Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 104 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 104: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is page 88 of running prose from *Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil*, a Victorian penny dreadful. The passage depicts a dramatic moment during a storm at a house called Oxheart: despite calamity, a grand dinner is being prepared for stormbound guests. The protagonist Dare, emotionally exhausted from hours of maintaining composure, breaks down when learning that servants fear starting a search in the terrible weather. She then rushes outside toward a rearing horse called Gray Eagle, demanding a stirrup, apparently preparing to ride out herself.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
88 Tom ANDERSON, DarE-DEVIL _ but in the ominous gloom she could hardly make out the faces about her. She heard Dilsey’s voice, and pushed open a door. The servants were bustling about the dining-room. The branch candlesticks were full of wax lights — so dark was it. [he handsomest cloths were laid; the silver service employed. Not since Mrs. Anderson had dined Congressman Wash- ington had so great a dinner occurred at Oxheart. Slack- handed hospitality might not be — even in the hour of calamity. ) This concourse of stormbound people must be fed; but the festive look of lights and flowers, the import of good cheer everywhere, turned Dare sick. With closed eyes she leaned against the door. “Say, Dare,’ —a voice was at her ear,— “are you sick?” She opened her eyes to find Peachy — strangely pale — staring at her with awe-struck looks. His dismay queered him. “Go away,” she cried, fierce with distress. “Did you ever see such an awful storm? They are put- ting up the horses. ‘hey are afeared to start out on the — the search.” For hours Dare’s courage had sustained her, had lent her an unnatural, heroic, exalted composure. Now her tense nerves gave way. Afraid!” she cried out; “what are they afraid of ? God have mercy on us! Afraid?’’ This American family had been reared in the righteousness of a French Chevalier’s motto: “Sans peur et sans reproche.”’ The blast wrenched wide the hall door. There, in the blue gloom outside, Gray Eagle was rearing and plunging before the door, maddened by the first thunder-clap. Through the throng of white-haired men— too old to go to war—and of proud-eyed women, moving like goddesses, sped Dare. Down the hall— out upon the stone steps. ‘Bring him up! Give me the stirrup!” she called to the ECOMMIEOOOKS.(6©) m