Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 321: what you’re looking at

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

CHAPTER XXXI DICK KNATCHBULL S NEIGHBOR “T FELT like a puppy being toted off in a basket,” said Tom when he described that trip through the wild, rug- ged, and picturesque district called “Scotland” — the northeastern shore of the island. It was too luxurious an experience to suit one of “Tuck’s boys.” Lying among velvet cushions pervaded with attar, he was borne through cane and cotton tracts, arrowroot and ginger fields, then through rushy glens, over ledges of shale smelling of’ petroleum springs, up ragged hills, and so to an upper shelf of Mount Hillaby. The gates of Hawk’s Nest, the Barbados home of the Princess Oczakoff, were opened by an old and dignified negro. When he stepped forward to take De la Jonquiére’s bridle, Tom signaled the Ebos to set down the chair, and sprang out. “Ishmael!”’ he called out gayly, seizing the faithful black hand of the “ Fagin- ian.” The setting sun kindled the boy’s eager gypsy- face, his comely figure set off by handsome clothes; the diamond shoe-buckles were magnificent, — and that, at least, ‘““was all De la Jonquiére’s doing!’’ — but best of all, the crop of short, rich, auburn curls overshining the boy’s head. Ishmael’s joy was unbounded. “ Lord, Lord! Marse Tom! Yer look jes’ like Marse Audley did when me’n’ him went ter Oxford. Marse Troupe teks after de De Berriens, but you teks after de Faginia Andersons!” “Thank you, Ish. Do you live on this estate?” “Yasser. Dee say, dee do, dat I b’longs ter’’ — cough- ing dubiously — “ter — ter — lemme see — de Princess — er— rer— sump’n ner; I disermembers de whi’-folks’ name. Mighty cu’ous name ter me. Nobody in Ole AI- bermarle name nothin’ ’tall lak dat. Ainh ’sputin’ but GOMiIGdoo cS (C(O)