Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 275 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 275: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Description This is a page of running prose from Chapter XXVII of a Victorian penny dreadful. The text depicts a dialogue between a military Commandant and a slave trader regarding a fugitive person described as "a mulatto from the rebel plantations." The Commandant agrees to surrender the captive on condition of deportation, warning he will be hanged if he returns to Charleston. The passage then describes the captive—called "Tom"—being placed in chains in the hold of a slave ship called the *Nancy Ireson*, where he is confined below deck for three weeks while other enslaved people are occasionally allowed on deck for sanitation purposes.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
CHAPTER XXVII *“A MULATTO FROM THE REBEL PLANTATIONS” WHEN the “fugitive slave’? was surrendered, he went back to the brig under the conduct of two Hesse-Cassel erenadiers. Said the Commandant, in terminating his audience to the “‘trader”’ : — ‘“There’s much that’s doubtful in your representations. I don’t pretend to accept them as facts. Of one thing I am assured, however. This sham ‘missionary to the Indians’ and so on played no mean part in the American ranks. But he’s not responsible for being in Charleston, since you brought him here.” “Aye, aye, my Lord —”’ “| refuse to be plagued with nigger Rebels and runaway slaves. But understand me, man. I surrender the fellow - with this stipulation: He’s to be deported.” “Very good, Your Lordship. Take him out of these coasts. Stow him where he won’t run away no more. Higgins ‘ll do it, please Your —”’ “Chattel or no chattel, I won’t turn him over to you a second time. If he ever sets foot in Charleston again, he’ll be hanged like a.white man! Now, begone!”’ Dumb as death Tom went aboard the slaver. Down into the hold went he, irons on his shackle-bones. Nor did he come out till the end of that dire voyage. In this way the trader solaced himself for T’om’s escape from the brig; with such devilish cunning and daring. Sometimes the Nancy Ireson did not make fifty miles a day. Sometimes she made a hundred. The blacks were allowed to huddle on deck often enough for sanitation — God save the mark! — but the Spanish sailors had orders to keep the half-breed below. So for three weeks he lay in CORNICLIOO eS (CO) im