“Bomb the bridges” they said. “It will be fun.”
Well, it turns out that was some sort of local idiom, and no one either bothered to explain it to the new guy, or apparently expected the new guy to actually go out and set charges on the bridge just outside the town gates.
All it took was one sock full of black powder to bring the bridge down. The river fish weren’t even particularly inconvenienced, aside from one very unlucky trout that happened to be hit by a falling strut. The trout was tasty, so it didn’t go to waste.
I still don’t know what they meant by “bomb the bridges”. Even while tarring and feathering me and subsequently riding me out of town on a rail it never occurred to anyone to explain what they really meant.