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—­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.