A thousand deaths by Jack London

bad roads. We seemed always to be just ahead of them or behind

them. The farther we came the better the roads seemed, though

this was probably due to the fact that we were learning more and

more what four horses and a light rig could do on a road. And

thus do I save my face with all the counties. I refuse to make

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32

invidious road comparisons. I can add that while, save in rare

instances on steep pitches, I have trotted my horses down all the

grades, I have never had one horse fall down nor have I had to

send the rig to a blacksmith shop for repairs.

Also, I am learning to throw leather. If any tyro thinks it is

easy to take a short-handled, long-lashed whip, and throw the end

of that lash just where he wants it, let him put on automobile

goggles and try it. On reconsideration, I would suggest the

substitution of a wire fencing-mask for the goggles. For days I

looked at that whip. It fascinated me, and the fascination was

composed mostly of fear. At my first attempt, Charmian and Nakata

became afflicted with the same sort of fascination, and for a long

time afterward, whenever they saw me reach for the whip, they

closed their eyes and shielded their heads with their arms.

Here’s the problem. Instead of pulling honestly, Prince is

lagging back and manoeuvring for a bite at Milda’s neck. I have

four reins in my hands. I must put these four reins into my left

hand, properly gather the whip handle and the bight of the lash in

my right hand, and throw that lash past Maid without striking her

and into Prince. If the lash strikes Maid, her thoroughbredness

will go up in the air, and I’ll have a case of horse hysteria on

my hands for the next half hour. But follow. The whole problem

is not yet stated. Suppose that I miss Maid and reach the

intended target. The instant the lash cracks, the four horses

jump, Prince most of all, and his jump, with spread wicked teeth,

is for the back of Milda’s neck. She jumps to escape–which is

her second jump, for the first one came when the lash exploded.

The Outlaw reaches for Maid’s neck, and Maid, who has already

jumped and tried to bolt, tries to bolt harder. And all this

infinitesimal fraction of time I am trying to hold the four

animals with my left hand, while my whip-lash, writhing through

the air, is coming back to me. Three simultaneous things I must

do: keep hold of the four reins with my left hand; slam on the

brake with my foot; and on the rebound catch that flying lash in

the hollow of my right arm and get the bight of it safely into my

right hand. Then I must get two of the four lines back into my

right hand and keep the horses from running away or going over the

grade. Try it some time. You will find life anything but

wearisome. Why, the first time I hit the mark and made the lash

go off like a revolver shot, I was so astounded and delighted that

I was paralysed. I forgot to do any of the multitudinous other

things, tangled the whip lash in Maid’s harness, and was forced to

call upon Charmian for assistance. And now, confession. I carry

a few pebbles handy. They’re great for reaching Prince in a tight

place. But just the same I’m learning that whip every day, and

before I get home I hope to discard the pebbles. And as long as I

rely on pebbles, I cannot truthfully speak of myself as “tooling a

four-in-hand.”

From Garberville, where we ate eel to repletion and got acquainted

with the aborigines, we drove down the Eel River Valley for two

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33

days through the most unthinkably glorious body of redwood timber

to be seen anywhere in California. From Dyerville on to Eureka,

we caught glimpses of railroad construction and of great concrete

bridges in the course of building, which advertised that at least

Humboldt County was going to be linked to the rest of the world.

We still consider our trip is just begun. As soon as this is

mailed from Eureka, it’s heigh ho! for the horses and pull on. We

shall continue up the coast, turn in for Hoopa Reservation and the

gold mines, and shoot down the Trinity and Klamath rivers in

Indian canoes to Requa. After that, we shall go on through Del

Norte County and into Oregon. The trip so far has justified us in

taking the attitude that we won’t go home until the winter rains

drive us in. And, finally, I am going to try the experiment of

putting the Outlaw in the lead and relegating Prince to his old

position in the near wheel. I won’t need any pebbles then.

NOTHING THAT EVER CAME TO ANYTHING

It was at Quito, the mountain capital of Ecuador, that the

following passage at correspondence took place. Having occasion

to buy a pair of shoes in a shop six feet by eight in size and

with walls three feet thick, I noticed a mangy leopard skin on the

floor. I had no Spanish. The shop-keeper had no English. But I

was an adept at sign language. I wanted to know where I should go

to buy leopard skins. On my scribble-pad I drew the interesting

streets of a city. Then I drew a small shop, which, after much

effort, I persuaded the proprietor into recognising as his shop.

Next, I indicated in my drawing that on the many streets there

were many shops. And, finally, I made myself into a living

interrogation mark, pointing all the while from the mangy leopard

skin to the many shops I had sketched.

But the proprietor failed to follow me. So did his assistant.

The street came in to help–that is, as many as could crowd into

the six-by-eight shop; while those that could not force their way

in held an overflow meeting on the sidewalk. The proprietor and

the rest took turns at talking to me in rapid-fire Spanish, and,

from the expressions on their faces, all concluded that I was

remarkably stupid. Again I went through my programme, pointing on

the sketch from the one shop to the many shops, pointing out that

in this particular shop was one leopard skin, and then questing

interrogatively with my pencil among all the shops. All regarded

me in blank silence, until I saw comprehension suddenly dawn on

the face of a small boy.

“Tigres montanya!” he cried.

This appealed to me as mountain tigers, namely, leopards; and in

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34

token that he understood, the boy made signs for me to follow him,

which I obeyed. He led me for a quarter of a mile, and paused

before the doorway of a large building where soldiers slouched on

sentry duty and in and out of which went other soldiers.

Motioning for me to remain, he ran inside.

Fifteen minutes later he was out again, without leopard skins, but

full of information. By means of my card, of my hotel card, of my

watch, and of the boy’s fingers, I learned the following: that at

six o’clock that evening he would arrive at my hotel with ten

leopard skins for my inspection. Further, I learned that the

skins were the property of one Captain Ernesto Becucci. Also, I

learned that the boy’s name was Eliceo.

The boy was prompt. At six o’clock he was at my room. In his

hand was a small roll addressed to me. On opening it I found it

to be manuscript piano music, the Hora Tranquila Valse, or

“Tranquil Hour Waltz,” by Ernesto Becucci. I came for leopard

skins, thought I, and the owner sends me sheet music instead. But

the boy assured me that he would have the skins at the hotel at

nine next morning, and I entrusted to him the following letter of

acknowledgment:

“DEAR CAPTAIN BECUCCI:

“A thousand thanks for your kind presentation of Hora Tranquila

Valse. Mrs. London will play it for me this evening.

Sincerely yours,

“Jack London.”

Next morning Eliceo was back, but without the skins. Instead, he

gave me a letter, written in Spanish, of which the following is a

free translation:

“To my dearest and always appreciated friend, I submit myself –

“DEAR SIR:

” I sent you last night an offering by the bearer of this note,

and you returned me a letter which I translated.

“Be it known to you, sir, that I am giving this waltz away in the

best society, and therefore to your honoured self. Therefore it

is beholden to you to recognise the attention, I mean by a

tangible return, as this composition was made by myself. You will

therefore send by your humble servant, the bearer, any offering,