Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 137 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 137: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful titled "Hornbuckle's Secret" (page 121). The text depicts a deathbed scene in which the dying Hornbuckle reveals to a boy named Tom Anderson that he has inherited property and a cave hideout, and imparts a crucial secret that causes Tom to leap to his feet in shock. Hornbuckle then dictates his will using ink and a wild-turkey quill, instructing Tom to have someone named Egger jailed first. The dialogue employs heavy phonetic dialect spelling characteristic of American frontier fiction.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
HoORNBUCKLE’S SECRET 121 loaded up on it finally —and here am I! bound up in this wretched man’s fortunes! What is to become of me?” A queer piece of Fate’s juggling! Hornbuckle had defied the plague in November—to die with it in March. And his life, thus prolonged, had determined Tom Anderson’s destiny! When the stricken man spoke again, it was to give the boy directions for finding the entrance to the Tories’ Cave. The fields and cabin seen by Tom when he was first brought to the mountain were a part of his inheritance. “‘ Nothin’ much, but yourn. My daddy clyurd thet lan’. Shawnees scalped him. Inrollin’ officers knowed hit ez Hornbuckle’s Clyurin’. So I built this hide-out. En’ thur’s no cawnscrip’ officer ever passed mer pickets, yit!’? How strange the note of triumph in that hollow voice! ‘““Nobody knows whut I’m gwine ter tell ye now but Egger. Git him in jail, quick ez ye kin. Then ye kin do ez ye see fit wid all I leave ye. Listen!’’ and he whispered a secret that made lom leap to his feet. “Do you mean it, Hornbuckle?”’ “Hit’s thur truth.” “Great Heavens!” And then, the first outburst against the horror of his situation! “Of what use to me will it all be — if I am — to be — like you —!”’ The slow whisper made answer, “Hain’t tuk hit yit, hain’t a-gwineter. Tole ’em thet night in thur Cave — ‘He-un’s never whimpered, never begged, never flinched, sence he’sfotched hyur. He-un’s noliar;nocyoward. The feller lays er finger on Tom Anderson dies by Buck Horn- buckle’s han’. So help me God.’ When them-un-ses lef’ me ter rot, you-un stayed —”’ “Oh, it was too late to run!” bitterly. “Hit wuz Audley Anderson’s son thet stood by me night en’ day. Ye wuz good ter me ez ary wench ‘ooman ter her dyin’ mammy. Putt down all I’ve willed ter ye. Say hit ’s thur Las’ Will en’ Testermint er Buck Hornbuckle.” And from the old copper kettle in which Hornbuckle had boiled nut-galls, the heir elect got ink; a wild-turkey quill CORNICLIOO eS (EO) im