Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 123 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 123: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# The Anderson Blood, Page 107 This is a page of running prose from what appears to be a serialized Victorian sensation novel. The text describes Tom being blindfolded and led by a man named Hornbuckle into a hidden cavern hideout filled with men and horses. Inside the cave, Tom overhears a man invoke the orders of "Major-General Arthur Leslie," stating he would "rather hang a Rebel than eat my breakfast." The passage establishes the hideout's secret location and suggests political/military conflict, though the specific historical context remains unclear from this excerpt alone.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THe ANDERSON BLoop 107 a rush for the rope; on to the “hide-out.”’ He flung him- self into the cabin. There sat Hornbuckle. “Whut ails yer”? The drenched and panting boy an- swered that he had “slipped up,” and broken the water- jug. [he existence of the cave was his secret. The Indian had discovered it. Never should Hornbuckle know! Out of the night a long blast from a horn. The man rose. “Come on, boy. Hit’s time ter go.” Hornbuckle had a horse in the thicket. ‘Tom was set in the saddle, blindfolded, and the man rode behind, the reins in his hands, as in that Walpurgis ride to the top of the Blue Ridge. They rode only a little way; dismounted. A door opened; and closed after the two had passed through. A stone floor was underfoot; there was a warm, smoky at- mosphere, a confusion of noises. The handkerchief pulled from his eyes, om found himself in a cavern as big as a church, half full of men and horses. ‘The chamber was not less than sixty feet long. A fire burned onthe floor. There were numerous stalls and feeding-troughs for horses; and sacks of grain were piled against one wall. A good many narrow passages wandered off from the main body of the cavern; and some of these were closed with wooden bars, over which, here and there, a horse’s head was thrust, a slender, 1vory neck, a pair of curious, jewely eyes. Through one of these passages Tom had been led. This one closed with a stout batten door. Every torch stuck in the wall lighted up a different group. Men were playing fives; shoeing horses; cleaning arms; frying bacon. Stri- dent voices, the trampling and munching of horses, and a devil’s tattoo on an old pewter basin — one fellow’s free- will offering to bedlam — drowned the opening and shut- ting of a door. For a minute the newcomers were unno- ticed. In that minute Tom heard certain words that rankled within him for many a long year to come. A big voice surmounted the din. “Ye know his orders: he said, ‘I ruther hang er Rebel then ter eat my breakfast!’ An’ I’m actin’ under his or- ders — Major-General Arthur Leslie’s orders.”’ CORNICLMOO® SS) (CO) im