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Battle of The Ants
Battle of The Ants
Henry David Thoreau (1817–1862), transcendentalist essayist, naturalist, editor, and social
critic, was born David Henry Thoreau in Concord, Massachusetts. Thoreau graduated from
Harvard University and taught briefly at a school in Concord but resigned rather than be expected
to strike his students. He ran his own school from 1838 to 1841, teaching Latin, Greek, and science.
In 1938 Thoreau also began lecturing, which he continued intermittently, often emphasizing his
strong opposition to slavery, but his message was not always well received. Thoreau began his
lifelong friendship with Ralph Waldo Emerson when he tutored Emerson’s brother William in 1843
on Staten Island, boarding with Emerson and his wife. He helped Emerson edit the Transcendentalist
magazine The Dial. Thoreau kept a journal at Emerson’s urging, which aided him in his writing.
He took a canoe trip with his brother John during the first two weeks of September 1839,
which experience he transformed into a volume of poems and essays entitled A Week on the Concord
and Merrimac Rivers (1849). While he published 1000 copies himself, only about 300 sold.
On July 4, 1845 Thoreau moved into a cabin on the shores of Walden Pond, on land belong-
ing to Emerson, about two miles from Concord, and lived there alone for over two years. Thoreau
condensed this outdoor life as if it were a single year in his classic Walden: Or, Life in the Woods
(1854), in which he describes his lifestyle as experimental, emphasizing meditative awakening, the
result of a wish “to live deliberately,” to shed materialism and to cultivate self-reliance.
In July 1846 Thoreau spent a night in the Concord jail because he refused to pay a local poll
tax in protest against the Mexican War and America’s persistence in slavery. This experience led
to the lecture written as “Resistance to Civil Government” and published as his best-known essay,
“Civil Disobedience.” In 1857 Thoreau met John Brown and wrote “A Plea for Captain John Brown,”
which became his most widely read piece during his lifetime, although it failed to save Brown.
He even called for Massachusetts to secede from the Union in “Slavery in Massachusetts” (1854).
Other of his well-known works are Cape Cod (1865) and The Maine Woods (1864). According to
his sister Sophia, Thoreau’s last words, as he died of tuberculosis, were, “Now comes good sailing.”
R
The Battle of the Ants
One day when I went out to my wood-pile, or rather my pile of stumps, I observed 1
two large ants, the one red, the other much larger, nearly half an inch long, and black,
fiercely contending with one another. Having once got hold they never let go, but
struggled and wrestled and rolled on the chips incessantly. Looking farther, I was sur-
prised to find that the chips were covered with such combatants, that it was not a
duellum, but a bellum,1 a war between two races of ants, the red always pitted against
the black, and frequently two red ones to one black. The legions of these Myrmidons2
covered all the hills and vales in my woodyard, and the ground was already strewn
with the dead and dying, both red and black. It was the only battle which I have ever
witnessed, the only battle-field I ever trod while the battle was raging; internecine
war; the red republicans on the one hand, the black imperialists on the other. On
every side they were engaged in deadly combat, yet without any noise that I could
hear, and human soldiers never fought so resolutely. I watched a couple that were fast
locked in each other’s embraces, in a little sunny valley amid the chips, now at noon-
day prepared to fight till the sun went down, or life went out. The smaller red cham-
pion had fastened himself like a vise to his adversary’s front, and through all the
tumblings on that field never for an instant ceased to gnaw at one of his feelers
near the root, having already caused the other to go by the board; while the stronger
black one dashed him from side to side, and, as I saw on looking nearer, had already
divested him of several of his members. They fought with more pertinacity than
bulldogs. Neither manifested the least disposition to retreat. It was evident that their
battle-cry was “Conquer or die.” In the meanwhile there came along a single red ant
on the hillside of this valley, evidently full of excitement, who either had dispatched
his foe, or had not yet taken part in the battle; probably the latter, for he had lost
none of his limbs; whose mother had charged him to return with his shield or upon
it.3 Or perchance he was some Achilles, who had nourished his wrath apart, and had
now come to avenge or rescue his Patroclus.4 He saw this unequal combat from afar,—
for the blacks were nearly twice the size of the red,—he drew near with rapid pace
till he stood on his guard within half an inch of the combatants; then, watching
his opportunity, he sprang upon the black warrior, and commenced his operations
near the root of his right fore leg, leaving the foe to select among his own mem-
bers; and so there were three united for life, as if a new kind of attraction had been
invented which put all other locks and cements to shame. I should not have won-
dered by this time to find that they had their respective musical bands stationed on
some eminent chip, and playing their national airs the while, to excite the slow
and cheer the dying combatants. I was myself excited somewhat even as if they had
been men. The more you think of it, the less the difference. And certainly there is
not the fight recorded in Concord history, at least, if in the history of America,
that will bear a moment’s comparison with this, whether for the numbers engaged in
it, or for the patriotism and heroism displayed. For numbers and for carnage it was an
Austerlitz or Dresden.5 Concord fight! Two killed on the patriot’s side, and Luther
Blanchard wounded! Why here every ant was a Buttrick,—“Fire, for God’s sake
fire!”—and thousands shared the fate of Davis and Hosmer.6 There was not one
hireling there. I have no doubt that it was a principle they fought for, as much as our
ancestors, and not to avoid a three-penny tax on their tea; and the results of this bat-
tle will be as important and memorable to those whom it concerns as those of the
battle of Bunker Hill, at least.
I took up the chip on which the three I have particularly described were strug- 2
gling, carried it into my house, and placed it under a tumbler on my window-sill, in
order to see the issue. Holding a microscope to the first-mentioned red ant, I saw that,
though he was assiduously gnawing at the near fore leg of his enemy, having severed
his remaining feeler, his own breast was all torn away, exposing what vitals he had
3 To return with his shield . . . upon it Spartan mothers told their sons this as they departed for war.
4 Patroclus Achilles’ close friend, when Patroclus was killed, Achilles, who had not been fighting because of wounded pride, returned to
battle the Trojans, especially to avenge the death of his friend by killing the Trojan hero, Heetor.
5 Austerlitz or Dresden two fierce battles of the Napoleonic wars.
6 Concord fight . . . Hosmer The first battle of the American Revolution was fought at Concord Bridge. In that famous fight, Major John
Buttrick and his militiamen repelled the British regular army and hired soldiers. Davis and Hosmer were Americans killed, Blanchard an American
wounded.
The iDeal Reader Henry David Thoreau, ‘‘The © The McGraw−Hill
Battle of the Ants’’ Companies, 2000
there to the jaws of the black warrior, whose breastplate was apparently too thick for
him to pierce; and the dark carbuncles of the sufferer’s eyes shone with ferocity
such as war only could excite. They struggled half an hour longer under the tumbler,
and when I looked again the black soldier had severed the heads of his foes from their
bodies, and the still living heads were hanging on either side of him like ghastly
trophies at his saddle-bow, still apparently as firmly fastened as ever, and he was
endeavoring with feeble struggles, being without feelers and with only the remnant
of a leg, and I know not how many other wounds, to divest himself of them; which
at length, after half an hour more, he accomplished. I raised the glass, and he went
off over the window-sill in that crippled state. Whether he finally survived that com-
bat, and spent the remainder of his days in some Hôtel des Invalides,7 I do not know;
but I thought that his industry would not be worth much thereafter. I never learned
which party was victorious, nor the cause of the war; but I felt for the rest of that day
as if I had had my feelings excited and harrowed by witnessing the struggle, the ferocity
and carnage of a human battle before my door.