The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 08: Negligible Tales, On With the Dance, EpigramsBierce, Ambrose
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The Collected Works of Ambrose Bierce, Volume 08: Negligible Tales, On With the Dance, Epigrams
Bierce, Ambrose
American literature
"Uncle William had a ram that was famous in all that region as a
fighter. It was in a state of chronic constitutional indignation. Some
deep disappointment in early life had soured its disposition and it had
declared war upon the whole world. To say that it would butt anything
accessible is but faintly to express the nature and scope of its
military activity: the universe was its antagonist; its methods that of
a projectile. It fought like the angels and devils, in mid-air, cleaving
the atmosphere like a bird, describing a parabolic curve and descending
upon its victim at just the exact angle of incidence to make the most of
its velocity and weight. Its momentum, calculated in foot-tons, was
something incredible. It had been seen to destroy a four year old bull
by a single impact upon that animal's gnarly forehead. No stone wall had
ever been known to resist its downward swoop; there were no trees tough
enough to stay it; it would splinter them into matchwood and defile
their leafy honors in the dust. This irascible and implacable
brute--this incarnate thunderbolt--this monster of the upper deep, I had
seen reposing in the shade of an adjacent tree, dreaming dreams of
conquest and glory. It was with a view to summoning it forth to the
field of honor that I suspended its master in the manner described.
"Having completed my preparations, I imparted to the avuncular pendulum
a gentle oscillation, and retiring to cover behind a contiguous rock,
lifted up my voice in a long rasping cry whose diminishing final note
was drowned in a noise like that of a swearing cat, which emanated from
the sack. Instantly that formidable sheep was upon its feet and had
taken in the military situation at a glance. In a few moments it had
approached, stamping, to within fifty yards of the swinging foeman, who,
now retreating and anon advancing, seemed to invite the fray. Suddenly I
saw the beast's head drop earthward as if depressed by the weight of its
enormous horns; then a dim, white, wavy streak of sheep prolonged itself
from that spot in a generally horizontal direction to within about four
yards of a point immediately beneath the enemy. There it struck sharply
upward, and before it had faded from my gaze at the place whence it had
set out I heard a horrid thump and a piercing scream, and my poor uncle
shot forward, with a slack rope higher than the limb to which he was
attached. Here the rope tautened with a jerk, arresting his flight, and
back he swung in a breathless curve to the other end of his arc. The ram
had fallen, a heap of indistinguishable legs, wool and horns, but
pulling itself together and dodging as its antagonist swept downward it
retired at random, alternately shaking its head and stamping its
fore-feet. When it had backed about the same distance as that from which
it had delivered the assault it paused again, bowed its head as if in
prayer for victory and again shot forward, dimly visible as before--a
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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