"London, Jack - A Relic of the Pliocene" - читать интересную книгу автора (London Jack)

A Relic of the Pliocene
by Jack London



Editor's Notes by Blake Linton Wilfong
Mammoths were huge, hairy, elephant-like mammals that inhabited cold
regions of Earth from 4 million to 10,000 years ago. These beasts were
ideally suited for the Ice Age, and cave paintings from that period depict
prehistoric men hunting them for food. Today, the fossil remains of
mammoths are commonplace in Alaska, often unearthed as prospectors pan
gravel for gold. Well preserved frozen bodies of mammoths have also been
found in Siberia.
Jack London based his story "A Relic of the Pliocene", published in
1901, upon these and other findings of the science of paleontology. But as
is common in science fiction, he (or at least his character Thomas
Stevens) exaggerated the facts slightly to make the story more exciting.
The American mammoth (Mammuthus imperator), the largest known species,
reached a height of "only" 14 feet.
I have illustrated "A Relic of the Pliocene" with artists'
conceptions of mammoths. These, along with Jack London's own colorful
characterizations and sparkling humor, round out this amusing yarn of
modern man pitted against prehistoric monster.

I wash my hands of him at the start. I cannot father his tales, nor will I be
responsible for them. I make these preliminary reservations, observe, to guard
my own integrity. I possess a certain definite position in a small way, also a
wife; and for the good name of the community that honors my existence with its
approval, and for the sake of her posterity and mine, I cannot take the chances
I once did, nor foster probabilities with the careless improvidence of youth.
So, I repeat, I wash my hands of him, this Nimrod, this mighty hunter, this
homely, blue-eyed, freckle-faced Thomas Stevens.
Having been honest to myself, and to whatever prospective olive branches my wife
may be pleased to tender me, I can now afford to be generous. I shall not
criticize the tales Thomas Stevens told me, and, further, I shall withhold
judgment. If asked why, I can only add that judment I have none. Long have I
pondered, weighed, and balanced, but never have my conclusions been twice the
same--forsooth! because Thomas Stevens is a greater man than I. If he has told
truths, well and good; if untruths, still well and good. For who can prove? Or
disprove? I eliminate myself from the proposition, while those of little faith
may do as I have done--go find the said Thomas Stevens, and discuss to his face
the various matters which, if fortune serve, I shall relate. As to where he may
be found? The directions are simple: anywhere between 53 north latitude and the
Pole, on the one hand; and, on the other, the likeliest hunting grounds that lie
between the east coast of Siberia and the farthermost Labrador. That he is
there, somewhere, within that clearly defined territory, I pledge the word of an
honorable man whose expectations entail straight speaking and right living.
Thomas Stevens may have toyed prodigiously with truth, but when we first met (it
were well to mark this point), he wandered into my camp when I thought myself a
thousand miles beyond the outermost post of civilization. At the sight of his