Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 136 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 136: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Analysis of Page 120 from "Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil" This page contains running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful narrative. A character confesses to drowning a man in the Meacham River, initially believing the victim was an English soldier who had bewitched him into the act. The narrator later retrieves the drowned man's saddle and blanket and subsequently contracts smallpox from these items. Tom, the protagonist, realizes this drowned man may be connected to a mysterious sick soldier who delivered a contagious letter to Mrs. Anderson and has since disappeared. The passage suggests supernatural or fateful consequences unfolding, with Tom sensing further revelations to come regarding Hornbuckle's involvement in the death.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
120 Tom ANDERSON, DarRE-DEVIL ter Meacham River: made him b’leeve we could swim our horses ercross. He tuk off his new army saddle en’ hid hit in a hollow log. Tole him my horse wuz er shore swimmer: which she wuz n’t. Made him take ole Rhody, en’ I tuk his mare. I crossed all right. But Rhody never would swim nary lick, ez I knowed. She jes’ washed down the river a piece; him a-hangin’ ter her neck. Feller wuz nigh crazy wid fever. When Rhody crawled out — he-un wuz gone! I drownded him! Ole Devil made me b’leeve I’se bleeged ter hev thet English filly! When that-thur feller wuz a-sinkin’ — he-un jes’ blayted; like er sheep. Hit was awful ter hear er human go thatterway. I never would er drownded him-un effen I’d ’a’ knowed he-un would holler thatterway. I studied hit up — bekase — hit wuz night — en’ hit— come handy.” The grim recital was interrupted with groans of re- morse. ‘Ole Master’s ketched up wid me. Hit wuz way back in November, that night on Meacham River. En’ hyur, two er three weeks ago, I goes back ter them woods whur I seed him-un fust, en’ brung away that-thur saddle er his’n. En’ I ketched thur smallpox fum hit!” “What?” “That wuz whut ail-ded him-un. I never knowed hit. Ner never ketched hit, then. But when I goes back atter thur saddle en’ blanket — I ketched hit. | drownded him- un in Meacham River five months ago, en’ jes’ lately tuk the plague fum him!”’ Tom’s thoughts were in a tumult. The sick soldier who had delivered that letter to Mrs. Anderson — that con- tagious letter, burned unopened — had disappeared mys- » teriously. Was this the man Hornbuckle had lured to his death? Strange dénouement of mystery! And the sequel was to come. How little Tom suspected what that sequel would be. Surely the ghost of the drowned man was at work ! “Had Hornbuckle taken the pestilence last November, he would never have kidnapped me. He escaped then, ECONMMIEC OOO KSa(e©) m