Negore, the Coward Page #4

"Negore, the Coward" is a short story by Jack London that explores themes of courage, fear, and the human struggle for survival. Set against the backdrop of the wilderness, the narrative follows Negore, a native character who grapples with his own cowardice in the face of danger and societal expectations. As he confronts various challenges, the story delves into the complexities of bravery and the moral dilemmas that arise when one must choose between personal survival and the expectations of their community. Through vivid imagery and gripping storytelling, London examines the inherent conflicts between instinct and honor, making it a poignant reflection on the nature of courage.

								


A gun cracked among the rocks to the right, and Negore heard the
war-yell of all his tribe, and for an instant saw the rocks and bushes
bristle alive with his kinfolk. Then he felt torn asunder by a burst of
flame hot through his being, and as he fell he knew the sharp pangs of
life as it wrenches at the flesh to be free.

But he gripped his life with a miser's clutch and would not let it
go. He still breathed the air, which bit his lungs with a painful
sweetness; and dimly he saw and heard, with passing spells of blindness
and deafness, the flashes of sight and sound again wherein he saw the
hunters of Ivan falling to their deaths, and his own brothers fringing
the carnage and filling the air with the tumult of their cries and
weapons, and, far above, the women and children loosing the great rocks
that leaped like things alive and thundered down.

The sun danced above him in the sky, the huge walls reeled and swung,
and still he heard and saw dimly. And when the great Ivan fell across
his legs, hurled there lifeless and crushed by a down-rushing rock, he
remembered the blind eyes of Old Kinoos and was glad.

Then the sounds died down, and the rocks no longer thundered past,
and he saw his tribespeople creeping close and closer, spearing the
wounded as they came. And near to him he heard the scuffle of a mighty
Slavonian hunter, loath to die, and, half uprisen, borne back and down
by the thirsty spears.

Then he saw above him the face of Oona, and felt about him the arms of
Oona; and for a moment the sun steadied and stood still, and the great
walls were upright and moved not.

"Thou art a brave man, Negore," he heard her say in his ear; "thou art
my man, Negore."

And in that moment he lived all the life of gladness of which she had
told him, and the laughter and the song, and as the sun went out of the
sky above him, as in his old age, he knew the memory of her was sweet.
And as even the memories dimmed and died in the darkness that fell upon
him, he knew in her arms the fulfilment of all the ease and rest she
had promised him. And as black night wrapped around him, his head upon
her breast, he felt a great peace steal about him, and he was aware of
the hush of many twilights and the mystery of silence.
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