The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 02: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and CiviliansBierce, Ambrose
History
The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 02: In the Midst of Life: Tales of Soldiers and Civilians
Bierce, Ambrose
Horror tales, American; Paranormal fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction; War stories, American
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 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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account