Austin Potter - "From Wealth to Poverty"

Unknown - "The World English Bible (WEB): Isaiah"

Andrew Dickson White - "Autobiography of Andrew Dickson White"

Unknown - "The World English Bible (WEB): Lamentations"

The Strength of the Strong

J >> Jack London >> The Strength of the Strong




"The way ut grew! Ut was un keepun' wuth the way ut ate. Ot a
year ut was the size o' a bairn of two. Ut was slow tull walk an'
talk. Exceptun' for gurgly noises un uts throat an' for creepun'
on all fours, ut dudna monage much un the walkun' an' talkun' line.
But thot was tull be expected from the way ut grew. Ut all went
tull growun' strong an' healthy. An' even old Tom Henan cheered up
ot the might of ut an' said was there ever the like o' ut un the
three Kungdoms. Ut was Doctor Hall thot first suspicioned, I mind
me well, though ut was luttle I dreamt what he was up tull ot the
time. I seehum holdun' thungs' un fronto' luttle Sammy's eyes, an'
a-makun' noises, loud an' soft, an' far an' near, un luttle Sammy's
ears. An' then I see Doctor Hall go away, wrunklun' hus eyebrows
an' shakun' hus head like the bairn was ailun'. But he was no
ailun', oz I could swear tull, me a-seeun' hum eat an' grow. But
Doctor Hall no said a word tull Margaret an' I was no for guessun'
the why he was sore puzzled.

"I mind me when luttle Sammy first spoke. He was two years old an'
the size of a child o five, though he could no monage the walkun'
yet but went around on all fours, happy an' contented-like an'
makun' no trouble oz long oz he was fed promptly, which was onusual
often. I was hangun' the wash on the line ot the time when out he
comes, on all fours, hus bug head waggun' tull an' fro an' blunkun'
un the sun. An' then, suddent, he talked. I was thot took a-back
I near died o' fright, an' fine I knew ut then, the shakun' o'
Doctor Hall's head. Talked? Never a bairn on Island McGill talked
so loud an' tull such purpose. There was no mustakun' ut. I stood
there all tremblun' an' shakun'. Little Sammy was brayun'. I tell
you, sir, he was brayun' like an ass--just like thot,--loud an'
long an' cheerful tull ut seemed hus lungs ud crack.

"He was a eediot--a great, awful, monster eediot. Ut was after he
talked thot Doctor Hall told Margaret, but she would no believe.
Ut would all come right, she said. Ut was growun' too fast for
aught else. Guv ut time, said she, an' we would see. But old Tom
Henan knew, an' he never held up hus head again. He could no abide
the thung, an' would no brung humsel' tull touch ut, though I om no
denyun' he was fair fascinated by ut. Mony the time, I see hum
watchun' of ut around a corner, lookun' ot ut tull hus eyes fair
bulged wuth the horror; an' when ut brayed old Tom ud stuck hus
fungers tull hus ears an' look thot miserable I could a-puttied
hum.

"An' bray ut could! Ut was the only thung ut could do besides eat
an' grow. Whenever ut was hungry ut brayed, an' there was no
stoppun' ut save wuth food. An' always of a marnun', when first ut
crawled tull the kutchen-door an' blunked out ot the sun, ut
brayed. An' ut was brayun' that brought about uts end.

"I mind me well. Ut was three years old an' oz bug oz a led o'
ten. Old Tom hed been goun' from bed tull worse, ploughun' up an'
down the fields an' talkun' an' mutterun' tull humself. On the
marnun' o' the day I mind me, he was suttun' on the bench outside
the kutchen, a-futtun' the handle tull a puck-axe. Unbeknown, the
monster eediot crawled tull the door an' brayed after hus fashion
ot the sun. I see old Tom start up an' look. An' there was the
monster eediot, waggun' uts bug head an' blunkun' an' brayun' like
the great bug ass ut was. Ut was too much for Tom. Somethun' went
wrong wuth hum suddent-like. He jumped tull hus feet an' fetched
the puck-handle down on the monster eediot's head. An' he hut ut
again an' again like ut was a mod dog an' hum afeard o' ut. An' he
went straight tull the stable an' hung humsel' tull a rafter. An'
I was no for stoppun' on after such-like, an' I went tull stay
along wuth me suster thot was married tull John Martin an'
comfortable-off."


I sat on the bench by the kitchen door and regarded Margaret Henan,
while with her callous thumb she pressed down the live fire of her
pipe and gazed out across the twilight-sombred fields. It was the
very bench Tom Henan had sat upon that last sanguinary day of life.
And Margaret sat in the doorway where the monster, blinking at the
sun, had so often wagged its head and brayed. We had been talking
for an hour, she with that slow certitude of eternity that so
befitted her; and, for the life of me, I could lay no finger on the
motives that ran through the tangled warp and woof of her. Was she
a martyr to Truth? Did she have it in her to worship at so
abstract a shrine? Had she conceived Abstract Truth to be the one
high goal of human endeavour on that day of long ago when she named
her first-born Samuel? Or was hers the stubborn obstinacy of the
ox? the fixity of purpose of the balky horse? the stolidity of the
self-willed peasant-mind? Was it whim or fancy?--the one streak of
lunacy in what was otherwise an eminently rational mind? Or,
reverting, was hers the spirit of a Bruno? Was she convinced of
the intellectual rightness of the stand she had taken? Was hers a
steady, enlightened opposition to superstition? or--and a subtler
thought--was she mastered by some vaster, profounder superstition,
a fetish-worship of which the Alpha and the Omega was the cryptic
SAMUEL?

"Wull ye be tellun' me," she said, "thot uf the second Samuel hod
been named Larry thot he would no hov fell un the hot watter an'
drownded? Atween you an' me, sir, an' ye are untellugent-lookun'
tull the eye, would the name hov made ut onyways dufferent? Would
the washun' no be done thot day uf he hod been Larry or Michael?
Would hot watter no be hot, an' would hot watter no burn uf he hod
hod ony other name but Samuel?"

I acknowledged the justice of her contention, and she went on.

"Do a wee but of a name change the plans o' God? Do the world run
by hut or muss, an' be God a weak, shully-shallyun' creature thot
ud alter the fate an' destiny o' thungs because the worm Margaret
Henan seen fut tull name her bairn Samuel? There be my son Jamie.
He wull no sign a Rooshan-Funn un hus crew because o' believun'
thot Rooshan-Funns do be monajun' the wunds an' hov the makun' o'
bod weather. Wull you be thunkun' so? Wull you be thunkun' thot
God thot makes the wunds tull blow wull bend Hus head from on high
tull lussen tull the word o' a greasy Rooshan-Funn un some dirty
shup's fo'c'sle?"

I said no, certainly not; but she was not to be set aside from
pressing home the point of her argument.

"Then wull you be thunkun' thot God thot directs the stars un their
courses, an' tull whose mighty foot the world uz but a footstool,
wull you be thunkun' thot He wull take a spite again' Margaret
Henan an' send a bug wave off the Cape tull wash her son un tull
eternity, all because she was for namun' hum Samuel?"

"But why Samuel?" I asked.

"An' thot I dinna know. I wantud ut so."

"But WHY did you want it so?"

"An' uz ut me thot would be answerun' a such-like question? Be
there ony mon luvun' or dead thot can answer? Who can tell the WHY
o' like? My Jamie was fair daft on buttermilk, he would drunk ut
tull, oz he said humself, hus back teeth was awash. But my Tumothy
could no abide buttermilk. I like tull lussen tull the thunder
growlun' an' roarun', an' rampajun'. My Katie could no abide the
noise of ut, but must scream an' flutter an' go runnun' for the
mudmost o' a feather-bed. Never yet hov I heard the answer tull
the WHY o' like, God alone hoz thot answer. You an' me be mortal
an' we canna know. Enough for us tull know what we like an' what
we duslike. I LIKE--thot uz the first word an' the last. An'
behind thot like no men can go an' find the WHY o' ut. I LIKE
Samuel, an' I like ut well. Ut uz a sweet name, an' there be a
rollun' wonder un the sound o' ut thot passes onderstandun'."

The twilight deepened, and in the silence I gazed upon that
splendid dome of a forehead which time could not mar, at the width
between the eyes, and at the eyes themselves--clear, out-looking,
and wide-seeing. She rose to her feet with an air of dismissing
me, saying--

"Ut wull be a dark walk home, an' there wull be more thon a
sprunkle o' wet un the sky."

"Have you any regrets, Margaret Henan?" I asked, suddenly and
without forethought.

She studied me a moment.

"Aye, thot I no ha' borne another son."

"And you would . . .?" I faltered.

"Aye, thot I would," she answered. "Ut would ha' been hus name."

I went down the dark road between the hawthorn hedges puzzling over
the why of like, repeating SAMUEL to myself and aloud and listening
to the rolling wonder in its sound that had charmed her soul and
led her life in tragic places. SAMUEL! There was a rolling wonder
in the sound. Aye, there was!

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