Amy E. Blanchard - "Little Maid Marian"

Edgar Rice Burroughs - "Ce la koro de la tero"

Arsene Houssaye - "Les grandes dames"

Thomas Hodgkin - "Theodoric the Goth"

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




"But time passed, and at last all was still. There was no sound either
of voices or of footsteps. I waited for what seemed hours in impatience,
until finally I could endure it no longer. I was not going to die like a
dog, but determined at all hazards to go out armed, face them, and meet
my doom at once.

"A few vigorous kicks at the door broke it open and I walked out. There
was no one in the cabin. I went out on deck. There was no one there. I
saw it all. I was deserted. More; the brig had settled down so low in
the water that the sea was up to her gunwales. I looked out over the
ocean to see if I could perceive any trace of them--Potts and the rest.
I saw nothing. They must have left long before. A faint smoke in the
hatchway attracted my attention. Looking there, I perceived that it had
been burned away. The villains had evidently tried to scuttle the brig,
and then, to make doubly sure, had kindled a fire on the cargo, thinking
that the wooden materials of which it was composed would kindle readily.
But the water had rushed in too rapidly for the flames to spread;
nevertheless, the water was not able to do its work, for the wood cargo
kept the brig afloat. She was water-logged but still floating.

"The masts and shrouds were all cut away. The vessel was now little
better than a raft, and was drifting at the mercy of the ocean currents.
For my part I did not much care. I had no desire to go to Manilla or any
where else; and the love of life which is usually so strong did not
exist. I should have preferred to have been killed or drowned at once.
Instead of that I lived.

"She died on June 15. It was the 2d of July when this occurred which I
have narrated. It is now the 10th. For a week I have been drifting I
know not where. I have seen no land. There are enough provisions and
water on board to sustain me for months. The weather has been fine thus
far.

"I have written this with the wish that whoever may find it will send it
to Ralph Brandon, Esq., of Brandon Hall, Devonshire, that he may see
that justice is done to Potts, and the rest of the conspirators. Let him
also try, if it be not too late, to save Uracao. If this fall into the
hands of any one going to England let it be delivered to him as above,
but if the finder be going to India let him place it in the hands of the
Governor-General; if to China or any other place, let him give it to the
authorities, enjoining them, however, after using it, to send it to
Ralph Brandon as above.

"It will be seen by this that John Potts was in connection with the
Thugs, probably for the sake of plundering those whom they murdered:
that he conspired against me and tried to kill me; and that he has
wrought my death (for I expect to die). An examination of my desk shows
that he has taken papers and bank bills to the amount of four thousand
pounds with him. It was this, no doubt, that induced him to make this
attempt against me.

"I desire also hereby to appoint Henry Thornton, Sen., Esq., of Holby
Pembroke, Solicitor, my executor and the guardian of my son Courtenay,
to whom I bequeath a father's blessing and all that I possess. Let him
try to secure my money in Cape Town for my boy, and, if possible, to
regain for him the four thousand pounds which Potts has carried off.

"Along with this manuscript I also inclose the strangling cord.

"May God have mercy upon my soul! Amen.

"LIONEL DESPARD."

"July 28.--Since I wrote this there has been a series of tremendous
storms. The weather has cleared up again. I have seen no land and no
ship.

"July 31.--Land to-day visible at a great distance on the south. I know
not what land it may be. I can not tell in what direction I am drifting.

"August 2.--Land visible toward the southwest. It seems like the summit
of a range of mountains, and is probably fifty miles distant.

"August 5.--A sail appeared on the horizon. It was too distant to
perceive me. It passed out of sight.

"August 10.--A series of severe gales. The sea always rolls over the
brig in these storms, and sometimes seems about to carry her down.

"August 20.--Storms and calms alternating. When will this end?

"August 25.--Land again toward the west. It seems as though I may be
drifting among the islands of the Indian Archipelago.

"September 2.--I have been sick for a week. Unfortunately I am beginning
to recover again. A faint blue streak in the north seems like land.

"September 10.--Open water.

"September 23.--A series of storms. How the brig can stand it I can not
see. I remember Potts telling me that she was built of mahogany and
copper-fastened. She does not appear to be much injured. I am
exceedingly weak from want and exposure. It is with difficulty that I
can move about.

"October 2.--Three months adrift. My God have mercy on me, and make
haste to deliver me! A storm is rising. Let all Thy waves and billows
overwhelm me, O Lord!

"October 5.--A terrific storm. Raged three days. The brig has run
aground. It is a low island, with a rock about five miles away. Thank
God, my last hour is at hand. The sea is rushing in with tremendous
violence, hurling sand upon the brig. I shall drift no more. I can
scarcely hold this pen. These are my last words. This is for Ralph
Brandon. My blessing for my loved son. I feel death coming. Whether the
storm takes me or not, I must die.

"Whoever finds this will take it from my hand, and, in the name of God,
I charge him to do my bidding."

This was the last. The concluding pages of the manuscript were scarcely
legible. The entries were meagre and formal, but the hand-writing spoke
of the darkest despair. What agonies had this man not endured during
those three months!

Brandon folded up the manuscript reverentially, and put it into his
pocket. He then went back into the cabin. Taking the bony skeleton hand
he exclaimed, in a solemn voice, "In the name of God, if I am saved, I
swear to do your bidding!"

He next proceeded to perform the last offices to the remains of Colonel
Despard. On removing the sand something bright struck his eye. It was a
gold locket. As he tried to open it the rusty hinge broke, and the cover
came off.

[Illustration: "THREE MONTHS ADRIFT."]

It was a painting on enamel, which was as bright as when made--the
portrait of a beautiful woman, with pensive eyes, and delicate,
intellectual expression; and appeared as though it might have been worn
around the Colonel's neck. Brandon sighed, then putting this in his
pocket with the manuscript he proceeded to his task. In an hour the
remains were buried in the grave on Coffin Island.




CHAPTER VIII.


THE SIGNAL OF FIRE.

The wreck broke in upon the monotony of Brandon's island life and
changed the current of his thoughts. The revelations contained in
Despard's manuscript came with perfect novelty to his mind. Potts, his
enemy, now stood before him in darker colors, the foulest of miscreants,
one who had descended to an association with Thuggee, one who bore on
his arm the dread mark of Bowhani. Against such an enemy as this he
would have to be wary. If this enemy suspected his existence could he
not readily find means to effect his destruction forever? Who could tell
what mysterious allies this man might have? Cigole had tracked and
followed him with the patience and vindictiveness of a blood-hound.
There might be many such as he. He saw plainly that if he ever escaped
his first and highest necessity would be to work in secret, to conceal
his true name, and to let it be supposed that Louis Brandon had been
drowned, while another name would enable him to do what he wished.

The message of Despard was now a sacred legacy to himself. The duty
which the murdered man had imposed upon his father must now be inherited
by him. Even this could scarcely add to the obligations to vengeance
under which he already lay; yet it freshened his passion and quickened
his resolve.

The brig was a novelty to him here, and as day succeeded to day he found
occupation in searching her. During the hotter part of the day he busied
himself in shoveling out the sand from the cavern with a board. In the
cool of the morning or evening he worked at the hatchway. Here he soon
reached the cargo.

This cargo consisted of staves and short boards. All were blackened, and
showed traces of fire. The fire seemed to have burned down to a depth of
four feet, and two or three feet under the sides; then the water coming
in had quenched it.

He drew out hundreds of these staves and boards, which were packed in
bundles, six boards being nailed together as box-shooks, and thirty or
forty staves. These he threw out upon the deck and on the sand. What
remained he drew about and scattered loosely in the hold of the vessel.
He did this with a purpose, for he looked forward to the time when some
ship might pass, and it would then be necessary to attract her
attention. There was no way of doing so. He had no pole, and if he had
it might not be noticed. A fire would be the surest way of drawing
attention, and all this wood gave him the means of building one. He
scattered it about on the sand, so that it might dry in the hot sun.

Yet it was also necessary to have some sort of a signal to elevate in
case of need. He had nothing but a knife to work with; yet patient
effort will do much, and after about a week he had cut away the rail
that ran along the quarter-deck, which gave him a pole some twenty feet
in length. The nails that fastened the boards were all rusted so that
they could not be used in attaching any thing to this. He decided when
the time came to tie his coat to it, and use that as a flag. It
certainly ought to be able to attract attention.

Occupied with such plans and labors and purposes as these, the days
passed quickly for two weeks. By that time the fierce rays of the sun
had dried every board and stave so that it became like tinder. The ship
itself felt the heat; the seams gaped more widely, the boards warped and
fell away from their rusty nails, the timbers were exposed all over it,
and the hot, dry wind penetrated every cranny. The interior of the hold
and the cabin became free from damp, and hot and dry.

Then Brandon flung back many of the boards and staves loosely; and after
enough had been thrown there he worked laboriously for days cutting up
large numbers of the boards into fine splints, until at last a huge pile
of these shavings were accumulated. With these and his pistol he would
be able to obtain light and fire in the time of need.

The post which he had cut off was then sharpened at one end, so that he
could fix it in the sand when the time came, should it ever come. Here,
then, these preparations were completed.

After all his labor in the cabin nothing was found. The bedding, the
mattresses, the chests, the nautical instruments had all been ruined.
The tables and chairs fell to pieces when the sand was removed; the
doors and wood-work sank away; the cabin when cleared remained a wreck.

The weather continued hot and dry. At night Brandon flung himself down
wherever he happened to be, either at the brig or at the rock. Every day
he had to go to the rock for water, and also to look out toward the sea
from that side. At first, while intent upon his work at the ship, the
sight of the barren horizon every day did not materially affect him; he
rose superior to despondency and cheered himself with his task. But at
length, at the end of about three weeks, all this work was done and
nothing more remained. His only idea was to labor to effect his escape,
and not to insure his comfort during his stay.

Now as day succeeded to day all his old gloom returned. The excitement
of the last few weeks had acted favorably upon his bodily health, but
when this was removed he began to feel more than his old weakness. Such
diet as his might sustain nature, but it could not preserve health. He
grew at length to loathe the food which he had to take, and it was only
by a stern resolve that he forced himself to swallow it.

At length a new evil was superadded to those which had already afflicted
him. During the first part of his stay the hollow or pool of water on
the rock had always been kept filled by the frequent rains. But now for
three weeks, in fact ever since the uncovering of the _Vishnu_, not
a single drop of rain had fallen. The sun shone with intense heat, and
the evaporation was great. The wind at first tempered this heat
somewhat, but at last this ceased to blow by day, and often for hours
there was a dead calm, in which the water of the sea lay unruffled and
all the air was motionless.

If there could only have been something which he could stretch over that
precious pool of water he might then have arrested its flight. But he
had nothing, and could contrive nothing. Every day saw a perceptible
decrease in its volume, and at last it went down so low that he thought
he could count the number of days that were left him to live. But his
despair could not stay the operation of the laws of nature, and he
watched the decrease of that water as one watches the failing breath of
a dying child.

Many weeks passed, and the water of the pool still diminished. At last
it had sunk so low that Brandon could not hope to live more than another
week unless rain came, and that now he could scarcely expect. The look-
out became more hopeless, and at length his thoughts, instead of turning
toward escape, were occupied with deliberating whether he would probably
die of starvation or simple physical exhaustion. He began to enter into
that state of mind which he had read in Despard's MSS., in which life
ceases to be a matter of desire, and the only wish left is to die as
quickly and as painlessly as possible.

At length one day as his eyes swept the waters mechanically out of pure
habit, and not expecting any thing, he saw far away to the northeast
something which looked like a sail. He watched it for an hour before he
fairly decided that it was not some mocking cloud. But at the end of
that time it had grown larger, and had assumed a form which no cloud
could keep so long.

Now his heart beat fast, and all the old longing for escape, and the old
love of life returned with fresh vehemence. This new emotion over-
powered him, and he did not try to struggle with it.

Now had come the day and the hour when all life was in suspense. This
was his first hope, and he felt that it must be his last. Experience had
shown that the island must lie outside the common track of vessels, and,
in the ordinary course of things, if this passed by he could not hope to
see another.

Now he had to decide how to attract her notice. She was still far away,
yet she was evidently drawing nearer. The rock was higher than the mound
and more conspicuous. He determined to carry his signal there, and erect
it somewhere on that place. So he took up the heavy staff, and bore it
laboriously over the sand till he reached the rock.

By the time that he arrived there the vessel had come nearer. Her top-
sails were visible above the horizon. Her progress was very slow, for
there was only very little wind. Her studding-sails were all set to
catch the breeze, and her course was such that she came gradually
nearer. Whether she would come near enough to see the island was another
question. Yet if they thought of keeping a look-out, if the men in the
tops had glasses, this rock and the signal could easily be seen. He
feared, however, that this would not be thought of. The existence of
Coffin Island was not generally known, and if they supposed that there
was only open water here they would not be on the look-out at all.

[Illustration: "STILL HE STOOD THERE, HOLDING ALOFT HIS SIGNAL."]

Nevertheless Brandon erected his signal, and as there was no place on
the solid rock where he could insert it he held it up in his own hands.
Hours passed. The ship had come very much nearer, but her hull was not
yet visible. Still he stood there under the burning sun, holding aloft
his signal. Fearing that it might not be sufficiently conspicuous he
fastened his coat to the top, and then waved it slowly backward and
forward.

The ship moved more slowly than ever; but still it was coming nearer;
for after some time, which seemed to that lonely watcher like entire
days, her hull became visible, and her course still lay nearer.

Now Brandon felt that he must be noticed. He waved his signal
incessantly. He even leaped in the air, so that he might be seen. He
thought that the rock would surely be perceived from the ship, and if
they looked at that they would see the figure upon it.

Then despondency came over him. The hull of the ship was visible, but it
was only the uppermost line of the hull. He was standing on the very top
of the rock, on its highest point. From the deck they could not see the
rock itself. He stooped down, and perceived that the hull of the ship
sank out of sight. Then he knew that the rock would not be visible to
them at all. Only the upper half of his body could by any possibility be
visible, and he knew enough of the sea to understand that this would
have the dark sea for a back-ground to observers in the ship, and
therefore could not be seen.

Still he would not yield to the dejection that was rapidly coming over
him, and deepening into despair every minute. Never before had he so
clung to hope--never before had his soul been more indomitable in its
resolution, more vigorous in its strong self-assertion.

He stood there still waving his staff as though his life now depended
upon that dumb yet eloquent signal--as though, like Moses, as long as
his arms were erect, so long would he be able to triumph over the
assault of despair. Hours passed. Still no notice was taken of him.
Still the ship held on her course slowly, yet steadily, and no change of
direction, no movement of any kind whatever, showed that he had been
seen. What troubled him now was the idea that the ship did not come any
nearer. This at first he refused to believe, but at last he saw it
beyond doubt, for at length the hull was no longer visible above the
horizon.

The ship was now due north from the rock, sailing on a line directly
parallel with the island. It came no nearer. It was only passing by it.
And now Brandon saw that his last hope of attracting attention by the
signal was gone. The ship was moving onward to the west, and every
minute would make it less likely that those on board could see the rock.

During the hours in which he had watched the ship he had been busy
conjecturing what she might be, and from what port she might have come.
The direction indicated China almost undoubtedly. He depicted in his
mind a large, commodious, and swift ship, with many passengers on their
way back to England. He imagined pleasant society, and general
intercourse. His fancy created a thousand scenes of delightful
association with "the kindly race of men." All earthly happiness seemed
to him at that time to find its centre on board that ship which passed
before his eyes.

The seas were bright and sparkling, the skies calm and deeply blue, the
winds breathed softly, the white swelling sails puffed out like clouds
against the blue sky beyond. That ship seemed to the lonely watcher like
Heaven itself. Oh! to pass beyond the limits of this narrow sandy waste!
to cross the waters and enter there! Oh! to reach that ship which moved
on so majestically, to enter there and be at rest!

It was not given him to enter there. Brandon soon saw this. The ship
moved farther away. Already the sun was sinking, and the sudden night of
the tropics was coming swiftly on. There was no longer any hope.

He flung the staff down till it broke asunder on the hard rock, and
stood for a few moments looking out at sea in mute despair.

Yet could he have known what was shortly to be the fate of that ship--
shortly, only in a few days--he would not have despaired, he would have
rejoiced, since if death were to be his lot it were better to die where
he was than to be rescued and gain the sweet hope of life afresh, and
then have that hope extinguished in blood.

But Brandon did not remain long in idleness. There was yet one resource
--one which he had already thought of through that long day, but
hesitated to try, since he would have to forsake his signal-station; and
to remain there with his staff seemed to him then the only purpose of
his life. Now since the signal-staff had failed, he had broken it, as
some magician might break the wand which had failed to work its
appropriate spell, and other things were before him. He took his coat
and descended from the rock to make a last effort for life. He walked
back through the gathering gloom toward the wreck. He did not run, nor
did he in any way exhibit any excitement whatever. He walked with a firm
step over the sand, neither hastening on nor lagging back, but advancing
calmly.

Before he had gone half-way it was dark. The sun had gone down in a sea
of fire, and the western sky, after flaming for a time, had sunk into
darkness. There was no moon. The stars shone dimly from behind a kind of
haze that overspread the sky. The wind came up more freshly from the
east, and Brandon knew that this wind would carry the ship which he
wished to attract further and further away. That ship had now died out
in the dark of the ebon sea; the chances that he could catch its notice
were all against him, yet he never faltered.

He had come to a fixed resolution, which was at all hazards to kindle
his signal-fire, whatever the chances against him might be. He thought
that the flames flaring up would of necessity attract attention, and
that the vessel might turn, or lie-to, and try to discover what this
might be. If this last hope failed, he was ready to die. Death had now
become to him rather a thing to be desired than avoided. For he knew
that it was only a change of life; and how much better would life be in
a spiritual world than life on this lonely isle.

This decision to die took away despair. Despair is only possible to
those who value this earthly life exclusively. To the soul that looks
forward to endless life despair can never come.

It was with this solemn purpose that Brandon went to the wreck, seeking
by a last chance after life, yet now prepared to relinquish it. He had
struggled for life all these weeks; he had fought and wrestled for life
with unutterable spiritual agony, all day long, on the summit of that
rock, and now the bitterness of death was past.

An hour and a half was occupied in the walk over the sand to the wreck.
Fresh waves of dark had come over all things, and now, though there were
no clouds, yet the gloom was intense, and faint points of light in the
sky above showed where the stars might be. Where now was the ship for
which Brandon sought? He cared not. He was going to kindle his signal-
fire. The wind was blowing freshly by the time that he reached the
place. Such a wind had not blown for weeks. It would take the ship away
farther. What mattered it? He would seize his last chance, if it were
only to put that last chance away forever, and thus make an end of
suspense.

All his preparations had long since been made; the dry wood lay loosely
thrown about the hold; the pile of shavings and fine thread-like
splinters was there awaiting him. He had only to apply the fire.

He took his linen handkerchief and tore it up into fine threads, these
he tore apart again and rubbed in his hand till they were almost as
loose as lint. He then took these loose fibres, and descending into the
hold, put them underneath the pile which he had prepared. Then he look
his pistol, and holding it close to the lint fired it.

The explosion rang out with startling force in the narrow hull of the
ship, the lint received the fire and glowed with the sparks into spots
of red heat. Brandon blew with his breath, and the wind streaming down
lent its assistance.

In a few moments the work was done.

It blazed!

But scarcely had the first flame appeared than a puff of wind came down
and extinguished it. The sparks, however, were there yet. It was as
though the fickle wind were tantalizing him--at one time helping, at
another baffling him. Once more Brandon blew. Once more the blaze arose.
Brandon flung his coat skirts in front of it till it might gather
strength. The blaze ran rapidly through the fine splints, it extended
itself toward the shavings, it threw its arms upward to the larger
sticks.

The dry wood kindled. A million sparks flew out as it cracked under the
assault of the devouring fire. The flame spread itself out to a larger
volume; it widened, expanded, and clasped the kindling all around in its
fervid embrace. The flame had been baffled at first; but now, as if to
assert its own supremacy, it rushed out in all directions with something
that seemed almost like exultation. That flame had once been conquered
by the waters in this very ship. The wood had saved the ship from the
waters. It was as though the WOOD had once invited the FIRE to union,
but the WATER had stepped in and prevented the union by force; as though
the WOOD, resenting the interference, had baffled the assaults of the
WATER, and saved itself intact through the long years for the embrace of
its first love. Now the FIRE sought the WOOD once more after so many
years, and in ardor unspeakable embraced its bride.

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