Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 44 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 44: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis This page contains **running prose dialogue** from the narrative of Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil (page 28). The text depicts a conversation between characters discussing a traitor overseer at a plantation called Oxheart during what appears to be the American Revolutionary period. One speaker urges the young "Marse Tom" to act like a man and watch the overseer, warning that British forces are approaching and the overseer may aid them by providing supplies and enslaved people. The dialogue is written in heavily dialectalized vernacular that reflects period stereotypes about enslaved and working-class characters. No illustrations or title elements appear on this page.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
28 Tom ANDERSON, DareE-DEVIL de terbacker-houses en’ de cribs bu’nt up!” Tom said something under his breath. “More’n dat, somebody gotter boss Big Busher ’n’ dem. Who it gwine be? Lord! ef Marster wuz here! We-all cyarn’ t’ar up Oxheart, wid him gone! I gwine stret ter Marse Troupe. I'll let de Ar know we got de wustest inimy, en’ underminin’es’ Tory in all Virginia fer er overseer! He'll git leave er absence en’ come home. He de one! Yer paw way up Norf, some- whar, tromplin’ roun’ in de snow !” Tom’s choking whisper cut him in two. “Governor Jefferson would clap him in jail before daylight if he knew —” ‘Whose sesso all dis? Ole Ish’s! Ef you’s ter go ter de Governor wid dis trouble, he’d say — lak dis — “Thomas, my lad; I cyarn’ ’rest yer father’s overseer on de uns’ poted ackerzashun er-rer souper-annerrated ole nigger —”’ “Oh, the Devil! You think I ought to sit with my hands folded — till ‘Troupe comes! — or papa —”’ “Dat I don’. You ainh nuffin’ but er boy, lil’ Marse, but de time done come fer yer ter ac’ de man. Feared we’s all gwine see trouble. De redcoats is closter. De Tories is thicker. Er rank traitor got Oxheart in de hol- low er his treach’ous han’s. Ner thing’s certain. Sight er hawg-meat gwine in de smoke-houses ’fo’ Chris’mas. Dee ’bout two craps en’ a half er terbackeron han’. Egger tote de keys! Look at de cribs en’ barns he kin gut — ef de British drap down disserway! Look at de droves er niggers en’ stock he kin run off ter em, when dem frien’s er hisn gin him de word! Yit, we cyarn’ tech him tell Marse Audley er Marse Troupe git here! Watch him, Marse Tom! Don’ quoil wid dat whi’ man! But don’ let him frow down de bars ter de British!” ECOMICLOOOKS,(€©) m