Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 187 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 187: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose from Chapter XXI, titled "Border Warfare." The text depicts an injured man named Tom regaining consciousness in a crowded room filled with wounded men being tended by a woman and others. A lean man with blue eyes—apparently a surgeon—examines Tom's wound, discovering a white mark on his shoulder that another character mysteriously identifies as a "Proclamation! Issued by God Almighty." The dialogue employs dialectal speech suggesting a frontier or border setting, and references to "the Blue Hen's chickens" and "the Butcher" suggest prior violent conflict, though the specific context remains unclear from this excerpt alone.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
CHAPTER XXxI BORDER WARFARE “Wuat’s the matter?” It was a half-conscious cry. Unaka, folded up into the compass of a mummy, lifted his head from his knees and turned bloodshot eyes on his friend outstretched on the puncheons. “Heap fight.” Tom attempted to sit up — and gave it up. He knew that Unaka put water to his lips; but his intolerable pain was bewildering. It was a room — full of groaning men. How hot it was in there! Who was that? A girl; bonnet in one hand, shoes in the other. There was another woman. What were they doing? — [Tearing up rags? — Somewhere a clear voice: “Andy? Fetch some r’a-al cold water, honey.”’ Then a man’s voice humming a tune. For a long time l’om’s wits seemed floundering in that tune. “Hurry, Andy! Keep you busy as a dirt-dobber, boy.” Then another man’s voice, labored and painful: “They fout like cattymounts — them-thar — Injun en’ tother ’n — half-breed, hain’t he?” The tune set up again, came close. Tom opened his eyes. He saw a lean, interminable man. His humorous blue eyes shone from a network of nervous lines. He was on his knees, cutting away the clothing from Tom’s side. “They tell me you are one of the Blue Hen’s chickens?” “Did I kill the Butcher ?” “Not by a jugful! He took a whack at you that — Hello! Andy, you freckled-taced devil, tell your mammy to step this way a minute.’ Tom was vaguely aware that two or three persons bent above him. The surgeon’s scissors had disclosed a spot under Tom’s left shoulder-blade as white as a pearl. “What is it? Lord! Don’t you know? It’s a Procla- mation! Issued by God Almighty. ‘This skin is full of im- CORNICLOO SS (E(0) im