Ambrose Bierce

A Son of the Gods Ambrose Bierce

A breezy day and a sunny landscape. An opencountry to right and left and forward; behind, a wood. In the edge of this wood, facing the open but notventuring into it, long lines of troops halted. Thewood is alive with them, and full of confused noises: the occasional rattle of wheels as a battery of artillerygoes into position to cover the advance; the hum andmurmur of the soldiers talking; a sound ofinnumerable feet in the dry leaves that strew theinterspaces among the trees; hoarse commands ofofficers. Detached groups of horsemen are well infront-not altogether exposed-many of themintently regarding the crest of a hill a mile away in thedirection of the interrupted advance. For this powerfularmy, moving in battle order through a forest, has metwith a formidable obstacle-the open country. Thecrest of that gentle hill a mile away has a sinister look;it says, Beware! Along it runs a stone wall extending toleft and right a great distance. Behind the wall is ahedge; behind the hedge are seen the tops of trees inrather straggling order. Among the trees-what? It isnecessary to know