Huguette Bertrand - "Ascension du desir, poesie"

Charles Darwin - "The Variation of Animals and Plants under Domestication"

Thomas Babington Macaulay - "The History of England from the Accession of James II, Vol. 4"

Elinor Glyn - "Man and Maid"

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.

From Pole to Pole

S >> Sven Anders Hedin >> From Pole to Pole




With the best of the vessels Alexander went out to ascertain whether the
surf could be passed through without danger and the open sea be reached.
The trial proved successful, and another island was found, begirt on all
sides by open sea. The ships then returned in the dusk to the larger
island, where a solemn sacrifice was made to Ammon to celebrate the
first sight of the sea and of the margin of the inhabited world towards
the south.

Next day Alexander rowed right out to sea to convince himself that no
more land existed, and when he had advanced so far that nothing but sky
and rolling billows could be seen from the uppermost benches of the
triremes, he offered sacrifices to Poseidon, the god of the sea, to the
Nereids, and to the silver-footed sea-goddess Thetis, the mother of
Achilles, father of his race. And he besought the favour of all the gods
in the great enterprise which had brought him to the mouth of the
Indus, and their protection for his fleet on its dangerous voyage to the
Euphrates; and when his prayer was ended he cast a golden goblet into
the sea.

[Illustration: PLATE VIII. SRINAGAR AND THE JHELUM RIVER.]

Alexander died at Babylon at the age of thirty-three. His
world-embracing campaign spread Greek enlightenment over all western
Asia, and his eventful life did not pass like a meteor into the night of
time without leaving a trace behind.


KASHMIR AND LADAK

When I arrived at Rawalpindi the first thing I did was to order a
_tonga_ for the drive of 180 miles to Srinagar, the capital of Kashmir.
A _tonga_ is a two-wheeled tilted cart drawn by two horses, which are
changed every half hour, for as long as the pair are on the way they go
at full speed. The road was excellent, and we left the hot suffocating
steam of India below us as we ascended along the bank of the Jhelum
River. Sometimes we dashed at headlong speed over stretches of open road
bathed in sunlight; sometimes through dark cool tunnels where the driver
blew a sonorous signal with his brass horn; and then again through
rustling woods of pine-trees.

Srinagar is a beautiful city, intersected as it is by the rippling
Jhelum River and winding canals (Plate VIII.). The houses on their banks
rise up directly from the water, and long, narrow, graceful boats pass
to and fro, propelled at a swift pace by broad-bladed oars in the hands
of active and muscular white-clad Kashmiris.

Kashmir is one of the native states of our Indian Empire, and its
inhabitants number about three millions. Many of them are artistic and
dexterous craftsmen, who make fine boxes and caskets inlaid with ivory,
mother-of-pearl, and ebony; beautifully chased weapons; tankards, bowls,
and vases of beaten silver with panthers and elephants on the sides,
chasing one another through the jungle. The saddlery and leather work of
all kinds cannot be surpassed, but most famous of all the manufactures
are the soft, dainty Kashmir shawls, so fine that they can be drawn
through a finger ring.

Round about the Kashmir valley stand the ridges and snow-clad heights of
the Himalayas, and among them lie innumerable valleys. Up one of these
valleys toiled our caravan of thirty-six mules and a hundred horses, and
after a journey of some 250 miles to the eastward we arrived again at
the banks of the Indus and crossed it by a swaying bridge of wood. Two
days later the poplars of Leh stood in front of us.

This little town is nearly 11,500 feet above sea-level. It contains an
open bazaar street, and a mound above the town is crowned by the old
royal castle. Leh, as well as the whole of the district of Ladak, is
subject to the Maharaja of Kashmir, but the people are mostly of Tibetan
race and their religion is Lamaism.

FOOTNOTES:

[10] A "satrap" was originally a governor of a province in ancient
Persia.




VII

EASTERN TURKESTAN (1895)


THE TAKLA-MAKAN DESERT

We are now on the high road between India and Eastern Turkestan, the
most elevated caravan route in the world. Innumerable skeletons of
transport animals lie there, marking where the road passes through snow.
After a month's journey over the cold, lofty mountains we come to the
town of Yarkand, in the spacious, flat, bowl-shaped hollow, surrounded
on all sides except the east by mountains, which is called Eastern
Turkestan.

To the south stand the immense highlands of Tibet, where the great
rivers of India and China take their rise. On the west is the Pamir, the
"Roof of the World," where the two great rivers of the Sea of Aral begin
their course. On the north lie the Tien-shan, or Mountains of Heaven,
which are continued farther north-eastwards by the Altai and several
other mountain systems, among which the gigantic rivers of Siberia have
their origin. Within this ring of mountains, at the very heart of the
great continent of Asia, lies this lowland of Eastern Turkestan, like a
Tibetan sheepfold enclosed by enormous walls of rock.

In its northern part a river called the Tarim flows from west to east.
It is formed by the Yarkand-darya and the Khotan-darya on the south, and
receives other affluents along its course, for water streams down from
the snowfields and glaciers of the wreath of mountains enclosing Eastern
Turkestan. The head-waters of the Tarim leap merrily down through narrow
valleys among the mountains, but the great river is doomed never to
reach the sea. It terminates and is lost in a desert lake named Lop-nor.

Trees grow along this river, mostly small, stunted poplars, but the
wooded belts along the banks are very narrow; soon the trees thin out
and come to an end, steppe shrubs and tamarisks take their place, and
only a mile or two from the river there is nothing but deep sand without
a sign of vegetation. The greater part of Eastern Turkestan is occupied
by the desert called Takla-makan, the most terrible and dangerous in the
world.

[Illustration: MAP OF EASTERN TURKESTAN, SHOWING JOURNEYS
DESCRIBED ON pp. 89-110.]

A belt of desert runs through the whole of Asia and Africa, like a
dried-up river bed. This belt includes the Gobi, which extends over most
of Mongolia, the Takla-makan, the "Red Sand" and the "Black Sand" in
Russian Turkestan, the Kevir and other deserts in Persia, the deserts of
Arabia, and lastly the Sahara. In this succession of deserts extending
over the Old World from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic the
Takla-makan is, then, a link.


ACROSS A SEA OF SAND

In the beginning of April, 1895, I had reached the Yarkand-darya and had
encamped at a village, Merket, on its eastern bank. My plan was to
cross the Takla-makan desert, which stretches away to the eastward, and
to reach the river Khotan-darya, which flows northwards, the distance
being 180 miles. My caravan consisted of four servants and eight camels;
and we took provisions for two months--for we intended afterwards to
travel on to Tibet--and water for twenty-five days in four iron
cisterns.

We started on April 10. A white camel was led in front by a man we
called the guide, because every one said that he had often been in the
desert seeking for treasure. My riding camel was led by a white-bearded
man named Muhamed Shah. Kasim came at the end of the file, and the
faithful Islam Bay, who superintended the whole, was my confidential
servant. We had also two dogs, Yolldash and Hamra, three sheep, ten
hens, and a cock. The last did not like riding on a camel. He was always
working his way out through the bars of his cage, and fluttering down to
the ground with a loud crow.

For the first few days all went on quietly and satisfactorily. At night
we could always obtain water for the camels and other animals by
digging, and thus we saved the fresh river-water in our tanks. But the
sand became gradually higher and forced us to diverge to the north-east.
On April 18 we came to a morass surrounded by wood so thick that we had
to clear a way with the axe. Next day we encamped on the shore of a lake
of beautiful blue water where ducks and geese were swimming about, and
my tent was set up under a couple of poplars.

Another day's march led us along the shore of a long lake with bare
banks. We encamped at its southern extremity and rested a day, for here
nothing could be seen towards the south and west but yellow sand. The
guide asserted that it was four days' journey eastwards to the river
Khotan-darya, and this statement agreed approximately with existing
maps, but I took the precaution of ordering the men to take water for
ten days.

On April 23 we left the last bay of the last lake to plunge into the
high sand. All vegetation came to an end, and only in some hollow a
solitary tamarisk was still to be seen. The sandhills became ever
higher, rising to as much as 100 feet.

The next day we marched on in a violent storm. The sand swept down in
clouds from the crests of the dunes, penetrating into our mouths, noses,
and eyes. Islam Bay led our train and looked for the easiest way for the
camels. We noticed, however, that they were already beginning to get
tired. Sometimes they fell in the sand, and their loads had to be taken
off before they could get up again. When the tent was set up we had made
only eight miles. Now there was not a sign of life, not a moth fluttered
round my candle, not a wind-borne leaf was seen in the boundless yellow
sand.

On the morning of the 25th I made a terrible discovery: two cisterns
were empty and the other two contained only enough water for two days.
Henceforth Islam Bay was put in charge of the cisterns. The water was
treasured like gold and served out in driblets.

I travelled on foot to spare my riding camel and encourage the men. The
caravan moved more slowly through the murderous sands. One camel, called
Old Man, lagged behind. We waited an hour, and gave him a mouthful of
water and a handful of hay from his own pack-saddle. When we went on, he
was led slowly after us by Muhamed Shah.

With Islam I measured out the last drops of water on the night of the
26th. There were about two small cups daily for each of us for three
days. The next day we plunged again into terrible sand, the dunes being
200 feet high. In the evening we saw dense rain-clouds in the west, and
hoped that Heaven would have compassion on us. The clouds spread out and
came still nearer. All our vessels were made ready, and the tent was
stretched on the ground to collect the sweet water which was to save us.
We waited in vain, for the clouds dispersed and yielded us not a drop.

The two tired-out camels had been abandoned at the beginning of the day,
and we had thrown away a stove, a carpet, my tent-bed, and two empty
water cisterns.

On April 28 we were awakened by a north-easterly storm, one of those
"black storms" which stir up the drift-sand in dense clouds and turn day
into night. All the camp was buried in sand. Only the nearest camels
could be seen, and their track was immediately obliterated. We had to
keep all together lest we should lose one another. It was quite possible
to lose the caravan at a distance of a few paces, and that meant death.
We were almost suffocated by the volumes of sand which whirled about us,
and had to rest frequently to get our breath. The camels lay down with
their heads to leeward, and we thrust our faces under them that we might
not be choked with sand.

Then we went on with faltering steps. A camel fell and I sent two men
after him. They came back directly, saying that the track was smoothed
out by the wind and that they dared not lose sight of us. That was the
third victim. At the evening camp everything not absolutely
indispensable was sorted out to be left behind, and a stick was set up
on the nearest dune with a newspaper wrapped round it so that we might
find the place again if we obtained water soon. There was still a little
water left in the two cans, but next morning Islam came and told me that
one of them was empty. There can be little doubt that the guide was the
thief who had robbed us all. With failing steps we struggled on all day
among the high sand dunes.

On the morning of the 30th there was less than two-thirds of a pint of
water left in the last can. While the others were engaged in loading the
camels, Islam surprised the guide as he stood with the can to his mouth.
Islam fell upon him furiously, threw him to the ground, and would have
killed him if I had not come up in time. Only one-third of a pint was
now left. At mid-day I moistened the men's lips with the corner of a
handkerchief dipped in water. In the evening the last drops were to be
distributed, but when the time came the can was found to be absolutely
empty. Kasim and Muhamed, who led the camels, had drunk it all.


THE END OF THE CARAVAN

The night was cold, but the sun had not long risen on May 1 before the
heat spread over the dunes. The men drank the last of some rancid
vegetable oil which had been intended for the camels. I was tortured
with thirst, as I had not drunk a drop of water the day before, and
before that only a few mouthfuls. Thirst is a fearful thing, driving one
to despair, and almost depriving one of reason. As the body dries up,
the desire for water leaves one no peace. We had a flask of Chinese
spirits which were intended for a cooking stove. I now drank about a
tumblerful of it to give my body a little moisture, and then I threw the
flask away and let its dangerous contents run out into the sand.

The insidious liquor undermined my strength. When the caravan toiled on
through the dunes I could not follow it. I crept and staggered in its
track. The bells rang out clearly in the quiet air, but the sound became
fainter, and at length died away in the distance. The silent desert lay
around me--sand, sand, sand in all directions.

Following slowly in the footsteps of the others, I came at last to the
crest of a dune, where I saw that the camels of the caravan had laid
themselves down. Muhamed Shah was on his knees imploring help from
Allah. Kasim was sitting with his face in his hands, weeping and
laughing alternately. Islam, who had been exploring in front, came back
and proposed that we should look for a place where we could dig for
water (Plate IX.). I therefore mounted the white camel, after his
load--ammunition boxes, two European saddles, and a number of other
articles--had been thrown away, but the animal would not get up. We then
decided to stay where we were and wait for the cool of evening, and the
tent was set up to afford us shade. Even Yolldash and the sheep came in.

At mid-day a gentle breeze sprang up, and the air felt pleasant and
refreshing. We killed the cock and drank its blood. Then Islam turned
the head of the sheep towards Mecca, cut off its head, and collected the
blood in a pail, but it was thick and smelt offensively, and not even
the dog Yolldash would touch it.

We now sorted out all our belongings, taking with us only what was
absolutely necessary at the moment, and leaving everything else behind
in the tent. The guide had lost his reason and filled his mouth with
sand, thinking it was water. He and old Muhamed Shah, who was also
dying, had to be left behind.

At seven o'clock I mounted the white camel. Islam led the train and
Kasim urged the animals on. The funeral bells, now rang for the last
time. From a high sandy crest I turned a farewell glance at the death
camp. The tent marked out a dark triangle against the lighter
background, and then vanished behind the sand.

The night descended sadly and silently over the earth. We tramped
through loose sand, up and down, without seeing where we were going. I
jumped down from my camel, lighted the lantern, and walked on in front
to see where it was easiest for the camels to follow.

Then Islam reeled up to me and whispered that he could go no farther. I
bade him farewell, cheered him up, told him to rest and then follow in
my track, abandoning everything. The camels were lying half-dead with
necks stretched out. Kasim alone was fit to accompany me farther. He
took a spade and a pail and the paunch of the sheep. I had only my
watch, compass, a penknife, a pen, and a scrap of paper, two small
tins of lobster and chocolate, a small box, matches and ten cigarettes.
But the food gave us little satisfaction, for when the mouth, palate,
and throat are as dry as the outer skin it is impossible to swallow.

[Illustration: PLATE IX. DIGGING FOR WATER IN THE TAKLA-MAKAN.]

It was exactly twelve o'clock. We had been shipwrecked in the midst of
the desert sea, and were now trying to reach a coast. The lantern stood
burning beside Islam Bay, but the light was soon hidden by the dunes.

We were clad as lightly as possible. Kasim had a thin jacket, wide
trousers, and boots, but he had forgotten his cap, so I lent him my
pocket handkerchief to wind round his head. I wore a white Russian cap,
stiff Swedish shoes, woollen underclothing, and a white suit of thin
cotton cloth. I had changed my clothes at the death camp that I might
have a neat clean shroud if I died.

We pushed on with the energy of despair, but after two hours we were so
sleepy that we had to rest a while. The coolness of the night woke us up
at four o'clock, and we kept on the march till nine. Then we rested
again and walked on farther till twelve o'clock, when we were again
overcome by weariness and the burning heat of the day. In a sandy slope
facing northwards Kasim digged out cool sand in which we burrowed stark
naked with only our heads out. To protect ourselves from sunstroke we
made a screen by hanging up clothes on the spade. At six o'clock we got
up again and walked for seven hours. Our strength was giving way, and we
had to rest more frequently. At one o'clock we were slumbering on a
dune.

There we lay quite three hours, and then went on eastwards. I always
held the compass in my hand. The next day had dawned, May 3, when Kasim
stopped, caught hold of my shoulder, and pointed eastwards without
saying a word. A small dark speck was seen in the distance; it was a
green tamarisk! Its roots must go down to the water below the surface,
or it could not live in the desert sea. We thanked God when we came up
to it. We had now some hope of safety, and we chewed the soft needles of
the tamarisks like beasts. We tarried a while under its slight shadow,
and then walked till half-past nine, when we fell down with faintness at
another bush.

We again undressed and buried ourselves in sand, lying without speaking
a word for quite nine hours. At dusk we dragged ourselves on again with
halting steps. After three hours of march Kasim again stopped suddenly.
Something dark peeped out from among the dunes--three fine poplars with
sappy foliage. The leaves were too bitter to eat, but we rubbed them on
the skin until it became moist.

Here we tried to dig a well, but the spade fell out of our powerless
hands. We then lay down and scraped with our hands, but could not do
much. Instead we collected all the dry branches we could find and made a
blazing fire as a beacon for Islam, and to attract attention from the
east, for we knew that a caravan road ran along the Khotan river.

At four o'clock on May 4 we moved on again, but after five hours we were
utterly exhausted. We threw ourselves heedlessly on the sand, for Kasim
was unable to dig the usual burrow. I wriggled naked into the cool dune
and lay there ten hours without closing an eye.

When at last the shadows spread over the earth and I was ready to set
out, Kasim murmured that he could go no farther. I did not even remember
to bid him farewell when I went on my way alone through the darkness and
sand. Just after midnight I sank down by a tamarisk. The stars twinkled
as usual, and not a sound was audible. Only the beat of my heart and the
ticking of my watch broke the awful silence. Then I heard a rustling
sound in the sand. "Is that you, Kasim?" I asked. "Yes, sir," he
whispered back. "Let us go a little farther," I said, and he followed me
with trembling legs.

We were not troubled now so much by thirst, for our bodies had become as
dry as parchment and seemed to have lost all feeling; but our strength
was at an end. We crawled for a long distance on our hands and feet,
dazed and indifferent, as if we were walking in our sleep.

But soon we waked up into full consciousness. Dumb with astonishment we
stopped before the trail of men. Shepherds from the river must have seen
our fire the day before and have come to look for us. We followed the
trail up a high dune where the sand was closely packed and the marks
were more distinct. "It is our own trail," said Kasim in a despairing
voice. We had gone round in a circle, and now we could do no more for a
while. Sad and worn out, we fell down in the track.

It was May 5. We had slept half an hour. It was four o'clock, and a
vague light heralding the ruddy dawn rose up above the eastern horizon.
Kasim looked dreadfully ill; his tongue was swollen, white and dry, his
lips bluish. He complained of a spasmodic hiccough that shook his whole
body, a sign of the approach of death. The thick blood flowed sluggishly
in his veins. Even the eyes and joints were dry. We had struggled
bravely, but now the end was near.

But when the sun rose we saw a dark line on the eastern horizon. The
sight filled us with thankfulness, for we knew that it must be the wood
on the bank of the Khotan river. Now we exerted ourselves to the
uttermost, for we must reach it before we sank with thirst and
exhaustion. A number of poplars grew in a hollow. "Let us dig here; it
is a long distance to the woods"; but the spade again slipped out of our
hands, and we could only stumble and crawl on eastwards.

At last we were there. I seemed to be roused from a fearful dream, a
terrible nightmare. Green and luxuriant stood the trees in front of us,
and between them grew grass and weeds where numerous spoors of wild
animals were visible--tigers, wolves, foxes, stags, antelopes, gazelles,
and hares. The birds were singing their morning song and insects buzzed
in the air. Life and joyousness reigned everywhere.

It could not now be far to the river. We tried to pass through the wood,
but were stopped by impenetrable brushwood and fallen trunks. Then we
came to a path with plain traces of men and horses. We decided to follow
it, for surely it would lead to the bank, but not even the hope of a
speedy deliverance could enable us to keep on our feet. At nine o'clock,
when the day was already burning hot, we tumbled down in the shade of a
couple of poplars. Kasim could not last much longer. His senses were
clouded. He gasped for breath and stared with vacant eyes at the sky. He
made no answer even when I shook him. I took off my clothes and crept
down into a hole between the tree roots. Scorpions inhabited the dry
trees and their marks were visible everywhere, but the poisonous
reptiles left me in peace.


WATER AT LAST

I lay for ten hours wide awake. At seven o'clock I took the wooden haft
of the spade and went alone through the wood, for Kasim could not move.
I dropped down again and again on fallen trunks to rest; a few more
staggering steps and again a rest on a stump. When I could not hold
myself up, I crawled inch by inch through the brushwood, tearing my
hands and clothes. It grew dusk and then dark in the wood. I felt sleep
gradually creeping over me to rob me of life. For if I had fallen asleep
now, I should never have awakened again. My last struggle was, then,
against drowsiness.

Then the wood suddenly came to an end and the bed of the Khotan river
lay before me. But the bottom was dry, as dry as the sand in the desert!
I was at the summer margin of the river, where water only flows when the
snow melts on the mountains to the south. But I was not going to die on
the bank; I would cross the whole bed before I gave myself up for lost.
The bed was a mile and a quarter broad, a terrible distance for my
strength. I walked slowly with the spade-handle for a stick, crawling
for long distances and often resting and exerting all the force of my
will to resist sleep. Hitherto we had been always making eastwards, but
this night I walked involuntarily south-east. It was as though I were
guided by an unseen hand.

The crescent moon threw a pale light over the dry riverbed. I went
towards the middle and expected to see a silvery streak glisten on a
sheet of water. After an interval, which seemed endless, I descried the
line of wood on the eastern bank. It became more distinct. A fallen
poplar lay projecting over a hollow in the river-bed and on the bank
were close thickets of bushes and reeds. I rested once more. Was it
possible that the whole bed was dry? I felt that all my remaining
strength would be needed to reach the bank. Was I to die of thirst in
the middle of a river-bed? I rose painfully to walk the last bit, but I
had not taken many steps before I stopped short. A duck rose on whirring
wings, I heard the plashing sound of water, and the next moment I stood
at the edge of a fresh, cool, beautiful pool.

I fell on my knees and thanked God for my marvellous escape. Then I took
out my watch and felt my feeble pulse, which beat forty-nine. Then I
drank, slowly at first and then more freely. A deal of water was needed
to slake such a thirst; I drank and drank until at length I was
satisfied. Then I sat down to rest and felt that I was reviving quickly.
After a few minutes my pulse had risen to fifty-six. My hands, which had
just been withered and hard as wood, softened, the blood flowed more
easily through my veins and my forehead became moist. Life seemed more
desirable and delightful than ever. Then I drank again, and thought of
my wonderful deliverance. If I had passed fifty steps to the right or
left of the pool, I should probably never have found it, or if I had
crawled on in the wrong direction, I should have had to walk six miles
to the next pool, which I could not have done before sleep with the
death trance in its train came and carried me off.

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