Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 200 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 200: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful titled "Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil" (page 182). The text describes Tom being summoned to meet Captain Higgins, who reveals that the ship's previous captain is dead and enlists Tom as the new ship's boy. Higgins orders Tom to prepare the dead captain's body for burial at sea by wrapping it in a blanket and weighting it with scrap-iron. Tom conceals the corpse and hides himself nearby, his heart pounding with anxiety as he awaits further events.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
182 Tom ANDERSON, DaARE-DEVIL when the feed-troughs were filled. But, once the brig had weighed anchor, the hatchway was opened, and the herd of humanity — in gangs— breathed and exercised on deck. The brig loitered into port again shortly, the pris- oners all penned below. Now came a startling summons. Pedro, the Spanish sailor, came down into the hold for the “half-breed.” Tom was conducted to the mate. Higgins was alone in the captain’s cabin. The boy stood at attention. His wear, however, was not unlike that usually favored by Fool Billy, for his clothes were “shucked” the night he went into the river. Higgins was brief. He was captain. The skipper was dead; men all ashore; knew nothing about Captain Bolive’s death, nor did Higgins mean to let them know. Tom knew enough about the superstitions of sailors to understand this. Higgins did not calculate to ship with an ugly crew, nor to up-anchor short-handed. Plon-Plon — negro ship’s- boy — “knew,” and the ship’s carpenter. ‘Carpenter ’Il keep his head shet; en’ I’Il take Plon-Plon ashore to-night: trade him off. So there you be! Ship’s- boy for the voyage! — eh?” leering derisively. ‘God help me if I am!” thought his listener. ‘Git ter work. Go in there, en’ git him ready.” “Ready?” stammered Tom. ‘Bundle him in his blanket!” furiously. “Weight him down with them scrap-irons! Git him on the hatch-cover! Carpenter en’ t’other nigger’ll finish up. Here’s the key — Now move!” His ferocity was enough to shake the stoutest nerves. Inside the cabin a lamp burned feebly. Withal, there was light enough to show Tom the ghastly object in the bunk. He consumed a minute in fierce thought. Could he ? He concealed the dead man under the mattress and bed- clothing. Rolling himself in a blanket, he stretched himself on the hatch-cover which lay on the floor. A wait. His heart pounded so madly he thought the board under him must shake! EONMMICLOOO KS a(eO) m