Richard Henry Dana - "Two Years Before the Mast"

Arthur Conan Doyle - "The Last Galley Impressions and Tales"

Belle K. Maniates - "Amarilly of Clothes line Alley"

Basil King - "The Letter of the Contract"

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.

Under Fire

C >> Charles King >> Under Fire




Consciously or unconsciously, in the magnificence of his wrath, the
chief had ridden almost to the very edge of the porch and there shook
his clinched fist in the ghastly face of McPhail. The agent started back
amazed, terrified, for as though to emphasize his defiance Red Dog's
gleaming revolver was whipped suddenly from its sheath and flashed aloft
over his feathered head.

And then there came sudden fury of excitement. A bound from the edge of
the porch, a fierce yell, an outburst of Indian war-cries, a surging
forward of the escort at the chieftain's back, a rush and scurry in the
offices, the slamming of doors, the flash and report of a dozen
revolvers, a distant roar and thunder of a thousand hoofs and chorus of
thrilling yells, a scream from the women and children in the cellars
below, a ringing cheer from the stockade, followed by the resonant bang,
bang of the cavalry carbine, and all in an instant a mad, whirling
maelstrom of struggle right at the steps, braves and ponies, soldiers
and scouts, all crashing together in a rage of battle, and then, bending
low to avoid the storm of well-aimed bullets from practised hands at the
stockade, some few warriors managed to dash, bleeding, away, just as a
determined little band of blue-coats, half a dozen in number, leaped
through the door-way and down the steps, blazing into the ruck as they
charged, and within another minute were coolly kneeling and firing at
the swarming, yelling, veering warriors, already checked in their wild
clash to the rescue, and within the little semicircle two furiously
straining forms, locked in each other's arms, were rolling over and over
on the trampled snow,--Red Dog, panting, raging, biting, cursing, but
firmly, desperately held in the clasp of an athletic soldier, for
without a word Percy Davies had leaped from the porch and borne the
Sioux chieftain struggling to the ground. Red Dog,--redder than ever
before, even on the bloody day of the Little Horn,--bound hand and feet
with cavalry lariats, spent that long winter's night a prisoner in the
hands of Boynton's men, while the prairie without was dotted with braves
and ponies, dropped by their cool, relentless aim. Red Dog at last had
had his day.




CHAPTER XIX.


The blizzard that swept down on the broad valley of the Platte the night
of the hop,--the night Davies marched away,--though severe, had been of
short duration. A warm wind and a strong wind from the Arkansas met and
overthrew it, and pursued its decisive victory to the Dakota line. The
snow was "slumping," said the little Leonards, when Messrs. Burtis and
Willett drove out from Braska Friday afternoon and took Mrs. Davies and
Mrs. Darling sleighing up the valley. It was freezing, of course, again
by sundown, but judging from Mira's glowing cheeks the drive in the
exhilarating air had done her a deal of good, and she sat with Willett,
while Mrs. Darling faced the breeze at the side of his accomplished
associate. Many women watched the start and some saw the finish, and
none with more interest than Mrs. Flight, who had never before been
left on such occasions, nor with more distress than Mrs. Cranston, who
knew not what to say. The party dined at the Darlings' quarters that
evening, and later some of the boys came to Leonard and asked if it
wouldn't be possible to have a few of the band in the hop-room. They
wanted to dance and Darling's house was too small. Leonard said they
knew the colonel's decision,--the bandsmen were expected to play once a
week as late as any one cared to dance in consideration of certain small
extra pay. If they played at any other time, they had a right to expect
compensation. He would not order them out. Messrs. Sanders and Dot and
Jervis could go and see the leader and arrange with him as to terms and
men, if they chose, and have their dance. It wasn't what the boys
expected; moreover, it was late, but they were young, energetic, and
enthusiastic. Three musicians were found and a dozen couples, and long
after midnight the lights and laughter and merry strains of music told
that the younger element of Scott was enjoying itself irrespective of
anything that might be going on at the almost forgotten agency. The
chaplain and his wife, going earlier in the evening to call and cheer
Almira, were met by Katty at the door and the information that "the
misthress was dinin' at Mrs. Darlin's." Katty was short with her
visitors for two reasons. She didn't approve of the dominie, as he was
not of the faith of her Irish fathers, and she did approve of Corporal
Lenihan, who had come to spend the evening. When, therefore, the worthy
couple announced that they would return later after making other calls
in order to see if there were not something they could do for Mrs.
Davies, who must be dreadfully sad, Katty replied, "'Deed and they
needn't worry, for it's more'n _she_ did." The stern discipline of the
post took Lenihan off to his troop at tattoo, but Katty lacked not for
company. "It wasn't becoming," said her mother, "that she should be left
to herself at the dead of night with no one but that lout Barnickel to
look after her." So she came up from Sudsville at taps to discuss Mrs.
Davies's tea and preserves and, incidentally, her character with her
blooming daughter, and Barnickel was sociably disposed, and the kitchen
congress was in animated session when at 11.30 P.M. there came a sharp
ring at the bell.

"Bless us! I didn't suppose they'd be home till long after midnight,"
said Katty, as she scurried away. It wasn't the misthress, however; only
Mrs. Darling's maid, to say that Mrs. Davies would not come home; she
would spend the night at Mrs. Darling's, and Letty had come for her
things. This necessitated Mrs. Maloney's remaining all night to further
look after Katty, and what more natural than that they should light Mrs.
Davies's lamp and spend a blissful hour in her simply furnished but
pretty room, looking over the new gowns and garments and jimcracks, and
so absorbed were they in this occupation that they took no heed of time;
and so it happened that the good old chaplain, coming shortly after
midnight over from the hospital, whither he had been summoned to the
bedside of a sorely-stricken trooper, rejoiced to see that Mrs. Davies,
at least, had not gone to the dance, but was keeping wifely vigil in the
sanctity of her own room, praying, probably, for the safety of the loved
young husband now on perilous duty eighty miles away. At the corner, at
the end of the long row of quarters, a solitary figure was standing. The
chaplain recognized the beaver overcoat in the soft moonlight and the
soldierly face under the forage-cap.

"Ah, Cranston! Officer-of-the-day, I see. Just going the rounds?"

"I was,--yes,--but I saw you coming, so waited. How's Hooker?"

"Very low, poor fellow! Typhoid has him in tight grip. He's flighty
to-night. He thinks he's back on the summer campaign again, and his talk
is all of the Antelope Springs affair. Odd! this makes the third man to
come back from Boynton's party, two with typhoid fever and one with the
mail-carrier and a bottle,--Brannan I mean,--and they all talk about
that. From what I have gathered it would seem that Devers blamed Mr.
Davies for the whole tragedy, but the men, when their tongues are
loosened by fever or rum, lay loads of blame elsewhere."

"Yes?" said Cranston, with deep interest, yet reluctant to talk of
regimental scandal with an outsider. "I should like to know what they
say."

"Well, they say McGrath could tell a tale if he were alive, and that
Lutz and the men at the agency believe they were shoved up there because
they had said things which First Sergeant Haney overheard and reported
to the captain. It seemed queer, even to me, so many men going from
Devers's troop under command of somebody else's lieutenant, and now
Davies himself has gone, and suppose he should hear of this talk?"

"He will know what to do, chaplain. Davies has earnest friends who will
not see him further wronged, but just now, as you probably understand,
nothing can be done. Now excuse me a moment. I may have been mistaken,
but I thought I saw a man's figure hanging about the back gate of Number
Twelve as I came up the bluff from the wood-yard. I thought he went
through Davies's yard and that I'd see him crossing the parade when I
got to the corner, but not a soul was in sight and it is almost as light
as the day. If he didn't go through he must be in the shadows there of
the wood-shed. There's been some prowling, and though this isn't the
sort of night for that sort of thing, it's still possible. Will you
kindly wait here and watch the front and this side while I beat up the
rear?"

Wonderingly the chaplain assented, and, with his sabre clanking at his
side, Cranston strode away northward along the line of white
picket-fence until he came to the high rear barrier of the row, one of
black unplaned boards, and around behind that he disappeared. Across the
intervening yard and through the open gate-way at the back the chaplain
could see a patch of the snow-clad valley, and watched for the
appearance of Cranston's sturdy form in that silvery gap.

But another eye had also been alert. The very instant the figure of the
officer-of-the-day disappeared from view behind the high back fence, out
from the shadows of the shed there sprang a lithe, slender form, clad in
soldier overcoat, and, in less time than it takes to tell it, around it
darted behind the shed, was one instant poised at the top of the fence
that separated the yard of Davies's quarters from that of their
next-door neighbor, then noiselessly dropped out of sight on the other
side. The next minute Cranston appeared in the gap.

Instead of shouting, fearful of disturbing the inmates, the chaplain
quit his post, hastened along the front to Davies's gate and around the
house to the rear, where he found Cranston searching.

"There was a man. I saw him. He leaped the fence into the next yard. A
tall, slender fellow."

But search in there and in its fellows revealed nothing. The prowler had
had time to skip from yard to yard, and nothing short of the services of
the entire guard would be apt to result in his capture.

"I wish you had shouted to me. I could have grabbed him in Hay's yard,"
said Cranston.

"Well, I didn't like to for fear of startling Mrs. Davies," said the
chaplain, simply, and Cranston glanced quickly and queerly up at him
from under the visor of the little cavalry cap.

"Why, she----" he began, then checked himself abruptly.

"Could you give no description of him? Did he leave no trace?" asked
Captain Devers at the office next morning when the old
officer-of-the-day made his report.

"No, sir, but the chaplain might. He saw him plainly,--said he was tall
and slender."

And Captain Devers replied,--

"Very good, sir. You're relieved," and then turned to the new incumbent,
Captain Rogers, of the infantry: "I wish especial attention given to
this matter, Captain Rogers, and probably I shall take a turn with you
to-night after twelve."

But that night long after twelve the whole post took a turn. It was
towards four A.M. when the telegraph operator, who slept always beside
his instrument, came banging at the door of "A" Troop's office. It was
opened by an indignant Irish sergeant. "Go rout out the captain at once.
You know how to rouse him and I don't. There's hell to pay and the whole
crowd wanted." And Haney, who would have damned his impudence another
time, donned his clothes without an instant's delay, and together they
ran across the parade and brought up with a bang at Devers's storm-door.

Agatha Loomis was probably a light sleeper. It was her tap at the
Cranstons' room that first roused them.

"What is it?" cried Margaret, up in an instant and filled with no other
apprehension than that of more sore throat or cough in the nursery.

"There's some excitement and running about the post. The office is
lighted and people are hurrying over there."

Cranston looked at his watch,--4.15. Peering out of the dormer-window at
the front, he could see dark forms scurrying across the parade and
lights beginning to pop up here and there and everywhere along the row
of barracks. Hurriedly donning his stable dress and furs, he went down
to the hall-way, Margaret, pale and silent now, following. A man was
knocking at the door of the adjoining quarters, and Cranston recognized
the form of Lieutenant Jervis. "What's up?" he queried.

"Big row at the agency," came the murmured reply. "Reckon most
everybody will have to go." And though he spoke in low, guarded tone,
Margaret heard, and then clung to her husband's arm.

"Again! so soon?" she cried. "Oh, God! Are we never to know one-half
year of peace?"

Cranston led her into the warm little parlor and took her in his arms.
"I must go to head-quarters at once," he whispered. "Doubtless I should
have been there before; but don't borrow trouble, Meg, dear, wait until
I know what's to be done." Then he left her with Agatha and went his
way.

The office was crowded. Devers sat in the colonel's chair pencilling
despatches to be sent to department head-quarters. Around him, sitting
or standing, were most of the officers of the garrison, either silently
regarding him or chatting in low tone. All that was known was that Sam
Poole, one of the best and most daring scouts employed at the agency,
had ridden into Braska about three o'clock, his horse nearly spent, with
the news that the whole gang of Sioux had risen in revolt and attacked
the agent. He left at 8.15 Friday night with McPhail's plea for instant
help and all they could send of it, but so deep were the drifts in
places and so exhausted was his horse that it had taken him all that
time to reach the railway. The wire was still down and he bore the
latest news. There could be no mistake: the attack had fairly begun
before he was out of hearing. The volleying and yelling beat anything
he'd heard since the battle at Slim Buttes in September. The
quartermaster in charge of the depot at Braska had despatches wired at
once to Omaha and another out to the fort. Devers was up in a few
minutes and had sent his orderly for certain of the officers, and the
noise of ringing or knocking along the row had roused others. Cranston
and Hay were not of those sent for, but Devers explained that he took it
for granted they were prepared to take the field with their troops at a
moment's notice, and did not care to disturb them until he knew what
they would be required to do. It would be several hours before orders
could reach them from Omaha, he reasoned, and he had no idea what the
orders would be. The whole command might be sent, or none of it.
Meantime vigorous preparations were going on in the store-rooms and
kitchens along the barrack row, "A" Troop's activity being conspicuous.
But without waiting for orders from their captains, the veteran first
sergeants of the other troops were getting everything in readiness, and
when Hay and Cranston walked over to the barracks to see how far
preparations were advanced, each had an approving word for his faithful
aide.

But Omaha was wider awake than Devers supposed. The Gray Fox was in
possession of the news almost as soon as the post commanders, and he and
his adjutant-general were at the telegraph-office within half an hour.
"I will go by first train," said he. "Meantime we must start a big
force."

And so before the reveille bugles were singing through the wintry
morning along the slopes of the Rockies, the telegraph had roused the
officers at all the posts along the railway for five hundred miles.
Russell, Sanders, and Sidney were up and astir with preparation. Special
trains were ordered to meet and convey their detachments of horse, foot,
and pack-trains, so that a big command might concentrate at once at
Sidney and march thence, 'cross country, to the Ogallalla Agency,
Colonel Winthrop at their head. The commanding officer of Fort Scott was
directed to start three troops of cavalry and two companies of infantry
at once, with instructions to join Colonel Winthrop's column at the
Niobrara crossing, and, his own troop being now the smallest at the
post, owing to these details at the agency, Devers very properly decided
on sending everybody else's. Truman, Hay, and Cranston of the Eleventh
and Pollock and Muncey of the Fortieth were the captains ordered to
march forthwith. Before eight o'clock on Sunday morning the little
column had swung sturdily away over the prairies, and Captain Devers,
with his own attenuated troop and two companies of "doughboys," remained
to guard the post and its supplies, and take care of the invalid colonel
and the wives and children of the soldiers so summarily ordered into the
field.

And now Almira could not lack sympathizers, for both Mrs. Flight and
Mrs. Darling had been called upon to say adieu to their respective
lords, who marched with their sturdy comrades in the wake of the
cavalry, guarding the few wagons which had to be taken; but these
gentlemen belonged to a famous regiment that had known no other history
since the day of its organization than that of constant active service.
The Fortieth was forever in the field,--its wives "perennially
grass-widowed," said the garrison wits,--its children so seldom blessed
with the sight of the paternal face as to be preternaturally wise in
picking out their own fathers. The Fortieth went as a matter of course.
The two companies remaining behind looked upon that as a mere accident
that time would surely rectify. The two that went made the customary
appeal to the post commander for the release of certain untried and
unpunished of their weaker members who happened to be at the moment
languishing in the guard-house, and the plea prevailed. Hearing this,
the chaplain, backed by Dr. Burroughs, came to the office with another
plea. There was the young man Brannan confined in the guard-house since
Wednesday morning last, he knew not on what charges and begged to be
released from durance so utterly vile and permitted to go with the
command to the rescue of his comrades at the agency,--what there might
be left of them.

But Devers replied that Brannan's troop was not going. Furthermore, he
intended to have Brannan brought before a garrison court on the morrow.
This was the sorrowful message the chaplain carried, and Brannan wrung
his hands. "I have violated no regulation, missed no roll-call, been
drunk on no duty. I did drink when half frozen on that hard ride from
the agency to the post. I drank after I got here, but drank no more and
behaved no worse than half a dozen others of the troop who were with me
at the store, and some of whom drank more, got drunk and were allowed to
sleep it off in quarters and nothing said about it. Why am I singled out
for punishment? Why is Paine--who went to town and had to be brought
back by a patrol--why is he released and allowed to go as wagoner, while
I am forbidden to go at all? There's surely something behind all this,
chaplain."

And the dominie didn't say so to the man, but thought so to himself. He
was still talking with the prisoner when the sergeant of the guard came
and said he was sorry, but orders had just come for Brannan to be sent
to the quartermaster's corral at once to help load wagons, and the young
fellow, with tears in his eyes, was led mutely away. Cranston happened
to ride by the corral ten minutes later and caught sight of the pale,
fine-featured face, whose-eyes looked up at him wistfully, imploringly.

"Why, Brannan," said he, "I had hoped to hear of your release by this
time. We march in less than an hour, and I fear nothing I can say to
Captain Devers will be apt to help you, but try to keep up good heart.
Say nothing about this confinement to your mother when you write, and
I'll ask Mr. Leonard to look out for you. He'll see that no great harm
comes."

"It seems as if everything had gone against me, sir," said the boy, with
quivering lips. "I don't know why I can't get justice in this troop. If
Captain Devers thinks me so bad a soldier, why don't he let me transfer?
I've asked twice, and he refuses. It's my belief he's trying to drive me
to desert so as to get me out of the way--or destroy my character."

"Hush, Brannan. You know that you ought not to talk to me in that way.
There's no time for words. I'll ask Mr. Hay to keep special lookout for
you. I know the general will overtake us to-morrow, and quick as
possible I'll have a word with him. Now, good-by, lad. Stand to your
guns a little longer and you're all right."

"I'll try, sir, if you'll give my--give my respects to Mr. Davies, and
say to Miss Loomis--God bless her." And with a choke in his voice the
young soldier turned suddenly away, dashing his sleeve over his eyes.

"Get to work there, you, Brannan," growled Sergeant Haney before
Cranston was out of hearing. "No more palavering with officers out of
your own troop this day unless you want double trouble in it,--and be
damned to you," he added, in low and cautious tone, his eyes furtively
following the captain, now twenty yards away. And Cranston was riding
home to don his winter field rig and to a parting that he dreaded beyond
all description, for now, more than for many a long year, had Margaret
need of all her husband's love and encouragement and devotion.

Sunday noon the detachment from Scott was across the railway and first
on march to the beleaguered agency. Sunday night they camped in the
breaks of the big divide, some fifteen miles north of Braska, and still
no tidings came from beyond the Niobrara. Restoring the telegraph line
as they went, digging it out from under the snow, the infantry trudged
along all day Monday, following the trail of their mounted comrades who
left them at dawn, and early Monday morning an ambulance drawn by six
spanking big brown mules whipped by them along the road, and the kindly
twinkling eyes of their old friend and fellow-campaigner, the general,
peered out at them. Away he went to overtake the foremost riders, with
just brief word or two and cordial grasp of the hand to the few officers
who hastened alongside. Without guard or escort, with only a single
aide-de-camp, with his life in his hands as usual, the Gray Fox was
heading straight for the scene of danger. "Heard anything at all?" he
asked.

"Not a thing." Who could tell whether man or woman was left to forward
word of any kind?

Monday night the cavalry reached the snow-covered banks of the Niobrara,
and went into bivouac on the northern shore to await the coming of the
black speck that, just before dusk, could be seen far in their wake
picking a way through the drifts in its descent from the crest of the
divide. "It's the general, of course," said everybody, and the general
it was.

"Anybody come ahead yet from Winthrop?" was his first question. No! The
Sidney road was covered in places by drifts that had lain unbroken ever
since the storm. "Any news from the agency?"

Not a word, and it lay now barely a dozen miles away. Tuesday morning,
too impatient to wait for coming reinforcements, and confident he could
hold his own with the little force at hand, the Gray Fox pushed ahead.
All were up and off at the break of the wintry day, and at eight o'clock
had neared the top of the divide between the shallow, placid Niobrara
and the swift Chasing Water beyond. Little Sanders, trotting far in the
advance with three or four light riders, threw himself from his horse,
unslung his field-glass, and peered long and anxiously into the
northward valley. All seemed desolate and deserted. A smoke was drifting
lazily upward from the site of the distant agency; not from peaceful
chimney, but rising from a mass of smouldering ruins. The villages of
Red Dog, Kills Asleep, Little Big Man, even of Two Lance, had
disappeared, and of the Ogallalla Agency not another vestige could be
seen but the grim outlines of the stockade.




CHAPTER XX.


When Sanders, with solemn face, turned to meet the general and report
his discovery, the difference between the young and the old campaigner
was told in their own words.

"I'm afraid we're too late to save 'em, sir. Everything's wiped out but
the stockade."

"If the stockade's left, they've saved themselves," was the answer, and
the Gray Fox was right. Long before the column reached the lowlands of
the valley horsemen could be seen spurring eagerly forward to meet it,
and the first-comer was Trooper O'Brien, who saluted the general with
all soldierly grace and the rest of the array with a sociable grin.

"We're all right, general,--leastwise most of us is. Two of the boys is
killed, and Loot'n't Boynton's wounded,--and four others,--but the
women's all safe, and the agent--bad scran to him! Is there a doctor
along?" A doctor was along,--Burroughs,--riding with the senior captain
commanding the battalion, and Burroughs was hurried forward with Sanders
and a squad of men, while O'Brien, proud of his prominence, rode by the
general's side and told the story of the sharp and sudden fight.

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