Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 124: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

108 Tom ANDERSON, DarE-DEVIL Arthur, a British major-general! Their Arthur, at the head of an army; a foe, venomous and potential; hang- ing the best and bravest men God ever made! — The whole lurid tableau of horses and men in this torchlit sub- terranean camp was blotted out. There was a staggering movement — and now they saw him. “Hello!” a rough hand caught his elbow. “Gwineter fall in thur fire?”” — and twenty voices hailed Hornbuckle. “Hello, Buck! Whur’d ye git him-un?” The inward tumult of passion made Tom cold to every- thing else. “Major-General Arthur Leslie’s orders.” Ar- thur! — that he loved next to Troupe! Gabble and gibes ceased. [here was a queer silence. He was leaning against the bars closing one of the limestone passages. His elbow was jogged; a pair of eyes claimed his acquaintance; and one eye was blue, one black — like the eyes of the distract- ing duchess in “The Man Who Laughs.” “By George! Troupe’s English mare!’” ‘he saddler Troupe sent home so long ago it was: the horse that never came. A blustering voice broke out: “ Needin’ of a jigger, hain’t ye! Here! Drink “ Luck ter Cornwallis!’” and a tin cup was pushed in T’om’s face. He shoved it aside. They crowded around him. He had one glimpse of Hornbuckle, watch- ing him with the eyes of a hypnotized wildcat. “Luck ter Cornwallis!” they roared. “That’s hit!” The baited, half-naked thing with black elf-locks about his copper-colored face turned at bay. Out of that lean face, lined with suspense, shone the eye indomitable. He seized the tin cup. ‘That’s hit! Drink ter the redcoat, en’ I'll gin ye this silver shillin’! None er ye rotten scrip — out’n er Po- House Congress!” Fifty pairs of eyes were focused on him now. ‘Success to Washington!”’ A chuckle. ‘“Dog-gone him! He-un sho is the ‘Blue-Hen’s Chicken’ !” ECOMMICOOOKSa(e©) m