Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 116 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 116: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is a page of running prose (page 100) from "Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil," a Victorian penny dreadful. The text describes Tom's captivity in an isolated cabin in a cedar-rough area. A kidnapper holds him prisoner, and Tom torments himself with unanswered questions about his captor's identity and motives, while worrying about his family. The passage culminates in a nighttime scene where a man named Egger, described as bulky and wearing a ragged hat and Indian poncho, wakes Tom by dripping burning rosin on his legs. Tom knocks the torch away, igniting the cornstalks beneath him, and Egger's frightened reaction suggests the fire holds some significance Tom doesn't yet understand.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
100 Tom ANDERSON, Dare-DEVIL gimme thur slip. Them-uns-es ‘ll nuver let ye git away alive.’”’ Which dark threat added mystery to the torment- ing mystery of his capture. Since the day he was seized, Tom had seen nobody but the man who held him. Who was he? What possible motive had he? Who could “them- uns-es”’ be? How could this kidnapper venture to free his prisoner at any time? ‘‘ All Albemarle would be up in arms. They’d hang him quicker than ‘Old Put’ hangs Tories. Never will he risk Ais neck by turning me loose. What does he mean to do?” Torturing reflections kept him com- pany. There were other doubts and fears that unmanned him. Dare! Mrs. Anderson! Mimi! On their bereave- ment he could not dwell. | The cabin was built in a “cedar rough,” a tract of rocky ledges and stunted, bristly cedars that would “turn a fox.” “Hard to find as a partridge-trap in a briar-patch. It’s built for a ‘hide-out’ — that’s certain!” Suspense was withering the boy. He grew gaunt and wolfish. In the passage of these interminable days there was little to dis- tract thought. The cry of a crow, the wind in the grisly winter woods — this was all. He made friends with a chipmunk that came through a crevice to forage. The little fellow was “famous company.” He talked to “Friar Rush.” To the kidnapper he never spoke. He slept on the dead cornstalks spread over the ground inclosed by the four log walls. One night he waked with a scream of pain — and opened his eyes to find a man of bulky stature, in a ragged hat and Indian poncho, standing over him. From the torch he carried drops of burning rosin fell on ‘Tom’s bare legs. “Thet’s right! Wake up! Wanter talk ter ye.” Egger! ‘Devil! Don’t you drop that fire on me!” and raising his bound hands he dashed the torch out of Egger’s fingers. It fell on the cornstalks, and they blazed like paper. The man.looked appalled. Not until long afterward did Tom understand the full measure of his fright. The overseer seized an armful of flaming stalks and dashed them on the ECONMMICLOOOKS,(6@) m