Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 199: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER XXII ‘OLD RORY” Tue Nancy Ireson lay at her moorings a week. Vainly did Tom vex his soul trying to penetrate the mystery of her. [he skipper was a Portuguese. The second mate was his mouthpiece. The sailors were Spaniards and Min- orcans, toaman. But the cargo? No rice-casks, tobacco- hogsheads, or pelts were hoisted on to the decks of the Nancy Ireson. Sometimes, at night, a galley would come alongside, and there were thumpings and tramplings and — Tom could have sworn it — sounds of a struggle. He himself, when not locked in the cuddy where he bunked, was under rigid surveillance. One day he ventured on a word with the ship’s carpenter, a negro. ** What ’s her cargo, carpenter?” * Deer-hides ’n’ tair”’ (tar). The mate’s growl was in lom’s ear: “None er that!” At daylight Tom made a desperate attempt to escape. He was pulled out of the tide-water and hauled up on deck. Higgins swore vilely. “Take him b’low!”’ Then was the ugly mystery of the little black brig laid bare. A slaver! He was in a pit with more than two hun- dred blacks. The hatches were usually closed. Sometimes a whale-oil lantern burned, filling the pit with smoke. Sometimes — darkness. The horror of it! — the degrada- tion! He could not close ears or nostrils against pollution. He had been roughly handled when recaptured. Now he lay doubled up under the ladder, in the fetid dark, reaching out after some sustaining thought. “I’m the outcome of generations of The Best There Is. That ought to mean ferocious fortitude! But,— what a sick stomach I’ve got!”’ At first, daylight and fresh air visited the prisoners only GOMIGooOo SS (E©) im