George Oliver Smith - "Highways in Hiding"

E. Cohen Brewer - "Character Sketches of Romance, Fiction and the Drama"

Margaret Bruce Clarke - "Hunter's Marjory"

William Wordsworth - "Lyrical Ballads, With Other Poems, 1800, Vol. I."

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.

A Little Girl in Old Detroit

A >> Amanda Minnie Douglas >> A Little Girl in Old Detroit




There was a fumbling at the door presently. The bolt was drawn, the lock
snapped; and the door was opened cautiously. It was neither Noko nor
Marsac, but some one in a soft, gray blanket, with white borders. The
corner was thrown over her head. She turned stealthily, took out the
key, and locked the door again on the inside. Then she faced Jeanne who
had half risen, and her blanket fell to the floor.

A handsome Indian girl, arrayed in a beautiful costume that bespoke rank
in the wearer. Across her brow was a fillet made of polished stones that
sparkled like jewels. Her long, black hair nearly reached her knees. Her
skin was fine and clear, of a light bronze tint, through which the pink
in her cheeks glowed. Her eyes were larger and softer than most of her
race, of a liquid blackness, her nose was straight and slim, with fine
nostrils, and her mouth like an opening rose, the under petal falling
apart.

She came close to the white girl who shrank back terrified at the eyes
fixed so resolutely on her.

"You are the French girl who wants to marry Louis Marsac," she hissed,
between her white teeth.

"I am a French girl, Jeanne Angelot, and he stole me from Detroit. I do
not want to marry him. Oh, no! a thousand times no! I have told him that
I shall kill myself if he forces me to marry him!"

The Indian girl looked amazed. Her hands dropped at her side. Her eyes
flickered in wavering lights, and her breath came in gasps.

"You do not want to marry him?"

Her voice was hoarse, guttural. "Ah, you lie! You make believe! It
cannot be! Why, then, did you come up here? And why has he gone to
L'Arbre Croche for the priest he expected?"

"I told you. He hired some Indians to take me from Detroit, after his
boat had left. I would not go. I did not want to marry him and said
'_no_' dozens of times. They took me out in a canoe. I think they were
Hurons; I did not understand their language. Somewhere--I do not know
where we are now, and I cannot remember the days that passed, but they
met the trader's boat and put me on it, and then I knew it was Louis
Marsac who had stolen me. Has he gone for a priest? Is that what you
said? Oh, save me! Help me to escape. I might throw myself into the bay,
but I can swim. I should not like to die when life is so sweet and
beautiful, and I am afraid I should try to save myself or some one might
rescue me. Oh, believe it is no lie! I do not want to marry him."

"You have another lover?" The eyes seemed to pierce her through, as if
sure of an affirmative.

"I have no lover, not even in Detroit. I do not like love. It is foolish
and full of hot kisses, and I do not want to marry. Oh, save me if you
have any pity! Help me to escape!"

She slipped down at the Indian girl's feet and caught at the garment of
feathers so smooth and soft it seemed like satin.

"See here." The visitor put her hand in her bosom and drew forth a small
dagger with a pearl hilt in which was set jewels. Jeanne shuddered, but
remained on her knees, glancing up piteously.

"See here. I came to kill you. I said no French girl, be she beautiful
as moonlight on the lake, shall marry Louis Marsac. He belongs to me. No
woman shall be folded in his arms or lie on his breast or rejoice in the
kisses of his mouth and live! I cannot understand. When one has tasted
the sweetness--and he is so handsome, not so different from his mother's
race but that I am a fit mate for him. My father was a chief, and there
was a quarrel between him and a relative who claimed the right, and he
was killed. Ah, you can never know how good and tender Louis was to me,
so different from most of the clumsy Canadian traders; next, I think, to
the great White Chief of the island; yes, handsomer, though not as
large. All the winter and spring he loved me. And this cabin was mine. I
came here many times. He loves me unless you have stolen his heart with
some evil charm. Stand up; see. I am as tall as you. My skin is fine and
clear, if not as pale as the white faces; and yours--pouf! you have no
rose in your cheeks. Is not my mouth made for kisses? I like those that
burn as fire running through your veins. And my hand--" she caught
Jeanne's hand and compared them. "It is as slim and soft, and the pink
is under the nails. And my hair is like a veil, reaching to my knees.
Yes, I am a fitter mate than you, who are naught but a child, with no
shape that fills a man with admiration. Is it that you have worked some
evil charm?"

Jeanne's eyes were distended with horror. Now that death and escape were
near she shrank with the fear of all young things who have known naught
of life but its joy. She could not even beg, her tongue seemed
paralyzed.

They would have made a statue worthy of a sculptor as they stood there,
the Indian girl in her splendid attire and the utmost beauty of her
race, with the dagger in one hand; and the girl, pale now as a snow
wreath, at her feet.

"Would you go away, escape?" Some curious thoughts had flashed into
Owaissa's brain.

"Oh, help me, help me! I will beg my way back to Detroit. I will pray
that all his love may be given to you; morning and night I will pray on
my knees. Oh, believe, believe!"

The Indian girl could not doubt her sincerity. But with the injustice of
a passionate, jealous love she did not so much blame her recreant
lover. Some charm, some art, must have been used, perhaps by a third
person, and the girl be guiltless. And if she could send her away and
remain in her stead--

She gave a soft, musical ripple of laughter. So pretty Minnehaha must
have laughed when Longfellow caught the sound in his charmed brain. She
put up her dagger. She raised Jeanne, wondering, but no longer afraid.
This was the miracle she had prayed for and it had come to pass.

"Listen. You shall go. The night comes on and it is a long sail; but you
will not be afraid. The White Chief will take you in, but when you tell
your story say it was Indians who stole you. For if you bring any harm
to Louis Marsac I will follow you and kill you even if it were leagues
beyond sunset, in the wild land that no one has penetrated. Remember.
Promise by the great Manitou. Kiss my hand;" and she held it out.

Jeanne obeyed. Could escape be so near? Her heart beats almost strangled
her.

"Wanita is my faithful slave. He will do my bidding and you need not be
afraid. My canoe lies down below there," and she indicated the southern
end with a motion of her head. "You will take this ring to him and he
will know that the message comes from me. Oh, you will not hesitate?"

Jeanne raised her head proudly. "I will obey you to the letter. But--how
will I find him?"

"You will go off the boat and walk down below the dock. There is a clump
of scrub pines blown awry; then a little cove; the boat lies there; you
will say 'Wanita,' twice; he will come and you will give him the ring;
then he will believe you."

"But how shall I get off the boat? And how did you get the key? And
Noko--"

"I had a key. It was mine all the early spring. I used to come and we
sailed around, but I would not be a wife until a French priest could
marry us, and he said 'wait, wait,' and an Indian girl is proud to obey
the man she loves. And when it was time for him to return I came down
from the Strait and heard--this--that his heart had been stolen from me
and that when Father Hugon did not come he was very angry and has gone
up to the island. They have much illness there it seems."

"Then I give you back all I ever had, oh, so gladly."

"Your father, perhaps, wanted him and saw some woman who dealt in
charms?"

"I have no father or mother. A poor old Indian woman cares for me. She
was my nurse, everything. Oh, her heart will be broken! And this White
Chief will surely let me go to Detroit?"

"He is good and gracious to all, and just. That is why you must not
mention Marsac's name, for he might not understand about the wicked
go-between. There are _shil loups_, spirits of wretched people who
wander about making mischief. But I must believe thee. Thine eyes are
truthful."

She brushed Jeanne's hair from her forehead and looked keenly,
questioningly into them. They met the glance with the shine of
innocence and truth that never wavered in their heavenly blue.

"The White Chief has boats that go up and down continually. You will get
safely to Detroit."

"And you?" inquired Jeanne.




CHAPTER XVI.

RESCUED.


"And you?" repeated Jeanne Angelot when Owaissa seemed lost in thought.

"I shall remain here. When Louis Marsac comes I will break the fatal
spell that bound him, and the priest will marry us. I shall make him
very happy, for we are kindred blood; happier than any cool-blooded,
pale-face girl could dream. And now you must set out. The sun is going
down. You will not be faint of heart?"

"I shall be so glad! And I shall be praying to the good Christ and his
Mother to make you happy and give you all of Louis Marsac's heart. No, I
shall not be afraid. And you are quite sure the White Chief will
befriend me?"

"Oh, yes. And his wife is of Indian blood, a great Princess from Hudson
Bay, and the handsomest woman of the North, the kindest and most
generous to those in sorrow or trouble. The White Queen she is called.
Oh, yes, if I had a sister that needed protection, I should send her to
the White Queen. Oh, do not be afraid." Then she took both of Jeanne's
hands in hers and kissed her on the forehead. "I am glad I did not have
to kill you," she added with the naive innocence of perfect truth. "I
think you are the kind of girl out of whom they make nuns, who care for
no men but the fathers, and yet they must adore some one. In thy convent
cell pray for me that I may have brave sons."

Jeanne made no protest against the misconstruction. Her heart was filled
with gratitude and wonder, yet she could hardly believe.

"You must take my blanket," and Owaissa began draping it about her.

"But--Noko?" said the French girl.

"Noko is soundly asleep. And the sailors are throwing dice or drinking
rum. Their master cannot be back until dark. Go your way proudly, as if
you had the blood of a hundred braves in your veins. They are often a
cowardly set, challenging those who are weak and fearful. Do not mind."

"Oh, the good Father bless you forevermore." Jeanne caught the hands and
covered them with kisses. "And you will not be afraid of--of _his_
anger?"

"I am not afraid. I am glad I came, though it was with such a desperate
purpose. Here is my ring," and she slipped it on Jeanne's finger. "Give
it to Wanita when you are landed. He is faithful to me and this is our
seal."

She unlocked the door. Noko was in a little heap on the mat, snoring.

"Go straight over. Never mind the men. You will see the plank, and then
go round the little point. Adieu. I wish thee a safe voyage home."

Jeanne pressed the hands again. She was like one in a dream. She felt
afraid the men would question her, perhaps order her back. Two of them
were asleep. She tripped down the plank, turned the corner of the dock
and saw the clump of trees. Still she hardly dared breathe until she had
passed it and found the canoe beached, and a slim young Indian pacing up
and down.

"Wanita, Wanita!" she exclaimed, timorously.

He studied her in surprise. Yes, that was her blanket. "Mistress--"
going closer, and then hesitating.

"Here is her ring, Owaissa's ring. And she bade me--she stays on the
boat. Louis Marsac comes with a priest."

"Then it was a lie, an awful black lie they told my mistress about his
marrying a French girl! By all the moons in a twelvemonth she is his
wife. And you--" studying her with severe scrutiny.

"I am the French girl. It was a mistake. But I must get away, and she
sends me to the White Chief. She said one could trust you to the death."

"I would go to the death for my beautiful mistress. The White
Chief--yes."

Then he helped her into the canoe and made her comfortable with the
blankets.

"I wish it were earlier," he exclaimed. "The purple spirits of the night
are stretching out their hands. You will not be afraid? It is a long
pull."

"Oh, no, no!" She drew a relieved breath, but every pulse had been so
weighted with anxiety for days that she could not realize her freedom.
Oh, how good the blessed air felt! All the wide expanse about her
brought a thrill of delight, still not unmixed with fear. A boat came
bearing down upon them and she held her breath, but the canoe moved
aside adroitly.

"They were drunken fellows, no doubt," said Wanita. "It is told of the
Sieur Cadillac that he weakened the rum and would allow a man only so
much. It is a pity there is no such strictness now. The White Chief
tries."

"Is he chief of the Indians?" she asked, vaguely.

"Oh, no. He is in the great council of the fur traders, but he has ever
been fair to the Indians; strict, too, and they honor him, believe in
him, and do his bidding. That is, most of them do. He settles many
quarrels. It is not now as it used to be. Since the coming of the white
men tribes have been split in parts and chiefs of the same nation fight
for power. He tries to keep peace between them and the whites. There
would be many wars without him."

"But he is not an Indian?"

"Oh, no. He came from Canada to the fur country. He had known great
sorrow. His wife and child had been massacred by the red men. And then
he married a beautiful Indian princess somewhere about Hudson Bay. He
had so many men under him that they called him the White Chief, and
partly, I think, because he was so noble and large and grand. Then he
built his house on the island where one side is perpendicular rocks, and
fortified it and made of it a most lovely home for his beautiful wife.
She has everything from all countries, it is said, and the house is
grand as the palaces at Montreal. They have two sons. They come over to
Fort St. Ignace and Michilimackinac, and he has taken her to Quebec,
where, it is said, she was entertained like a queen. He is very proud of
her and adores her. Ah, if you could see him you would know at once that
he was a grand man. But courageous and high spirited as he is, he is
always counseling peace. There is much bitter feeling still between the
French and English, and now, since the Americans have conquered, the
English are stirring up strife with the Indians, it is said. He advises
them to make homes and settle peaceably, and hunt at the north where
there is still plenty of game. He has bought tracts of land for them,
but my nation are not like the white men. They despise work." Jeanne
knew that well.

Then Wanita asked her about Detroit. He had been up North; his mistress
had lived at Mackinaw and St. Ignace. All the spring she had been about
Lake Superior, which was grand, and the big lake on the other side, Lake
Michigan. Sometimes he had cared for M. Marsac's boat.

"M. Marsac was your lady's lover."

"Oh, Mam'selle, he was devoted before he went to Detroit. He is rich and
handsome, you see, and there are many women smiling on him. There were
at Mackinaw. The white ladies do not mind a little Indian blood when
there is money. But Owaissa is for him, and she will be as grand a lady
as the White Queen."

Wanita wished in his secret soul Louis Marsac was as grand as the White
Chief. But few men were.

And now the twilight was gone and the broad sheet of water was weird,
moving blackness. The canoe seemed so frail, that used as she was to it
Jeanne drew in fear with every breath. If there were only a moon! It was
cold, too. She drew the blanket closer round her.

"Are we almost there?" she inquired.

"Oh, no, Mam'selle. Are you tired? If you could sing to pass away the
time."

Jeanne essayed some French songs, but her heart was not light enough.
Then they lapsed into silence. On and on--there was no wind and they
were out of the strongest current, so there was no danger.

What was Owaissa doing, thinking? Had Louis Marsac returned with the
priest? Was it true she had come to kill her, Jeanne? How strange one
should love a man so deeply, strongly! She shuddered. She had only cared
for quiet and pleasant wanderings and Pani. Perhaps it was all some
horrid dream. Or was it true one could be bewitched?

Sometimes she drowsed. She recalled the night she had slept against the
Huron's knee. Would the hours or the journey ever come to an end? She
said over the rosary and all the prayers she could remember,
interspersing them with thanksgivings to the good God and to Owaissa.

Something black and awful loomed up before her. She uttered a cry.

"We are here. It is nothing to be afraid of. We go around to this side,
so. There is a little basin here, and a sort of wharf. It is almost a
fort;" and he laughed lightly as he helped her out on to dry ground,
stony though it was.

"I will find the gate. The White Chief has this side well picketed, and
there are enough within to defend it against odds, if the odds ever
come. Now, here is the gate and I must ring. Do not be frightened, it is
always closed at dusk."

The clang made Jeanne jump, and cling to her guide.

There was a step after a long while. A plate was pushed partly aside and
a voice said through the grating:--

"What is it?"

"It is I, Wanita, Loudac. I have some one who has been in danger, a
little maid from Detroit, stolen away by Indians. My mistress Owaissa
begs shelter for her until she can be returned. It was late when she was
rescued from her enemies and we stole away by night."

"How many of you?"

"The maid and myself, and--our canoe," with a light laugh. "The canoe is
fastened to a stake. And I must go back, so there is but one to throw
upon your kindness."

"Wait," said the gate keeper. There were great bolts to be withdrawn and
chains rattled. Presently the creaking gate opened a little way and the
light of a lantern flared out. Jeanne was dazed for an instant.

"I will not come in, good Loudac. It is a long way back and my mistress
may need me. Here is the maid," and he gave Jeanne a gentle push.

"From Detroit?" The interlocutor was a stout Canadian and seemed
gigantic to Jeanne. "And 'scaped from the Indians. Lucky they did not
spell, it with another letter and leave no top to thy head. Wanita, lad,
thou hadst better come in and have a sup of wine. Or remain all night."

But Wanita refused with cordial thanks.

"Here is the ring;" and Jeanne pressed it in his hand. "And a thousand
thanks, tell your brave mistress."

With a quick adieu he was gone.

"I must find shelter for you to-night, for our lady cannot be
disturbed," he said. "Come this way."

The bolts and chains were put in place again. Jeanne followed her guide
up some steps and through another gate. There was a lodge and a light
within. A woman in a short gown of blue and a striped petticoat looked
out of the doorway and made a sharp inquiry.

"A maid who must tell her own story, good dame, for my wits seem
scattered. She hath been sent by Owaissa the Indian maiden and brought
by her servitor in a canoe. Tell thy story, child."

"She is shivering with the cold and looks blue as a midwinter icicle.
She must have some tea to warm her up. Stir a fire, Loudac."

Jeanne sat trembling and the tears ran down her cheeks. In a moment
there was a fragrant blaze of pine boughs, and a kettle swung over them.

"A little brandy would be better," said the man.

Now that the strain was over Jeanne felt as if all her strength had
given way. Was she really safe? The hearty French accent sounded like
home; and the dark, round face, with the almost laughing black eyes,
albeit there were wrinkles around them, cheered her inmost heart. The
tea was soon made and the brandy added a piquant flavor.

"Thou wert late starting on thy journey," said the woman, a tint of
suspicion in her voice.

"It was only this afternoon that the Indian maid Owaissa found me and
heard my story. For safety she sent me away at once. Perhaps in the
daytime I might have been pursued."

"True, true. An Indian knows best about Indian ways. Most of them are a
treacherous, bad lot, made much worse by drink, but there are a few. The
maiden Owaissa comes from the Strait."

"To meet her lover it was said. He is that handsome half or quarter
breed, Louis Marsac, a shrewd trader for one so young, and who, with his
father, is delving in the copper mines of Lake Superior. Yes. What went
before, child?"

She was glad to leave Marsac. Could she tell her story without
incriminating him? The first part went smoothly enough. Then she
hesitated and felt her color rising. "It was at Bois Blanc," she said.
"They had left me alone. The beautiful Indian girl was there, and I
begged her to save me. I told her my story and she wrapped me in her
blanket. We were much the same size, and though I trembled so that my
knees bent under me, I went off the boat without any question. Wanita
was waiting with the canoe and brought me over."

"Were you not afraid--and there was no moon?"

Jeanne raised her eyes to the kindly ones.

"Oh, yes," she answered with a shiver. "Lake Huron is so large, only
there are islands scattered about. But when it grew very dark I simply
trusted Wanita."

"And he could go in a canoe to the end of the world if it was all lakes
and rivers," exclaimed Loudac. "These Indians--did you know their
tribe?"

"I think two were Hurons. They could talk bad French," and she smiled.
"And Chippewa, that I can understand quite well."

"Were your relatives in Detroit rich people?"

"Oh, no, I have none." Then Jeanne related her simple story.

"Strange! strange!" Loudac stroked his beard and drew his bushy eyebrows
together. "There could have been no thought of ransom. I mistrust,
pretty maid, that it must have been some one who watched thee and wanted
thee for his squaw. Up in the wild North there would have been little
chance to escape. Thou hast been fortunate in finding Owaissa. Her
lover's boat came in at Bois Blanc. I suppose she went to meet him.
Dame, it is late, and the child looks tired as one might well be after a
long journey. Canst thou not find her a bed?"

The bed was soon improvised. Jeanne thanked her protectors with
overflowing eyes and tremulous voice. For a long while she knelt in
thanksgiving, her simple faith discerning a real miracle in her escape.
Surely God had sent Owaissa. She forgot the fell purpose of the Indian
girl, and wondered at her love for Louis Marsac.

There was much confusion and noise among the children the next morning
while the dame was giving them their breakfast, but Jeanne slept soundly
until they were all out at play. The sun shone as she opened her eyes,
and one ray slanted across the window. Oh, where was she, in prison
still? Then, by slow degrees, yesterday came back to her.

The dame greeted her cheerily, and set before her a simple breakfast
that tasted most delicious. Loudac had gone up to the great house.

"For when the White Chief is away, Loudac has charge of everything. Once
he saved the master's life, he was his servant then, and since that time
he has been the head of all matters. The White Chief trusts him like a
brother. But look you, both of them came from France and there is no
mixed blood in them. Rough as Loudac seems his mother was of gentle
birth, and he can read and write not only French but English, and is a
judge of fine furs and understands business. He is shrewd to know people
as well," and she gave a satisfied smile.

"The White Chief is away--"

"He has gone up to Michilimackinac, perhaps to Hudson Bay. But all goes
on here just the same. Loudac has things well in hand."

"I would like to return to Detroit," ventured Jeanne, timidly, glancing
up with beseeching eyes.

"That thou shalt, _ma petite_. There will be boats going down before
cold weather. The winter comes early here, and yet it is not so cold as
one would think, with plenty of furs and fire."

"And the--the queen--" hesitatingly.

The dame laughed heartsomely.

"Thou shalt see her. She is our delight, our dear mistress, and has many
names given her by her loving chief. It is almost ten years ago that he
found her up North, a queen then with a little band of braves who adored
her. They had come from some far country. She was not of their tribe;
she is as white almost as thou, and tall and handsome and soft of voice
as the sweetest singing bird. Then they fell in love with each other,
and the good pere at Hudson Bay married them. He brought her here. She
bought the island because it seemed fortified with the great rocks on
two sides of it. Often they go away, for he has a fine vessel that is
like a palace in its fittings. They have been to Montreal and out on
that wild, strange coast full of islands. Whatever she wishes is hers."

Jeanne sighed a little, but not from envy.

"There are two boys, twins, and a little daughter born but two years
ago. The boys are big and handsome, and wild as deer. But their father
will have them run and climb and shout and play ball and shoot arrows,
but not go out alone in a boat. Yet they can swim like fishes. Come, if
you can eat no more breakfast, let us go out. I do not believe Detroit
can match this, though it is larger."

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