Christopher Golden - The Secret Journeys of Jack London, Book One: The Wild

Into the Wild

March of the Dead

The Belle

The Death of Him

Awakenings

City of Hope and Greed

Only the Wild

The Feast

Unto the Hands of Beauty

Echoes in Old Wood

The Language of the Land

The Living Graveyard

A Return to the Scene

The Spirit of Brutality

Out of the Wild

Broken Circles

The Call of the Wild

Ive never been much of a writer, but Ive always been able to tell a tale. Got Jack London to thank for that. He made me realize that stories are all about heart and soul, not words and spelling, and he had heart and soul aplenty.

Jack saved my life many times. Once, he did it for real, beating off two evil men who were ready to kidnap me and take me off into slavery. There were other times down through the years, and for most of them he wasnt even there. It was the thought of Jack that helped me. The idea of his courage, his outlook, his philosophy that life is for living, not just existing. And his conviction that there are so many unknown things that can never be fully explored in one single life. Some of them are wondrous, some terrible. Jack saw both.

I became an explorer because of him, of the spiritual as well as the physical. And I like to think that in some small way, I helped him in his own journeys.

Its well-known what became of him. One of the greatest writers weve ever had, he could spin a yarn like no one else, and imbue it with a power that was almostwell, supernatural. But much as some thought what he wrote about was the life hed lived, I knew the truth all those years, because hed told me: He could never, ever tell of his real adventures. They were too personal for him to put down on paper, and much too terrible. Some of the things he saw just werent for human eyes.

But he never told me I couldnt tell.

Jack died far too young, but in his forty years he lived the lives of many men. And he died knowing theres more here in this world than we can or should understand.

Thats part of the reasoning behind me writing this down at last. Im an old man now. Who will it hurt to learn the truth? Will anyone even believe? In these modern technological times when the fantastic doesnt seem quite so fantastic anymore, and the wilds arent quite so wild, I think these stories, terrifying though they are, need telling.

Theyre a warning, and I think we need reminding.

These, then, are the true stories of Jack London.

His secret journeys.

San Francisco
June 1962

J ACK L ONDON STOOD on the deck of the Umatilla and looked out upon the docks of San Francisco, wondering how long it would be before he saw the city again. He had been born with a wandering heart, and he embraced adventure, unafraid to face the dangers often presented by journeys into unknown places. When the Umatilla sailed out of the port of San Francisco, he would be bound for the Yukon, leaving civilization behind for the wilds of the frozen north, where rumor claimed vast quantities of gold awaited discovery and any man could become King Midas.

Yet gold represented only one part of the Yukons allure for Jack. Given the chance, hed have gone purely for the sake of going, dared all for the sake of daring. And there was the idea in his adventure-yearning heart that those northern wilds were waiting for him.

Now he leaned against the Umatilla s railing and breathed in the smells, took in the sights, and listened to the sounds of chaos and excitement around them. Never had he seen such a mixed group of people. Every race, every nationality, every creed was represented here. Even with the scent of the ocean so strong, dozens of other odors drifted on the breeze. On the dock, a vendor sold roasted nuts. A man at Jacks shoulder reeked of cheap whiskey. Others gave off the strong smells of spices or smoke or food, and several stank from need of a bath. Jack had been a tramp, oyster pirate, and convict, and had been friends with men who hadnt bathed properly in decades, but he shuddered to think what the ships quarters would smell like by the time they reached Alaska.

Hed heard whispers that the steamer had twice as many passengers as it was licensed to carry, and he could well believe it. Having stowed their equipment in the ships hold themselves, Jack and Shepard, his aging and ailing brother-in-law, had shouldered their way through a bustle of gold prospectors, from sailors and rough-handed laborers to the sons of the wealthy elite who were setting out to seek their own fortunes.

Now, from the ships railing, they prepared to bid farewell to San Francisco.

No need for good-byes, said Shepard. Itll still be here when we get back, same as ever. He looked sidelong at Jack, and his usually glittering eyes seemed wan and empty. Do you think were going to change?

Jack thought of the hardships ahead of them. Hed lived seventeen eventful years, and for him the future was a vastness of opportunities, calling to him with a voice like the wind across the desert, or the echo that sang through trees heavy with the weight of a blizzards snowfall. He thought of that voice as the call of the wild, and it set Jacks heart pumping like nothing else.

Well change, James, but only in a good way, he replied at last. Adventure makes a man grow. He refrained from voicing that other possibility: Adventure can kill a man . But he could see in Shepards eyes that he knew the brutal truth of things.

James Shepard was a big man made small by sickness. His eyes still held the vigor of youth, but his body betrayed the cruelness of time, lined and worn by successive assaults and currently defending against this one final attack. His heart was weakening, but his mind remained as strong as ever. Jack had always liked the gray-haired, gray-eyed Shepard; though much older than Jacks sister, Eliza, the man seemed to make her happy. Elizas happiness meant everything to Jack.

And though Jack knew the dangers inherent in Shepards making this journeyand he knew that Eliza knew, as wellthe older man held all the finances. Jack hated staining adventure with the taint of money, but that was the stark truth. Besides, embarking upon this journey, Shepard seemed more alive than he had in a very long time. That could only bode well for all of them.

Leaving port at last, waving madly at the well-wishers on shore, Jack had never been so excited. Ahead of them lay sixteen hundred miles of ocean, wild rivers, snow-covered mountains, treacherous passes, and some of the most inhospitable country known to man.

He was embarking upon the greatest adventure of his life.

But to achieve greatness, one must sometimes risk pain.

The voyage from San Francisco took eight days, and despite the overcrowding aboard the Umatilla , the time passed quickly. Jack kept a close eye on Shepard and was pleased to see that the man lost none of his resolve during the journey.