Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 113 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 113: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful serialized novel. The text, numbered "Mystery 97," depicts a dramatic sequence in which the protagonist Tom regains consciousness after a fall in a crypt, then finds himself kidnapped—gagged, bound, and transported on horseback by unknown captors through the night and into a remote mountain cabin. The passage emphasizes sensational details: the dust-choked crypt collapse, Tom's confused awakening, his captors' mysterious movements, and the final arrival at an isolated, desolate location where he is led blindfolded through an underground passage before being confined in a dark room.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
MysTERY 97 crypt, ramming a crumbling coffin into powder. Dislodged bricks and broken timbers tumbled in upon them. When Tom opened his eyes, he lay flat on his back in the sedge. A choking dust was in his throat and nostrils, a horrible pain in his head. “Glad he was the under dog in the fall,” he thought giddily. He lay there staring at the moon with dim eyes. It seemed a long time. He thought somebody lifted him up — where was her It was pretty dark: the moon had set. But he could make out familiar fields and fences. His head did n’t whirl any more. His senses were on duty. He was riding along toward home, gagged and bound. Under his riding-cloak his hands were tied behind him. The collar of the cloak was up to his eyes. He was supported in the saddle by the man behind him. A pair of arms passed under the cloak and around Iom’s body; and hands belonging to those arms held the bridle. And at the whirr of light wheels on the road, the hands guided the horse into the thicket. The vehicle passed, a lighted lantern joggling at the dashboard, and Tom heard Dr. Pratt grumbling at the old gigster,““Oh, go on, Mandy!” Presently, the gates of Oxheart. And there, a light in the window — waiting for him! A spurred heel struck Ma’y Jane, — it was Ma’y Jane, — and she fled along the highway, spite of her double burden, like the wind. Many a mile did she cover between midnight and daylight. When the sun rose, a dense fog blotted out the world. The leaf- less forests were dripping. By and by a clearing; some mean “patches’’; a tumbledown cabin. Even for a moun- tain cabin it was uncommonly desolate looking. Not a living creature was in sight. Here a handkerchief was tied over l’om’s eyes; he was pulled from the saddle, and led away. Sometimes he slipped among stones. They were in an underground passage of some description. The end came in a gust of pure air and the squall of a catbird. They pushed through a cedar thicket. A door was unchained. Tom was led over a log sill. The door was closed. His eyes were unbound. There was little light within those four walls, but Tom COMniclooo eS (C©) m