Children of the Frost by Jack London

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“As I say, with our dogs, so with us. And one day came the first white man. He dragged

himself, so, on hand and knee, in the snow. And his skin was stretched tight, and his

bones were sharp beneath. Never was such a man, we thought, and we wondered of what

strange tribe he was, and of its land. And he was weak, most weak, like a little child, so

that we gave him a place by the fire, and warm furs to lie upon, and we gave him food as

little children are given food.

“And with him was a dog, large as three of our dogs, and very weak. The hair of this dog

was short, and not warm, and the tail was frozen so that the end fell off. And this strange

dog we fed, and bedded by the fire, and fought from it our dogs, which else would have

killed him. And what of the moose meat and the sun-dried salmon, the man and dog took

strength to themselves; and what of the strength they became big and unafraid. And the

man spoke loud words and laughed at the old men and young men, and looked boldly

upon the maidens. And the dog fought with our dogs, and for all of his short hair and

softness slew three of them in one day.

“When we asked the man concerning his people, he said, `I have many brothers,’ and

laughed in a way that was not good. And when he was in his full strength he went away,

and with him went Noda, daughter to the chief. First, after that, was one of our bitches

brought to pup. And never was there such a breed of dogs, — big-headed, thick-jawed,

and short-haired, and helpless. Well do I remember my father, Otsbaok, a strong man.

His face was black with anger at such helplessness, and he took a stone, so, and so, and

there was no more helplessness. And two summers after that came Noda back to us with

a man-child in the hollow of her arm.

“And that was the beginning. Came a second white man, with short-haired dogs, which

he left behind him when he went. And with him went six of our strongest dogs, for

which, in trade, he had given Koo-So-Tee, my mother’s brother, a wonderful pistol that

fired with great swiftness six times. And Koo-So-Tee was very big, what of the pistol,

and laughed at our bows and arrows. `Woman’s things,’ he called them, and went forth

against the bald-face grizzly, with the pistol in his hand. Now it be known that it is not

good to hunt the bald-face with a pistol, but how were we to know? and how was Koo-

So-Tee to know? So he went against the bald-face, very brave, and fired the pistol with

great swiftness six times; and the bald-face but grunted and broke in his breast like it

were an egg, and like honey from a bee’s nest dripped the brains of Koo-So-Tee upon the

ground. He was a good hunter, and there was no one to bring meat to his squaw and

children. And we were bitter, and we said, `That which for the white men is well, is for us

not well.’ And this be true. There be many white men and fat, but their ways have made

us few and lean.

“Came the third white man, with great wealth of all manner of wonderful foods and

things. And twenty of our strongest dogs he took from us in trade. Also, what of presents

and great promises, ten of our young hunters did he take with him on a journey which

fared no man knew where. It is said they died in the snow of the Ice Mountains where

man has never been, or in the Hills of Silence which are beyond the edge of the earth. Be

that as it may, dogs and young hunters were seen never again by the Whitefish people.

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“And more white men came with the years, and ever, with pay and presents, they led the

young men away with them. And sometimes the young men came back with strange tales

of dangers and toils in the lands beyond the Pellys, and sometimes they did not come

back. And we said: `If they be unafraid of life, these white men, it is because they have

many lives; but we be few by the Whitefish, and the young men shall go away no more.’

But the young men did go away; and the young women went also; and we were very

wroth.

“It be true, we ate flour, and salt pork, and drank tea which was a great delight; only,

when we could not get tea, it was very bad and we became short of speech and quick of

anger. So we grew to hunger for the things the white men brought in trade. Trade! trade!

all the time was it trade! One winter we sold our meat for clocks that would not go, and

watches with broken guts, and files worn smooth, and pistols without cartridges and

worthless. And then came famine, and we were without meat, and two score died ere the

break of spring.

“`Now are we grown weak,’ we said; `and the Pellys will fall upon us, and our bounds be

overthrown.’ But as it fared with us, so had it fared with the Pellys, and they were too

weak to come against us.

“My father, Otsbaok, a strong man, was now old and very wise. And he spoke to the

chief, saying: `Behold, our dogs be worthless. No longer are they thick-furred and strong,

and they die in the frost and harness. Let us go into the village and kill them, saving only

the wolf ones, and these let us tie out in the night that they may mate with the wild

wolves of the forest. Thus shall we have dogs warm and strong again.’

“And his word was harkened to, and we Whitefish became known for our dogs, which

were the best in the land. But known we were not for ourselves. The best of our young

men and women had gone away with the white men to wander on trail and river to far

places. And the young women came back old and broken, as Noda had come, or they

came not at all. And the young men came back to sit by our fires for a time, full of ill

speech and rough ways, drinking evil drinks and gambling through long nights and days,

with a great unrest always in their hearts, till the call of the white men came to them and

they went away again to the unknown places. And they were without honor and respect,

jeering the old-time customs and laughing in the faces of chief and shamans.

“As I say, we were become a weak breed, we Whitefish. We sold our warm skins and

furs for tobacco and whiskey and thin cotton things that left us shivering in the cold. And

the coughing sickness came upon us, and men and women coughed and sweated through

the long nights, and the hunters on trail spat blood upon the snow. And now one, and now

another, bled swiftly from the mouth and died. And the women bore few children, and

those they bore were weak and given to sickness. And other sicknesses came to us from

the white men, the like of which we had never known and could not understand.

Smallpox, likewise measles, have I heard these sicknesses named, and we died of them as

die the salmon in the still eddies when in the fall their eggs are spawned and there is no

longer need for them to live.

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“And yet, and here be the strangeness of it, the white men come as the breath of death; all

their ways lead to death, their nostrils are filled with it; and yet they do not die. Theirs the

whiskey, and tobacco, and short-haired dogs; theirs the many sicknesses, the smallpox

and measles, the coughing and mouth-bleeding; theirs the white skin, and softness to the

frost and storm; and theirs the pistols that shoot six times very swift and are worthless.

And yet they grow fat on their many ills, and prosper, and lay a heavy hand over all the

world and tread mightily upon its peoples. And their women, too, are soft as little babes,

most breakable and never broken, the mothers of men. And out of all this softness, and

sickness, and weakness, come strength, and power, and authority. They be gods, or

devils, as the case may be. I do not know. What do I know, I, old Imber of the Whitefish?

Only do I know that they are past understanding, these white men, far-wanderers and

fighters over the earth that they be.

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