Chapter I

Into the Primitive.

“Old longings nomadic leap,
Chafing at custom's chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain.”

BUCK DID NOT READ the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog, strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the frost.

Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge Miller's place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached by graveled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad servants’ cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank where Judge Miller's boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in the hot afternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other dogs. There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless—strange creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least, who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his. He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge's sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge's daughters, on long twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the Judge's feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge's grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches. Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he utterly ignored, for he was king—king over all creeping, crawling, flying things of Judge Miller's place, humans included.

His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge's inseparable companion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. He was not so large—he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds—for his mother, Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog. Nevertheless, one hundred and forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of good living and universal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right royal fashion. During the four years since his puppyhood he had lived the life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was even a trifle egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become because of their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not becoming a mere pampered house-dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a health preserver.

And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when the Klondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen North. But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel, one of the gardener's helpers, was an undesirable acquaintance. Manuel had one besetting sin. He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, in his gambling, he had one besetting weakness—faith in a system; and this made his damnation certain. For to play a system requires money, while the wages of a gardener's helper do not lap over the needs of a wife and numerous progeny.

The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers’ Association, and the boys were busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable night of Manuel's treachery. No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard on what Buck imagined was merely a stroll. And with the exception of a solitary man, no one saw them arrive at the little flag station known as College Park. This man talked with Manuel, and money chinked between them.

“You might wrap up the goods before you deliver ’m,” the stranger said gruffly, and Manuel doubled a piece of stout rope around Buck's neck under the collar.

“Twist it, an’ you'll choke ’m plentee,” said Manuel, and the stranger grunted a ready affirmative.

Buck had accepted the rope with quiet dignity. To be sure, it was an unwonted performance: but he had learned to trust in men he knew, and to give them credit for a wisdom that outreached his own. But when the ends of the rope were placed in the stranger's hands, he growled menacingly. He had merely intimated his displeasure, in his pride believing that to intimate was to command. But to his surprise the rope tightened around his neck, shutting off his breath. In quick rage he sprang at the man, who met him halfway, grappled him close by the throat, and with a deft twist threw him over on his back. Then the rope tightened mercilessly, while Buck struggled in a fury, his tongue lolling out of his mouth and his great chest panting futilely. Never in all his life had he been so vilely treated, and never in all his life had he been so angry. But his strength ebbed, his eyes glazed, and he knew nothing when the train was flagged and the two men threw him into the baggage car.

The next he knew, he was dimly aware that his tongue was hurting and that he was being jolted along in some kind of a conveyance. The hoarse shriek of a locomotive whistling a crossing told him where he was. He had travelled too often with the Judge not to know the sensation of riding in a baggage car. He opened his eyes, and into them came the unbridled anger of a kidnapped king. The man sprang for his throat, but Buck was too quick for him. His jaws closed on the hand, nor did they relax till his senses were choked out of him once more.

“Yep, has fits,” the man said, hiding his mangled hand from the baggage man, who had been attracted by the sounds of struggle. “I'm takin’ ’m up for the boss to ‘Frisco. A crack dog-doctor there thinks that he can cure ’m.”

Concerning that night's ride, the man spoke most eloquently for himself, in a little shed back of a saloon on the San Francisco water front.

“All I get is fifty for it,” he grumbled; “an’ I wouldn't do it over for a thousand, cold cash.”

His hand was wrapped in a bloody handkerchief, and the right trouser leg was ripped from knee to ankle.

“How much did the other mug get?” the saloon-keeper demanded.

“A hundred,” was the reply. “Wouldn't take a sou less, so help me.”

“That makes a hundred and fifty,” the saloon-keeper calculated; “and he's worth it, or I'm a squarehead.”

The kidnapper undid the bloody wrappings and looked at his lacerated hand. “If I don't get the hydrophoby—”

“It'll be because you was born to hang,” laughed the saloon-keeper. “Here, lend me a hand before you pull your freight,” he added.

Dazed, suffering intolerable pain from throat and tongue, with the life half throttled out of him, Buck attempted to face his tormentors. But he was thrown down and choked repeatedly, till they succeeded in filing the heavy brass collar from off his neck. Then the rope was removed, and he was flung into a cage-like crate.

There he lay for the remainder of the weary night, nursing his wrath and wounded pride. He could not understand what it all meant. What did they want with him, these strange men? Why were they keeping him pent up in this narrow crate? He did not know why, but he felt oppressed by the vague sense of impending calamity. Several times during the night he sprang to his feet when the shed door rattled open, expecting to see the Judge, or the boys at least. But each time it was the bulging face of the saloon-keeper that peered in at him by the sickly light of a tallow candle. And each time the joyful bark that trembled in Buck's throat was twisted into a savage growl.

But the saloon-keeper let him alone, and in the morning four men entered and picked up the crate. More tormentors, Buck decided, for they were evillooking creatures, ragged and unkempt; and he stormed and raged at them through the bars. They only laughed and poked sticks at him, which he promptly assailed with his teeth till he realized that that was what they wanted. Whereupon he lay down sullenly and allowed the crate to be lifted into a wagon. Then he, and the crate in which he was imprisoned, began a passage through many hands. Clerks in the express office took charge of him; he was carted about in another wagon; a truck carried him, with an assortment of boxes and parcels, upon a ferry steamer; he was trucked off the steamer into a great railway depot, and finally he was deposited in an express car.

For two days and nights this express car was dragged along at the tail of shrieking locomotives; and for two days and nights Buck neither ate nor drank. In his anger he had met the first advances of the express messengers with growls, and they had retaliated by teasing him. When he flung himself against the bars, quivering and frothing, they laughed at him and taunted him. They growled and barked like detestable dogs, mewed, and flapped their arms and crowed. It was all very silly, he knew; but therefore the more outrage to his dignity, and his anger waxed and waxed. He did not mind the hunger so much, but the lack of water caused him severe suffering and fanned his wrath to fever-pitch. For that matter, high-strung and finely sensitive, the ill treatment had flung him into a fever, which was fed by the inflammation of his parched and swollen throat and tongue.

He was glad for one thing: the rope was off his neck. That had given them an unfair advantage; but now that it was off, he would show them. They would never get another rope around his neck. Upon that he was resolved. For two days and nights he neither ate nor drank, and during those two days and nights of torment, he accumulated a fund of wrath that boded ill for whoever first fell foul of him. His eyes turned blood-shot, and he was metamorphosed into a raging fiend. So changed was he that the Judge himself would not have recognized him; and the express messengers breathed with relief when they bundled him off the train at Seattle.

Four men gingerly carried the crate from the wagon into a small, high-walled back yard. A stout man, with a red sweater that sagged generously at the neck, came out and signed the book for the driver. That was the man, Buck divined, the next tormentor, and he hurled himself savagely against the bars. The man smiled grimly, and brought a hatchet and a club.

“You ain't going to take him out now?” the driver asked.

“Sure,” the man replied, driving the hatchet into the crate for a pry.

There was an instantaneous scattering of the four men who had carried it in, and from safe perches on top the wall they prepared to watch the performance.

Buck rushed at the splintering wood, sinking his teeth into it, surging and wrestling with it. Wherever the hatchet fell on the outside, he was there on the inside, snarling and growling, as furiously anxious to get out as the man in the red sweater was calmly intent on getting him out.

“Now, you red-eyed devil,” he said, when he had made an opening sufficient for the passage of Buck's body. At the same time he dropped the hatchet and shifted the club to his right hand.

And Buck was truly a red-eyed devil, as he drew himself together for the spring, hair bristling, mouth foaming, a mad glitter in his blood-shot eyes. Straight at the man he launched his one hundred and forty pounds of fury, surcharged with the pent passion of two days and nights. In mid air, just as his jaws were about to close on the man, he received a shock that checked his body and brought his teeth together with an agonizing clip. He whirled over, fetching the ground on his back and side. He had never been struck by a club in his life, and did not understand. With a snarl that was part bark and more scream he was again on his feet and launched into the air. And again the shock came and he was brought crushingly to the ground. This time he was aware that it was the club, but his madness knew no caution. A dozen times he charged, and as often the club broke the charge and smashed him down.

After a particularly fierce blow, he crawled to his feet, too dazed to rush. He staggered limply about, the blood flowing from nose and mouth and ears, his beautiful coat sprayed and flecked with bloody slaver. Then the man advanced and deliberately dealt him a frightful blow on the nose. All the pain he had endured was as nothing compared with the exquisite agony of this. With a roar that was almost lion-like in its ferocity, he again hurled himself at the man. But the man, shifting the club from right to left, coolly caught him by the under jaw, at the same time wrenching downward and backward. Buck described a complete circle in the air, and half of another, then crashed to the ground on his head and chest.

For the last time he rushed. The man struck the shrewd blow he had purposely withheld for so long, and Buck crumpled up and went down, knocked utterly senseless.

“He's no slouch at dog-breakin’, that's wot I say,” one of the men on the wall cried enthusiastically.

“Druther break cayuses any day, and twice on Sundays,” was the reply of the driver, as he climbed on the wagon and started the horses.

Buck's senses came back to him, but not his strength. He lay where he had fallen, and from there he watched the man in the red sweater.

“‘Answers to the name of Buck,’” the man soliloquized, quoting from the saloon-keeper's letter which had announced the consignment of the crate and contents. “Well, Buck, my boy,” he went on in a genial voice, “we've had our little ruction, and the best thing we can do is to let it go at that. You've learned your place, and I know mine. Be a good dog and all ’ll go well and the goose hang high. Be a bad dog, and I'll whale the stuffin’ outa you. Understand?”

As he spoke he fearlessly patted the head he had so mercilessly pounded, and though Buck's hair involuntarily bristled at touch of the hand, he endured it without protest. When the man brought him water he drank eagerly, and later bolted a generous meal of raw meat, chunk by chunk, from the man's hand.

He was beaten (he knew that); but he was not broken. He saw, once for all, that he stood no chance against a man with a club. He had learned the lesson, and in all his after life he never forgot it. That club was a revelation. It was his introduction to the reign of primitive law, and he met the introduction halfway. The facts of life took on a fiercer aspect; and while he faced that aspect uncowed, he faced it with all the latent cunning of his nature aroused. As the days went by, other dogs came, in crates and at the ends of ropes, some docilely, and some raging and roaring as he had come; and, one and all, he watched them pass under the dominion of the man in the red sweater. Again and again, as he looked at each brutal performance, the lesson was driven home to Buck: a man with a club was a lawgiver, a master to be obeyed, though not necessarily conciliated. Of this last Buck was never guilty, though he did see beaten dogs that fawned upon the man, and wagged their tails, and licked his hand. Also he saw one dog, that would neither conciliate nor obey, finally killed in the struggle for mastery.

Now and again men came, strangers, who talked excitedly, wheedlingly, and in all kinds of fashions to the man in the red sweater. And at such times that money passed between them the strangers took one or more of the dogs away with them. Buck wondered where they went, for they never came back; but the fear of the future was strong upon him, and he was glad each time when he was not selected.

Yet his time came, in the end, in the form of a little weazened man who spat broken English and many strange and uncouth exclamations which Buck could not understand.

“Sacredam!” he cried, when his eyes lit upon Buck. “Dat one dam bully dog! Eh? How moch?”

“Three hundred, and a present at that,” was the prompt reply of the man in the red sweater. “And seein’ it's government money, you ain't got no kick coming, eh, Perrault?”

Perrault grinned. Considering that the price of dogs had been boomed skyward by the unwonted demand, it was not an unfair sum for so fine an animal. The Canadian Government would be no loser, nor would its despatches travel the slower. Perrault knew dogs, and when he looked at Buck he knew that he was one in a thousand—“One in ten t'ousand,” he commented mentally.

Buck saw money pass between them, and was not surprised when Curly, a good-natured Newfoundland, and he were led away by the little weazened man. That was the last he saw of the man in the red sweater, and as Curly and he looked at receding Seattle from the deck of the Narwhal, it was the last he saw of the warm Southland. Curly and he were taken below by Perrault and turned over to a black-faced giant called François. Perrault was a French-Canadian, and swarthy; but François was a French-Canadian half-breed, and twice as swarthy. They were a new kind of men to Buck (of which he was destined to see many more), and while he developed no affection for them, he none-the-less grew honestly to respect them. He speedily learned that Perrault and François were fair men, calm and impartial in administering justice, and too wise in the way of dogs to be fooled by dogs.

In the ’tween-decks of the Narwhal, Buck and Curly joined two other dogs. One of them was a big, snow-white fellow from Spitzbergen who had been brought away by a whaling captain, and who had later accompanied a Geological Survey into the Barrens. He was friendly, in a treacherous sort of way, smiling into one's face the while he meditated some underhand trick, as, for instance, when he stole from Buck's food at the first meal. As Buck sprang to punish him, the lash of François's whip sang through the air, reaching the culprit first; and nothing remained to Buck but to recover the bone. That was fair of François, he decided, and the half-breed began his rise in Buck's estimation.

The other dog made no advances, nor received any; also, he did not attempt to steal from the newcomers. He was a gloomy, morose fellow, and he showed Curly plainly that all he desired was to be left alone, and further, that there would be trouble if he were not left alone. “Dave” he was called, and he ate and slept, or yawned between times, and took interest in nothing, not even when the Narwhal crossed Queen Charlotte Sound and rolled and pitched and bucked like a thing possessed. When Buck and Curly grew excited, half wild with fear, he raised his head as though annoyed, favored them with an incurious glance, yawned, and went to sleep again.

Day and night the ship throbbed to the tireless pulse of the propeller, and though one day was very like another, it was apparent to Buck that the weather was steadily growing colder. At last, one morning, the propeller was quiet, and the Narwhal was pervaded with an atmosphere of excitement. He felt it, as did the other dogs, and knew that a change was at hand. François leashed them and brought them on deck. At the first step upon the cold surface, Buck's feet sank into a white mushy something very like mud. He sprang back with a snort. More of this white stuff was falling through the air. He shook himself, but more of it fell upon him. He sniffed it curiously, then licked some up on his tongue. It bit like fire, and the next instant was gone. This puzzled him. He tried it again, with the same result. The onlookers laughed uproariously, and he felt ashamed, he knew not why, for it was his first snow.


  1. There is some humor here to lighten the mood as the narration once again clearly enters into Buck’s perception of the world around him. There’s also a bit of an ambiguous foreshadowing, especially since we’re told that this is his last departure from the “warm Southland” above. This is Buck’s “first” snow; what will the others have in store?

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  2. The metaphor of the lesson taught by the club has an irony to it that is made clearer here. The “brutal performance” gets results, but all it really teaches is to be afraid of the club. That the lawgiver is “obeyed” but not “conciliated” (which means pacified or contented) leaves room for doubt about the lesson being taught.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  3. Buck’s behavior here follows along various themes that draw from London’s readings. In particular, this combines socialist descriptions of the oppressed with the common person that Friedrich Nietzsche would contrast with his idea of the vigorous super-figure (Übermensch).

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  4. “Ruction” is an abbreviation of “introduction” here. The phrase “the goose hang high” means things will go well. The verb “whale” means beat (strike as with the force of a whale).

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  5. A “cayuse” can refer generally to any type of horse.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  6. “Breaking” here refers to “breaking in,” or rendering docile. Saying he is “no slouch” indicates that the man’s procedure is prompt and effective.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  7. Seattle, because of the proximity of Washington to Alaska, was a major point of departure for those heading to the Klondike. By this point, Buck has already made the transition from California to the Puget Sound mentioned in the first paragraph.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  8. Notice how quickly Buck transformed (“metamorphosed”) from a noble house dog to a “raging fiend.”

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  9. At least for now, Buck remains hopeful about restoring a fair playing field. Notice already that several characters have been affected by fair/unfair odds: Buck, Manuel the gardener who gambles, and the abductor who gets less pay than he thinks he deserves.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  10. All of the men mentioned in this paragraph remain anonymous; at most, we know their occupation. This also fits into the themes of indifference and social anonymity.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  11. Notice that Buck can sense injustice before he can understand it. His upbringing allows him to know he is being treated badly, but the same upbringing (as well as being a dog who is unaware of the wider historical events around him) prevents him from understanding what these developments mean.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  12. Hydrophobia, meaning literally a fear of water but referring to a sudden resistance to drinking fluids of various kinds, is a symptom of rabies, which the man fears after having been bitten by a dog. Although the first rabies vaccine was introduced in 1885, rabies was still often fatal in the 19th century, especially because access to doctors was not always immediate. A better vaccine was developed in 1908, after London’s novel was published.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  13. This character is lying to the train attendant to make it seem like he has a legitimate reason for having a hostile dog. The noun “fits” could refer generally to a number of conditions, including something like rabies (often a concern when dogs are violent). “‘Frisco” is an abbreviation of San Francisco, a bay city in Northern California where some prospectors would leave to Seattle or even Alaska more directly. “Crack” here would be popular dialect term indicating a high degree of talent.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  14. The word “chinked” here is an example of onomatopoeia. Something else to notice here (especially in connection with being led by a rope around the next, as Buck is described in the next paragraph), is the echo of the historical context of chattel slavery. Slave narratives also sometimes began with a scene of abduction. The Civil War had been over for decades, but many of London’s contemporaries, such as Charles W. Chesnutt, were also still telling stories about slavery because of the ongoing political developments of Reconstruction. As a socialist, London would have drawn connections between the economic structures of the American South and the broader dynamics of a capitalist enterprise such as gold mining. Buck’s heritage has already been tied explicitly to European breeds, so he is not directly symbolic of African Americans. But the suggestion that even such a proud figure could be treated like an African slave would resonate a bit outrageously.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  15. Notice throughout the text instances like this one where the environment is indifferent to moral wrongs. The idea that the larger world does not care about the fate of individuals connects to other themes about agency.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  16. In this game, known as Keno, gamblers place bets on which twenty Chinese characters or numbers out of eighty will be randomly selected in a drawing. Gamblers are each given ten guesses and are then reimbursed in proportion to how many they guess correctly.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  17. “Besetting” means accompanying, or part of (like an appendage). So, this “sin” is like something that comes attached to this person.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  18. This echo of the story’s first sentence loops back to the plot after these first few paragraphs of backstory or initial situation. The variation of adding the gardener as a threat allows the repetition to serve also as a springboard from context to plot tension.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  19. “Tubbing” refers most specifically to bathing (as in bathtub), but this descriptor refers more generally to the breeds of dog that inhabit cold areas.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  20. To say that Buck had lived the life of an aristocrat (a member of the nobility or society elite) would already convey that he was enjoying a life of fine things. But adding “sated” (which means “filled to the brim,” or almost over-full) just adds to the luxuriousness of his situated. London is emphasizing Buck’s status almost to the point of hyperbole.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  21. In this passage, London’s political themes are beginning to emerge. Distinctions between the strong and the weak (drawn partly from Friedrich Nietzsche) combine with a sense of social power to produce a kind of thinking called Social Darwinism, which actually distorts principles of Charles Darwin despite its name. Social Darwinism is a set of ideas used to justify individual and even societal or national winners and losers on the basis of “natural” or “inherent” qualities. It involves taking a phrase such as Herbert Spencer’s “survival of the fittest” out of context to argue that anyone who does not succeed is not fit to succeed. The following few paragraphs continue developing Buck’s internalized sense of superiority.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  22. This setting is notably idyllic and pleasant—positive words like “sun-kissed” appear throughout the paragraph. And the wealth and status of Judge Miller allow for luxuries that allow the boys to mitigate any harsh effects of the environment such as “the hot afternoon,” as air conditioning allows today. Although cultures around the world had used different architectural means to help airflow in buildings, the first modern air-conditioning mechanical system was invented by William Carrier in 1902, the year before London published The Call of the Wild. The first uses of the technology were industrial, however; air-conditioning wouldn’t be used for human comfort until the 1920s.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  23. London could simply have written “gold” here. But “yellow metal” is more appropriate to Buck’s perspective since dogs don’t share human names for substances. Instead, a dog might be assumed to recognize something’s objective qualities.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  24. This refers to the Klondike Gold Rush (1896–1899). The portion of the Klondike River where the Rush was concentrated is in Canada’s Yukon territory, but many prospectors passed through Alaska to get there. Also note the use of “groping,” which means here to mean “to attempt to find something by feeling about as in the dark or as a blind person.” This blind searching characterizes the men as overpowered by their environment.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  25. “Because… because...”: Although two instances are generally not enough by themselves to constitute anaphora, the repetition of “because” at the start of these two dependent clauses suggests the story’s themes of determinism. Their use suggests that the effect (“thousands of men… rushing”) follows so logically from the two causes as to be inevitable. It seems neither men nor dogs have choices.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  26. Since this is the first sentence of the novel, readers are unlikely to know (though they might catch on by the sentence’s end) that Buck is not human. Thus, this first sentence is an example of irony. The situation is not simply that Buck the dog “did not read”; the problem is that he could not read. This lack of control or even ability to know or affect the larger forces “brewing” around him thus begins themes of agency in the novel.

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  27. This epigraph is drawn from the opening lines of a poem titled “Atavism” by John Myers O’Hara (The Bookman, 1902). London does not identify this for the reader, but it is a significant clue for the events that will unfold. The noun “atavism” is defined as a tendency to return to ancestral ways or to resemble ancestral types. During the 19th century, when American culture was preoccupied with different forms of progress, the term had a negative—and even threatening—connotation because it suggested a reversion from “civilized” status to “barbarism.” The following lines from the same poem echo London’s title more directly and foreshadow what is to come: “Voices of solitude call/ Whisper of sedge and stream;/ Loosen the fetters that gall/ Back to the primal scheme” (l. 21-24).

    — Eric, Owl Eyes Staff
  28. In this game, known as Keno, gamblers place bets on which twenty Chinese characters or numbers out of eighty will be randomly selected in a drawing. Gamblers are each given ten guesses and are then reimbursed in proportion to how many they guess correctly.

    — Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor
  29. This type of well differs from those that require a pump or pulley system to access water. Artesian wells are constructed in such a way that the water naturally rises to the surface as a result of underground water pressure.

    — Wesley, Owl Eyes Editor