The man's hands were behind his back, the wrist bound with the cord. A rope closely encircled his neck. It was attached to a stout cross timber. Two soldiers and the genaral of the federal army were there for his execution.
He was played into trap, got caught attempting to set the bridge on fire.
As he tries to grab his beautiful wife he feels a stunning blow upon the back of his neck, with a sound of a cannon, then evrything is silent and black!
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. He could no longer feel the roadway beneath his feet!
His 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 Farquhar was dead; his body, with a broken neck, swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of the Owl Creek bridge.