form of a letter V you say instinct. When the homogenous atoms of a mineral,

moving freely in solution, arrange themselves into shapes mathematically perfect, or particles of frozen

moisture into the symmetrical and beautiful forms of snowflakes, you have nothing to say. You have not even

Moxon was speaking with unusual animation and earnestness. As he paused I heard in an adjoining room

known to me as his "machineshop," which no one but himself was permitted to enter, a singular thumping

sound, as of some one pounding upon a table with an open hand. Moxon heard it at the same moment and,

visibly agitated, rose and hurriedly passed into the room whence it came. I thought it odd that any one else

should be in there, and my interest in my friendwith doubtless a touch of unwarrantable curiosityled me

to listen intently, though, I am happy to say, not at the keyhole. There were confused sounds, as of a struggle

or scuffle; the floor shook. I distinctly heard hard breathing and a hoarse whisper which said "Damn you!"

Then all was silent, and presently Moxon reappeared and said, with a rather sorry smile:

"Pardon me for leaving you so abruptly, I have a machine in there that lost its temper and cut up rough."

Fixing my eyes steadily upon his left cheek, which was traversed by four parallel excoriations showing blood,

I could have spared myself the jest; he gave it no attention, but seated himself in the chair that he had left and

"Doubtless you do not hold with those (I need not name them to a man of your reading) who have taught that

all matter is sentient, that every atom is a living, feeling, conscious being. I do. There is no such thing as

dead, inert matter: it is all alive; all instinct with force, actual and potential; all sensitive to the same forces in

its environment and susceptible to the contagion of higher and subtler ones residing in such superior

organisms as it may be brought into relationship with, as those of man when he is fashioning it into an

instrument of his will. It absorbs something of his intelligence and purpose more of them in proportion to

"Do you happen to recall Herbert Spencer's definition of 'Life'? I read it thirty years ago. He may have altered

it afterward, for anything I know, but in all that time I have been unable to think of a single word that could

profitably be changed or added or removed. It seems to me not only the best definition, but the only possible

"'Life,' he says, 'is a definite combination of heterogeneous changes, both simultaneous and successive, in

"That," he replied, "is all that any definition can do. As Mill points out, we know nothing of effect except as a

consequent. Of certain phenomena, one never occurs without the other, which is dissimilar: the first in point

of time we call the cause, the second, the effect. One who had many times seen a rabbit pursued by a dog, and

had never seen rabbits and dogs otherwise, would think the rabbit the cause of the dog.

"But I fear," he added, laughing naturally enough, "that my rabbit is leading me a long way from the track of

my legitimate quarry: I'm indulging in the pleasure of the chase for its own sake. What I want you to observe

is that in Herbert Spenser's definition of 'life' the activity of a machine is includedthere is nothing in the

definition that is not applicable to it. According to this sharpest of observers and deepest of thinkers, if a man

during his period of activity is alive, so is a machine when in operation. As an inventor and constructor of

Moxon was silent for a long time, gazing absently into the fire. It was growing late and I thought it time to be

going, but somehow I did not like the notion of leaving him in that isolated house, all alone except for the

presence of some person whose nature my conjectures could go no further than that it was unfriendly,

perhaps malign. Leaning toward him and looking earnestly into his eyes while making a motion with my

"Nobody; the incident that you have in mind was caused by my folly in leaving a machine in action with

nothing to act upon, while I undertook the interminable task of enlightening your understanding. Do you

"O bother them both!" I replied, rising and laying hold of my overcoat. "I'm going to wish you good night;

and I'll add the hope that the machine which you inadvertently left in action will have her gloves on the next

Rain was falling, and the darkness was intense. In the sky beyond the crest of a hill toward which I groped

my way along precarious plank sidewalks and across miry, unpaved streets I could see the faint glow of the

city's lights, but behind me nothing was visible but a single window of Moxon's house. It glowed with what

seemed to me a mysterious and fateful meaning. I knew it was an uncurtained aperture in my friend's

"machine shop," and I had little doubt that he had resumed the studies interrupted by his duties as my

instructor in mechanical consciousness and the fatherhood of Rhythm. Odd, and in some degree humorous, as

his convictions seemed to me at that time, I could not wholly divest myself of the feeling that they had some

tragic relation to his life and characterperhaps to his destinyalthough I no longer entertained the notion

that they were the vagaries of a disordered mind. Whatever might be thought of his views, his exposition of

them was too logical for that. Over and over, his last words came back to me: "Consciousness is the creature

of Rhythm." Bald and terse as the statement was, I now found it infinitely alluring. At each recurrence it

broadened in meaning and deepened in suggestion. Why, here (I thought) is something upon which to found a

philosophy. If consciousness is the product of rhythm all things are conscious, for all have motion, and all

motion is rhythmic. I wondered if Moxon knew the significance and breadth of his thoughtthe scope of this

momentous generalization; or had he arrived at his philosophic faith by the tortuous and uncertain road of

That faith was then new to me, and all Moxon's expounding had failed to make me a convert; but now it

seemed as if a great light shone about me, like that which fell upon Saul of Tarsus; and out there in the storm

and darkness and solitude I experienced what Lewes calls "The endless variety and excitement of philosophic

thought." I exulted in a new sense of knowledge, a new pride of reason. My feet seemed hardly to touch the

earth; it was as if I were uplifted and borne through the air by invisible wings.

Yielding to an impulse to seek further light from him whom I now recognized as my master and guide, I had

unconsciously turned about, and almost before I was aware of having done so found myself again at Moxon's

door. I was drenched with rain, but felt no discomfort. Unable in my excitement to find the doorbell I

instinctively tried the knob. It turned and, entering, I mounted the stairs to the room that I had so recently left.

All was dark and silent; Moxon, as I had supposed, was in the adjoining roomthe "machine shop." Groping

along the wall until I found the communicating door I knocked loudly several times, but got no response,

which I attributed to the uproar outside, for the wind was blowing a gale and dashing the rain against the thin

walls in sheets. The drumming upon the shingle roof spanning the unceiled room was loud and incessant.

I had never been invited into the machineshophad, indeed, been denied admittance, as had all others, with

one exception, a skilled metal worker, of whom no one knew anything except that his name was Haley and

his habit silence. But in my spiritual exaltation, discretion and civility were alike forgotten and I opened the

Moxon sat facing me at the farther side of a small table upon which a single candle made all the light that was

in the room. Opposite him, his back toward me, sat another person. On the table between the two was a

chessboard; the men were playing. I knew little about chess, but as only a few pieces were on the board it was

obvious that the game was near its close. Moxon was intensely interestednot so much, it seemed to me, in

the game as in his antagonist, upon whom he had fixed so intent a look that, standing though I did directly in

the line of his vision, I was altogether unobserved. His face was ghastly white, and his eyes glittered like

diamonds. Of his antagonist I had only a back view, but that was sufficient; I should not have cared to see his

He was apparently not more than five feet in height, with proportions suggesting those of a

gorillatremendous breadth of shoulders, thick, short neck and broad, squat head, which had a tangled

growth of black hair and was topped by a crimson fez. A tunic of the same color, belted tightly to the waist,

reached the seatapparently a boxupon which he sat; his legs and feet were not seen. His left forearm

appeared to rest in his lap; he moved his pieces with his right hand, which seemed disproportionately long.

I had shrunk back and now stood a little to one side of the doorway and in shadow. If Moxon had looked

farther than the face of his opponent he could have observed nothing now, excepting that the door was open.

Something forbade me either to enter or retire, a feelingI know not how it camethat I was in the

presence of imminent tragedy and might serve my friend by remaining. With a scarcely conscious rebellion

The play was rapid. Moxon hardly glanced at the board before making his moves, and to my unskilled eye

seemed to move the piece most convenient to his hand, his motions in doing so being quick, nervous and

lacking in precision. The response of his antagonist, while equally prompt in the inception, was made with a

slow, uniform, mechanical and, I thought, somewhat theatrical movement of the arm, that was a sore trial to

my patience. There was something unearthly about it all, and I caught myself shuddering. But I was wet and

Two or three times after moving a piece the stranger slightly inclined his head, and each time I observed that

Moxon shifted his king. All at once the thought came to me that the man was dumb. And then that he was a

machinean automaton chessplayer! Then I remembered that Moxon had once spoken to me of having

invented such a piece of mechanism, though I did not understand that it had actually been constructed. Was

all his talk about the consciousness and intelligence of machines merely a prelude to eventual exhibition of

this deviceonly a trick to intensify the effect of its mechanical action upon me in my ignorance of its

A fine end, this, of all my intellectual transportsmy "endless variety and excitement of philosophic

thought!" I was about to retire in disgust when something occurred to hold my curiosity. I observed a shrug of

the thing's great shoulders, as if it were irritated: and so natural was thisso entirely humanthat in my

new view of the matter it startled me. Nor was that all, for a moment later it struck the table sharply with its

clenched hand. At that gesture Moxon seemed even more startled than I: he pushed his chair a little

Presently Moxon, whose play it was, raised his hand high above the board, pounced upon one of his pieces

like a sparrowhawk and with an exclamation "checkmate!" rose quickly to his feet and stepped behind his

The wind had now gone down, but I heard, at lessening intervals and progressively louder, the rumble and

roll of thunder. In the pauses between I now became conscious of a low humming or buzzing which, like the

thunder, grew momentarily louder and more distinct. It seemed to come from the body of the automaton, and

was unmistakably a whirring of wheels. It gave me the impression of a disordered mechanism which had

escaped the repressive and regulating action of some controlling partan effect such as might be expected if

a pawl should be jostled from the teeth of a ratchetwheel. But before I had time for much conjecture as to its

nature my attention was taken by the strange motions of the automaton itself. A slight but continuous

convulsion appeared to have possession of it. In body and head it shook like a man with palsy or an ague

chill, and the motion augmented every moment until the entire figure was in violent agitation. Suddenly it

sprang to its feet and with a movement almost too quick for the eye to follow shot forward across table and

chair, with both arms thrust forward to their full lengththe posture and lunge of a diver. Moxon tried to

throw himself backward out of reach, but he was too late: I saw the horrible thing's hands close upon his

throat, his own clutch its wrists. Then the table was overturned, the candle thrown to the floor and

extinguished, and all was black dark. But the noise of the struggle was dreadfully distinct, and most terrible

of all were the raucous, squawking sounds made by the strangled man's efforts to breathe. Guided by the

infernal hubbub, I sprang to the rescue of my friend, but had hardly taken a stride in the darkness when the

whole room blazed with a blinding white light that burned into my brain and heart and memory a vivid

picture of the combatants on the floor, Moxon underneath, his throat still in the clutch of those iron hands, his

head forced backward, his eyes protruding, his mouth wide open and his tongue thrust out; andhorrible

contrast! upon the painted face of the assassin an expression of tranquil and profound thought, as in the

solution of a problem in chess! This I observed, then all was blackness and silence.

Three days later I recovered consciousness in a hospital. As the memory of that tragic night slowly evolved in

my ailing brain I recognized in my attendant Moxon's confidential workman, Haley. Responding to a look he

"Certainly," he said; "you were carried unconscious from a burning houseMoxon's. Nobody knows how

you came to be there. You may have to do a little explaining. The origin of the fire is a bit mysterious, too.

Apparently this reticent person could unfold himself on occasion. When imparting shocking intelligence to

the sick he was affable enough. After some moments of the keenest mental suffering I ventured to ask another

"Thank you, Mr. Haley, and may God bless you for it. Did you rescue, also, that charming product of your

The man was silent a long time, looking away from me. Presently he turned and gravely said:

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 crosstimber above his head and the slack feel 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

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 man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently about thirtyfive 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

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 crossties 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 Fahrquhar 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, 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 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

One evening while Fahrquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic bench near the entrance to his grounds, a

grayclad soldier rode up to the gate and asked for a drink of water. Mrs. Fahrquhar was only too happy to

serve him with her own white hands. While she was fetching the water her husband approached the dusty

"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,

"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

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

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

As Peyton Fahrquhar 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

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

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, 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.

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,

A counterswirl had caught Fahrquhar 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

"Company! . . . Attention! . . . Shoulder arms! . . . Ready! . . . Aim! . . . Fire!"

Fahrquhar 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

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

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

"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

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 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

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.

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

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

Peyton Fahrquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the