Irene Elliott Benson - "How Ethel Hollister Became a Campfire Girl"

Various - "The International Monthly Magazine Volume V to No II"

John H. Haaren, LL.D. and A. B. Poland, Ph.D. - "Famous Men of The Middle Ages"

Marcel Proust - "A L'Ombre Des Jeunes Filles en Fleur, Volume 1"

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.

Cord and Creese

J >> James de Mille >> Cord and Creese




Opposed by such difficulties as these the ship made but a slow passage--
the best routes had not yet been discovered--and it was the middle of
September before they entered the Indian Ocean. The weather then became
suddenly calm, and they drifted along beyond the latitude of the western
extremity of Java, about a hundred miles south of the Straits of Sunda.
Here they began to encounter the China fleet which steers through this
strait, for every day one or more sails were visible.

Here they were borne on helplessly by the ocean currents, which at this
place are numerous and distracted. The streams that flow through the
many isles of the Indian Archipelago, uniting with the greater southern
streams, here meet and blend, causing great difficulties to navigation,
and often baffling even the most experienced seaman. Yet it was not all
left to the currents, for frequently and suddenly the storms came up;
and the weather, ever changeful, kept the sailors constantly on the
alert.

Yet between the storms the calms were frequent, and sometimes long
continued, though of such a sort as required watchfulness. For out of
the midst of dead calms the storm would suddenly rise in its might, and
all the care which experience could suggest was not always able to avert
disaster.

"I don't like this weather, Mr. Brandon. It's the worst that we could
have, especially just here."

"Why just here?"

"Why, we're opposite the Straits of Sunda, the worst place about these
parts."

"What for?"

"Pirates. The Malays, you know. We're not over well prepared to meet
them, I'm afraid. If they come we'll have to fight them the best way we
can; and these calms are the worst thing for us, because the Malay proas
can get along in the lightest wind, or with oars, when we can't move at
all."

"Are the Malays any worse than usual now?" asked Brandon.

"Well, no worse than they've been for the last ten years. Zangorri is
the worst of them all."

"Zangorri! I've heard of him."

"I should think you had. Why, there never was a pirate in these seas
that did so much damage. No mortal knows the ships that devil has
captured and burned."

"I hope you have arms for the seamen, at any rate."

"Oh, we have one howitzer, and small-arms for the men, and we will have
to get along the best way we can with these; but the owners ought never
to send us here without a better equipment."

"I suppose they think it would cost too much."

"Yes; that's it. They think only about the profits, and trust to luck
for our safety. Well, I only hope we'll get safely out of this place--
that's all."

And the captain walked off much more excited than usual.

They drifted on through days of calm, which were succeeded by fierce but
short-lived storms, and then followed by calms. Their course lay
sometimes north, sometimes south, sometimes nowhere. Thus the time
passed, until at length, about the middle of September, they came in
sight of a long, low island of sand.

"I've heard of that sand-bank before," said the captain, who showed some
surprise at seeing it; "but I didn't believe it was here. It's not down
in the charts. Here we are three hundred and fifty miles southwest of
the Straits of Sunda, and the chart makes this place all open water.
Well, seein's believin'; and after this I'll swear that there is such a
thing as Coffin Island."

"Is that the name?"

"That's the name an old sea-captain gave it, and tried to get the
Admiralty to put it on the charts, but they wouldn't. But this is it,
and no mistake."

"Why did he call it Coffin Island?"

"Well, he thought that rock looked like a coffin, and it's dangerous
enough when a fog comes to deserve that name."

Brandon looked earnestly at the island which the captain mentioned, and
which they were slowly approaching.

It lay toward the north, while the ship's course, if it had any in that
calm, was southwest. It was not more than six miles away, and appeared
to be about five miles long. At the nearest extremity a black rock arose
to a height of about fifty feet, which appeared to be about five hundred
feet long, and was of such a shape that the imagination might easily see
a resemblance to a coffin. At the farthest extremity of the island was a
low mound. The rest of the island was flat, low, and sandy, with no
trace of vegetation perceptible from the ship, except a line of dingy
green under the rock, which looked like grass.

The ship drifted slowly on.

Meanwhile the captain, in anticipation of a storm, had caused all the
sails to be taken in, and stood anxiously watching the sky toward the
southwest.

There a dense mass of clouds lay piled along the horizon, gloomy,
lowering, menacing; frowning over the calm seas as though they would
soon destroy that calm, and fling forth all the fury of the winds. These
clouds seemed to have started up from the sea, so sudden had been their
appearance; and now, as they gathered themselves together, their forms
distended, and heightened, and reached forward vast arms into the sky,
striving to climb there, rolling upward voluminous cloud masses which
swiftly ascended toward the zenith. So quick was the progress of these
clouds that they did not seem to come from the banks below; but it was
rather as though all the air suddenly condensed its moisture and made it
visible in these dark masses.

As yet there was no wind, and the water was as smooth as glass; but over
the wide surface, as far as the eye could reach, the long swell of the
ocean had changed into vast rolling undulations, to the motion of which
the ship yielded, slowly ascending and descending as the waters rose and
fell, while the yards creaked, and the rigging twanged to the strain
upon them.

Every moment the sky grew darker, and as gloom gathered above so it
increased below, till all the sea spread out a smooth ebon mass.
Darkness settled down, and the sun's face was thus obscured, and a
preternatural gloom gathered upon the face of nature. Overhead vast
black clouds went sweeping past, covering all things, faster and faster,
till at last far down in the northern sky the heavens were all obscured.

But amidst all this there was as yet not a breath of wind. Far above the
wind careered in a narrow current, which did not touch the surface of
the sea but only bore onward the clouds. The agitation of the sky above
contrasted with the stillness below made the latter not consoling but
rather fearful, for this could be none other than that treacherous
stillness which precedes the sudden outburst of the hurricane.

For that sudden outburst all were now looking, expecting it every
moment. On the side of the ship where the wind was expected the captain
was standing, looking anxiously at the black clouds on the horizon, and
all the crew were gazing there in sympathy with him. From that quarter
the wind would burst, and it was for this assault that all the
preparations had been made.

[Illustration: "HE PUSHED HIM HEADLONG OVER THE RAIL AND HELPLESSLY INTO
THE SEA."]

For some time Brandon had watched the collecting clouds, but at length
he turned away, and seemed to find a supreme fascination in the sand-
bank. He stood at the stern of the ship, looking fixedly toward the
rock, his arms folded, and his thoughts all absorbed in that one thing.
A low railing ran round the quarter-deck. The helmsman stood in a
sheltered place which rose only two feet above the deck. The captain
stood by the companion-way, looking south at the storm; the mate was
near the capstan, and all were intent and absorbed in their expectation
of a sudden squall.

Close by the rudder-post stood Cigole, looking with all the rest at the
gathering storm. His face was only half turned, and as usual he watched
this with only a furtive glance, for at times his stealthy eyes turned
toward Brandon; and he alone of all on board did not seem to be absorbed
by some overmastering thought.

Suddenly a faint, fluttering ripple appeared to the southward; it came
quickly: it seemed to flash over the waters; with the speed of the wind
it moved on, till a quick, fresh blast struck the ship and sighed
through the rigging. Then a faint breathing of wind succeeded; but far
away there rose a low moan like that which arises from some vast
cataract at a great distance, whose roar, subdued by distance, sounds
faintly, yet warningly, to the ear.

At this first touch of the tempest, and the menacing voice of its
approach, not a word was spoken, but all stood mute. Brandon alone
appeared not to have noticed it. He still stood with folded arms and
absorbed air, gazing at the island.

The roar of the waters in the distance grew louder, and in the direction
from which it came the dark water was all white with foam, and the
boiling flood advanced nearer in myriad-numbered waves, which seemed now
like an army rushing to the charge, tossing on high its crested heads
and its countless foam-plumes, and threatening to bear down all before
it.

At last the tornado struck.

At the fierce blast of the storm the ship rolled far over, the masts
creaked and groaned, the waves rushed up and dashed against the side.

At that instant Cigole darted quickly toward Brandon, and the moment
that the vessel yielded to the blow of the storm he fell violently
against him. Before Brandon had noticed the storm or had time to steady
himself he had pushed him headlong over the rail and helplessly into the
sea--

"--liquidae projecit in undas
Praecipitem."

Cigole clung to the rail, and instantly shrieked out:

"Man overboard!"

The startling cry rang through the ship. The captain turned round with a
face of agony.

"Man overboard!" shouted Cigole again. "Help! It's Brandon!"

"Brandon!" cried the captain. "He's lost! O God!"

He took up a hen-coop from its fastenings and flung it into the sea, and
a couple of pails after it.

He then looked aloft and to the south with eyes of despair. He could do
nothing. For now the storm was upon them, and the ship was plunging
furiously through the waters with the speed of a race-horse at the touch
of the gale. On the lee-side lay the sand-bank, now only three miles
away, whose unknown shallows made their present position perilous in the
extreme. The ship could not turn to try and save the lost passenger; it
was only by keeping straight on that there was any hope of avoiding that
lee-shore.

All on board shared the captain's despair, for all saw that nothing
could be done. The ship was at the mercy of the hurricane. To turn was
impossible. If they could save their own lives now it would be as much
as they could do.

Away went the ship--away, farther, and farther, every moment leaving at
a greater distance the lost man who struggled in the waters.

At last they had passed the danger, the island was left behind, and the
wide sea lay all around.

But by this time the storm was at its height; the ship could not
maintain its proper course, but, yielding to the gale, fled to the
northwest far out of its right direction.




CHAPTER IV.


SINKING IN DEEP WATERS.

Brandon, overwhelmed by the rush of waters, half suffocated, and
struggling in the rush of the waves, shrieked out a few despairing cries
for help, and sought to keep his head above water as best he could. But
his cries were borne off by the fierce winds, and the ship as it
careered madly before the blast was soon out of hearing.

He was a first-rate swimmer, but in a sea like this it needed all his
strength and all his skill to save himself from impending death.
Encumbered by his clothes it was still more difficult, yet so fierce was
the rush of wind and wave that he dared not stop for a moment in his
struggles in order to divest himself of his clothing.

At first, by a mere blind instinct, he tried to swim after the ship, as
though by any possibility he could ever reach her again, but the
hurricane was against him, and he was forced sideways far out of the
course which he was trying to take. At last the full possession of his
senses was restored, and following the ship no longer, he turned toward
the direction where that sand island lay which had been the cause of his
disaster. At first it was hidden from view by the swell of waves that
rose in front, but soon rising upon the crest of one of these he
perceived far away the dark form of the coffin-shaped rock. Here then
before him lay the island, and toward this both wind and wave impelled
him.

But the rock was far to the right, and it might be that the island did
not extend far enough to meet him as he neared it. It was about five
miles in length, but in his efforts he might not be able to reach even
the western extremity. Still there was nothing else to do but to try.
Resolutely, therefore, though half despairingly, he put forth his best
strength, and struggled manfully to win the shore.

That lone and barren sand-bank, after all, offered but a feeble chance
for life. Even if he did reach it, which was doubtful, what could he do?
Starvation instead of drowning would be his fate. More than once it
occurred to him that it would be better then and there to give up all
efforts and let himself go. But then there came the thought of those
dear ones who waited for him in England, the thought of the villain who
had thrown him from the ship, and the greater villain who had sent him
out on his murderous errand. He could not bear the idea that they should
triumph over him so easily and so quickly. His vengeance should not be
taken from him; it had been baffled, but it still nerved his arm.

A half hour's struggle, which seemed like many hours, had brought him
much nearer to the island, but his strength was almost exhausted. His
clothes, caught in the rush of the waves, and clinging to him, confined
the free action of his limbs, and lent an additional weight. Another
half hour's exertion might possibly bring him to the shore, but that
exertion hardly seemed possible. It was but with difficulty now that he
could strike out. Often the rush of the waves from behind would
overwhelm him, and it was only by convulsive efforts that he was able to
surmount the raging billows and regain his breath.

Efforts like these, however, were too exhaustive to be long continued.
Nature failed, and already a wild despair came over him. For a quarter
of an hour longer he had continued his exertions; and now the island was
so near that a quarter of an hour more might bring him to it. But even
that exertion of strength was now no longer possible. Faintly and
feebly, and with failing limbs and fiercely-throbbing heart, he toiled
on, until at last any further effort seemed impossible. Before him was
the mound which he had noticed from the ship. He was at the western
extremity of the island. He saw that he was being carried in such a
direction that even if he did struggle on he might be borne helplessly
past the island and out into the open sea. Already he could look past
the island, and see the wide expanse of white foaming waves which
threatened to engulf him. The sight weakened what little strength was
left, and made his efforts even feebler.

Despairingly he looked around, not knowing what he sought, but seeking
still for something, he knew not what. In that last look of despair his
eyes caught sight of something which at once gave him renewed hope. It
was not far away. Borne along by the waves it was but a few yards
distant, and a little behind him. It was the hen-coop which the Captain
of the _Java_ had thrown overboard so as to give Brandon a chance
for life. That last chance was now thrown in his way, for the hen-coop
had followed the same course with himself, and had been swept along not
very far from him.

Brandon was nerved to new efforts by the sight of this. He turned and
exerted the last remnants of his strength in order to reach this means
of safety. It was near enough to be accessible. A few vigorous strokes,
a few struggles with the waves, and his hands clutched the bars with the
grasp of a drowning man.

It was a large hen-coop, capable of keeping several men afloat. Brandon
clung to this and at last had rest. Every minute of respite from such
struggles as he had carried on restored his strength to a greater
degree. He could now keep his head high out of the water and avoid the
engulfing fury of the waves behind. Now at last he could take a better
survey of the prospect before him, and see more plainly whither he was
going.

The sand-bank lay before him; the mount at the western extremity was in
front of him, not very far away. The rock which lay at the eastern end
was now at a great distance, for he had been swept by the current
abreast of the island, and was even now in danger of being carried past
it. Still there was hope, for wind and wave were blowing directly toward
the island, and there was a chance of his being carried full upon its
shore. Yet the chance was a slender one, for the set of the tide carried
him beyond the line of the western extremity.

Every minute brought him nearer, and soon his fate would be decided.
Nearer and nearer he came, still clinging to the hen-coop, and making no
efforts whatever, but reserving and collecting together all his
strength, so as to put it forth at the final hour of need.

But as he came nearer the island appeared to move more and more out of
the line of his approach. Under these circumstances his only chance was
to float as near as possible, and then make a last effort to reach the
land.

Nearer and nearer he came. At last he was close by it, but the extreme
point of the island lay to the right more than twenty yards. This was
the crisis of his fate, for now if he floated on any longer he would be
carried farther away.

The shore was here low but steep, the waters appeared to be deep, and a
heavy surf dashed upon the island, and threw up its spray far over the
mound. He was so near that he could distinguish the pebbles on the
beach, and could see beyond the mound a long, flat surface with thin
grass growing.

Beyond this point was another a hundred yards away, but farther out of
his reach, and affording no hope whatever. Between the two points there
was an inlet into the island showing a little cove; but the surf just
here became wilder, and long rollers careered one past another over the
intervening space. It was a hopeless prospect. Yet it was his last
chance.

Brandon made up his mind. He let go the hen-coop, and summoning up all
his strength he struck out for the shore. But this time the wind and sea
were against him, bearing him past the point, and the waves dashed over
him more quickly and furiously than before. He was swept past the point
before he had made half a dozen strokes; he was borne on still
struggling; and now on his left lay the rollers which he had seen. In
spite of all his efforts he was farther away from the island than when
he had left the hen-coop. Yet all hope and all life depended on the
issue of this last effort. The fifteen or twenty minutes of rest and of
breathing-space which he had gained had been of immense advantage, and
he struggled with all the force which could be inspired by the nearness
of safety. Yet, after all, human efforts can not withstand the fury of
the elements, and here against this strong sea the strongest swimmer
could not hope to contend successfully.

"Never I ween was swimmer
In such an evil case."

He swam toward the shore, but the wind striking him from one side, and
urging on the sea, drove him sideways. Some progress was made, but the
force of the waters was fearful, and for every foot that he moved
forward he was carried six feet to leeward. He himself saw this, and
calculating his chances he perceived with despair that he was already
beyond the first point, and that at the present rate there was no
possibility of gaining the farther point.

Already the waves leaped exultingly about him, dashing over him now more
wildly, since he was exposed more than before to their full sweep.
Already the rollers lay close beside him on his left. Then it seemed as
though he would be engulfed. Turning his head backward with a last faint
thought of trying to regain the hen-coop, so as to prolong life
somewhat, he saw it far away out of his reach. Then all hope left him.

He was now at the outermost line of rollers. At the moment that he
turned his head a huge wave raised him up and bore him forward. He
struggled still, even in that time of despair, and fought with his
enemies. They bore him onward, however, none the less helplessly, and
descending carried him with them.

But now at last, as he descended with that wave, hope came back, and all
his despair vanished.

For as the wave flung him downward his feet touched bottom, and he stood
for a moment erect, on solid, hard sand, in water that scarcely reached
above his knees. It was for a moment only that he stood, however, for
the sweep of the water bore him down, and he fell forward. Before he
could regain himself another wave came and hurled him farther forward.

By a violent effort he staggered to his feet. In an instant he
comprehended his position. At this western end the island descended
gently into the water, and the shoal which it formed extended for miles
away. It was this shoal that caused the long rollers that came over them
so vehemently, and in such marked contrast with the more abrupt waves of
the sea behind.

In an instant he had comprehended this, and had taken his course of
action.

Now he had foothold. Now the ground beneath lent its aid to his
endeavor; he was no longer altogether at the mercy of the water. He
bounded forward toward the shore in such a direction that he could
approach it without opposing himself entirely to the waves. The point
that stretched out was now within his reach. The waves rolled past it,
but by moving in an oblique direction he could gain it.

[Illustration: "HE STAGGERED UP A FEW PACES UPON THE SANDY DECLIVITY."]

Again and again the high rollers came forward, hurling him up as they
caught him in their embrace, and then casting him down again. As he was
caught up from the bottom he sustained himself on the moving mass, and
supported himself on the crest of the wave, but as soon as his feet
touched bottom again he sprang forward toward the point which now became
every minute more accessible. Wave after wave came, each was more
furious, each more ravenous than the preceding, as though hounding one
another on to make sure of their prey. But now that the hope of life was
strong, and safety had grown almost assured, the deathlike weakness
which but shortly before had assailed him gave way to new-born strength
and unconquerable resolve.

At length he reached a place where the rollers were of less dimensions.
His progress became more rapid, until at length the water became
exceedingly shallow, being not more than a foot in depth. Here the first
point, where the mound was, protected it from the wind and sea. This was
the cove which he had noticed. The water was all white with foam, but
offered scarcely any resistance to him. He had but to wade onward to the
shore.

That shore was at last attained. He staggered up a few paces upon the
sandy declivity, and then fell down exhausted upon the ground.

He could not move. It was late; night came on, but he lay where he had
fallen, until at last he fell into a sound sleep.




CHAPTER V.


THE MYSTERY OF COFFIN ISLAND.

When Brandon awaked on the following morning the sun was already high in
the sky. He rose at once and walked slowly up, with stiffened limbs, to
a higher spot. His clothes already were partly dry, but they were
uncomfortable and impeded his motion. He took off nearly every thing,
and laid them out on the sand. Then he examined his pistol and the box
containing cartridges. This box held some oil also, with the help of
which the pistol was soon in good order. As the cartridges were encased
in copper they were uninjured. He then examined a silver case which was
suspended round his neck. It was cylindrical in shape, and the top
unscrewed. On opening this he took out his father's letter and the
inclosure, both of which were uninjured. He then rolled them up in a
small compass and restored them to their place.

He now began to look about him. The storm had ceased, the waves had
subsided, a slight breeze was blowing from the sea which just ruffled
the water and tempered the heat. The island on which he had been cast
was low, flat, and covered with a coarse grass which grew out of the
sand. But the sand itself was in many places thrown up into ridges, and
appeared as though it was constantly shifting and changing. The mound
was not far away, and at the eastern end of the island he could see the
black outline of the rock which he had noticed from the ship. The length
he had before heard to be about five miles; the width appeared about one
mile, and in its whole aspect it seemed nothing better than the
abomination of desolation.

At the end where he was the island terminated in two points, between
which there was the cove where he had found refuge. One of these points
was distinguished by the mound already mentioned, which from where he
stood appeared of an irregular oblong shape. The other point was low,
and descended gently into the water. The island itself appeared to be
merely the emergence of some sand-bank which, perhaps, had been formed
by currents and eddies; for here the currents of the Strait of Sunda
encounter those from the Southern and Indian oceans, and this bank lay
probably near their point of union.

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