Dillon Wallace - "Left on the Labrador"

Louisa Clayton - "The One Great Reality"

Charlotte Mary Yonge - "The Two Guardians"

Louisa de la Rame) - "A Dog of Flanders"

Annual Bibliography of Commonwealth Literature 2007
This paper argues that discourses of love in Ghanaian market literature for youth offer a view into complex negotiations of agency and empowerment. Drawing on Deborah Durham's notion of youth as "social `shifters'" and Francis Nyamnjoh's conception of the "interconnectedness" of agency, I take Ghanaian market literature as one specific case of how African literature for youth foregrounds questions of continuity and change as African societies enter into increasingly complex global relations. In this literature for youth, received notions of love, often constructed out of impressions from American pop and hip hop music, carry new notions of agency that compete with existing "domesticated" forms. Authors like Ike Tandoh and Evelyn Tay employ discourses of love to offer youth alternative avenues for empowerment in a context of socio-economic disenfranchizement. In a creative process of "straddling", this writing both reveals and reproduces the contradictions that obtain in youth configurations of agency.

Lords of the North

A >> A. C. Laut >> Lords of the North




In this, Grant did his people injustice; for of those prisoners taken by
the advance guard, not a hair of their heads was injured. The warden
was nervously apprehensive. This was unusual with him; and I have since
wondered if his dark forebodings arose from better knowledge of the
_Bois-Brules_ than I possessed, or from some premonition.

"There'd be some reason for uneasiness, if you weren't here to control
them, Grant," said I, nodding towards the Indians and Metis.

"One man against a host! What can I do?" he asked gloomily.

"Good gracious, man! Do! Why, do what you came to do! Whatever's the
matter with you?"

The swarthy face had turned a ghastly, yellowish tint and he did not
answer.

"'Pon my honor," I exclaimed. "Are you ill, man?"

"'Tisn't that! When I went to sleep, last night, there were--corpses all
round me. I thought I was in a charnel house and----"

"Good gracious, Grant!" I shuddered out. "Don't you go off your head
next! Leave that for us green chaps! Besides, the Indians were raising
stench enough with a dog-stew to fill any brain with fumes. For
goodness' sake, let's go on, meet those fellows with the brigade, secure
that express and get off this 'powder mine'--as you call it."

"By all means!" Grant responded, giving the order, and we moved forward
but only at snail pace; for I think he wanted to give the settlers
plenty of time to reach the fort.

By five o'clock in the afternoon we had almost rounded the slough and
were gradually closing towards the wooded ground of the river bank. We
were within ear-shot of the settlers. They were flying past with
terrified cries of "The half-breeds! The half-breeds!" when I heard
Grant groan from sheer alarm and mutter--

"Look! Look! The lambs coming to meet the wolves!"

To this day I cannot account for the madness of the thing. There, some
twenty, or thirty Hudson's Bay men--mere youths most of them--were
coming with all speed to head us off from the river path, at a wooded
point called Seven Oaks. What this pigmy band thought it could do
against our armed men, I do not know. The blunder on their part was so
unexpected and inexcusable, it never dawned on us the panic-stricken
settlers had spread a report of raid, and these poor valiant defenders
had come out to protect the colony. If that be the true explanation of
their rash conduct in tempting conflict, what were they thinking about
to leave the walls of their fort during danger? My own opinion is that
with Lord Selkirk's presumptuous claims to exclusive possession in Red
River and the recent high-handed success of the Hudson's Bay, the men of
Fort Douglas were so flushed with pride they did not realize the risk of
a brush with the _Bois-Brules_. Much, too, may be attributed to Governor
Semple's inexperience; but it was very evident the purpose of the force
deliberately blocking our path was not peaceable. If the Hudson's Bay
blundered in coming out to challenge us, so did we, I frankly admit; for
we regarded the advance as an audacious trick to hold us back till the
Fort William express could be captured.

Now that the thing he feared had come, all hesitancy vanished from
Grant's manner. Steeled and cool like the leader he was, he sternly
commanded the surging Metis to keep back. Straggling Indians and
half-breeds dashed to our fore-ranks with the rush of a tempest and
chafed hotly against the warden. At a word from Grant, the men swung
across the enemy's course sickle-shape; but they were furious at this
disciplined restraint. From horn to horn of the crescent, rode the
plain-ranger, lashing horses back to the circle and shaking his fist in
the quailing face of many a bold rebel.

Both sides advanced within a short distance of each other. We could see
that Governor Semple, himself, was leading the Hudson's Bay men.
Immediately, Boucher, a North-West clerk, was sent forward to parley.
Now, I hold the Nor'-Westers would not have done that if their purpose
had been hostile; but Boucher rode out waving his hand and calling--

"What do you want? What do you want?"

"What do you want, yourself?" came Governor Semple's reply with some
heat and not a little insolence.

"We want our fort," demanded Boucher, slightly taken aback, but
thoroughly angered. His horse was prancing restively within pistol range
of the governor.

"Go to your fort, then! Go to your fort!" returned Semple with stinging
contempt in manner and voice.

He might as well have told us to go to Gehenna; for the fort was
scattered to the four winds.

"The fool!" muttered Grant. "The fool! Let him answer for the
consequences. Their blood be on their own heads."

Whether the _Bois-Brules_, who had lashed their horses into a lather of
foam and were cursing out threats in the ominous undertone that precedes
a storm-burst, now encroached upon the neutral ground in spite of Grant,
or were led gradually forward by the warden as the Hudson's Bay
governor's hostility increased, I did not in the excitement of the
moment observe. One thing is certain, while the quarrel between the
Hudson's Bay governor and the North-West clerk was becoming more
furious, our surging cohorts were closing in on the little band like an
irresistible tidal wave. I could make out several Hudson's Bay faces,
that seemed to remind me of my Fort Douglas visit; but of the rabble of
Nor'-Westers and _Bois-Brules_ disguised in hideous war-gear, I dare
avow not twenty of us were recognizable.

"Miserable rogue!" Boucher was shouting, utterly beside himself with
rage and flourishing his gun directly over the governor's head,
"Miserable rogue! Why have you destroyed our fort?"

"Call him off, Grant! Call him off, or it's all up!" I begged, seeing
the parley go from bad to worse; but Grant was busy with the
_Bois-Brules_ and did not hear.

"Wretch!" Governor Semple exclaimed in a loud voice. "Dare you to speak
so to me!" and he caught Boucher's bridle, throwing the horse back on
its haunches.

Boucher, agile as a cat, slipped to the ground.

"Arrest him, men!" commanded the governor. "Arrest him at once!"

But the clerk was around the other side of the horse, with his gun
leveled across its back.

Whether, when Boucher jumped down, our bloodthirsty knaves thought him
shot and broke from Grant's control to be avenged, or whether Lieutenant
Holt of the Hudson's Bay at that unfortunate juncture discharged his
weapon by accident, will never be known.

Instantaneously, as if by signal, our men with a yell burst from the
ranks, leaped from their saddles and using horses as breast-work, fired
volley after volley into the governor's party. The neighing and plunging
of the frenzied horses added to the tumult. The Hudson's Bay men were
shouting out incoherent protest; but what they said was drowned in the
shrill war-cry of the Indians. Just for an instant, I thought I
recognized one particular voice in that shrieking babel, which flashed
back memory of loud, derisive laughter over a camp fire and at the
buffalo hunt; but all else was forgotten in the terrible consciousness
that our men's murderous onslaught was deluging the prairie with
innocent blood.

Throwing himself between the _Bois-Brules_ and the retreating band, the
warden implored his followers to grant truce. As well plead with wild
beasts. The half-breeds were deaf to commands, and in vain their leader
argued with blows. The shooting had been of a blind sort, and few shots
did more than wound; but the natives were venting the pent-up hate of
three years and would give no quarter. From musketry volleys the fight
had become hand-to-hand butchery.

I had dismounted and was beating the scoundrels back with the butt end
of my gun, begging, commanding, abjuring them to desist, when a Hudson's
Bay youth swayed forward and fell wounded at my feet. There was the
baffled, anguished scream of some poor wounded fellow driven to bay, and
I saw Laplante across the field, covered with blood, reeling and
staggering back from a dozen red-skin furies, who pressed upon their
fagged victim, snatching at his throat like hounds at the neck of a
beaten stag. With a bound across the prostrate form of the youth, I ran
to the Frenchman's aid. Louis saw me coming and struck out so valiantly,
the wretched cowards darted back just as I have seen a miserable pack of
open-mouthed curs dodge the last desperate sweep of antlered head. That
gave me my chance, and I fell on their rear with all the might I could
put in my muscle, bringing the flat of my gun down with a crash on
crested head-toggery, and striking right and left at Louis' assailants.

"Ah--_mon Dieu_--comrade," sobbed Louis, falling in my arms from sheer
exhaustion, while the tears trickled down in a white furrow over his
blood-splashed cheeks, "_mon Dieu_--comrade, but you pay me back
generous!"

"Tutts, man, this is no time for settling old scores and playing the
grand! Run for your life. Run to the woods and swim the river!" With
that, I flung him from me; for I heard the main body of our force
approaching. "Run," I urged, giving the Frenchman a push.

"The run--ha--ha--my old spark," laughed Louis with a tearful, lack-life
sort of mirth, "the run--it has all run out," and with a pitiful reel
down he fell in a heap.

I caught him under the armpits, hoisted him to my shoulders, and made
with all speed for the wooded river bank. My pace was a tumble more than
a run down the river cliff, but I left the man at the very water's edge,
where he could presently strike out for the far side and regain Fort
Douglas by swimming across again. Then I hurried to the battle-field in
search of the wounded youth whom I had left. As I bent above him, the
poor lad rolled over, gazing up piteously with the death-look on his
face; and I recognized the young Nor'-Wester who had picked flowers with
me for Frances Sutherland and afterwards deserted to the Hudson's Bay.
The boy moaned and moved his lips as if speaking, but I heard no sound.
Stooping on one knee, I took his head on the other and bent to listen;
but he swooned away. Afraid to leave him--for the savages were wreaking
indescribable barbarities on the fallen--I picked him up. His arms and
head fell back limply as if he were dead, and holding him thus, I again
dashed for the fringe of woods. Rogers of the Hudson's Bay staggered
against me wounded, with both hands thrown up ready to surrender. He was
pleading in broken French for mercy; but two half-breeds, one with
cocked pistol, the other with knife, rushed upon him. I turned away that
I might not see; but the man's unavailing entreaties yet ring in my
ears. Farther on, Governor Semple lay, with lacerated arm and broken
thigh. He was calling to Grant, "I'm not mortally wounded! If you could
get me conveyed to the fort I think I would live!"

Then I got away from the field and laid my charge in the woods. Poor
lad! The pallor of death was on every feature. Tearing open his coat and
taking letters from an inner pocket to send to relatives, I saw a
knife-stab in his chest, which no mortal could survive. Battle is
pitiless. I hurriedly left the dying boy and went back to the living,
ordering a French half-breed to guard him.

"See that no one mutilates this body," said I, "and I'll reward you."

My shout seemed to recall the lad's consciousness. Whether he fully
understood the terrible significance of my words, I could not tell; but
he opened his eyes with a reproachful glazed stare; and that was the
last I saw of him.

Knowing Grant would have difficulty in obtaining carriers for Governor
Semple, and only too anxious to gain access to Fort Douglas, I ran with
haste towards the recumbent form of the fallen leader. Grant was at some
distance scouring the field for reliable men, and while I was yet twenty
or thirty yards away an Indian glided up.

"Dog!" he hissed in the prostrate man's face. "You have caused all this!
You shall not live! Dog that you are!"

Then something caught my feet. I stumbled and fell. There was the flare
of a pistol shot in Governor Semple's face and a slight cry. The next
moment I was by his side. The shot had taken effect in the breast. The
body was yet hot with life; but there was neither breath, nor heart
beat.

A few of the Hudson's Bay band gained hiding in the shrubbery and
escaped by swimming across to the east bank of the Red, but the remnant
tried to reach the fort across the plain. Calling me, Grant, now utterly
distracted, directed his efforts to this quarter. I with difficulty
captured my horse and galloped off to join the warden. Our riders were
circling round something not far from the fort walls and Grant was
tearing over the prairie, commanding them to retire. It seems, when
Governor Semple discovered the strength of our forces, he sent some of
his men back to Fort Douglas for a field-piece. Poor Semple with his
European ideas of Indian warfare! The _Bois-Brules_ did not wait for
that field-piece. The messengers had trundled it out only a short
distance from the gateway, when they met the fugitives flying back with
news of the massacre. Under protection of the cannon, the men made a
plucky retreat to the fort, though the _Bois-Brules_ harassed them to
the very walls. This disappearance--or rather extermination--of the
enemy, as well as the presence of the field-gun, which was a new terror
to the Indians, gave Grant his opportunity. He at once rounded the men
up and led them off to Frog Plains, on the other side of the swamp. Here
we encamped for the night, and were subsequently joined by the first
division of _Bois-Brules_.




CHAPTER XXIII

THE IROQUOIS PLAYS HIS LAST CARD


The _Bois-Brules_ and Indian marauders, who gathered to our camp, were
drunk with the most intoxicating of all stimulants--human blood. This
flush of victory excited the redskins' vanity to a boastful frenzy.
There was wild talk of wiping the pale-face out of existence; and if a
weaker man than Grant had been at the head of the forces, not a white in
the settlement would have escaped massacre. In spite of the bitterness
to which the slaughter at Seven Oaks gave rise, I think all fair-minded
people have acknowledged that the settlers owed their lives to the
warden's efforts.

That night pandemonium itself could not have presented a more hideous
scene than our encampment. The lust of blood is abhorrent enough in
civilized races, but in Indian tribes, whose unrestrained, hard life
abnormally develops the instincts of the tiger, it is a thing that may
not be portrayed. Let us not, with the depreciatory hypocrisy,
characteristic of our age, befool ourselves into any belief that
barbaric practices were more humane than customs which are the flower of
civilized centuries. Let us be truthful. Scientific cruelty may do its
worst with intricate armaments; but the blood-thirst of the Indian
assumed the ghastly earnest of victors drinking the warm life-blood of
dying enemies and of torturers laving hands in a stream yet hot from
pulsing hearts.

Decked out in red-stained trophies with scalps dangling from their
waists, the natives darted about like blood-whetted beasts; and the
half-breeds were little better, except that they thirsted more for booty
than life. There was loud vaunting over the triumph, the ignorant rabble
imagining their warriors heroes of a great battle, instead of the
murderous plunderers they were. Pierre, the rhymester, according to his
wont, broke out in jubilant celebration of the half-breeds' feat:[A]

Ho-ho! List you now to a tale of truth
Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, proudly sing,
Of the _Bois-Brules_, whose deeds dismay
The hearts of the soldiers serving the king!

Swift o'er the plain rode our warriors brave
To meet the gay voyageurs come from the sea.
Out came the bold band that had pillaged our land,
And we taught them the plain is the home of the free.

We were passing along to the landing-place,
Three hostile whites we bound on the trail.
The enemy came with a shout of acclaim,
We flung back their taunts with the shriek of a gale.

"They have come to attack us," our people cry.
Our cohorts spread out in a crescent horn,
Their path we bar in a steel scimitar,
And their empty threats we flout with scorn.

They halt in the face of a dauntless foe,
They spit out their venom of baffled rage!
Honor, our breath to the very death!
So we proffer them peace, or a battle-gage.

The governor shouts to his soldiers, "Draw!"
'Tis the enemy strikes the first, fateful blow!
Our men break from line, for the battle-wine
Of a fighting race has a fiery glow.

The governor thought himself mighty in power.
The shock of his strength--Ha-ha!--should be known
From the land of the sea to the prairie free
And all free men should be overthrown![B]

But naked and dead on the plain lies he,
Where the carrion hawk, and the sly coyote
Greedily feast on the great and the least,
Without respect for a lord of note.

The governor thought himself mighty in power.
He thought to enslave the _Bois-Brules_,
"Ha-ha," laughed the hawk. Ho-ho! Let him mock.
"Plain rangers ride forth to slay, to slay."

Whose cry outpierces the night-bird's note?
Whose voice mourns sadly through sighing trees?
What spirits wail to the prairie gale?
Who tells his woes to the evening breeze?

Ha-ha! We know, though we tell it not.
We fought with them till none remained.
The coyote knew, and his hungry crew
Licked clean the grass where the turf was stained.

Ho-ho! List you all to my tale of truth.
'Tis I, Pierre, the rhymester, this glory tell
Of freedom saved and brave hands laved
In the blood of tyrants who fought and fell!

The whole scene was repugnant beyond endurance. My ears were so filled
with the death cries heard in the afternoon, I had no relish for
Pierre's crude recital of what seemed to him a glorious conquest. I
could not rid my mind of that dying boy's sad face. Many half-breeds
were preparing to pillage the settlement. Intending to protect the
Sutherland home and seek the dead lad's body, I borrowed a fresh horse
and left the tumult of the camp.

I made a detour of the battle-field in order to reach the Sutherland
homestead before night. I might have saved myself the trouble; for every
movable object--to the doors and window sashes--had been taken from the
little house, whether by father and daughter before going to the fort,
or by the marauders, I did not know.

It was unsafe to return by the wooded river trail after dark and I
struck directly to the clearing and followed the path parallel to the
bush. When I reached Seven Oaks, I was first apprised of my whereabouts
by my horse pricking forward his ears and sniffing the air uncannily. I
tightened rein and touched him with the spur, but he snorted and jumped
sideways with a suddenness that almost unseated me, then came to a
stand, shaking as if with chill. Something skulked across the trail and
gained cover in the woods. With a reassuring pat, I urged my horse back
towards the road, for the prairie was pitted with badger and gopher
holes; but the beast reared, baulked and absolutely refused to be either
driven, or coaxed.

"Wise when men are fools!" said I, dismounting. Bringing the reins over
his head, I tried to pull him forward; but he planted all fours and
jerked back, almost dragging me off my feet.

"Are you possessed?" I exclaimed, for if ever horror were plainly
expressed by an animal, it was by that horse. Legs rigid, head bent
down, eyes starting forward and nostrils blowing in and out, he was a
picture of terror.

Something wriggled in the thicket. The horse rose on his hind legs,
wrenched the rein from my hand and scampered across the plain. I sent a
shot into the bush. There was a snarl and a scurrying through the
underbrush.

"Pretty bold wolf! Never saw a broncho act that way over a coyote
before!"

I might as well find the body of the English lad before trying to catch
my horse, so I walked on. Suddenly, in the silver-white of a starry sky,
I saw what had terrified the animal. Close to the shrubbery lay the
stark form of a white man, knees drawn upwards and arms spread out like
the bars of a cross. Was that the lad I had known? I rushed towards the
corpse--but as quickly turned away. From downright lack of courage, I
could not look at it; for the body was mutilated beyond semblance to
humanity. Would that I had strength and skill to paint that dead figure
as it was! Then would those, who glory in the shedding of blood, glory
to their shame; and the pageant of war be stripped of all its false
toggery revealing carnage and slaughter in their revolting nakedness.

I could not look back to know if that were the lad, but ran aimlessly
towards the scene of the Seven Oaks fray. As I approached, there was a
great flapping of wings. Up rose buzzards, scolding in angry discord at
my interruption. A pack of wolves skulked a few feet off and eyed me
impatiently, boldly waiting to return when I left. The impudence of the
brutes enraged me and I let go half a dozen charges, which sent them to
a more respectful distance. Here were more bodies like the first. I
counted eight within a stone's throw, and there were twice as many
between Seven Oaks and the fort. Where they lay, I could tell very well;
for hawks wheeled with harsh cries overhead and there was a vague
movement of wolfish shapes along the ground.

What possessed me to hover about that dreadful scene, I cannot imagine,
unless the fear of those creatures returning; but I did not carry a
thing with which I could bury the dead. Involuntarily, I sought out
Rogers and Governor Semple; for I had seen the death of each. It was
when seeking these, that I thought I distinguished the faintest motion
of one figure still clothed and lying apart from the others.

The sight riveted me to the spot.

Surely it was a mistake! The form could not have moved! It must have
been some error of vision, or trick of the shadowy starlight; but I
could not take my eyes from the prostrate form. Again the body
moved--distinctly moved--beyond possibility of fancy, the chest heaving
up and sinking like a man struggling but unable to rise. With the
ghastly dead and the ravening wolves all about, the movement of that
wounded man was strangely terrifying and my knees knocked with fear, as
I ran to his aid.

The man was an Indian, but his face I could not see; for one hand
staunched a wound in his head and the other gripped a knife with which
he had been defending himself. My first thought was that he must be a
Nor'-Wester, or his body would not have escaped the common fate; but if
a Nor'-Wester, why had he been left on the field? So I concluded he was
one of the camp-followers, who had joined our forces for plunder and
come to a merited end. Still he was a man; and I stooped to examine him
with a view to getting him on my horse and taking him back to the camp.

At first he was unconscious of my presence. Gently I tried to remove the
left hand from his forehead, but at the touch, out struck the right
hand in vicious thrusts of the hunting-knife, one blind cut barely
missing my arm.

"Hold, man!" I cried, "I'm no foe, but a friend!" and I caught the right
arm tightly.

At the sound of my voice, the left hand swung out revealing a frightful
gash; and the next thing I knew, his left arm had encircled my neck like
the coil of a strangler, five fingers were digging into the flesh of my
throat and Le Grand Diable was making frantic efforts to free his right
hand and plunge that dagger into me. The shock of the discovery threw me
off guard, and for a moment there was a struggle, but only for a moment.
Then the wounded man fell back, writhing in pain, his face contorted
with agony and hate. I do not think he could see me. He must have been
blind from that wound. I stood back, but his knife still cut the air.

"Le Grand Diable! Fool!" I said, "I will not harm you! I give you the
white man's word, I will not hurt you!"

The right arm fell limp and still. Had I, by some strange irony, been
led to this spot that I might witness the death of my foe? Was this the
end of that long career of evil?

"Le Grand Diable!" I cried, going a pace nearer, which seemed to bring
back the ebbing life. "Le Grand Diable! You cannot stay here among the
wolves. Tell me whereto find Miriam and I'll take you back to the camp!
Tell me and no one shall harm you! I will save you!"

The thin lips moved. He was saying, or trying to say, something.

"Speak louder!" and I bent over him. "Speak the truth and I take you to
the camp!"

The lips were still moving, but I could not hear a sound.

"Speak louder!" I shouted. "Where is Miriam? Where is the white woman?"
I put my ear to his lips, fearful that life might slip away before I
could hear.

There was a snarl through the glistening set teeth. The prostrate body
gave an upward lurch. With one swift, treacherous thrust, he drove his
knife into my coat-sleeve, grazing my forearm. The effort cost him his
life. He sank down with a groan. The sightless, bloodshot eyes opened.
Le Grand Diable would never more feign death.

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