Suspense.
And the producer of CBS Radio's outstanding theater of thrills, the master of mystery
and adventure, William N. Robeson.
Each year, thousands of short stories roll out from a multitude of typewriters and march
across the pages of our magazines and books toward well-deserved oblivions.
Few are memorable, fewer still are classics.
They pass the time and are forgotten even before the paper in which they are written
is reduced to blackened ash.
But occasionally a story is written that is a true classic, an unforgettable tale.
Listen to such a one now.
Listen as Vincent Price stars in Ambrose Beers's weird and wonderful story of the Civil War
occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge, which begins in just a moment.
The following message is from American Telephone and Telegraph.
Have a nice trip.
Don't forget to phone.
Getting away at last.
It's a great feeling, isn't it?
Looking forward to a carefree weekend or vacation, especially if you've planned ahead by long
distance.
Now, let's see.
You did phone about the taverns.
Right.
What about the Johnson?
I called them too.
They're expecting us.
Oh, good.
Well, I guess that takes care of everything.
Yes, a little vacation planning ahead of time by long distance does a lot toward making
a holiday carefree and fun.
Right now is a good time to call.
The long distance rates are lowest.
Remember, whenever, wherever you go this summer, go first by long distance.
And now, The Current at Owl Creek Bridge, starring Mr. Vincent Price, a tale well calculated
to keep you in suspense.
A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down through the tides at
the swift water 20 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.
If I could free my hands, I might throw off this noose and dive into the creek.
If I swam underwater, I would be safe from their bullets.
If my wind held out, I could make the southern bank take to the woods and get away home.
Peyton Farquhar, Alabama planter, stood at the end of a plank.
A captain of the Union Army and a sergeant stood at the other end.
When they step aside, the plank will tip upward.
And Peyton Farquhar, Confederate spy, will slip between the tides to hang until dead
above the muddy water of Owl Creek.
The captain steps aside, draws his sword, flourishes it to a carry, sings out a command.
The men on the bank smartly spread their legs, thrust hands forward over their rifle barrels.
The sergeant on the end of the plank takes one step to the left.
The plank tips forward and Peyton Farquhar drops between the timbers of Owl Creek Ridge.
It takes longer to tell it.
As you drop down, what you lose is consciousness.
You are as one already dead.
Then you awaken sharply in pain to feel, not to think, just to feel.
The cutting pressure on your throat, the agonies of pulsating fire shooting from your neck
downward, to feel the fullness, the congestion, the head bursting with suffocation.
Distantly beyond, outside of your filthy hairs of lash, remotely you sense a clean, wet,
green darkness.
The rope is broken.
You've fallen into the stream.
Come Peyton, they can't pick you.
The knots given.
Again, now try once more.
That doesn't.
You must breathe when you come to the surface.
You must breathe quickly.
For if they haven't hanged you and they fail to drown you, you can't let them shoot you.
And now a deep breath.
You dive deeply, but above the ring in your ears you hear the volley of the rifles.
As you rise towards the surface, you meet shining bits of metal, singularly flattened,
the distorted and spent bullets oscillating slowly downward past you.
One catches in your collar and it feels uncomfortably warm.
You snatch it out and this gray piece of Yankee lead reminds you of the gray uniform on the
soldier who is responsible for you being here.
It was only night before last when the soldier had ridden up the driveway as you and your
wife sat under the magnolia trees in the cool twilight.
Good evening, sir.
Good evening, corporal.
Won't you dismount?
Thanks.
I wonder if I might trouble you for a glass of water.
Well, of course I...
Don't be scared, self-paisan.
I'll go, Fetcher.
You're most kind, ma'am, if you will indicate the well.
No, sir, you just sit as far as my husband.
You look as if you could do with some rest.
Yes, ma'am.
I reckon I could.
I'll be back in a jiffy.
Thank you, ma'am.
Well, corporal, whose commander are you with?
Colonel Talivis, sir, 13th North Carolina.
Yeah, we get their little news down here.
How are things going at the front?
Not good, sir.
The damn Yankees are getting ready for another advance.
Their repair in the railroad got it in shape almost the Owl Creek Bridge, and they got
outposts there.
Once they can run trains beyond the bridge, there's nothing to stop them between here
and Atlanta.
Well, then why hasn't the bridge been destroyed?
The military couldn't get near it.
A civilian might.
Owl Creek Bridge, huh?
Well, that's not far from here, is it?
Less than 20 miles.
That bridge is important.
Sure is.
What if it were destroyed?
Pulled up the Yankees for several weeks.
Suppose a man, a civilian like myself, should have used the picket post.
What could he accomplish?
Well, I was there a week ago just before we had to pull out.
There's a heap of driftwood come down in last winter's flood caught on the trestle at this
end.
It's a little dry and tinder to me.
I see.
A fellow with enough gumption might get through and set fire to it.
It ought to burn like coal.
Yes, yes it should.
Here's your water, Corporal.
Right out of the spring house.
Thank you kindly, ma'am.
My, that's cool and nice.
Well, I reckon I better hit the leather.
I got a lot of riding ahead of me tonight.
Well, good luck to you, Corporal, and thank you for coming.
Thank you.
I'll see you later.
Good luck.
Thank you for the information.
You'd be taking a chance, sir, but you couldn't do a greater service for your country.
I remember that, Corporal.
Bye, ma'am.
Bye, sir.
Many thanks.
Here, sir.
To break the surface of Owl Creek for a second time, and now you are much further downstream,
further away from Union soldiers on the bridge reloading their guns, the ramrods flashing
in the morning sun.
And then something seems to grab you and you're twirled round and round, spinning like a waterlogged
top.
You're caught in a vortex, a whirlpool.
The water, the banks, the distant bridge, the soldiers become indistinct blurs.
You're helpless.
You feel dizzy and sick to your stomach, just as you felt last night.
When you crept up the bank with a lone sentinel at the south end of the bridge and discovered
that the sentinel was not alone.
There he is, boys.
Grab him.
I got him, Sergeant.
Oh, Mr. Peyton Falk, well, we've been expecting you.
How did you know my name?
We got ways.
But look here.
I'm a civilian.
I was just...
Hold your breath.
Thank your maker we didn't shoot you in the back.
We don't do things like that up north.
You'll get a trial, everything fair and square.
All right, bring him along, men.
Here he is, Captain.
Right on schedule.
Good work, Sergeant.
Is this the man, Lieutenant?
That's him.
Why, you.
You're the corporal who stopped at my plantation last night.
That's right, Mr. Farquhar, but not of the 13th North Carolina Volunteers.
Mr. Farquhar, this is Lieutenant Salton's dog, Intelligence Officer, 5th Massachusetts
Regulers.
You've trapped me.
You deliberately led me into a trap.
I'm a civilian, a planter.
And also a southern patriot, caught in the act of sabotage.
You can't prove it.
We don't have to.
But why have you done this?
Why have you deliberately trapped me?
It's so much easier to eliminate civilian resistance by luring it into the open.
You felt the debate.
Too bad.
Now look here.
It is my constitutional right.
Which constitution?
The Constitution of the United States of America or Jeff Davis?
You insult me like that.
Remember your manners, sir.
I demand a trial.
You've just had it.
Post the guard over him, Sergeant.
Yes, sir.
We'll hang him in the morning.
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And now, starring Mr. Vincent Price, act two of A Current at Owl Creek Bridge.
If they didn't hang, the rope broke and the whorls would have carried you away.
And now you realize that when you stop, you open your eyes, you are lying on the southern
bank of the stream, out of the sight of your enemies, safe.
You leap to your feet and run into the woods south towards home.
It's nearly noon now, and for a half hour you've been plunging through a swamp, waist
deep in green ooze.
Your neck hurts constantly, your head throbs and your tongue is thick, knacks swarmed before
your eyes and catching your eyelids.
The feet are buzzing, your ears drill deep into your hands and your swollen neck.
You can't go on any longer, you slow down and you stop.
You reach toward a palmetto root with support in it.
It slithers from your grasp and slides softly into the water.
Water moccasins.
Fear finds you at last.
Terror which stood aloof when you fled the executioners bullets now embraces you with
clammy unction.
Water moccasins.
Now each branch and root seems to ride under your glass, your swamp is undulating with
certain depths.
You plunge on through the dark, thinking ooze on and on, tripping, stumbling, never stopping.
The terror rides your back, flogging you with a quick lash of fear.
Old Jeff Rose don't have mouth clock while I fiddle the fiddle in jig time.
Now you just drink this here, you're a P, my Sparky.
Oh, thank you, thank you.
Jeff Rose.
Yes, my Sparky.
What are you doing here?
I lived here.
You lived?
Where am I?
What happened?
Well, I was pulling my dugout and coming home through the swamp with a mess of catfish
and I see you lying out there on the bench in front of my cabin.
Jeff Rose, I heard I thought you were dead.
Who, me?
Dead?
Oh, shoot.
You thought Jeff Rose was dead?
You knew he had consumption when you sold him.
You knew he couldn't last long and he wasn't earning his keep.
His wife and his daughter had carried on some at first, but after a while they calmed down
and last you heard Jeff Rose was dead.
You thought I was dead, my Sparky?
Why, sir, don't you know what then happened to me?
I'm free.
I'm free at last.
Yes, sir, I'm free.
And I expect pretty soon my woman and my little girl going to come along and join me.
How is they, my Sparky?
Are they well?
Oh, yes, yes, yes, indeed they're both fine, Jeff Rose.
I don't know how to say this, but I really was sorry about having to tell you, but there
wasn't anything else I could...
Oh, I understand, my Sparky.
Don't you say it no mind.
I done forgive you long ago.
Don't the Lord tell us to forgive those who trespass against us?
And don't you know that I'm not going to forgive you?
I'm not going to forgive you.
Oh, I'll forgive you.
And don't you learn to speak the truth or I'll say it.
Don't you want to hear it with me.
My love.
Don't I sound as bone?
Oh, the love dies?
Don't I allow to become a slave before my heart
stops beating?
Why does I got to have you my so that's so many questions you in park why you forget something free now. Oh, yeah
Yes, then there's an old friend. Just so please just hide me and don't tell that soldier anything
Why so I reckon I can do that old friend my spark, right?
Yeah, you get on under this bed here and I'll put the covers over the size
Yeah
Have you come this far just to be turned in by a wolf gathering black who talks crazy
If Jethro knew this gray clad corporal was really a Union lieutenant
He can't he is freedom by turning you in that's of course
Of course he's planning to dispose of you himself. Yes. That's it. He's gonna do you in himself
Y'all can come on out now my walk was
Thank you
Lord, I declare I don't understand none of this
You says not to tell him you here. He says not to tell you he's been here
I was just all about my father nothing just from nothing. I owe the man some money and I'm not ready to pay it yet
Oh, I see. I wouldn't know nothing about that money is something they never bothered me like it bothers some
money and me always
Just
What are you going to do with that knife? Oh
I was just looking to split up some of them catfish. I got in my dugout
Look like you could do it a little food. Not like what no no. No, thank you. Just dry
I want to get home by sundown if you just tell me which way I should go
Well, I don't rightly know my spark why
But I reckon from the way the Sun's reclining it would be down the road that way
Quite a foot piece down. Yes, it should be about right. I
Never been back, you know never tried to go back since I've been free. Yes, I know
I reckon it won't be long till my woman and my little one comes here to me. Of course
If you get back my fuck what if you see them you tell them I'm here waiting for yes
I'll do that. Just so I'll do that
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and now
Sorry, mr. Vincent price act three of occurrence that Owl Creek bridge
Get away from their fact the show to the back road crunching under your muddy boots that grinning savage
Standing in the doorway of the shack the knife in his hand
And each moment until the road bends and cuts off the cabin from view
You fear you've come after you the night poised to plunge you in the back
To pay you for the thrust you gave him when you send him away to die
Please do spend in there grinning foolishly and waving as you turn the bend
How long have you been running down this endless road
Oh, is it night or has the blood trapped in your head by that?
suffocating rope at last burst into your congested eyeballs and blinded you
The black of a sudden summer storm that lightning flash clearly shows the white road ahead in the black silhouettes of trees along the side
of a flash of lightning directly overhead
For an instant you seem to see the soldiers of Owl Creek bridge standing at the side of the road rifles leveled their eyes
Boring down the sights aiming at your heart
In your running the rain has turned to hail pellets as big as harmony beat down on your pound your swollen bruised neck
Hammer on your countless cut
Again the light on the other side of the road the gray clad corporal fits astride his horse waiting for you
No, no, you can't get me now. No
This bolt of lightning strikes a tree ahead of you and in the white blinding light stands Jethro black and grinning knife raised in the air
No, no Jethro Jethro forgive me. Forgive me
Now you see dangling from each tree along the road a new swinging in the wind wherever you turn wherever you look a new
Waiting for you a new which wriggles like a water moccasin. No
No
And on the green lawn of your plantation before the high column entrance
The storm is over the clouds are black and menacing all around the horizon
But through a break in the sky overhead glorious sunlight streams down
Bathing your garden in your house in heavenly light
You are home
Now you hear a rustle of crinoline and down from the wide portico steps your beloved wife
Runs across the lawn
Hey, my dear you're back just as you promised you'd be
For this moment you have endured the agony of this day and were those agonies multiplied a thousand times
They would be small price for the benefit of this breath the sanctuary of these arms the security of these
Step forward the full to white and you're in the way
The rope stretched tight sang like a bowstring taping Farquhar was dead
His body with a broken neck swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of Owl Creek Bridge
The
His body with a broken neck swung gently from side to side beneath the timbers of Owl Creek Bridge
A fence in which Mr. Vincent Price starred in William M. Robeson's production of A Current Set Owl Creek Bridge
adapted for radio by Mr. Robeson from a story by Ambrose Beers
In a moment, the name of the bridge was changed to the name of the bridge
And Mr. Robeson was a very famous actor in the film
Mr. Robeson from a story by Ambrose Beers in a moment the names of our supporting players and a word about next week's story of suspense
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Supporting Mr. Vincent Price and tonight's story were Kathy Lewis, Barney Phillips, Sam Pierce, Roy Glenn, Norm Alden and Sam Edwards
Listen, listen again next week when we return with Miss Marcia Hunt starring in Night Man
Another tale well calculated to keep you in suspense
The latest news follows, then Have Gun will travel on CBS Radio