To Build a Fire (Jack London) — graded reader B1–B2

To Build a Fire

A graded reader · Jack London · B1–B2

Warm-up

• What's the coldest weather you've ever been out in? How did it feel?

• Are you a winter person or a summer person? Why?

• Do you prefer to travel alone or with other people?

• Have you ever had a pet? What do animals seem to understand better than people?

The author and the book

Jack London (1876–1916)

Jack London was born in San Francisco in 1876. As a boy, he worked long hours in a canning factory. As a teenager, he bought a small boat with borrowed money and became an "oyster pirate", taking oysters from other people's oyster beds in San Francisco Bay.

In July 1897, aged 21, he sailed north to join the Klondike Gold Rush in the Yukon, in north-west Canada. He spent that winter in a cabin by Henderson Creek, the same frozen creek where this story takes place. He found almost no gold, and he fell ill with scurvy, a disease caused by a poor diet. But he came home with stories.

In 1903, The Call of the Wild, about a dog in the Yukon, made him famous around the world. He died on his ranch in Glen Ellen, California, in 1916, aged only 40.

London wrote "To Build a Fire" twice. A gentler version appeared in a magazine for young people in 1902. The version you will read first appeared in The Century Magazine in August 1908.

Key words

newcomer

old-timer

numb

a person who has only just arrived in a place

a person who has lived somewhere for a long time and knows it well

unable to feel anything, often because of cold

spring

instinct

a place where water comes up naturally out of the ground

knowledge that an animal or person is born with, not taught

Let's talk

• London lived through a Yukon winter himself. How might that change the way he writes about it?

• An old saying goes: "He travels fastest who travels alone." Is that true? When could it be dangerous?

• Do animals sometimes understand danger better than people? Can you think of an example?

• The story is called "To Build a Fire". Why might building a fire matter so much?

PART 1 OF 4

Colder than fifty below

PART 1 · COLDER THAN FIFTY BELOW

Day had broken cold and grey, very cold and grey, when the man turned off the main Yukon trail and climbed the high bank. A faint trail led east through the spruce forest. At the top he looked at his watch. It was nine o'clock. There was not a cloud in the sky, and yet there was no sun.

He looked back. The Yukon River lay a mile wide under three feet of ice and three feet of snow. Everything was white, except for one thin dark line that twisted away north and south. That was the main trail.

None of this made any impression on the man. He was a newcomer in the land, and this was his first winter. The trouble with him was that he had no imagination.

To him, fifty degrees below zero meant cold and discomfort, and the need for thick mittens and socks. Nothing more. It did not make him think about how weak a human being is in the cold. That thought never entered his head.

He spat. There was a sharp, explosive crackle. He spat again. In the air, before it could fall to the snow, the spit cracked into ice. He knew that at fifty below, spit cracked on the snow. But this had cracked in the air. It was colder than fifty below. How much colder, he did not know. It did not matter.

He was going to an old claim on Henderson Creek, where the boys were waiting. He would be in camp by six, with a fire and a hot supper.

PART 1 · COLDER THAN FIFTY BELOW

His lunch was under his shirt, against his bare skin, the only way to stop the biscuits freezing.

At his heels trotted a dog, a big grey wolf-dog. Its instinct told it a truer story than the man's judgement told him. It was not just colder than fifty below. It was seventy-five below zero. The dog knew nothing about thermometers, but it knew this was no time for travelling. It kept hoping the man would stop and build a fire.

The man was chewing tobacco, and the brown juice froze on his chin into a long beard of amber ice.

By ten o'clock he was walking along the frozen bed of Henderson Creek.

He rubbed his nose and cheeks as he walked, but the moment he stopped, they went numb. He would freeze his cheeks, he knew. But what were frozen cheeks? A bit painful, that was all. Never serious.

Suddenly, coming round a bend, he jumped back like a frightened horse. He had felt the snow give under his feet, and heard the crackle of thin ice.

The creek was frozen to the bottom. But there were springs that ran out of the hillsides, under the snow and on top of the ice. Even the coldest weather never froze them. They hid pools of water under the snow, three inches deep, or three feet. They were traps. And at this temperature, wet feet meant danger.

Book club

PART 1 · COLDER THAN FIFTY BELOW

1. Why did the man think about the cold so little?

2. How did he know it was colder than fifty below?

3. Where was he going, and what was waiting for him there?

4. The dog's instinct was wiser than the man's judgement. When should we trust our instincts?

5. Is a lack of imagination dangerous? Or can it sometimes help?

6. What do you think will happen on the rest of his journey?

PART 2 OF 4

The fire under the tree

PART 2 · THE FIRE UNDER THE TREE

He went carefully round the danger and walked on. Over the next two hours he found several more traps. Once, he made the dog go first. It broke through, scrambled out, and lay down to bite the ice from between its toes. The man pulled off his right mitten to help it. In less than a minute, his fingers were numb. It certainly was cold.

At half past twelve, exactly on time, he reached the forks of the creek. He took out his lunch, and in those few seconds his bare fingers went numb. He tried to bite a biscuit, but the ice on his mouth stopped him. He had forgotten to build a fire. He laughed at his own foolishness. Then he noticed that his toes had no feeling.

For the first time, he was a little frightened. That man from Sulphur Creek had told the truth about how cold it got in this country. And he had laughed at him!

He built a fire, thawed the ice from his face, and ate his biscuits. When he set off again, the dog looked back longingly at the fire. It knew the cold, and the man did not. But there was no friendship between them. The only touch the dog had ever known from the man was the whip. So it did not try to warn him.

For half an hour there were no signs of springs. And then it happened. Where the snow looked smooth and solid, the man broke through. He was wet halfway to the knees.

PART 2 · THE FIRE UNDER THE TREE

He cursed his luck. Now he would be an hour late, because he had to build a fire and dry his socks and moccasins. He climbed the bank. Under some small spruce trees lay a pile of dry sticks and grass left by the spring floods. He lit a piece of birch bark from his pocket and fed the little flame with grass and tiny twigs.

He worked slowly and carefully. There must be no failure. At seventy-five below, a man with wet feet must not fail with his first fire. With dry feet, he could run and get warm. But wet feet only freeze harder when you run.

The old-timer on Sulphur Creek had told him this. Already his feet had no feeling, and his fingers were dead.

But the fire was growing. He was safe. He smiled. The old-timer had said that no man should travel alone in the Klondike after fifty below. Well, here he was. He had had the accident. He was alone. And he had saved himself. Those old-timers were a bit soft, some of them. All a man had to do was keep his head. Any man who was a man could travel alone.

He began to untie his moccasins. They were covered in ice, and the strings were twisted and hard like steel. He pulled at them with numb fingers, then took out his knife.

But before he could cut the strings, it happened.

Book club

PART 2 · THE FIRE UNDER THE TREE

1. What happened to the man's fingers when he helped the dog?

2. What did the man from Sulphur Creek warn him about, and how had he reacted?

3. Why was the first fire after he got wet so important?

4. The man feels proud of himself. Is he right to feel safe?

5. The dog doesn't warn the man. Should we expect loyalty from someone we treat badly?

6. "It happened." What do you think has gone wrong?

PART 3 OF 4

Seventy matches

PART 3 · SEVENTY MATCHES

It was his own mistake. He should have built the fire in the open, not under the spruce tree. But it had been easier to pull twigs from the bushes and drop them straight onto the flames.

The tree carried a heavy load of snow, and each time he pulled a twig, he had shaken it a tiny bit. High up, one branch dropped its snow onto the branches below, and they dropped theirs. It grew like an avalanche and came down without warning on the man and the fire. The fire was gone.

It was as if he had just heard his own death sentence. Then he grew very calm. Perhaps the old-timer was right. With a partner, he would be in no danger now. Well, this time there must be no failure.

He made a new fire in the open. His fingers could not pick up twigs, so he gathered sticks and grass by the handful, with rotten wood and green moss mixed in. The dog watched him. To the dog, he was the fire-provider, and the fire was slow in coming.

He reached for more birch bark. He could hear it in his pocket, but he could not hold it. He fought the panic and beat his hands against his sides. The dog sat warm in the snow, its tail curled over its feet. The man felt a great wave of envy.

At last a painful stinging came into his fingers. He took out the bark, then his matches. But his fingers died again, and the whole bunch fell in the snow.

PART 3 · SEVENTY MATCHES

He scooped them up and pulled one out with his teeth. He struck it twenty times on his leg until it lit. But the sulphur went up his nose, and he coughed. The match fell into the snow and went out.

The old-timer on Sulphur Creek was right, he thought. After fifty below, a man should travel with a partner.

He pulled off both mittens with his teeth, held the whole bunch between the heels of his hands, and scraped it along his leg. Seventy matches flared up at once! He held them to the bark. He could smell his own flesh burning. Still he held on. At last he pulled his hands apart. The birch bark was alight.

He fed it with grass and twigs.

The flame meant life. But now he was shivering. A piece of moss fell on the little fire, and when he tried to push it off, his shaking hands pushed too hard. The burning twigs scattered. Each one gave a puff of smoke and went out.

The fire-provider had failed. Then his eyes fell on the dog, and a wild idea came into his head. He remembered a story about a man caught in a snowstorm, who killed a steer and crawled inside its body, and so was saved. He would kill the dog, and bury his hands in its warm body until the feeling came back.

Book club

PART 3 · SEVENTY MATCHES

1. What put out the first fire, and whose fault was it?

2. How did he finally light the birch bark? What did it cost him?

3. Why did the second fire go out?

4. The man stays calm for a long time. Would you? What would you try?

5. "With a partner, he would be in no danger." Is it ever wise to take big risks alone?

6. Will the man kill the dog? Will it save him?

PART 4 OF 4

The long twilight

PART 4 · THE LONG TWILIGHT

He called the dog to him. But there was a strange note of fear in his voice, and the animal was frightened. It flattened its ears and would not come. He crawled towards it, and it moved away.

He fought for calm. He stood up and called again, with the sound of the whip in his voice. The dog obeyed and came.

As it came close, he threw out his arms. To his surprise, his hands could not close. But he got his arms around the dog and sat down in the snow, holding it while it snarled and struggled.

That was all he could do. With those hands, he could not hold his knife. He could not kill it. He let it go, and it ran off with its tail between its legs.

Forty feet away, it stopped and watched him.

A dull fear of death came over him. This was no longer about losing fingers and toes. It was life and death. He panicked and ran up the creek, the dog at his heels.

Running made him feel better. If he ran far enough, he might reach the camp and the boys. Another thought said that he would never get there, and that he would soon be stiff and dead. He pushed it away.

He could not feel his feet hit the ground. He seemed to fly over the snow, like Mercury, the god with wings on his feet.

But he did not have the strength. He stumbled and fell. When he sat up, he felt strangely warm, yet his nose and cheeks had no feeling. The freezing was spreading.

PART 4 · THE LONG TWILIGHT

He ran again, and fell again, and then again. It was his last panic.

He had been making a fool of himself, he thought, running around like a chicken with its head cut off. He was going to freeze anyway. He might as well take it decently. With this new calm came the first feeling of sleep. There were worse ways to die.

He imagined the boys finding his body the next day. Suddenly he was with them, coming round a bend in the trail and finding himself lying in the snow. It certainly was cold, he thought. Then he saw the old-timer on Sulphur Creek, warm and comfortable, smoking his pipe.

"You were right, old hoss; you were right," the man mumbled.

Then he fell into the most comfortable sleep he had ever known. The dog sat facing him, waiting. The short day ended in a long, slow twilight. The dog had never seen a man sit like that in the snow and make no fire. It whined softly. Later, it whined loudly. Later still, it crept close to the man and caught the smell of death. Its fur stood up, and it backed away.

For a little longer it stayed, howling under the cold, bright stars. Then it turned and trotted up the trail towards the camp it knew, where there were other food-providers and fire-providers.

Book club

PART 4 · THE LONG TWILIGHT

1. Why couldn't the man kill the dog?

2. What did he hope would happen if he kept running?

3. How did his feelings about death change at the end?

4. "You were right, old hoss." What do you think he means? Is it too late?

5. The dog leaves for the camp. How do you feel about the dog at the end?

Big questions

1

What killed the man: the cold, bad luck, or his own mistakes?

2

London says the man's real problem was "no imagination". Do you agree?

3

The man never has a name. Why might London leave him nameless?

4

What did the dog know that the man didn't? Was the dog cruel, or just an animal?

5

In 1902, London wrote a version where the man survives. Which ending is better, and why?

6

When have you ignored advice from someone more experienced? What happened?

TEACHER'S REFERENCE · SKIP OR DELETE BEFORE CLASS

Answer key

Part 1 · 1 He was a newcomer with no imagination. To him the cold only meant discomfort and thick mittens and socks, not danger.

Part 1 · 2 His spit cracked into ice in the air, before it reached the snow. At fifty below, it only cracks on the snow.

Part 1 · 3 To an old claim on Henderson Creek. The boys, a fire and a hot supper were waiting.

Part 2 · 1 They went numb in less than a minute.

Part 2 · 2 He had warned him how cold it could get, and that no man should travel alone after fifty below. The man had laughed at him.

Part 2 · 3 With wet feet at seventy-five below, he couldn't warm up by running. If the first fire failed, his feet would freeze.

Part 3 · 1 Snow fell from the spruce tree above it. It was his own mistake: he built the fire under the tree, not in the open.

Part 3 · 2 He held all seventy matches between the heels of his hands and scraped them along his leg. His hands were badly burned.

Part 3 · 3 A piece of moss fell on it. His shaking hands pushed too hard, and the burning twigs scattered and went out.

Part 4 · 1 His hands were frozen. He couldn't hold his knife or strangle the dog.

Part 4 · 2 He hoped his feet would thaw and he would reach the camp, where the boys would take care of him.

Part 4 · 3 He stopped panicking and decided to meet death calmly. He felt sleepy and thought there were worse ways to die.