John Bartine's Watch

by Ambrose Bierce

　　

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A Story by a Physician'The exact time? Good God! my friend, why do you insist? One would think-- but what does it matter; it is easily bedtime -- isn't that nearenough? But, here, if you must set your watch, take mine and see foryourself.'With that he detached his watch -- a tremendously heavy,old-fashioned one -- from the chain, and handed it to me; then turnedaway, and walking across the room to a shelf of books, began anexamination of their backs. His agitation and evident distress surprisedme; they appeared reasonless. Having set my watch by his I stepped overto where he stood and said, 'Thank you.'As he took his timepiece and reattached it to the guard I observedthat his hands were unsteady. With a tact upon which I greatly pridedmyself, I sauntered carelessly to the sideboard and took some brandy andwater; then, begging his pardon for my thoughtlessness, asked him tohave some and went back to my seat by the fire, leaving him to helphimself, as was our custom. He did so and presently joined me at thehearth, as tranquil as ever.This odd little incident occurred in my apartment, where JohnBartine was passing an evening. We had dined together at the club, hadcome home in a cab and -- in short, everything had been done in the mostprosaic way; and why John Bartine should break in upon the natural andestablished order of things to make himself spectacular with a displayof emotion, apparently for his own entertainment, I could nowiseunderstand. The more I thought of it, while his brilliant conversationalgifts were commending themselves to my inattention, the more curious Igrew, and of course had no difficulty in persuading myself that mycuriosity was friendly solicitude. That is the disguise that curiosityusually assumes to evade resentment. So I ruined one of the finestsentences of his disregarded monologue by cutting it short withoutceremony.'John Bartine,' I said, 'you must try to forgive me if I am wrong,but with the light that I have at present I cannot concede your right togo all to pieces when asked the time o' night. I cannot admit that it isproper to experience a mysterious reluctance to look your own watch inthe face and to cherish in my presence, without explanation, painfulemotions which are denied to me, and which are none of my business.'To this ridiculous speech Bartine made no immediate reply, but satlooking gravely into the fire. Fearing that I had offended I was aboutto apologize and beg him to think no more about the matter, when lookingme calmly in the eyes he said:'My dear fellow, the levity of your manner does not at all disguisethe hideous impudence of your demand; but happily I had already decidedto tell you what you wish to know, and no manifestation of yourunworthiness to hear it shall alter my decision. Be good enough to giveme your attention and you shall hear all about the matter.'This watch,' he said, 'had been in my family for three generationsbefore it fell to me. Its original owner, for whom it was made, was mygreat-grandfather, Bramwell Olcott Bartine, a wealthy planter ofColonial Virginia, and as staunch a Tory as ever lay awake nightscontriving new kinds of maledictions for the head of Mr. Washington, andnew methods of aiding and abetting good King George. One day this worthygentleman had the deep misfortune to perform for his cause a service ofcapital importance which was not recognized as legitimate by those whosuffered its disadvantages. It does not matter what it was, but amongits minor consequences was my excellent ancestor's arrest one night inhis own house by a party of Mr. Washington's rebels. He was permitted tosay farewell to his weeping family, and was then marched away into thedarkness which swallowed him up for ever. Not the slenderest clue to hisfate was ever found. After the war the most diligent inquiry and theoffer of large rewards failed to turn up any of his captors or any factconcerning his disappearance. He had disappeared, and that was all.'Something in Bartine's manner that was not in his words -- I hardlyknew what it was -- prompted me to ask:'What is your view of the matter -- of the justice of it?''My view of it,' he flamed out, bringing his clenched hand downupon the table as if he had been in a public house dicing withblackguards -- 'my view of it is that it was a characteristicallydastardly assassination by that damned traitor, Washington, and hisragamuffin rebels!'For some minutes nothing was said: Bartine was recovering histemper, and I waited. Then I said:'Was that all?''No -- there was something else. A few weeks after mygreat-grandfather's arrest his watch was found lying on the porch at thefront door of his dwelling. It was wrapped in a sheet of letter-paperbearing the name of Rupert Bartine, his only son, my grandfather. I amwearing that watch.'Bartine paused. His usually restless black eyes were staringfixedly into the grate, a point of red light in each, reflected from theglowing coals. He seemed to have forgotten me. A sudden threshing of thebranches of a tree outside one of the windows, and almost at the sameinstant a rattle of rain against the glass, recalled him to a sense ofhis surroundings. A storm had risen, heralded by a single gust of wind,and in a few moments the steady plash of the water on the pavement wasdistinctly heard. I hardly know why I relate this incident; it seemedsomehow to have a certain significance and relevancy which I am unablenow to discern. It at least added an element of seriousness, almostsolemnity. Bartine resumed:'I have a singular feeling toward this watch -- a kind of affectionfor it; I like to have it about me, though partly from its weight, andpartly for a reason I shall now explain, I seldom carry it. The reasonis this: Every evening when I have it with me I feel an unaccountabledesire to open and consult it, even if I can think of no reason forwishing to know the time. But if I yield to it, the moment my eyes restupon the dial I am filled with a mysterious apprehension -- a sense ofimminent calamity. And this is the more insupportable the nearer it isto eleven o'clock -- by this watch, no matter what the actual hour maybe. After the hands have registered eleven the desire to look is gone; Iam entirely indifferent. Then I can consult the thing as often as Ilike, with no more emotion than you feel in looking at your own.Naturally I have trained myself not to look at that watch in the eveningbefore eleven; nothing could induce me. Your insistence this eveningupset me a trifle. I felt very much as I suppose an opium-eater mightfeel if his yearning for his special and particular kind of hell werereinforced by opportunity and advice.'Now that is my story, and I have told it in the interest of yourtrumpery science; but if on any evening hereafter you observe me wearingthis damnable watch, and you have the thoughtfulness to ask me the hour,I shall beg leave to put you to the inconvenience of being knocked down.'His humour did not amuse me. I could see that in relating hisdelusion he was again somewhat disturbed. His concluding smile waspositively ghastly, and his eyes had resumed something more than theirold restlessness; they shifted hither and thither about the room withapparent aimlessness and I fancied had taken on a wild expression, suchas is sometimes observed in cases of dementia. Perhaps this was my ownimagination, but at any rate I was now persuaded that my friend wasafflicted with a most singular and interesting monomania. Without, Itrust, any abatement of my affectionate solicitude for him as a friend,I began to regard him as a patient, rich in possibilities of profitablestudy. Why not? Had he not described his delusion in the interest ofscience? Ah, poor fellow, he was doing more for science than he knew:not only his story but himself was in evidence. I should cure him if Icould, of course, but first I should make a little experiment inpsychology -- nay, the experiment itself might be a step in hisrestoration.'That is very frank and friendly of you, Bartine,' I saidcordially, 'and I'm rather proud of your confidence. It is all very odd,certainly. Do you mind showing me the watch?'He detached it from his waistcoat, chain and all, and passed it tome without a word. The case was of gold, very thick and strong, andsingularly engraved. After closely examining the dial and observing thatit was nearly twelve o'clock, I opened it at the back and was interestedto observe an inner case of ivory, upon which was painted a miniatureportrait in that exquisite and delicate manner which was in vogue duringthe eighteenth century.'Why, bless my soul!' I exclaimed, feeling a sharp artistic delight-- 'how under the sun did you get that done? I thought miniaturepainting on ivory was a lost art.''That,' he replied, gravely smiling, 'is not I; it is my excellentgreat-grandfather, the late Bramwell Olcott Bartine, Esquire, ofVirginia. He was younger then than later -- about my age, in fact. It issaid to resemble me; do you think so?''Resemble you? I should say so! Barring the costume, which Isupposed you to have assumed out of compliment to the art -- or forvraisemblance, so to say -- and the no moustache, that portrait is youin every feature, line, and expression.'No more was said at that time. Bartine took a book from the tableand began reading. I heard outside the incessant plash of the rain inthe street. There were occasional hurried footfalls on the sidewalks;and once a slower, heavier tread seemed to cease at my door -- apoliceman, I thought, seeking shelter in the doorway. The boughs of thetrees tapped significantly on the window panes, as if asking foradmittance. I remember it all through these years and years of a wiser,graver life.Seeing myself unobserved, I took the old-fashioned key that dangledfrom the chain and quickly turned back the hands of the watch a fullhour; then, closing the case, I handed Bartine his property and saw himreplace it on his person.'I think you said,' I began, with assumed carelessness, 'that aftereleven the sight of the dial no longer affects you. As it is now nearlytwelve' -- looking at my own timepiece -- 'perhaps, if you don't resentmy pursuit of proof, you will look at it now.'He smiled good-humouredly, pulled out the watch again, opened it,and instantly sprang to his feet with a cry that Heaven has not had themercy to permit me to forget! His eyes, their blackness strikinglyintensified by the pallor of his face, were fixed upon the watch, whichhe clutched in both hands. For some time he remained in that attitudewithout uttering another sound; then, in a voice that I should not haverecognized as his, he said:'Damn you! it is two minutes to eleven!'I was not unprepared for some such outbreak, and without risingreplied, calmly enough:'I beg your pardon; I must have misread your watch in setting myown by it.'He shut the case with a sharp snap and put the watch in his pocket.He looked at me and made an attempt to smile, but his lower lip quiveredand he seemed unable to close his mouth. His hands, also, were shaking,and he thrust them, clenched, into the pockets of his sackcoat. Thecourageous spirit was manifestly endeavouring to subdue the coward body.The effort was too great; he began to sway from side to side, as fromvertigo, and before I could spring from my chair to support him hisknees gave way and he pitched awkwardly forward and fell upon his face.I sprang to assist him to rise; but when John Bartine rises we shall allrise.The post-mortem examination disclosed nothing; every organ wasnormal and sound. But when the body had been prepared for burial a faintdark circle was seen to have developed around the neck; at least I wasso assured by several persons who said they saw it, but of my ownknowledge I cannot say if that was true.Nor can I set limitations to the law of heredity. I do not knowthat in the spiritual world a sentiment or emotion may not survive theheart that held it, and seek expression in a kindred life, ages removed.Surely, if I were to guess at the fate of Bramwell Olcott Bartine, Ishould guess that he was hanged at eleven o'clock in the evening, andthat he had been allowed several hours in which to prepare for the change.As to John Bartine, my friend, my patient for five minutes, and --Heaven forgive me! -- my victim for eternity, there is no more to say.He is buried, and his watch with him -- I saw to that. May God rest hissoul in Paradise, and the soul of his Virginian ancestor, if, indeed,they are two souls.

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