鷹溪橋上 An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge
安布羅斯·比爾斯/Ambrose Bierce
安布羅斯·比爾斯（Ambrose Bierce，1842-1914）美國恐怖、靈異小說家，出生於美國俄亥俄州梅格斯縣一個貧苦農民家庭。他參加過美國南北戰爭，這段不平凡的經曆為他以後的文學創作打下了堅實的基礎。戰爭結束後，他開始了一個編輯兼作家的忙碌生涯。他早期的作品主要是隨筆和諷刺短詩，也包括一些小說。他的人生觀比較悲觀，被人們稱為“辛辣比爾斯”。主要的代表作品有《魔鬼辭典》《士兵和百姓的故事》。
Ⅰ
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 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 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 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 code of military etiquette silence and fixity are forms of deference.
The man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently about thirty-five years of age. He was a civilian, if one might judge from his habit, which was that of a planter. His features were good-a straight nose, firm mouth, broad forehead, from which his long, dark hair was combed straight back, falling behind his ears to the collar of his well fitting frock coat. He wore a 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 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 plank upon which he had been standing. The sergeant turned to the captain, saluted and placed himself immediately behind that officer, who in turn moved apart one pace. These movements left the condemned man and the sergeant standing on the two ends of the same plank, which spanned three of the cross-ties of the bridge. The end upon which the civilian stood almost, but not quite, reached a fourth. This plank had been held in place by the weight of the captain;it was now held by that of the sergeant. At a signal from the former the latter would step aside, the plank would tilt and the condemned man go down between two ties. The arrangement commended itself to his 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.
II
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 part of the frankly villainous dictum that all is fair in love and war.
One evening while Fahrquhar and his wife were sitting on a rustic bench near the entrance to his grounds, a gray-clad soldier rode up to the gate and asked for a drink of water. Mrs. Fahrquhar was only too 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 interfering 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?”Fahrquhar asked.
“About thirty miles.”
“Is there no force on this side of the creek?”
“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 better of the sentinel,”said Fahrquhar, 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 lodged a great quantity of driftwood against the wooden pier at this end of the bridge. It is now dry and would burn like tinder.”
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 direction from which he had come. He was a Federal scout.
III
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 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 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-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. 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 marksmen had them. Nevertheless, this one had missed.
A counter-swirl 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 men-with what accurately measured interval fell those cruel words:
“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 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 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 them all!”
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 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 apprise 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 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 plunged 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 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 heard whispers in an unknown tongue.
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 silence!
Peyton Fahrquhar was dead;his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.
That was many years ago. If asked today I should answer less confidently.
一
亞拉巴馬州北部的一座鐵路橋上站著一個人，他正俯視著橋下20英尺處的奔騰流水。這個人的雙手背在身後，手腕被繩子綁著。一根絞索緊緊地套住他的脖子，另一端係在他的頭上一根結實的枕木上，中間的一段則鬆鬆地低垂到他的膝前。幾塊木板散擱在鋪著鐵軌的枕木上，他和他的行刑隊就站在枕木上麵。一位聯邦軍軍士和他指揮的兩名士兵組成了行刑隊，那位軍士看起來像是和平時期的一個代理警長。一位身穿戎裝、腰佩武器的上尉軍官站在這個臨時搭起的平台上。橋兩端各有一名哨兵，他們持槍而立，左臂橫在胸前，槍垂靠在左肩前，機槍抵在臂上。表麵看來，這個姿勢一本正經，其實極不自然，因為整個身體都非常筆直。這兩個哨兵對橋中心發生的一切漠不關心，他們的職責仿佛隻是把守橫在橋上的那塊平台。
除了一個哨兵外，橋的一頭沒有人，鐵路徑直向前延伸了一百碼，進入樹林，接著拐了個彎就消失不見了。遠處肯定還有哨所。河的另一麵是一片開闊地，一排木柵欄豎立在平緩的斜坡上，木柵欄上麵挖了步槍射擊孔，還有一個炮口，炮筒從裏麵伸出來，控製著整個橋麵。一些旁觀者站在橋和碉堡間的斜坡上——一隊步兵在那裏“稍息”，槍托拄地，槍口稍微後傾，靠在右肩上，他們雙手交疊地放在槍上。隊伍的右側站著一位中尉，他的指揮刀刀尖著地，左手按在右手上。除了橋中央的四個人外，其他人都一動不動地站著。那隊步兵以僵滯的目光漠然地注視著鐵橋。那兩名哨兵麵對河岸，看起來仿佛裝飾鐵橋的雕像似的。上尉雙手抱在胸前，站在那裏，默不作聲地看著下屬幹活，不作任何指示。死神好像達官顯貴，當他到來時，大家必須以禮相迎，尊為上賓，就連和他親密的人也包括在內。依照軍規，尊敬就預示著靜穆和肅立。
從外表來看，那個即將被處以絞刑的人大約35歲，是個平民。他的服裝表明他是個種植園主。他品貌端正，鼻梁高挺，嘴巴堅毅，前額寬闊，烏黑的頭發向後梳攏，從耳後一直披到他那件合體的外套領子上。他有著硬直的短髭和山羊胡子，但並非連鬢胡子，深灰色的大眼睛流露出慈祥的表情。超乎想象的是：一個脖子上套有絞索的人竟然會呈現出這樣的表情。很明顯，他並非什麽卑鄙的刺客。反正軍規對形形色色的人的絞刑都有明文規定，紳士也包括在內。
一切都已準備就緒，那兩個兵士抽掉各自腳下的木板，站到兩旁。中士轉過身來向上尉敬禮，並迅速站到他的身後，上尉也隨之挪開一步。此刻，橋上隻剩下那個受刑的人和中士，他們分別站在橫跨三根枕木的一塊長木板的兩端。那個平民站的一端即將碰到第四根枕木了。剛開始時，木板是靠上尉的體重維持平衡的，這時中士站在了上麵。一旦上尉發出信號，中士迅速移開，木板就會傾斜，那受刑人就會從兩根枕木間墜落下去。在那個受刑人看來，這樣一來倒也幹淨利落。他的臉和眼睛都沒有被蒙住，眼睜睜地望著自己站立的那塊“搖搖晃晃的立足點”，過了一會兒，他將視線移到腳下，看著湍急的、打著漩渦的流水。忽然，他看到水中有一段翻騰的木頭，他的視線也隨之漂流而下。水中的木頭流得多慢啊！河水也流得那麽費勁！
他閉上眼睛，想最後一次想想自己的妻子和兒女。在朝陽的映照下，河水被染成了金黃色，遠處，河岸兩旁霧氣騰騰，那座碉堡，那些士兵，還有那段旋轉著的木頭——這裏的一切都令他不能集中思想。此刻，他的心裏才感到一種新的不安。因為正是一種尖銳、清晰的金屬撞擊聲把他對親人的思念擾亂了。這聲音就像是鐵匠的錘子似的，敲打著鐵砧，有著一樣高亢激越的音色，他既無法塞耳不聽，也理解不了。他猜不到那是什麽聲音，遠在天邊抑或近在眼前——然而仿佛又遠又近。它的反複出現是有規律的，然而緩慢時就像喪鍾一般。他不耐煩地等著下一次的敲擊，一種莫名其妙的恐懼朝他迎麵撲來。隨著敲擊間歇的延長，那聲音變得強烈而尖銳。他感覺自己的耳膜仿佛被一把尖刀戳痛，讓他感到煩亂。他唯恐自己會驚聲尖叫。他所聽到的，隻不過是自己手表發出的滴答聲。
他睜開雙眼，再一次看了看腳下的河水。“如果我能掙脫雙手，”他想到，“我就能夠甩掉絞索，跳入河中。我就能潛水躲避槍彈，全力遊到對岸，衝入那片樹林，再逃回家去。上帝保佑，如今我的家還沒有被他們占領，我的妻了和兒女距離占領軍還遠著呢。”
這些用文字記錄的思想，不像出自這個即將逝去的人的頭腦，反而像是從外界閃進去的。這時，上尉對中士點了點頭，中士往後退了一步。
二
貝頓·法誇出身於亞拉巴馬家族，這是個曆史悠久、受人尊敬的家族。作為一位殷實的種植園主，他和別的莊園主一樣，熱心於政治。自然最初也是主張南方應該脫離聯邦，並且大力支持南方的事業。因為他那傲慢的性格（這裏就不再多說了），他未能加入那支曾經在各種殘酷戰役中殊死戰鬥的勇敢軍隊，那些戰役最終以科林斯鎮的失陷而結束。由於才華得不到施展，他煩悶至極。他迫切希望有一天他的能力能得以施展，像士兵那樣有用武之地。他也渴望能出人頭地。他認為，這種機會一定會到來，並且和戰爭中機會均等是一個道理。並且，他還全力以赴，隻要是對南方有利的，不管什麽低賤的事他都樂意去做。隻要與他這樣一個在內心深處實在是軍人本色的平民性格相符，不管有多危險他都樂意承擔。對於那條露骨的格言——愛情和戰爭都是不擇手段的——他深信不疑。
一天傍晚，法誇和妻子正坐在家門口一條自製的長凳上，隻見一個穿灰色軍服的士兵騎馬來到門前，想討點水喝。法誇太太非常樂意用自己白淨的雙手為士兵效勞。當她去端水的時候，她的丈夫靠近那個滿身塵土的騎手，急切地向他打探前線的消息。
“北方佬正忙著搶修鐵路，”那個士兵說，“準備再發動一次進攻。他們已經抵達鷹溪橋，並修複了這座橋，在河的北岸，他們還築起了一道柵欄。他們的指揮官還下令：凡是企圖破壞鐵路、鐵路橋梁、隧道和火車的人，一經俘獲，就地絞死。我親眼見到過這些通告，貼得到處都是。”
“鷹溪橋距離這個地方有多遠？”法誇問。
“大約30英裏。”
“河岸上有沒有軍隊呢？”
“橋這邊有一個哨兵，距離這裏的半英裏處的鐵路線上隻有一個哨所。”“如果一個人——一個平民，一個熟悉絞刑的人——能躲過那個哨所，並且騙過那個哨兵，”法誇笑著說，“他能做些什麽呢？”
士兵思考了一會兒答道：“一個月前我在那裏時，留意到去年冬天的大水將河裏漂浮著的大量的木頭都積在這一頭的橋墩下了。現在那些木頭像麻繩一樣幹，隻要有一點火星就會燃燒。”
法誇太太取來了水。士兵一飲而盡，他彬彬有禮地向她致謝，然後對她的丈夫鞠了一躬，騎上馬飛奔而去。一小時後，夜幕降臨，那位騎兵又從種植園經過，這一次是向北，奔向他來的方向。原來他是北方聯軍的探子。
三
當貝頓·法誇垂直從橋上墜下去時，他已經沒有知覺了，仿佛死了一般。過了很長時間，他才被喉嚨口的一陣劇痛從毫無知覺的狀態中驚醒過來，緊接著是一陣窒息感。陣陣疼痛從他的頸脖開始，一直延伸到四肢以及身體的每一個細胞。疼痛似乎順著一張精密的網絡，閃電般地擴散到全身；疼痛又仿佛一條條火舌，讓他覺得灼熱難耐。他隻是感覺腦袋發脹，像被什麽東西塞滿了似的。這些感覺都與思維毫無瓜葛，因為他的思維功能已經遭到毀滅。唯一幸存的是感覺，但是這種感覺把人折磨得異常痛苦。他似乎覺得，一切都在旋轉，自己就像一顆熊熊燃燒著的核心，被亮閃閃的雲霧包圍著。他還像一個巨大的鍾擺，圍著一個巨大的弧圈不停地晃動。一時間，他周圍的亮光猛地衝擊過來，緊接著是一陣水濺聲，在他的耳鼓裏轟轟作響，一切又都變得陰冷而黑暗。思維的功能得以恢複。他知道，自己已掉入河中，因為繩子斷了。這時，他感覺呼吸順暢，脖子上的那根絞索早已勒得他透不過氣來，現在又恰巧擋著河水灌進肺裏。在河底被吊死——這種想法在他看來實在荒謬。黑暗中，他睜開了眼睛，看到頭頂上有一束光亮，然而這束光那麽遙遠，摸也摸不到。他依然在下沉，因為他看到頭頂上的亮光漸漸微弱，最終變成了一絲微光。緊接著，這絲微光變得亮了起來，他清楚自己正在向上浮，因為他感覺舒服多了，然而他無法相信這一點。“被吊著淹死倒也不錯，”他心想，“然而被槍斃並不是我希望的。不！我不想被槍斃，那樣太不公平。”
他對自己幹什麽毫不知情，然而手腕上的劇痛告訴他，他正在試著掙開雙手。仿佛一個閑人在觀賞雜耍演員的表演而對其結果漠不關心一樣，他眼睜睜地看著自己掙紮。這一努力太令人驚歎了！多麽了不起，多麽驚人的力量啊！太棒了！啊，他成功了！繩子鬆了，雙臂分開向上浮了起來。在越來越強的亮光中，這兩隻手清晰可見。他帶著一種嶄新的興趣望著，一隻手，然後是另一隻手，他用力抓住脖子上的繩子，然後又用力將它扔在一邊。繩子在水中上下擺動，就像一條水蛇。“套上繩子，重新套上！”他感覺自己正對著雙手喊，因為繩子解開後，是一陣他從未感到的劇痛。他的脖子痛極了，腦袋就像燒著了似的，那顆一直在輕輕跳動著的心猛然跳了一下，仿佛要從口中蹦出來。他渾身疼痛，像散了架似的。然而，那兩隻不聽使喚的手沒有遵從他的命令。它們快速而有力地朝下劃著水，他遊出了水麵。他感覺自己的頭先露了出來，太陽刺得他看不到任何東西，胸脯急劇地起伏著，伴隨著一陣劇烈的難以忍受的疼痛，一大口空氣被吸了進來。然而不一會兒，他又一聲尖叫，把它吐了出來！
此刻，他已經完全控製了自己的各種感官。實際上，這些感官還很敏銳。他置身於一種令人恐懼的紊亂之中，也不知是什麽東西促進並改善了他的感官，使他覺察到許多以前從未覺察到的東西。他感覺到了臉上的水波，聽到了它們拍打時發出的“嘩嘩”聲。他看了看河岸上的樹林，看到一棵棵樹，看到樹葉和每片葉子上的脈絡，也看到樹葉上的小蟲子，有蝗蟲、金身蒼蠅，還有樹枝間的褐色蜘蛛，它們正忙於織網。在成千上萬片草葉上，五顏六色的露珠一閃一閃的。水波上，蠓蟲在盡情歌舞，蜻蜓扇動著翅膀，水蜘蛛劃動雙腿，好像船槳在推動小舟——這一切合成了一支清晰的樂曲。一條魚從他的眼皮底下“嗖”地遊了過去，他聽到了魚身分水的“沙沙”聲。
此時，他已經從水下露了出來，臉向下遊。過了一會兒，這個看得見的世界似乎圍著他緩緩旋轉起來，他自己成了軸心。他看到了小橋、碉堡，看到了站在橋上的士兵、上尉、中士，兩名哨兵——他的行刑隊。在蔚藍色天空的映襯下，他們的輪廓清晰可見。他們朝著他高聲喊叫，指手畫腳。上尉已經將手槍拔了出來，隻是沒有開火，其他人都沒帶武器。他們的動作古怪而可怕，他們的身影也出奇得大。
忽然，他聽到一聲槍響，有什麽東西在距離他有腦袋幾英寸的水麵上轟然爆炸，濺了他滿臉水。緊接著，又是一聲，他看到其中一個哨兵正舉著槍，槍筒裏冒出一縷青煙。他在水裏看到橋上的那個人正死死地盯著自己。他看到這是一隻灰色的眼睛，他記得曾經在哪本書上讀到過，說灰眼睛是最厲害的，凡是著名的射手都擁有一雙灰眼睛。不過，這隻灰眼睛沒有擊中目標。
一個回旋的浪頭推著法誇旋轉了半圈，他又一次看了看碉堡對麵的林子。一個響亮而尖銳的嗓音，在他的身後單調而有規律地喊著，越過水麵，清晰異常，透過並淹沒了周圍的所有聲響，包括他耳邊汩汩的流水聲。雖然法誇並非軍人，但他常常在軍營出入，清楚這種從容不迫、不緊不慢、喉音濃重的腔調有著怎樣可怕的意義。岸上的那位中尉現在不再袖手旁觀了。他的聲音多麽冷酷無情！平穩的語調像是要逼著士兵們保持鎮靜。他一板一眼地喊出這樣幾個殘酷的字眼：
“全體……注意……舉槍……準備……瞄準……放！”
法誇向下潛去，盡力向下潛。河水響在耳邊，仿佛尼亞加拉瀑布一般轟鳴，可他還是聽到了排槍沉悶的轟響。他再次浮上水麵，看到很多亮晶晶的小鐵屑，又扁又平，一點一點地沉沒了下去。有幾片碰到了他的臉和手，然後又落下，接著往下沉。有一片夾在他的衣領裏，火辣辣的，難受極了，他猛地將它扔了出去。
等他露出水麵，大口喘氣時，他才知道在水下已經待了很長時間。他發現自己身處很遠的下遊。與剛才的地方相比，這裏安全多了。大部分士兵都已經上好了槍膛，從槍管裏抽出來的通條在陽光下閃閃發光，在空中翻了翻，“嗖”的一下又被插進了鞘套。兩名哨兵又開槍了，這一次他們不是執行命令，但也沒有射中。
這一切都讓這個被追捕者在回頭時看在眼裏。現在他正順著水流努力地遊著。他的頭腦像四肢一樣充滿力量，此刻正在以閃電般的速度思索著。
他想：“這位長官不會再犯同樣的錯誤了。齊射還不是像點射一樣容易躲避嘛。或許他現在已經下令讓士兵隨便開槍了。上帝啊，我可躲不過那麽多子彈啊！”
在距離他不到兩碼的地方，忽然可怕地濺起了河水，然後是一陣尖嘯，隨後慢慢減弱。這響聲聽上去仿佛又由空中飛回碉堡去了，最後“轟”的一聲爆炸，打亂了河底的寧靜。河水像一條掀起的被單，將他的腦袋蓋住，把他整個裹了起來。他什麽也看不到，也喘不過氣來。大炮也參與了進來。他搖了搖頭，抖掉臉上的水，聽見一顆打偏了的炮彈正“嗖嗖”地從他的身旁飛過。過了一會兒，遠處的樹林裏便響起了“劈裏啪啦”的樹枝折斷的聲音。
“他們不會再這樣打了，”他心想，“下一次他們就要打葡萄彈了。我必須死死地盯著這個炮口，硝煙會給我提示，炮聲來得太遲，總是落在炮彈的後麵。這門炮真是不錯啊。”
忽然之間，他感覺自己正在快速地旋轉，像極了一隻陀螺。河水、河岸、樹林、此刻在遠處的橋、碉堡和士兵都亂作一團，看也看不清。周圍的一切都五顏六色，他看到隻是一條條在水平線上旋轉著的光紋。原來他剛才是陷進了一個漩渦，漩渦激烈地盤旋向前，把他搞得暈頭轉向。過了一會兒，他被水流拋在一片碎石堆上，這裏是河的右岸，也是南岸。他正好被一塊隆起的地方掩蔽起來，不被敵人察覺。這猛然間的停頓，再加上一隻手被碎石擦破，使他有了喘息的機會。他激動地流下了淚水，將手指插進沙子裏，一把一把地灑到身上，嘴裏還輕輕地感謝它。這沙子看上去像鑽石，像紅寶石，像綠寶石，像他能想象到的世上一切美麗的東西。河岸上的樹和大花園裏的植物一樣，他留意到，它們整整齊齊地排列著，他又深深地嗅了一下樹上的花香。一束奇異的玫瑰紅光彩穿過樹幹的空隙一閃一閃的。樹枝上，輕風吹奏出悅耳的聲音，仿佛風琴在彈奏。他不想再逃了，隻想在這個景色迷人的地方停留下來，就是再次被捕，他也無怨無悔。
在他頭頂上的樹枝間，葡萄彈在“嗖嗖”、“嘎嘎”不停地響著，把他從夢幻中驚醒。那些糊塗的炮手胡亂放了一通，算是歡送。他猛地跳了起來，衝上斜坡，一頭鑽進了樹林。
他走了整整一天，隻是依靠太陽的移動來確定方向。這片林子似乎無邊無際，連綿不斷，甚至連一條樵夫的小徑也看不到。他還不知道自己居住的地方竟然這麽荒蕪。眼前的景象真有點神秘。
夜幕降臨，他又累又餓，雙腳疼痛。然而，一想起家中的妻子和兒女，他又向前走去。終於，他找到了一條路。他知道沿著這條路準能走回家。這條路寬闊筆直，和城裏的大街一樣，但看起來卻未曾有人走過。路兩旁沒有農田，周圍也不見有人居住，就連使人想起此地還有人煙的狗叫聲也聽不到。漆黑的樹幹形成一道筆直的牆，豎在道路兩旁，慢慢延伸到地平線上，交匯成一個點，仿佛透視課上畫的圖案似的。他抬起頭來，透過樹縫看見閃閃的星星。這些星星看起來陌生極了，並且還很奇怪地組合地一起。他確信它們之所以這樣組合，其中必定有神秘和邪惡的意義。道路兩旁的樹林裏充斥著怪異的聲響，在這些聲響中，他一次又一次地清楚地聽到有人在用一種奇怪的語言輕聲說話。
脖子痛極了，他用手摸了摸，才知道脖子已經腫得厲害。他知道絞索磨破了他的脖子，並留下了一圈紫色痕跡。他感覺雙眼充血，再也合不上了。他口渴得要命，連舌頭也腫了，他把舌頭從牙齒間吐了出來，想借涼風來降溫。這條毫無人煙的大道上，草坪是多麽柔軟啊！此刻，他再也感覺不到腳下有什麽路了！
確信無疑的是，盡管渾身疼痛難忍，他走著走著就進入了夢鄉。或許他剛從一陣譫妄中蘇醒過來，因為他現在看到的是另一番景象。此時他正站在自己的家門口。眼前的景象還都是他離開家時的模樣，在晨曦的映照下，顯得明亮而美麗。他一定走了整整一夜。他推開門，走上寬敞的白色甬道，隻見一件女人的裙衫迎麵走來，他的妻子容光煥發，嫻靜而甜蜜，此時她正在從前廊走下來迎接他。她微笑地站在台階下等待，擁有著無與倫比的優雅和尊嚴。啊，她是多麽美麗啊！他張開雙臂，向前奔去。正要抱住她時，他隻感覺脖子根上遭到重重的一擊。一道耀眼的白光在他的四周閃耀，緊接著是一聲巨響，仿佛是大炮的轟鳴——忽然之間，一切又都歸於沉寂，消失在夜色中！
貝頓·法誇離開了人世。他的屍體以及那個折斷了的脖子，在鷹溪橋的枕木下緩緩地飄來**去。
這個故事發生在許多年前。如果現在有人問我，我敘述的就不會這麽坦然了。
詞匯筆記
executioner[,?ks?'kju??n?]n.行刑者，死刑執行者
An executioner is a person who carries out the death sentence.
劊子手是執行死刑的人。
stockade[stɑ'ked]n.（防禦用的）柵欄，圍樁
At length I thought I might return towards the stockade.
我終於覺得可以折回來向木寨方向走去了。
hemp[hemp]n.大麻；長纖維的植物；大麻煙卷
Hemp is a stiff fiber that,
大麻是一種硬質纖維，
evade[?'ved]v.逃避，躲避；避開；規避；逃脫
She turned and gazed at the river, evading his eyes.
她轉身凝視著那條河，避開他的目光
小試身手
這個人的雙手背在身後，手腕被繩子綁著。
依照軍規，尊敬就預示著靜穆和肅立。
他睜開雙眼，再一次看了看腳下的河水。
A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down into the swift water twenty feet below.
stand upon：依靠；視……如何而定；堅持；主張
……vertical in front of the left shoulder……
in front of：在……前麵；當著……的麵；麵前