“The Sniper”

Question

Directions: You can write your responses directly into this document after each question.

From whose point of view is the story told? Why do you think the author chose that point of view?

Describe the setting thoroughly, noting time of day, time of year, general location, specific location. Write these down. How is the mood of the setting established in the first couple paragraphs?

What could explain why the author tells so little about the main character (we never learn his name, for instance)?

What is the main external conflict facing the main character? When is this solved?

What is the main internal conflict facing the main character? Is this solved?

What does the sniper do to trick his enemy?

What do you think is the author’s view of war, and why do you think this?

Part B:

Re-write the last part of the story to include a dialogue between the two characters at the end.
The dialogue should be one page in length and should reflect a different attitude about war than what the author has.

the story is as follows:

The long June twilight faded into night. Dublin lay enveloped in darkness but for the dim light of the moon that shone through fleecy clouds, casting a pale light as of approaching dawn over the streets and the dark waters of the Liffey. Around the beleaguered Four Courts the heavy guns roared. Here and there through the city, machine guns and rifles broke the silence of the night, spasmodically, like dogs barking on lone farms. Republicans and Free Staters were waging civil war.

On a rooftop near O'Connell Bridge, a Republican sniper lay watching. Beside him lay his rifle and over his shoulders was slung a pair of field glasses. His face was the face of a student, thin and ascetic, but his eyes had the cold gleam of the fanatic. They were deep and thoughtful, the eyes of a man who is used to looking at death.

He was eating a sandwich hungrily. He had eaten nothing since morning. He had been too excited to eat. He finished the sandwich, and, taking a flask of whiskey from his pocket, he took a short drought. Then he returned the flask to his pocket. He paused for a moment, considering whether he should risk a smoke. It was dangerous. The flash might be seen in the darkness, and there were enemies watching. He decided to take the risk.

Placing a cigarette between his lips, he struck a match, inhaled the smoke hurriedly and put out the light. Almost immediately, a bullet flattened itself against the parapet of the roof. The sniper took another whiff and put out the cigarette. Then he swore softly and crawled away to the left.
Cautiously he raised himself and peered over the parapet. There was a flash and a bullet whizzed over his head. He dropped immediately. He had seen the flash. It came from the opposite side of the street.

He rolled over the roof to a chimney stack in the rear, and slowly drew himself up behind it, until his eyes were level with the top of the parapet. There was nothing to be seen--just the dim outline of the opposite housetop against the blue sky. His enemy was under cover.

Just then an armored car came across the bridge and advanced slowly up the street. It stopped on the opposite side of the street, fifty yards ahead. The sniper could hear the dull panting of the motor. His heart beat faster. It was an enemy car. He wanted to fire, but he knew it was useless. His bullets would never pierce the steel that covered the gray monster.

Then round the corner of a side street came an old woman, her head covered by a tattered shawl. She began to talk to the man in the turret of the car. She was pointing to the roof where the sniper lay. An informer.

The turret opened. A man's head and shoulders appeared, looking toward the sniper. The sniper raised his rifle and fired. The head fell heavily on the turret wall. The woman darted toward the side street. The sniper fired again. The woman whirled round and fell with a shriek into the gutter.

Suddenly from the opposite roof a shot rang out and the sniper dropped his rifle with a curse. The rifle clattered to the roof. The sniper thought the noise would wake the dead. He stooped to pick the rifle up. He couldn't lift it. His forearm was dead. "I'm hit," he muttered.

Dropping flat onto the roof, he crawled back to the parapet. With his left hand he felt the injured right forearm. The blood was oozing through the sleeve of his coat. There was no pain--just a deadened sensation, as if the arm had been cut off.

Quickly he drew his knife from his pocket, opened it on the breastwork of the parapet, and ripped open the sleeve. There was a small hole where the bullet had entered. On the other side there was no hole. The bullet had lodged in the bone. It must have fractured it. He bent the arm below the wound. the arm bent back easily. He ground his teeth to overcome the pain.

Then taking out his field dressing, he ripped open the packet with his knife. He broke the neck of the iodine bottle and let the bitter fluid drip into the wound. A paroxysm of pain swept through him. He placed the cotton wadding over the wound and wrapped the dressing over it. He tied the ends with his teeth.

Then he lay still against the parapet, and, closing his eyes, he made an effort of will to overcome the pain.

In the street beneath all was still. The armored car had retired speedily over the bridge, with the machine gunner's head hanging lifeless over the turret. The woman's corpse lay still in the gutter.

The sniper lay still for a long time nursing his wounded arm and planning escape. Morning must not find him wounded on the roof. The enemy on the opposite roof coverd his escape. He must kill that enemy and he could not use his rifle. He had only a revolver to do it. Then he thought of a plan.

Taking off his cap, he placed it over the muzzle of his rifle. Then he pushed the rifle slowly upward over the parapet, until the cap was visible from the opposite side of the street. Almost immediately there was a report, and a bullet pierced the center of the cap. The sniper slanted the rifle forward. The cap clipped down into the street. Then catching the rifle in the middle, the sniper dropped his left hand over the roof and let it hang, lifelessly. After a few moments he let the rifle drop to the street. Then he sank to the roof, dragging his hand with him.

Crawling quickly to his feet, he peered up at the corner of the roof. His ruse had succeeded. The other sniper, seeing the cap and rifle fall, thought that he had killed his man. He was now standing before a row of chimney pots, looking across, with his head clearly silhouetted against the western sky.

The Republican sniper smiled and lifted his revolver above the edge of the parapet. The distance was about fifty yards--a hard shot in the dim light, and his right arm was paining him like a thousand devils. He took a steady aim. His hand trembled with eagerness. Pressing his lips together, he took a deep breath through his nostrils and fired. He was almost deafened with the report and his arm shook with the recoil.

Then when the smoke cleared, he peered across and uttered a cry of joy. His enemy had been hit. He was reeling over the parapet in his death agony. He struggled to keep his feet, but he was slowly falling forward as if in a dream. The rifle fell from his grasp, hit the parapet, fell over, bounded off the pole of a barber's shop beneath and then clattered on the pavement.
Then the dying man on the roof crumpled up and fell forward. The body turned over and over in space and hit the ground with a dull thud. Then it lay still.

The sniper looked at his enemy falling and he shuddered. The lust of battle died in him. He became bitten by remorse. The sweat stood out in beads on his forehead. Weakened by his wound and the long summer day of fasting and watching on the roof, he revolted from the sight of the shattered mass of his dead enemy. His teeth chattered, he began to gibber to himself, cursing the war, cursing himself, cursing everybody.

He looked at the smoking revolver in his hand, and with an oath he hurled it to the roof at his feet. The revolver went off with a concussion and the bullet whizzed past the sniper's head. He was frightened back to his senses by the shock. His nerves steadied. The cloud of fear scattered from his mind and he laughed.

Taking the whiskey flask from his pocket, he emptied it a drought. He felt reckless under the influence of the spirit. He decided to leave the roof now and look for his company commander, to report. Everywhere around was quiet. There was not much danger in going through the streets. He picked up his revolver and put it in his pocket. Then he crawled down through the skylight to the house underneath.

When the sniper reached the laneway on the street level, he felt a sudden curiosity as to the identity of the enemy sniper whom he had killed. He decided that he was a good shot, whoever he was. He wondered did he know him. Perhaps he had been in his own company before the split in the army. He decided to risk going over to have a look at him. He peered around the corner into O'Connell Street. In the upper part of the street there was heavy firing, but around here all was quiet.

The sniper darted across the street. A machine gun tore up the ground around him with a hail of bullets, but he escaped. He threw himself face downward beside the corpse. The machine gun stopped.

Then the sniper turned over the dead body and looked into his brother's face.

Answer 1

Point of View of “The Sniper” The story is told from a third-person limited point of view, focusing on the Republican sniper. This choice allows readers to gain insight into the sniper's thoughts and emotions while keeping an air of mystery about the character and the larger context of the civil war. By not revealing the sniper's name, the author emphasizes the universality of the experience of war, treating the sniper more as a representative of a soldier than as an individual.

Setting Description The story is set in Dublin during June, at twilight transitioning into night. The general location is around O'Connell Bridge, with the specific setting of a rooftop from which the sniper surveys the chaotic civil war below. The mood of the setting is somber and tense, established by the description of the darkening sky, the sounds of heavy gunfire, and the imagery of a city under siege.

Character Description The author may choose to reveal little about the main character to highlight the dehumanizing effects of war. By not providing personal details about the sniper, the narrative communicates that in the chaos of civil conflict, individual identities and backstories can become lost, reducing people to mere combatants in a larger, impersonal struggle.

Main External Conflict The main external conflict facing the sniper is the battle between him and the opposing sniper. This conflict is resolved when the Republican sniper successfully kills his enemy after using a clever ruse to draw him out.

Main Internal Conflict The main internal conflict for the sniper involves his emotions surrounding the act of killing. Initially focused and dedicated to his role as a soldier, he ultimately experiences a wave of remorse and reflection after realizing he has killed someone he may have known. This internal conflict is not resolved, as the guilt and loss haunt him, suggesting the lasting impact of war on a soldier's psyche.

Trick Used on Enemy To trick his enemy, the sniper places his cap over the muzzle of his rifle and lifts it above the parapet, making it appear as if he has been killed. This ruse distracts the opposing sniper, allowing the Republican sniper to get a clear shot at him.

Author's View on War The author's view of war seems to be critical, highlighting its brutal and senseless nature. This perspective comes across through the sniper's experiences and his eventual remorse after killing his enemy. The story reflects on both the physical dangers of war and its psychological toll on those who fight, suggesting a disdain for its destructiveness and futility.

---

Part B: Revised Ending with Dialogue

As the sniper peered down at the lifeless body of his enemy, he was filled with mixed emotions. The weight of the gun he had just used felt heavier than ever in his hand. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as the reality of the moment sunk in.

Suddenly, he heard a faint groan from the fallen figure. With cautious movements, he stepped closer, his heart racing, and looked down into the face of his opponent—his own brother.

The brother, mouths slightly agape as he struggled for breath, managed to choke out, “Why... why did it have to come to this?”

The Republican sniper knelt beside him, overwhelmed with a chilling wave of sorrow. “I didn’t know, I swear! It was just the war... It’s all the war...”

“War?” the dying man gasped, bitterness mixing with pain. “This isn’t just war; this is madness! We were once brothers, fighting for the same cause! What happened to us?”

“I don’t know,” the sniper whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. “We let hate divide us. We let others tell us who to fight. I didn’t want this!”

His brother coughed, blood filling his mouth, his eyes filled with a mix of disbelief and anger. “You took my life for a belief that has left us broken... What good is your victory?”

The Republican sniper shook his head vigorously, stricken. “None... none at all. What have we gained from this? What future lies waiting for us now?”

His brother’s breathing became more labored, a pained smile flickering on his lips. “You’ve won the battle, but lost your soul. I wish it had been different...”

“Me too,” the sniper choked, feeling as if his heart was shattering. “Me too...”

With that, the light in his brother’s eyes dimmed, leaving only silence in place of the chaos that surrounded them. The sniper sat back, gripping his head tightly, the weight of his actions crashing down like a tidal wave. In that moment, he understood something irreversible: War had taken everything from him—the brother, the bond, and any hope of finding peace. With a final anguished whisper, he shouted into the night, “Why must we fight?”