White Fang

by Jack London

  CHAPTER IV--THE WALL OF THE WORLD

  By the time his mother began leaving the cave on hunting expeditions, thecub had learned well the law that forbade his approaching the entrance.Not only had this law been forcibly and many times impressed on him byhis mother's nose and paw, but in him the instinct of fear wasdeveloping. Never, in his brief cave-life, had he encountered anythingof which to be afraid. Yet fear was in him. It had come down to himfrom a remote ancestry through a thousand thousand lives. It was aheritage he had received directly from One Eye and the she-wolf; but tothem, in turn, it had been passed down through all the generations ofwolves that had gone before. Fear!--that legacy of the Wild which noanimal may escape nor exchange for pottage.

  So the grey cub knew fear, though he knew not the stuff of which fear wasmade. Possibly he accepted it as one of the restrictions of life. Forhe had already learned that there were such restrictions. Hunger he hadknown; and when he could not appease his hunger he had felt restriction.The hard obstruction of the cave-wall, the sharp nudge of his mother'snose, the smashing stroke of her paw, the hunger unappeased of severalfamines, had borne in upon him that all was not freedom in the world,that to life there were limitations and restraints. These limitations andrestraints were laws. To be obedient to them was to escape hurt and makefor happiness.

  He did not reason the question out in this man fashion. He merelyclassified the things that hurt and the things that did not hurt. Andafter such classification he avoided the things that hurt, therestrictions and restraints, in order to enjoy the satisfactions and theremunerations of life.

  Thus it was that in obedience to the law laid down by his mother, and inobedience to the law of that unknown and nameless thing, fear, he keptaway from the mouth of the cave. It remained to him a white wall oflight. When his mother was absent, he slept most of the time, whileduring the intervals that he was awake he kept very quiet, suppressingthe whimpering cries that tickled in his throat and strove for noise.

  Once, lying awake, he heard a strange sound in the white wall. He didnot know that it was a wolverine, standing outside, all a-trembling withits own daring, and cautiously scenting out the contents of the cave. Thecub knew only that the sniff was strange, a something unclassified,therefore unknown and terrible--for the unknown was one of the chiefelements that went into the making of fear.

  The hair bristled upon the grey cub's back, but it bristled silently. Howwas he to know that this thing that sniffed was a thing at which tobristle? It was not born of any knowledge of his, yet it was the visibleexpression of the fear that was in him, and for which, in his own life,there was no accounting. But fear was accompanied by anotherinstinct--that of concealment. The cub was in a frenzy of terror, yet helay without movement or sound, frozen, petrified into immobility, to allappearances dead. His mother, coming home, growled as she smelt thewolverine's track, and bounded into the cave and licked and nozzled himwith undue vehemence of affection. And the cub felt that somehow he hadescaped a great hurt.

  But there were other forces at work in the cub, the greatest of which wasgrowth. Instinct and law demanded of him obedience. But growth demandeddisobedience. His mother and fear impelled him to keep away from thewhite wall. Growth is life, and life is for ever destined to make forlight. So there was no damming up the tide of life that was risingwithin him--rising with every mouthful of meat he swallowed, with everybreath he drew. In the end, one day, fear and obedience were swept awayby the rush of life, and the cub straddled and sprawled toward theentrance.

  Unlike any other wall with which he had had experience, this wall seemedto recede from him as he approached. No hard surface collided with thetender little nose he thrust out tentatively before him. The substanceof the wall seemed as permeable and yielding as light. And as condition,in his eyes, had the seeming of form, so he entered into what had beenwall to him and bathed in the substance that composed it.

  It was bewildering. He was sprawling through solidity. And ever thelight grew brighter. Fear urged him to go back, but growth drove him on.Suddenly he found himself at the mouth of the cave. The wall, insidewhich he had thought himself, as suddenly leaped back before him to animmeasurable distance. The light had become painfully bright. He wasdazzled by it. Likewise he was made dizzy by this abrupt and tremendousextension of space. Automatically, his eyes were adjusting themselves tothe brightness, focusing themselves to meet the increased distance ofobjects. At first, the wall had leaped beyond his vision. He now saw itagain; but it had taken upon itself a remarkable remoteness. Also, itsappearance had changed. It was now a variegated wall, composed of thetrees that fringed the stream, the opposing mountain that towered abovethe trees, and the sky that out-towered the mountain.

  A great fear came upon him. This was more of the terrible unknown. Hecrouched down on the lip of the cave and gazed out on the world. He wasvery much afraid. Because it was unknown, it was hostile to him.Therefore the hair stood up on end along his back and his lips wrinkledweakly in an attempt at a ferocious and intimidating snarl. Out of hispuniness and fright he challenged and menaced the whole wide world.

  Nothing happened. He continued to gaze, and in his interest he forgot tosnarl. Also, he forgot to be afraid. For the time, fear had been routedby growth, while growth had assumed the guise of curiosity. He began tonotice near objects--an open portion of the stream that flashed in thesun, the blasted pine-tree that stood at the base of the slope, and theslope itself, that ran right up to him and ceased two feet beneath thelip of the cave on which he crouched.

  Now the grey cub had lived all his days on a level floor. He had neverexperienced the hurt of a fall. He did not know what a fall was. So hestepped boldly out upon the air. His hind-legs still rested on the cave-lip, so he fell forward head downward. The earth struck him a harsh blowon the nose that made him yelp. Then he began rolling down the slope,over and over. He was in a panic of terror. The unknown had caught himat last. It had gripped savagely hold of him and was about to wreak uponhim some terrific hurt. Growth was now routed by fear, and he ki-yi'dlike any frightened puppy.

  The unknown bore him on he knew not to what frightful hurt, and he yelpedand ki-yi'd unceasingly. This was a different proposition from crouchingin frozen fear while the unknown lurked just alongside. Now the unknownhad caught tight hold of him. Silence would do no good. Besides, it wasnot fear, but terror, that convulsed him.

  But the slope grew more gradual, and its base was grass-covered. Herethe cub lost momentum. When at last he came to a stop, he gave one lastagonised yell and then a long, whimpering wail. Also, and quite as amatter of course, as though in his life he had already made a thousandtoilets, he proceeded to lick away the dry clay that soiled him.

  After that he sat up and gazed about him, as might the first man of theearth who landed upon Mars. The cub had broken through the wall of theworld, the unknown had let go its hold of him, and here he was withouthurt. But the first man on Mars would have experienced lessunfamiliarity than did he. Without any antecedent knowledge, without anywarning whatever that such existed, he found himself an explorer in atotally new world.

  Now that the terrible unknown had let go of him, he forgot that theunknown had any terrors. He was aware only of curiosity in all thethings about him. He inspected the grass beneath him, the moss-berryplant just beyond, and the dead trunk of the blasted pine that stood onthe edge of an open space among the trees. A squirrel, running aroundthe base of the trunk, came full upon him, and gave him a great fright.He cowered down and snarled. But the squirrel was as badly scared. Itran up the tree, and from a point of safety chattered back savagely.

  This helped the cub's courage, and though the woodpecker he nextencountered gave him a start, he proceeded confidently on his way. Suchwas his confidence, that when a moose-bird impudently hopped up to him,he reached out at it with a playful paw. The result was a sharp peck onthe end of his nose that made him cower down and ki-yi. The noise hemade wa
s too much for the moose-bird, who sought safety in flight.

  But the cub was learning. His misty little mind had already made anunconscious classification. There were live things and things not alive.Also, he must watch out for the live things. The things not aliveremained always in one place, but the live things moved about, and therewas no telling what they might do. The thing to expect of them was theunexpected, and for this he must be prepared.

  He travelled very clumsily. He ran into sticks and things. A twig thathe thought a long way off, would the next instant hit him on the nose orrake along his ribs. There were inequalities of surface. Sometimes heoverstepped and stubbed his nose. Quite as often he understepped andstubbed his feet. Then there were the pebbles and stones that turnedunder him when he trod upon them; and from them he came to know that thethings not alive were not all in the same state of stable equilibrium aswas his cave--also, that small things not alive were more liable thanlarge things to fall down or turn over. But with every mishap he waslearning. The longer he walked, the better he walked. He was adjustinghimself. He was learning to calculate his own muscular movements, toknow his physical limitations, to measure distances between objects, andbetween objects and himself.

  His was the luck of the beginner. Born to be a hunter of meat (though hedid not know it), he blundered upon meat just outside his own cave-dooron his first foray into the world. It was by sheer blundering that hechanced upon the shrewdly hidden ptarmigan nest. He fell into it. Hehad essayed to walk along the trunk of a fallen pine. The rotten barkgave way under his feet, and with a despairing yelp he pitched down therounded crescent, smashed through the leafage and stalks of a small bush,and in the heart of the bush, on the ground, fetched up in the midst ofseven ptarmigan chicks.

  They made noises, and at first he was frightened at them. Then heperceived that they were very little, and he became bolder. They moved.He placed his paw on one, and its movements were accelerated. This was asource of enjoyment to him. He smelled it. He picked it up in hismouth. It struggled and tickled his tongue. At the same time he wasmade aware of a sensation of hunger. His jaws closed together. Therewas a crunching of fragile bones, and warm blood ran in his mouth. Thetaste of it was good. This was meat, the same as his mother gave him,only it was alive between his teeth and therefore better. So he ate theptarmigan. Nor did he stop till he had devoured the whole brood. Thenhe licked his chops in quite the same way his mother did, and began tocrawl out of the bush.

  He encountered a feathered whirlwind. He was confused and blinded by therush of it and the beat of angry wings. He hid his head between his pawsand yelped. The blows increased. The mother ptarmigan was in a fury.Then he became angry. He rose up, snarling, striking out with his paws.He sank his tiny teeth into one of the wings and pulled and tuggedsturdily. The ptarmigan struggled against him, showering blows upon himwith her free wing. It was his first battle. He was elated. He forgotall about the unknown. He no longer was afraid of anything. He wasfighting, tearing at a live thing that was striking at him. Also, thislive thing was meat. The lust to kill was on him. He had just destroyedlittle live things. He would now destroy a big live thing. He was toobusy and happy to know that he was happy. He was thrilling and exultingin ways new to him and greater to him than any he had known before.

  He held on to the wing and growled between his tight-clenched teeth. Theptarmigan dragged him out of the bush. When she turned and tried to draghim back into the bush's shelter, he pulled her away from it and on intothe open. And all the time she was making outcry and striking with herfree wing, while feathers were flying like a snow-fall. The pitch towhich he was aroused was tremendous. All the fighting blood of his breedwas up in him and surging through him. This was living, though he didnot know it. He was realising his own meaning in the world; he was doingthat for which he was made--killing meat and battling to kill it. He wasjustifying his existence, than which life can do no greater; for lifeachieves its summit when it does to the uttermost that which it wasequipped to do.

  After a time, the ptarmigan ceased her struggling. He still held her bythe wing, and they lay on the ground and looked at each other. He triedto growl threateningly, ferociously. She pecked on his nose, which bynow, what of previous adventures was sore. He winced but held on. Shepecked him again and again. From wincing he went to whimpering. Hetried to back away from her, oblivious to the fact that by his hold onher he dragged her after him. A rain of pecks fell on his ill-used nose.The flood of fight ebbed down in him, and, releasing his prey, he turnedtail and scampered on across the open in inglorious retreat.

  He lay down to rest on the other side of the open, near the edge of thebushes, his tongue lolling out, his chest heaving and panting, his nosestill hurting him and causing him to continue his whimper. But as he laythere, suddenly there came to him a feeling as of something terribleimpending. The unknown with all its terrors rushed upon him, and heshrank back instinctively into the shelter of the bush. As he did so, adraught of air fanned him, and a large, winged body swept ominously andsilently past. A hawk, driving down out of the blue, had barely missedhim.

  While he lay in the bush, recovering from his fright and peeringfearfully out, the mother-ptarmigan on the other side of the open spacefluttered out of the ravaged nest. It was because of her loss that shepaid no attention to the winged bolt of the sky. But the cub saw, and itwas a warning and a lesson to him--the swift downward swoop of the hawk,the short skim of its body just above the ground, the strike of itstalons in the body of the ptarmigan, the ptarmigan's squawk of agony andfright, and the hawk's rush upward into the blue, carrying the ptarmiganaway with it

  It was a long time before the cub left its shelter. He had learned much.Live things were meat. They were good to eat. Also, live things whenthey were large enough, could give hurt. It was better to eat small livethings like ptarmigan chicks, and to let alone large live things likeptarmigan hens. Nevertheless he felt a little prick of ambition, asneaking desire to have another battle with that ptarmigan hen--only thehawk had carried her away. Maybe there were other ptarmigan hens. Hewould go and see.

  He came down a shelving bank to the stream. He had never seen waterbefore. The footing looked good. There were no inequalities of surface.He stepped boldly out on it; and went down, crying with fear, into theembrace of the unknown. It was cold, and he gasped, breathing quickly.The water rushed into his lungs instead of the air that had alwaysaccompanied his act of breathing. The suffocation he experienced waslike the pang of death. To him it signified death. He had no consciousknowledge of death, but like every animal of the Wild, he possessed theinstinct of death. To him it stood as the greatest of hurts. It was thevery essence of the unknown; it was the sum of the terrors of theunknown, the one culminating and unthinkable catastrophe that couldhappen to him, about which he knew nothing and about which he fearedeverything.

  He came to the surface, and the sweet air rushed into his open mouth. Hedid not go down again. Quite as though it had been a long-establishedcustom of his he struck out with all his legs and began to swim. Thenear bank was a yard away; but he had come up with his back to it, andthe first thing his eyes rested upon was the opposite bank, toward whichhe immediately began to swim. The stream was a small one, but in thepool it widened out to a score of feet.

  Midway in the passage, the current picked up the cub and swept himdownstream. He was caught in the miniature rapid at the bottom of thepool. Here was little chance for swimming. The quiet water had becomesuddenly angry. Sometimes he was under, sometimes on top. At all timeshe was in violent motion, now being turned over or around, and again,being smashed against a rock. And with every rock he struck, he yelped.His progress was a series of yelps, from which might have been adducedthe number of rocks he encountered.

  Below the rapid was a second pool, and here, captured by the eddy, he wasgently borne to the bank, and as gently deposited on a bed of gravel. Hecrawled frantically clear of
the water and lay down. He had learned somemore about the world. Water was not alive. Yet it moved. Also, itlooked as solid as the earth, but was without any solidity at all. Hisconclusion was that things were not always what they appeared to be. Thecub's fear of the unknown was an inherited distrust, and it had now beenstrengthened by experience. Thenceforth, in the nature of things, hewould possess an abiding distrust of appearances. He would have to learnthe reality of a thing before he could put his faith into it.

  One other adventure was destined for him that day. He had recollectedthat there was such a thing in the world as his mother. And then therecame to him a feeling that he wanted her more than all the rest of thethings in the world. Not only was his body tired with the adventures ithad undergone, but his little brain was equally tired. In all the dayshe had lived it had not worked so hard as on this one day. Furthermore,he was sleepy. So he started out to look for the cave and his mother,feeling at the same time an overwhelming rush of loneliness andhelplessness.

  He was sprawling along between some bushes, when he heard a sharpintimidating cry. There was a flash of yellow before his eyes. He saw aweasel leaping swiftly away from him. It was a small live thing, and hehad no fear. Then, before him, at his feet, he saw an extremely smalllive thing, only several inches long, a young weasel, that, like himself,had disobediently gone out adventuring. It tried to retreat before him.He turned it over with his paw. It made a queer, grating noise. Thenext moment the flash of yellow reappeared before his eyes. He heardagain the intimidating cry, and at the same instant received a sharp blowon the side of the neck and felt the sharp teeth of the mother-weasel cutinto his flesh.

  While he yelped and ki-yi'd and scrambled backward, he saw the mother-weasel leap upon her young one and disappear with it into theneighbouring thicket. The cut of her teeth in his neck still hurt, buthis feelings were hurt more grievously, and he sat down and weaklywhimpered. This mother-weasel was so small and so savage. He was yet tolearn that for size and weight the weasel was the most ferocious,vindictive, and terrible of all the killers of the Wild. But a portionof this knowledge was quickly to be his.

  He was still whimpering when the mother-weasel reappeared. She did notrush him, now that her young one was safe. She approached morecautiously, and the cub had full opportunity to observe her lean,snakelike body, and her head, erect, eager, and snake-like itself. Hersharp, menacing cry sent the hair bristling along his back, and hesnarled warningly at her. She came closer and closer. There was a leap,swifter than his unpractised sight, and the lean, yellow body disappearedfor a moment out of the field of his vision. The next moment she was athis throat, her teeth buried in his hair and flesh.

  At first he snarled and tried to fight; but he was very young, and thiswas only his first day in the world, and his snarl became a whimper, hisfight a struggle to escape. The weasel never relaxed her hold. She hungon, striving to press down with her teeth to the great vein where hislife-blood bubbled. The weasel was a drinker of blood, and it was everher preference to drink from the throat of life itself.

  The grey cub would have died, and there would have been no story to writeabout him, had not the she-wolf come bounding through the bushes. Theweasel let go the cub and flashed at the she-wolf's throat, missing, butgetting a hold on the jaw instead. The she-wolf flirted her head likethe snap of a whip, breaking the weasel's hold and flinging it high inthe air. And, still in the air, the she-wolf's jaws closed on the lean,yellow body, and the weasel knew death between the crunching teeth.

  The cub experienced another access of affection on the part of hismother. Her joy at finding him seemed even greater than his joy at beingfound. She nozzled him and caressed him and licked the cuts made in himby the weasel's teeth. Then, between them, mother and cub, they ate theblood-drinker, and after that went back to the cave and slept.