Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 101 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 101: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is a page of running prose narrative (page 85) from a Victorian penny dreadful titled "A Birthday Party." The text describes characters saying farewell—particularly someone named Leslie departing in a Conestoga wagon driven by the spirited Mrs. Grattan. The passage depicts the dawn arrival of trading wagons carrying pelts to Philadelphia market, with vivid sensory details of noise and activity. Leslie appears to be leaving with a surgeon (or perhaps disguised as one), and the narrative emphasizes the emotional weight of the goodbye, with characters trembling and weeping. The scene concludes with Leslie boarding the wagon, which then departs.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
A BirTHDAY PARTY 85 The storm was done, the moon rising. Presently, from the balcony, Dare listened to the spatter of Ma’y Jane’s wild heels along the muddy highway — listened till the sound was lost in the distance. Then came adieus. Dare did not hear what Leslie said to grandmother. She saw Mrs. Anderson was moved. Mimi wept openly when he begged her to be assured of his lifelong gratitude. Dare was trembling so she could not speak. “God bless and keep you! I will remember!”’ he said. About daybreak the long blast of a bugle and the brazen chimes of mule-bells awakened the household. Teams on the highway. They were coming! At the gates Leslie and Ole were stationed; waiting. Ahead of the teams rode negroes with lanterns. Then came two huge Conestoga wagons, big as flatboats, and crammed with pelts for the Philadelphia market. With a prodigious creaking of wheels, with swinging tar-buckets, barking dogs, jangling lead mules, and gabbling darkies, they passed by. The screaming wooden axles would have drowned a man’s voice. Now Mrs. Grattan came riding out of the fog. A ray of lantern light danced around her. Mounted on an © English hunter, she wore a riding-coat and the little black- velvet “riding-bonnet” of the period. A notably handsome and high-spirited woman was Mrs. Grattan. She called out, “Where’s my passenger? Ah,” as a cloaked figure came forward. “This is the surgeon, eh?” Leslie bowed. She pointed to the “port-hole” in the wagon-sheet. “In with you, sir! A man who’s smelt powder won’t hold his nose at skunk-skins; eh’?’’ And she cantered on. Leslie wrung Ole’s hand and swung himself into the wagon. The Conestoga rolled away. GOMmMiGcsoo SS (EO) m