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The God of His Fathers: Tales of the Klondyke

Jack London

JAN, THE UNREPENTANT


   "For there's never a law of God or man
   Runs north of Fifty-three."

Jan rolled over, clawing and kicking.  He was fighting hand and foot now,
and he fought grimly, silently.  Two of the three men who hung upon him,
shouted directions to each other, and strove to curb the short, hairy
devil who would not curb.  The third man howled.  His finger was between
Jan's teeth.

"Quit yer tantrums, Jan, an' ease up!" panted Red Bill, getting a
strangle-hold on Jan's neck.  "Why on earth can't yeh hang decent and
peaceable?"

But Jan kept his grip on the third man's finger, and squirmed over the
floor of the tent, into the pots and pans.

"Youah no gentleman, suh," reproved Mr. Taylor, his body following his
finger, and endeavoring to accommodate itself to every jerk of Jan's
head.  "You hev killed Mistah Gordon, as brave and honorable a gentleman
as ever hit the trail aftah the dogs.  Youah a murderah, suh, and without
honah."

"An' yer no comrade," broke in Red Bill.  "If you was, you'd hang 'thout
rampin' around an' roarin'.  Come on, Jan, there's a good fellow.  Don't
give us no more trouble.  Jes' quit, an' we'll hang yeh neat and handy,
an' be done with it."

"Steady, all!" Lawson, the sailorman, bawled.  "Jam his head into the
bean pot and batten down."

"But my fingah, suh," Mr. Taylor protested.

"Leggo with y'r finger, then!  Always in the way!"

"But I can't, Mistah Lawson.  It's in the critter's gullet, and nigh
chewed off as 't is."

"Stand by for stays!"  As Lawson gave the warning, Jan half lifted
himself, and the struggling quartet floundered across the tent into a
muddle of furs and blankets.  In its passage it cleared the body of a
man, who lay motionless, bleeding from a bullet-wound in the neck.

All this was because of the madness which had come upon Jan--the madness
which comes upon a man who has stripped off the raw skin of earth and
grovelled long in primal nakedness, and before whose eyes rises the fat
vales of the homeland, and into whose nostrils steals the whiff of bay,
and grass, and flower, and new-turned soil.  Through five frigid years
Jan had sown the seed.  Stuart River, Forty Mile, Circle City, Koyokuk,
Kotzebue, had marked his bleak and strenuous agriculture, and now it was
Nome that bore the harvest,--not the Nome of golden beaches and ruby
sands, but the Nome of '97, before Anvil City was located, or Eldorado
District organized.  John Gordon was a Yankee, and should have known
better.  But he passed the sharp word at a time when Jan's blood-shot
eyes blazed and his teeth gritted in torment.  And because of this, there
was a smell of saltpetre in the tent, and one lay quietly, while the
other fought like a cornered rat, and refused to hang in the decent and
peacable manner suggested by his comrades.

"If you will allow me, Mistah Lawson, befoah we go further in this
rumpus, I would say it wah a good idea to pry this hyer varmint's teeth
apart.  Neither will he bite off, nor will he let go.  He has the wisdom
of the sarpint, suh, the wisdom of the sarpint."

"Lemme get the hatchet to him!" vociferated the sailor.  "Lemme get the
hatchet!"  He shoved the steel edge close to Mr. Taylor's finger and used
the man's teeth as a fulcrum.  Jan held on and breathed through his nose,
snorting like a grampus.  "Steady, all!  Now she takes it!"

"Thank you, suh; it is a powerful relief."  And Mr. Taylor proceeded to
gather into his arms the victim's wildly waving legs.

But Jan upreared in his Berserker rage; bleeding, frothing, cursing; five
frozen years thawing into sudden hell.  They swayed backward and forward,
panted, sweated, like some cyclopean, many-legged monster rising from the
lower deeps.  The slush-lamp went over, drowned in its own fat, while the
midday twilight scarce percolated through the dirty canvas of the tent.

"For the love of Gawd, Jan, get yer senses back!" pleaded Red Bill.  "We
ain't goin' to hurt yeh, 'r kill yeh, 'r anythin' of that sort.  Jes'
want to hang yeh, that's all, an' you a-messin' round an' rampagin'
somethin' terrible.  To think of travellin' trail together an' then bein'
treated this-a way.  Wouldn't 'bleeved it of yeh, Jan!"

"He's got too much steerage-way.  Grab holt his legs, Taylor, and heave'm
over!"

"Yes, suh, Mistah Lawson.  Do you press youah weight above, after I give
the word."  The Kentuckian groped about him in the murky darkness.  "Now,
suh, now is the accepted time!"

There was a great surge, and a quarter of a ton of human flesh tottered
and crashed to its fall against the side-wall.  Pegs drew and guy-ropes
parted, and the tent, collapsing, wrapped the battle in its greasy folds.

"Yer only makin' it harder fer yerself," Red Bill continued, at the same
time driving both his thumbs into a hairy throat, the possessor of which
he had pinned down.  "You've made nuisance enough a' ready, an' it'll
take half the day to get things straightened when we've strung yeh up."

"I'll thank you to leave go, suh," spluttered Mr. Taylor.

Red Bill grunted and loosed his grip, and the twain crawled out into the
open.  At the same instant Jan kicked clear of the sailor, and took to
his heels across the snow.

"Hi! you lazy devils!  Buck!  Bright!  Sic'm!  Pull 'm down!" sang out
Lawson, lunging through the snow after the fleeing man.  Buck and Bright,
followed by the rest of the dogs, outstripped him and rapidly overhauled
the murderer.

There was no reason that these men should do this; no reason for Jan to
run away; no reason for them to attempt to prevent him.  On the one hand
stretched the barren snow-land; on the other, the frozen sea.  With
neither food nor shelter, he could not run far.  All they had to do was
to wait till he wandered back to the tent, as he inevitably must, when
the frost and hunger laid hold of him.  But these men did not stop to
think.  There was a certain taint of madness running in the veins of all
of them.  Besides, blood had been spilled, and upon them was the blood-
lust, thick and hot.  "Vengeance is mine," saith the Lord, and He saith
it in temperate climes where the warm sun steals away the energies of
men.  But in the Northland they have discovered that prayer is only
efficacious when backed by muscle, and they are accustomed to doing
things for themselves.  God is everywhere, they have heard, but he flings
a shadow over the land for half the year that they may not find him; so
they grope in darkness, and it is not to be wondered that they often
doubt, and deem the Decalogue out of gear.

Jan ran blindly, reckoning not of the way of his feet, for he was
mastered by the verb "to live."  To live!  To exist!  Buck flashed gray
through the air, but missed.  The man struck madly at him, and stumbled.
Then the white teeth of Bright closed on his mackinaw jacket, and he
pitched into the snow.  _To live_!  _To exist_!  He fought wildly as
ever, the centre of a tossing heap of men and dogs.  His left hand
gripped a wolf-dog by the scruff of the back, while the arm was passed
around the neck of Lawson.  Every struggle of the dog helped to throttle
the hapless sailor.  Jan's right hand was buried deep in the curling
tendrils of Red Bill's shaggy head, and beneath all, Mr. Taylor lay
pinned and helpless.  It was a deadlock, for the strength of his madness
was prodigious; but suddenly, without apparent reason, Jan loosed his
various grips and rolled over quietly on his back.  His adversaries drew
away a little, dubious and disconcerted.  Jan grinned viciously.

"Mine friends," he said, still grinning, "you haf asked me to be
politeful, und now I am politeful.  Vot piziness vood you do mit me?"

"That's right, Jan.  Be ca'm," soothed Red Bill.  "I knowed you'd come to
yer senses afore long.  Jes' be ca'm now, an' we'll do the trick with
neatness and despatch."

"Vot piziness?  Vot trick?"

"The hangin'.  An' yeh oughter thank yer lucky stars for havin' a man
what knows his business.  I've did it afore now, more'n once, down in the
States, an' I can do it to a T."

"Hang who?  Me?"

"Yep."

"Ha! ha!  Shust hear der man speak foolishness!  Gif me a hand, Bill, und
I vill get up und be hung."  He crawled stiffly to his feet and looked
about him.  "Herr Gott! listen to der man!  He vood hang me!  Ho! ho! ho!
I tank not!  Yes, I tank not!"

"And I tank yes, you swab," Lawson spoke up mockingly, at the same time
cutting a sled-lashing and coiling it up with ominous care.  "Judge Lynch
holds court this day."

"Von liddle while."  Jan stepped back from the proffered noose.  "I haf
somedings to ask und to make der great proposition.  Kentucky, you know
about der Shudge Lynch?"

"Yes, suh.  It is an institution of free men and of gentlemen, and it is
an ole one and time-honored.  Corruption may wear the robe of magistracy,
suh, but Judge Lynch can always be relied upon to give justice without
court fees.  I repeat, suh, without court fees.  Law may be bought and
sold, but in this enlightened land justice is free as the air we breathe,
strong as the licker we drink, prompt as--"

"Cut it short!  Find out what the beggar wants," interrupted Lawson,
spoiling the peroration.

"Vell, Kentucky, tell me dis: von man kill von odder man, Shudge Lynch
hang dot man?"

"If the evidence is strong enough--yes, suh."

"An' the evidence in this here case is strong enough to hang a dozen men,
Jan," broke in Red Bill.

"Nefer you mind, Bill.  I talk mit you next.  Now von anodder ding I ask
Kentucky.  If Shudge Lynch hang not der man, vot den?"

"If Judge Lynch does not hang the man, then the man goes free, and his
hands are washed clean of blood.  And further, suh, our great and
glorious constitution has said, to wit: that no man may twice be placed
in jeopardy of his life for one and the same crime, or words to that
effect."

"Unt dey can't shoot him, or hit him mit a club over der head alongside,
or do nodings more mit him?"

"No, suh."

"Goot!  You hear vot Kentucky speaks, all you noddleheads?  Now I talk
mit Bill.  You know der piziness, Bill, und you hang me up brown, eh?  Vot
you say?"

"'Betcher life, an', Jan, if yeh don't give no more trouble ye'll be
almighty proud of the job.  I'm a connesoor."

"You haf der great head, Bill, und know somedings or two.  Und you know
two und one makes tree--ain't it?"

Bill nodded.

"Und when you haf two dings, you haf not tree dings--ain't it?  Now you
follow mit me close und I show you.  It takes tree dings to hang.  First
ding, you haf to haf der man.  Goot!  I am der man.  Second ding, you haf
to haf der rope.  Lawson haf der rope.  Goot!  Und tird ding, you haf to
haf someding to tie der rope to.  Sling your eyes over der landscape und
find der tird ding to tie der rope to?  Eh?  Vot you say?"

Mechanically they swept the ice and snow with their eyes.  It was a
homogeneous scene, devoid of contrasts or bold contours, dreary,
desolate, and monotonous,--the ice-packed sea, the slow slope of the
beach, the background of low-lying hills, and over all thrown the endless
mantle of snow.  "No trees, no bluffs, no cabins, no telegraph poles,
nothin'," moaned Red Bill; "nothin' respectable enough nor big enough to
swing the toes of a five-foot man clear o' the ground.  I give it up."  He
looked yearningly at that portion of Jan's anatomy which joins the head
and shoulders.  "Give it up," he repeated sadly to Lawson.  "Throw the
rope down.  Gawd never intended this here country for livin' purposes,
an' that's a cold frozen fact."

Jan grinned triumphantly.  "I tank I go mit der tent und haf a smoke."

"Ostensiblee y'r correct, Bill, me son," spoke up Lawson; "but y'r a
dummy, and you can lay to that for another cold frozen fact.  Takes a sea
farmer to learn you landsmen things.  Ever hear of a pair of shears?  Then
clap y'r eyes to this."

The sailor worked rapidly.  From the pile of dunnage where they had
pulled up the boat the preceding fall, he unearthed a pair of long oars.
These he lashed together, at nearly right angles, close to the ends of
the blades.  Where the handles rested he kicked holes through the snow to
the sand.  At the point of intersection he attached two guy-ropes, making
the end of one fast to a cake of beach-ice.  The other guy he passed over
to Red Bill.  "Here, me son, lay holt o' that and run it out."

And to his horror, Jan saw his gallows rise in the air.  "No! no!" he
cried, recoiling and putting up his fists.  "It is not goot!  I vill not
hang!  Come, you noddleheads!  I vill lick you, all together, von after
der odder!  I vill blay hell!  I vill do eferydings!  Und I vill die
pefore I hang!"

The sailor permitted the two other men to clinch with the mad creature.
They rolled and tossed about furiously, tearing up snow and tundra, their
fierce struggle writing a tragedy of human passion on the white sheet
spread by nature.  And ever and anon a hand or foot of Jan emerged from
the tangle, to be gripped by Lawson and lashed fast with rope-yarns.
Pawing, clawing, blaspheming, he was conquered and bound, inch by inch,
and drawn to where the inexorable shears lay like a pair of gigantic
dividers on the snow.  Red Bill adjusted the noose, placing the hangman's
knot properly under the left ear.  Mr. Taylor and Lawson tailed onto the
running-guy, ready at the word to elevate the gallows.  Bill lingered,
contemplating his work with artistic appreciation.

"Herr Gott!  Vood you look at it!"

The horror in Jan's voice caused the rest to desist.  The fallen tent had
uprisen, and in the gathering twilight it flapped ghostly arms about and
titubated toward them drunkenly.  But the next instant John Gordon found
the opening and crawled forth.

"What the flaming--!"  For the moment his voice died away in his throat
as his eyes took in the tableau.  "Hold on!  I'm not dead!" he cried out,
coming up to the group with stormy countenance.

"Allow me, Mistah Gordon, to congratulate you upon youah escape," Mr.
Taylor ventured.  "A close shave, suh, a powahful close shave."

" Congratulate hell!  I might have been dead and rotten and no thanks to
you, you--!"  And thereat John Gordon delivered himself of a vigorous
flood of English, terse, intensive, denunciative, and composed solely of
expletives and adjectives.

"Simply creased me," he went on when he had eased himself sufficiently.
"Ever crease cattle, Taylor?"

"Yes, suh, many a time down in God's country."

"Just so.  That's what happened to me.  Bullet just grazed the base of my
skull at the top of the neck.  Stunned me but no harm done."  He turned
to the bound man.  "Get up, Jan.  I'm going to lick you to a standstill
or you're going to apologize.  The rest of you lads stand clear."

"I tank not.  Shust tie me loose und you see," replied Jan, the
Unrepentant, the devil within him still unconquered.  "Und after as I
lick you, I take der rest of der noddleheads, von after der odder,
altogedder!"
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