Arsene Houssaye - "Les grandes dames"

Burton Egbert Stevenson - "The Home Book of Verse, Volume 2"

New York Evening Journal - "What's in the New York Evening Journal"

Pedro Sarmiento de Gamboa - "History of the Incas"

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




Such fantastic notions passed through Brandon's fancy as he looked at
the triumph of the flame. But he could not stay there long, and as he
had not made up his mind to give himself to the flames he clambered up
quickly out of the hatchway and stood upon the sand without.

The smoke was pouring through the hatchway, the black voluminous folds
being rendered visible by the glow of the flames beneath, which now had
gained the ascendency, and set all the winds at defiance. Indeed it was
so now that whatever wind came only assisted the flames, and Brandon, as
he looked on, amused himself with the thought that the wind was like the
world of man, which, when any one is first struggling, has a tendency to
crush him, but when he has once gained a foothold exerts all its efforts
to help him along. In this mood, half cynical, half imaginative, he
watched the progress of the flames.

Soon all the fine kindling had crumbled away at the touch of the fire,
and communicating its own heat to the wood around, it sank down, a
glowing mass, the foundation of the rising fires.

Here, from this central heart of fire, the flames rushed on upon the
wood which lay loosely on all sides, filling the hull. Through that wood
the dry hot wind had streamed for many weeks, till every stave and every
board had become dry to its utmost possibility. Now at the first breath
of the flame the wood yielded; at the first touch it flared up, and
prepared to receive the embrace of the fire in every fibre of its being.

The flame rolled on. It threw its long arms through the million
interstices of the loose piles of wood, it penetrated every where with
its subtle, far-reaching power, till within the ship the glow broadened
and widened, the central heart of fire enlarged its borders, and the
floods of flame that flowed from it rushed with consuming fury through
the whole body of the ship.

Glowing with bright lustre, increasing in that brightness every moment,
leaping up as it consumed and flashing vividly as it leaped up. A
thousand tongues of flame streamed upward through the crannies of the
gaping deck, and between the wide orifices of the planks and timbers the
dazzling flames gleamed; a thousand resistless arms seemed extended
forward to grasp the fabric now completely at its mercy, and the hot
breath of the fire shriveled up all in its path before yet its hands
were laid upon it.

And fast and furious, with eager advance, the flames rushed on devouring
everything. Through the hatchway, around which the fiercest fires
gathered, the stream of flame rose impetuously on high, in a straight
upward torrent, hurling up a vast pyramid of fire to the ebon skies, a
[Greek: phlogos migan pogona] which, like that which once illumed the
Slavonic strait with the signal-fire first caught from burning Troy,
here threw its radiance far over the deep.

While the lighter wood lasted the flame was in the ascendant, and nobly
it did its work. Whatever could be done by bright radiance and far-
penetrating lustre was done here. If that ship which had passed held any
men on board capable of feeling a human interest in the visible signs of
calamity at sea, they would be able to read in this flame that there was
disaster somewhere upon these waters, and if they had human hearts they
would turn to see if there was not some suffering which they might
relieve.

But the lighter and the dryer wood was at last consumed, and now there
remained that which Brandon had never touched, the dense masses which
still lay piled where they had been placed eighteen years before. Upon
these the fire now marched. But already the long days and weeks of
scorching sun and fierce wind had not been without their effects, and
the dampness had been subdued. Besides, the fire that advanced upon them
had already gained immense advantage; for one half of the brig was one
glowing mass of heat, which sent forth its consuming forces, and
withered up, and blighted, and annihilated all around. The close-bound
and close-packed masses of staves and boards received the resistless
embrace of the fire, and where they did not flame they still gave forth
none the less a blazeless glow.

Now from the burning vessel the flame arose no more; but in its place
there appeared that which sent forth as vivid a gleam, and as far-
flashing a light. The fire had full sway, though it gave forth no blaze,
and, while it gleamed but little, still it devoured. From the sides of
the ship the planks, blasted by the intense heat and by the outburst of
the flames, had sprung away, and now for nearly all the length of the
vessel the timbers were exposed without any covering. Between these
flashed forth the gleam of the fire inside, which now in one pure mass
glowed with dazzling brightness and intense heat.

But the wood inside, damp as it was, and solid in its fibre, did not
allow a very swift progress to the fire. It burned, but it burned
slowly. It glowed like the charcoal of a furnace from behind its wooden
bars.

The massive timbers of mahogany wood yielded slowly and stubbornly to
the conflagration. They stood up like iron bars long after all the
interior was one glowing mass. But, though they yielded slowly, still
they had to yield with the passage of hours to the progress of the fire.
And so it came to pass that at length the strong sides, sapped by the
steady and resistless assault, surrendered. One by one the stout
timbers, now wasted and weakened, gave way and sank down into the fervid
mass beneath. At last the whole centre was one accumulation of glowing
ashes, and all that remained were the bow, covered with sand, and the
stern, with the quarter-deck.

The fire spread in both directions. The stern yielded first. Here the
strong deck sustained for a time the onset of the fire that had consumed
every thing beneath, but at last it sunk in; the timbers of the sides
followed next, and all had gone. With the bow there was a longer and a
harder struggle. The fire had penetrated far into that part of the
vessel; the flames smouldered there, but the conflagration went on, and
smoke and blue flames issued from every part of that sandy mound, which,
fiercely assailed by the heat, gave way in every direction, broke into a
million crevices, and in places melted and ran together in a glowing
molten heap. Here the fires burned longer, and here they lived and
gleamed until morning.

Long before morning Brandon had fallen asleep. He had stood first near
the burning wreck. Then the heat forced him to move away, and he had
gone to a ridge of sand, where this peninsula joined the island. There
he sat down, watching the conflagration for a long time. There the light
flashed, and if that ship for whom he was signaling had noticed this
sign, and had examined the island, his figure could be seen to any one
that chose to examine.

But hours passed on. He strained his eyes through the gloom in the
direction in which the ship had vanished to see if there were any sign
there. None appeared. The progress of the fire was slow. It went on
burning and glowing with wonderful energy all through the night, till at
last, not long before dawn, the stern fell in, and nothing now was left
but the sand-mound that covered the bows, which, burning beneath, gave
forth smoke and fire.

Then, exhausted by fatigue, he sank down on the sand and fell into a
sound sleep.

In the midst of thronging dreams, from the depths of that imaginary land
where his weary spirit wandered in sleep, he was suddenly roused. A hand
was laid on his shoulder, which shook him roughly, and a hoarse voice
shouted in his ear, "Mess-mate! Halloo, mess-mate! Wake up!"

Brandon started up and gazed with wild, astonished eyes around. It was
day. The sun was two or three hours above the horizon. He was surrounded
by half a dozen seamen, who were regarding him with wondering but kindly
eyes. The one who spoke appeared to be their leader. He held a spy-glass
in his hand. He was a sturdy, thick-set man of about fifty, whose
grizzled hair, weather-beaten face, groggy nose, and whiskers, coming
all round under his chin, gave him the air of old Benbow as he appears
on the stage--"a reg'lar old salt," "sea-dog," or whatever other name
the popular taste loves to apply to the British tar.

"Hard luck here, mess-mate," said this man, with a smile. "But you're
all right now. Come! Cheer up! Won't you take a drink?" And he held out
a brandy-flask.

Brandon rose mechanically in a kind of maze, not yet understanding his
good fortune, not yet knowing whether he was alive or dead. He took the
flask and raised it to his lips. The inspiriting draught gave him new
life. He looked earnestly at the Captain as he handed it back, and then
seized both his hands.

"God Almighty bless you for this, noble friend, whoever you are! But how
and when did you get here? Who are you? Did you not see my signal on the
rock yesterday--?"

"One question at a time, mess-mate," said the other, laughingly. "I'm
Captain Corbet, of the ship _Falcon_, bound from Sydney to London,
and these are some of my men. We saw this light last night about
midnight, right on our weather-bow, and came up to see what it was. We
found shoal water, and kept off till morning. There's the _Falcon_,
Sir."

The Captain waved his hand proudly to where a large, handsome ship lay,
about seven miles away to the south.

"On your bow? Did you see the fire _ahead_ of you?" asked Brandon,
who now began to comprehend the situation.

"Yes."

"Then you didn't pass me toward the north yesterday?"

"No; never was near this place before this morning."

"It must have been some other ship, then," said Brandon, musingly.

"But how did you get here, and how long have you been here?"

Brandon had long since decided on the part he was to play. His story was
all ready.

"My name is Edward Wheeler. I came out supercargo in the brig
_Argo_, with a cargo of hogshead staves and box shooks from London
to Manilla. On the 16th of September last we encountered a tremendous
storm and struck on this sand-bank. It is not down on any of the charts.
The vessel stuck hard and fast, and the sea made a clean breach over us.
The captain and crew put out the boat, and tried to get away, but were
swamped and drowned. I staid by the wreck till morning. The vessel stood
the storm well, for she had a solid cargo, was strongly built, and the
sand formed rapidly all about her. The storm lasted for several days,
and by the end of that time a shoal had formed. Several storms have
occurred since, and have heaped the sand all over her. I have lived here
ever since in great misery. Yesterday a vessel passed, and I put up a
signal on the rock over there, which she did not notice. In despair I
set fire to the brig, which was loaded with wood and burned easily. I
watched till morning, and then fell asleep. You found me so. That's all
I have to say."

On hearing this story nothing could exceed the kindness and sympathy of
these honest-hearted seamen. The Captain insisted on his taking another
drink, apologized for having to carry him back to England, and finally
hurried him off to the boat. Before two hours Brandon stood on the deck
of the _Falcon_.




CHAPTER IX


THE MALAY PIRATE

Two days had passed since Brandon's rescue. The light wind which had
brought up the _Falcon_ soon died out, and before the island had
been left far behind a calm succeeded, and there was nothing left but to
drift.

A calm in other seas is stillness; here on the Indian Ocean it is
stagnation. The calmness is like Egyptian darkness. It may be felt. The
stagnation of the waters seems deep enough to destroy all life there.
The air is thick, oppressive, feverish; there is not a breath or a
murmur of wind; even the swell of ocean, which is never-ending, here
approaches as near as possible to an end. The ocean rolled but slightly,
but the light undulations gave a lazy, listless motion to the ship, the
span creaked monotonously, and the great sails napped idly in the air.

At such a time the calm itself is sufficiently dreary, but now there was
something which made all things still more drear. For the calm was
attended by a thick fog; not a moist, drizzling fog like those of the
North Atlantic, but a sultry, dense, dry fog; a fog which gave greater
emphasis to the heat, and, instead of alleviating it, made it more
oppressive.

It was so thick that it was not possible while standing at the wheel to
see the forecastle. Aloft, all the heavens were hidden in a canopy of
sickly gray; beneath, the sea showed the same color. Its glassy surface
exhibited not a ripple. A small space only surrounded the vessel, and
beyond all things were lost to view.

The sailors were scattered about the ship in groups. Some had ascended
to the tops with a faint hope of finding more air; some were lying flat
on their faces on the forecastle; others had sought those places which
were under the sails where the occasional flap of the broad canvas sent
down a slight current of air.

The Captain was standing on the quarter-deck, while Brandon was seated
on a stool near the wheel. He had been treated by the Captain with
unbounded hospitality, and supplied with every thing that he could wish.

"The fact is," said the Captain, who had been conversing with Brandon,
"I don't like calms any where, still less calms with fogs, and least of
all, calms off these infernal islands."

"Why?"

"Because to the north'ard is the Strait of Sunda, and the Malay pirates
are always cruising about, often as far as this. Did you ever happen to
hear of Zangorri?"

"Yes."

"Well, all I can say is, if you hadn't been wrecked, you'd have probably
had your throat cut by that devil."

"Can't any body catch him?"

"They don't catch him at any rate. Whether they can or not is another
question."

"Have you arms?"

"Yes. I've got enough to give Zangorri a pleasanter reception than he
usually gets from a merchant-ship; and my lads are the boys that can use
them."

"I wonder what has become of that other ship that passed me on the
island," said Brandon, after a pause.

"She can't be very far away from us," replied the Captain, "and we may
come up with her before we get to the Cape."

A silence followed. Suddenly the Captain's attention was arrested by
something. He raised his hand to his ear and listened very attentively.
"Do you hear that?" he asked, quickly.

Brandon arose and walked to where the Captain was. Then both listened.
And over the sea there came unmistakable sounds. The regular movement of
oars! Oars out on the Indian Ocean! Yet the sound was unmistakable.

"It must he some poor devils that have escaped from shipwreck," said the
Captain, half to himself.

"Well, fire a gun."

"No," said the Captain, cautiously, after a pause. "It may be somebody
else. Wait a bit."

So they waited a little while. Suddenly there came a cry of human
voices--a volley of guns! Shrieks, yells of defiance, shouts of triumph,
howls of rage or of pain, all softened by the distance, and all in their
unison sounding appallingly as they were borne through the gloom of the
fog.

Instantly every man in the ship bounded to his feet. They had not heard
the first sounds, but these they heard, and in that superstition which
is natural to the sailor, each man's first thought was that the noises
came from the sky, and so each looked with a stupefied countenance at
his neighbor.

But the Captain did not share the common feeling. "I knew it!" he cried.
"I expected it, and blow my old eyes out if I don't catch 'em this
time!"

"What?" cried Brandon.

But the Captain did not hear. Instantly his whole demeanor was changed.
He sprang to the companion-way. He spoke but one word, not in a loud
voice, but in tones so stern, so startling, that every man in the ship
heard the word:

"Zangorri!"

All knew what it meant. It meant that the most blood-thirsty pirate of
these Eastern seas was attacking some ship behind that veil of fog.

And what ship? This was the thought that came to Brandon. Could it by
any possibility be the one which passed by him when he strove so
earnestly to gain her attention!

"Out with the long-boat! Load the carronade! Man the boat! Hurry up,
lads, for God's sake!" And the Captain dashed down into the cabin. In an
instant he was back again, buckling on a belt with a couple of pistols
in it, and calling to his men, "Don't shout, don't cheer, but hurry, for
God's sake!"

And the men rushed about, some collecting arms, others laboring at the
boat. The _Falcon_ was well supplied with arms, as the Captain had
said. Three guns, any quantity of smaller arms, and a long Tom, formed
her armament, while the long-boat had a carronade in her bows. Thanks to
the snug and orderly arrangement of the ship, every thing was soon
ready. The long-boat was out and afloat. All the seamen except four were
on board, and the Captain went down last.

"Now, pull away, lads!" he cried; "no talking," and he took the tiller
ropes. As he seated himself he looked toward the bows, and his eyes
encountered the calm face of Brandon.

"What! you here?" he cried, with unmistakable delight.

Brandon's reply consisted simply in drawing a revolver from his pocket.

"You're a brick!" said the Captain.

Not another word was spoken. The Captain steered the boat toward the
direction from which the sounds came. These grew louder every moment--
more menacing, and more terrible.

The sailors put all their strength to the oars, and drove the great boat
through the water. To their impatience it seemed as though they would
never get there. Yet the place which they desired to reach was not far
away;--the sounds were now very near; and at length, as they drove
onward, the tall sides of a ship burst on their sight through the gloom.
By its side was a boat of the kind that is used by the Malays. On board
the ship a large number of savage figures were rushing about in mad
ferocity.

In a moment the boat was seen. A shout rose from the Malays. A score of
them clambered swiftly down the ship's side to their boat, and a panic
seemed to seize all the rest, who stood looking around irresolutely for
some way of escape.

The boatswain was in the bows of the long-boat and as the Malays crowded
into their craft he took aim with the carronade and fired. The explosion
thundered through the air. A terrific shriek followed. The next instant
the Malay boat, filled with writhing dusky figures, went down beneath
the waters.

The long-boat immediately after touched the side of the ship. Brandon
grasped a rope with his left hand, and, holding his revolver in his
right, leaped upward. A Malay with uplifted knife struck at him. Bang!
went the revolver and the Malay fell dead. The next instant Brandon was
on board, followed by all the sailors who sprang upward and clambered
into the vessel before the Malays could rally from the first shock of
surprise.

But the panic was arrested by a man who bounded upon deck through the
hatchway. Roused by the noise of the gun, he had hurried up and reached
the deck just as the sailors arrived. In fierce, stern words he shouted
to his men, and the Malays gathered new courage from his words. There
were about fifty of these, and not more than thirty English sailors; but
the former had carelessly dropped their arms about, and most of their
pieces were unloaded; the latter, therefore, had it all their own way.

The first thing that they did was to pour a volley into the crowd of
Malays, as they stood trying to face their new enemy. The next moment
the sailors rushed upon them, some with cutlasses, some with pistols,
and some with clubbed muskets.

The Malays resisted desperately. Some fought with their creeses, others
snatched up muskets and used them vigorously, others, unarmed, flung
themselves upon their assailants, biting and tearing like wild beasts.

In the midst of the scene stood the chief, wielding a clubbed musket. He
was a man of short stature, broad chest, and great muscular power. Three
or four of the sailors had already been knocked down beneath his blows.

"Down with him," yelled the Captain. "It's Zangorri!"

A venomous smile passed over the dark face of the Malay. Then he shouted
to his men and in an instant they rushed to the quarter-deck and took up
a position there. A few of them obtained some more muskets that lay
about.

The Captain shouted to his men, who were pursuing the Malays, to load
once more. They did so, poured in a volley, and then rushed to the
quarter-deck. Now a fiercer fight took place. The Captain with his
pistol shot one man dead the next instant he was knocked down. The
boatswain was grappled by two powerful men. The rest of the sailors were
driving all before them.

Meanwhile Brandon had been in the very centre of the fight. With his
revolver in his left hand he held a cutlass in his right, and every blow
that he gave told. He had sought all through the struggle to reach the
spot where Zangorri stood, but had hitherto been unsuccessful. At the
retreat which the Malays made he hastily loaded three of the chambers of
his revolver which he had emptied into the hearts of three Malays, and
sprang upon the quarter-deck first. The man who struck down the Captain
fell dead from Brandon's pistol, just as he stooped to plunge his knife
into the heart of the prostrate man. Another shot sent over one of the
boatswain's assailants, and the other assailant was kicked up into the
air and overboard by the boatswain himself.

After this Brandon had no more trouble to get at Zangorri, for the Malay
chief with a howl of fury called on his men, and sprang at him. Two
quick flashes, two sharp reports, and down went two of them. Zangorri
grasped Brandon's hand, and raised his knife; the next instant Brandon
had shifted his pistol to his other hand; he fired. Zangorri's arm fell
by his side, broken, and the knife rang on the ship's deck.

Brandon bounded at his throat. He wound his arms around him, and with a
tremendous jerk hurled Zangorri to the deck, and held him there.

A cry of terror and dismay arose from the Malays as they saw their chief
fall. The sailors shouted; there was no further fighting: some of the
pirates were killed, others leaped overboard and tried to swim away. The
sailors, in their fury, shot at these wretches as they swam. The cruelty
of Zangorri had stimulated such a thirst for vengeance that none thought
of giving quarter. Out of all the Malays the only one alive was Zangorri
himself, who now lay gasping with a mighty hand on his throat.

At last, as his struggles grew feebler, Brandon relaxed his grasp. Some
of the sailors came with uplifted knives to put an end to Zangorri.

"Back," cried Brandon, fiercely. "Don't touch him. He's mine!"

"He must die."

"That's for me to say," cried Brandon in a stern voice that forbade
reply. In fact, the sailors seemed to feel that he had the best claim
here, since he had not only captured Zangorri with his own hands, but
had borne the chief share in the fight.

"Englishman," said a voice. "I thank you."

Brandon started.

It was Zangorri who had spoken; and in very fair English too.

"Do you speak English?" was all that he could say in his surprise.

"I ought to. I've seen enough of them," growled the other.

"You scoundrel!" cried Brandon. "you have nothing to thank me for. You
must die a worse death."

"Ah," sneered Zangorri. "Well. It's about time. But my death will not
pay for the hundreds of English lives that I have taken. I thank you
though, for you will give me time yet to tell the Englishmen how I hate
them."

And the expression of hate that gleamed from the eyes of the Malay was
appalling.

"Why do you hate them?" asked Brandon, whose curiosity was excited.

"My brother's blood was shed by them, and a Malay never forgives. Yet I
have never found the man I sought. If I had found him I would not have
killed any more."

"The man--what man?"

"The one whom I have sought for fifteen years through all these seas,"
said the other, hoarsely.

"What is his name?"

"I will not speak it. I had it carved on my creese which hangs around my
neck."

Brandon thrust his hand into the bosom of the Malay where he saw a cord
which passed around his neck. He drew forth a creese, and holding it up
saw this name cut upon the handle: "JOHN POTTS."

The change that came over the severe, impassive face of Brandon was so
extraordinary that even Zangorri in his pain and fury saw it. He uttered
an exclamation. The brow of Brandon grew as black as night, his nostrils
quivered, his eyes seemed to blaze with a terrific lustre, and a slight
foam spread itself over his quivering lips. But he commanded himself by
a violent effort.

He looked all around. The sailors were busy with the Captain, who still
lay senseless. No one observed him. He turned to Zangorri.

"This shall be mine," said he, and he threw the cord around his own
neck, and put the creese under his waistcoat. But the sharp eye of the
Malay had been watching him, and as he raised his arm carelessly to put
the weapon where he desired, he thoughtlessly loosed his hold. That
instant Zangorri took advantage of it. By a tremendous effort he
disengaged himself and bounded to his feet. The next instant he was at
the taffrail. One hasty glance all around showed him all that he wished
to see. Another moment and he was beneath the water.

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