Penny Dreadfuls, 1867 · page 213 of 300
Roving Jack, The Pirate Hunter — page 213: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Description This is an interior page from the penny dreadful *Roving Jack, the Pirate Hunter*. It contains a wood-engraved illustration titled "Bearing Home the Body" (referencing No. 31) depicting several figures carrying a body beneath a large tree, accompanied by running prose text in two columns below. The text shows a dialogue between characters including the Master of the Mint and a man named Simon Smut, discussing matters of criminal underworld "authority" and sponsorship into some kind of organization, with references to "prigging" (theft) and criminal slang typical of Victorian crime 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 PIRATE HUNTER. Al VI Sana DENY Ff, a J MA EN sd 9 PRET BEARING HOME THE BODY.—See Wo. 31. ‘‘ Where are your testimonials ?” T ain’t got none.” “ Then let those who can speak to thy badness of character stand forth.”’ “ Bless yer, I don’t know not never a soul in this ’ere slum,” “Then,” said the Master of the Mint, waxing wrath, “must thy body be fastened in a sack, passed through yonder window, and thrown into the Borough moat.” “My eyes, what treatment,” replied Simon, who had recovered sufficient firmness to talk resolutely. “ Now if any of you had come down to our crib at Cow Cross I should have axed you in.” After this announcement he continued— ‘“T should have fetched yer a pot o’ heavy, a new buster and some Field Lane sasengers, and there ain't no better nowhere, say nothing of the max as is to follow.” “Give us your hand, old fellow, them’s my sen- timents ; your heart’s in the right place, and I'll stand by you.” : The party uttering these words had only just entered the circle of the august assemblage. He was received by some such an ovation as that No. 30. offered to a crown prince by the inhabitants of a small German principality. Before them was one of the luminaries of the great prigging world, Joe Blueskin, their privy purse, who had literally fought his way to great- ness, and maintained his dignified position by his strong sight arm, Cheer after cheer welcomed his appearance ; clapping of hands and thunders of applause lasted for several moments, Finally, Blueskin doffed his beaver, which he had withdrawn to acknowledge his favours, and the popular demonstration was hushed into nothing- eas by the stentorian voice of the Master of the Mint. “Since thou wilt be spousor for the varlet who has had the audacity to enter our realms without the types of authority,” said Baptist Kettleby, addressing Blueskin, “it is necessary henceforward that he become one of us.”’ Simon Smut caught eagerly at the proposition. “Thou consentest to enrol thyself, then ?” re- joined the Lord-Chancellor of the Cadgers, who now appeared in such a state of intoxication as to reate doubts in the public mind whether he would