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 Before
Adam
Pictures!
Pictures! Pictures! Often, before I learned, did
I wonder whence came the multitudes of pictures
that thronged my dreams; for they were pictures
the like of which I had never seen in real wake-a-day
life. They tormented my childhood, making of my
dreams a procession of nightmares and a little
later convincing me that I was different from my
kind, a creature unnatural and accursed.
In my days only did I attain any measure of
happiness. My nights marked the reign of fear—and
such fear! I make bold to state that no man of
all the men who walk the earth with me ever
suffer fear of like kind and degree. For my fear
is the fear of long ago, the fear that was
rampant in the Younger World, and in the youth
of the Younger World. In short, the fear that
reigned supreme in that period known as the Mid-Pleistocene.
What do I mean? I see explanation is necessary
before I can tell you of the substance of my
dreams. Otherwise, little could you know of the
meaning of the things I know so well. As I write
this, all the beings and happenings of that
other world rise up before me in vast
phantasmagoria, and I know that to you they
would be rhymeless and reasonless.
What to you the friendship of Lop-Ear, the warm
lure of the Swift One, the lust and the atavism
of Red-Eye? A screaming incoherence and no more.
And a screaming incoherence, likewise, the
doings of the Fire People and the Tree People,
and the gibbering councils of the horde. For you
know not the peace of the cool caves in the
cliffs, the circus of the drinking-places at the
end of the day. You have never felt the bite of
the morning wind in the tree-tops, nor is the
taste of young bark sweet in your mouth...
  Children
of the Frost
A weary journey beyond the last scrub
timber and straggling copses, into the heart of
the Barrens where the niggard North is supposed
to deny the Earth, are to be found great sweeps
of forests and stretches of smiling land. But
this the world is just beginning to know. The
world's explorers have known it, from time to
time, but hitherto they have never returned to
tell the world.
The Barrens—well, they are the Barrens, the bad
lands of the Arctic, the deserts of the Circle,
the bleak and bitter home of the musk-ox and the
lean plains wolf. So Avery Van Brunt found them,
treeless and cheerless, sparsely clothed with
moss and lichens, and altogether uninviting. At
least so he found them till he penetrated to the
white blank spaces on the map, and came upon
undreamed-of rich spruce forests and unrecorded
Eskimo tribes. It had been his intention, (and
his bid for fame), to break up these white blank
spaces and diversify them with the black
markings of mountain-chains, sinks and basins,
and sinuous river courses; and it was with added
delight that he came to speculate upon the
possibilities of timber belts and native
villages...
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