Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 130 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 130: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful serial titled *Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil* (page 114). The text depicts Tom witnessing what appears to be a supernatural or delirious vision—a luminous, greenish humanoid figure with outstretched arms that carries him back to his campfire—before he realizes the apparition was actually Unaka, a Cherokee, who has smallpox. Tom then struggles with the moral dilemma of helping the sick man while quarantined on a mountain, while also addressing an absent figure called "Lord Leslie" in an agitated monologue about honor, parole, and a promised future confrontation.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
114 Tom ANDERSON, Dare-DEvIL His bed was a heap of pine needles under the trees be- side his campfire. He shot some squirrels, and made broth for the wretched sufferer. “Would to God I could speak, and comfort a soul in torment!’ Waked one night by Hornbuckle’s cry, he found the water-supply exhausted. The little wet-weather spring was running again. He set out with torch and gourd, at midnight, for water. There seemed no sinister thing abroad, but as he left the spot his torch went out. And then there grew out of the dark a shining something; it was like the body of a man, but luminous. The naked trunk and limbs gave out a green- ish light; the dreadful arms were outstretched; a sort of croak burst from [’om’s throat. He felt as if he were blow- ing away in a black wind. A wet bough slapped him in the face. Something was carrying him along swiftly. There was the cheerful light of his campfire. Unaka — naked as a pearl-diver — set Tomon his feet. “Unaka!”’ he gasped. “Smallpox!” ‘The Cherokee was gone. And Tom felt like running and leaping and praising God. He could speak. But all his efforts to persuade Hornbuckle to let him go for help were useless. “ Rest uv ’em won’t have no comin’ en’ ine. Ye cain’t git offen thur mountain alive.” “You'll die if you don’t have a doctor!” ‘Doctors cain’t raise no man effen his time ’s come.” Your mountaineer is a fatalist, always. “En’ ye cain’t tote smallpox. Fellers would shoot ye on sight.” “Tf I had Betty Martin’s bridle in my hand — I’d give the whole cut-throat gang a dare! Lord, I’d be a mon- strous damnable liar. I’m the chap that ’s given his parole! I’m the Gentleman-in-Waiting on Contagion and Death. Believe I’m going out of my head with suspense. As for deserting that poor wretch in yonder, a fellow would have to be as heartless as my Lord Leslie to do that! His Lord- ship ’s come into the title, as well as wading hip-deep in military promotion, since |’ve been prisoner in the Tories’ hands. Go ahead, my Lord Leslie! Sometime, somewhere, we shall meet. Somebody’s fate will be settled then!”’ In the time to come they did meet. And the manner ECONMMICLOOOKS.(e©) m