Before Adam by Jack London

something of which we knew nothing. We were already

too far removed from the lower life-forms to have the

instinct for swimming, and we had not yet become

sufficiently man-like to undertake it as the working

out of a problem. I roamed disconsolately up and down

the bank, keeping as close to him in his involuntary

travels as I could, while he wailed and cried till it

was a wonder that he did not bring down upon us every

hunting animal within a mile.

The hours passed. The sun climbed overhead and began

its descent to the west. The light wind died down and

left Lop-Ear on his log floating around a hundred feet

away. And then, somehow, I know not how, Lop-Ear made

the great discovery. He began paddling with his hands.

At first his progress was slow and erratic. Then he

straightened out and began laboriously to paddle nearer

and nearer. I could not understand. I sat down and

watched and waited until he gained the shore.

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But he had learned something, which was more than I had

done. Later in the afternoon, he deliberately launched

out from shore on the log. Still later he persuaded me

to join him, and I, too, learned the trick of paddling.

For the next several days we could not tear ourselves

away from the slough. So absorbed were we in our new

game that we almost neglected to eat. We even roosted

in a nearby tree at night. And we forgot that Red-Eye

existed.

We were always trying new logs, and we learned that the

smaller the log the faster we could make it go. Also,

we learned that the smaller the log the more liable it

was to roll over and give us a ducking. Still another

thing about small logs we learned. One day we paddled

our individual logs alongside each other. And then,

quite by accident, in the course of play, we discovered

that when each, with one hand and foot, held on to the

other’s log, the logs were steadied and did not turn

over. Lying side by side in this position, our outside

hands and feet were left free for paddling. Our final

discovery was that this arrangement enabled us to use

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still smaller logs and thereby gain greater speed. And

there our discoveries ended. We had invented the most

primitive catamaran, and we did not have sense enough

to know it. It never entered our heads to lash the

logs together with tough vines or stringy roots. We

were content to hold the logs together with our hands

and feet.

It was not until we got over our first enthusiasm for

navigation and had begun to return to our tree-shelter

to sleep at night, that we found the Swift One. I saw

her first, gathering young acorns from the branches of

a large oak near our tree. She was very timid. At

first, she kept very still; but when she saw that she

was discovered she dropped to the ground and dashed

wildly away. We caught occasional glimpses of her from

day to day, and came to look for her when we travelled

back and forth between our tree and the mouth of the

slough.

And then, one day, she did not run away. She waited

our coming, and made soft peace-sounds. We could not

get very near, however. When we seemed to approach too

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close, she darted suddenly away and from a safe

distance uttered the soft sounds again. This continued

for some days. It took a long while to get acquainted

with her, but finally it was accomplished and she

joined us sometimes in our play.

I liked her from the first. She was of most pleasing

appearance. She was very mild. Her eyes were the

mildest I had ever seen. In this she was quite unlike

the rest of the girls and women of the Folk, who were

born viragos. She never made harsh, angry cries, and

it seemed to be her nature to flee away from trouble

rather than to remain and fight.

The mildness I have mentioned seemed to emanate from

her whole being. Her bodily as well as facial

appearance was the cause of this. Her eyes were larger

than most of her kind, and they were not so deep-set,

while the lashes were longer and more regular. Nor was

her nose so thick and squat. It had quite a bridge,

and the nostrils opened downward. Her incisors were

not large, nor was her upper lip long and down-hanging,

nor her lower lip protruding. She was not very hairy,

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except on the outsides of arms and legs and across the

shoulders; and while she was thin-hipped, her calves

were not twisted and gnarly.

I have often wondered, looking back upon her from the

twentieth century through the medium of my dreams, and

it has always occurred to me that possibly she may have

been related to the Fire People. Her father, or

mother, might well have come from that higher stock.

While such things were not common, still they did

occur, and I have seen the proof of them with my own

eyes, even to the extent of members of the horde

turning renegade and going to live with the Tree

People.

All of which is neither here nor there. The Swift One

was radically different from any of the females of the

horde, and I had a liking for her from the first. Her

mildness and gentleness attracted me. She was never

rough, and she never fought. She always ran away, and

right here may be noted the significance of the naming

of her. She was a better climber than Lop-Ear or I.

When we played tag we could never catch her except by

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accident, while she could catch us at will. She was

remarkably swift in all her movements, and she had a

genius for judging distances that was equalled only by

her daring. Excessively timid in all other matters,

she was without fear when it came to climbing or

running through the trees, and Lop-Ear and I were

awkward and lumbering and cowardly in comparison.

She was an orphan. We never saw her with any one, and

there was no telling how long she had lived alone in

the world. She must have learned early in her helpless

childhood that safety lay only in flight. She was very

wise and very discreet. It became a sort of game with

Lop-Ear and me to try to find where she lived. It was

certain that she had a tree-shelter somewhere, and not

very far away; but trail her as we would, we could

never find it. She was willing enough to join with us

at play in the day-time, but the secret of her

abiding-place she guarded jealously.

CHAPTER XI

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It must be remembered that the description I have just

given of the Swift One is not the description that

would have been given by Big-Tooth, my other self of my

dreams, my prehistoric ancestor. It is by the medium of

my dreams that I, the modern man, look through the eyes

of Big-Tooth and see.

And so it is with much that I narrate of the events of

that far-off time. There is a duality about my

impressions that is too confusing to inflict upon my

readers. I shall merely pause here in my narrative to

indicate this duality, this perplexing mixing of

personality. It is I, the modern, who look back across

the centuries and weigh and analyze the emotions and

motives of Big-Tooth, my other self. He did not

bother to weigh and analyze. He was simplicity itself.

He just lived events, without ever pondering why he

lived them in his particular and often erratic way.

As I, my real self, grew older, I entered more and more

into the substance of my dreams. One may dream, and

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even in the midst of the dream be aware that he is

dreaming, and if the dream be bad, comfort himself with

the thought that it is only a dream. This is a common

experience with all of us. And so it was that I, the

modern, often entered into my dreaming, and in the

consequent strange dual personality was both actor and

spectator. And right often have I, the modern, been

perturbed and vexed by the foolishness, illogic,

obtuseness, and general all-round stupendous stupidity

of myself, the primitive.

And one thing more, before I end this digression. Have

you ever dreamed that you dreamed? Dogs dream, horses

dream, all animals dream. In Big-Tooth’s day the

half-men dreamed, and when the dreams were bad they

howled in their sleep. Now I, the modern, have lain

down with Big-Tooth and dreamed his dreams.

This is getting almost beyond the grip of the

intellect, I know; but I do know that I have done this

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