Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 126 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 126: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose from a penny dreadful titled "Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil" (page 110). The text depicts a dramatic scene in which the protagonist Tom awakens bound hand and foot, confronted by a man named Lum Egger who has imprisoned him. Egger threatens Tom with torture, specifically branding him with a red-hot iron marked with the letter "A" on his face as revenge. The dialogue is written in dialect and captures the menace of the moment, with Egger taunting the bound boy and preparing to inflict his brutal punishment.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
IIO Tom ANDERSON, DaRE-DEVIL door unchained — yet taken away the key? Queer! He propped a log against the door, and threw himself down to sleep, worn out in body and mind. He awoke with a great start. Ankles and wrists tied! “Hornbuckle,” he cried out, “why have you done this? | kept my word!” ‘The man stooping over the coals on the hearth stood up. “Looks like ye’d know Lum Egger.”’ The boy made an effort to rise. He was thrust back. “Git down. I’ve got ye!” Tom’s eyes turned to the door. Padlocked on the inside! “Oh, hit’s locked. Don’t fool ye-self a-thinkin’ Horn- buckle mout drap in. He hain’t comin’ tell daybreak. Ner nobody else ‘ll git here — tell I’m done wid ye.” With a little disconcerted squeak the chipmunk pattered off, scared by that strange voice. Out of doors the drip of the rain. Egger’s foot pushed aside the rags covering [om’s breast. “Why, Lord-a-mussy! whut makes ye heart beat that- terway!? Looks like it’ll bust thoo!’””—with the leer of a devil. “Oh, hit’s time ter be afeared. Hit’s time ter scrouge down en’ beg! — afore hit’s too late!”’ Silence. This was an affront to reasonable expectations. He had plotted so cunningly, postponed his revenge so patiently, — till the time was ripe, — and now to be treated like this! “Why ’n’t ye answer? Hongh?’” He turned wild beast. “Ye won't, won’t ye? I’ll make ye blate — er break ever bone in ye. I know whut ’sin ye. Ye air proud/ too proud ter beg—hain’t ye?’’ He stooped over the coals, again. “Ye hain’t no ideewhut I got here; er ye’d wag yer tongue. Got thur brandin’-iron we brand stock wid. Het en’ ready fer ye, — ye high-headed fool!”’ Suddenly he stood over the prostrate boy, holding an iron bar to which was screwed a great letter “A” in red- hot iron. ‘T’ll brand ye; so’s them thet b’lieves ye dead ‘Il never know ye. Hit ‘ll kyver one whole side er ye face; mout shet GomicbooksrGo m