Penny Dreadfuls, 1867 · page 181 of 300
Roving Jack, The Pirate Hunter — page 181: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Description This is an illustrated page from a Victorian penny dreadful titled "Roving Jack, the Pirate Hunter." The page features a wood-engraved illustration depicting a confrontation between a man in a top hat (apparently Tom King) and a farmer, surrounded by other figures in what appears to be a public space. Below the illustration runs serialized prose (numbered No. 26) in which Tom King accuses a farmer of lying about having lost money, suggesting the farmer knows where funds from a horse sale have gone. The farmer, speaking in dialect, protests that he is not a London swindler and denies the accusation. The text emphasizes melodramatic confrontation and accusation typical of penny dreadful fiction.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
ROVING JACK, THE i WY y YM TY) Cy YZ pee 7 ——— N N\\\\\ \\N N N N N N \X Se ‘ . ~ PIRATE HUNTER. NELL PEVERIL BAULKS QUILT ARNOLD, “T can assure you, my good friends,” cried Tom King, ‘‘ that I never in my life saw the villain,’’ “ He a’ got my money.” “Your money—your money—come [I like that,” replied Tom King, in retortion, ‘‘ Why do you hold me if you thought he’d got your money?” “ Aye—why—why ?” said fifty voices, anxious for an explanation, which the dander-headed farmer seemed unable to give. “Good people,” said Tom King, ‘this is an old trick of the hoary-headed reprobate.”’ The farmer was able to open his mouth, “tis true,’ but too bewildered to speak or deny the highwayman’s assertion, who continued in accents of disdain, mingled with some show of pity No. 26. ‘Tt won’t do, old man,” he said, ‘I’m not going to be choused out of my money in this manner. I dare say you know where the amount you pretended to pay me for my horse is gone to, and I shan’t lose sight of you till I’ve got it back again, so I tell you plainly.” At length the farmer recovered from his utter astonishment and managed to stammer out the following words, but cautiously endeavouring to effect something like a reconciliation, ‘‘Whoy, what the dickens dost take me for, mun? Dost think I be one of the foine Lunnon sharpers, as come down to foire to trick honest volk out o’ their brass ?”’ “ Your horse!”