Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 201 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 201: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Old Rory, Page 183 This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful novel. The text depicts a dramatic sea rescue: a character named Tom, apparently thrown overboard wrapped in a winding-sheet, manages to free himself and swim desperately toward a ship's galley while a shark pursues him. He is rescued by sailors and pulled aboard, where he encounters a mysterious cloaked man whom the narrative suggests is remarkably handsome, though Tom finds him even more so than the chronicler admits.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
O_tp Rory 183 A sound of unwilling steps. Tom summoned from every nerve-cell his powers of self-control. Plon-Plon and the carpenter came in. One at the head, one at the foot, they carried out, as they supposed, the body of the Portuguese sea-captain. [he carpenter grumbled, “Shark’ll quit us, atter dis!” “God save me from the shark!’ breathed Sumter’s aide. The plank across the bulwark inclined toward the water. The rigid bundle shot into the waves. With a desperate effort he released himself from the winding-sheet — and rose to the surface. As long as he lived that instant had shock in it. It was recalled with crawling nerves forever. He struck out — looked back — saw a black fin slipping through the water. [hen the white of the shark’s belly as he rolled on the floor of the water! What a shriek rang out! And at the same instant the winding-sheet came to the surface. Dawdlingly it wallowed into sight. It sprawled on the ripples. The open jaws closed upon it! ‘The man- eater was fooled! Mad with terror, poor Tom lunged through the bay. A ship’s galley? Was it? Yes!— just ahead! His scream was answered. The boat rounded; there was a shout of “Aye, aye’’; an oar was stretched out to him. He seized it; and strong arms seized him, lifted him over the side, — a clean lift, — and held him out at arm’s length for an instant. “Naething warse than a dooking, — eh, laddie?”’ asked the giant with the foghorn voice. “’That’s all, | thank you, sir!” gasped through chatter- ing teeth. The fire-basket of an approaching sloop poured tawny light over the water. Every near-by object became minutely distinct. In the galley, besides the boy just pulled out of the water and the tars at the oars, were four persons. One was a man wrapped in a heavy cloak that concealed his uniform. That he was “a fine-looking young man, of a countenance not unprepossessing,”’ has been chronicled. However, history’s grudging admission falls short of Tom’s. “The dog-gone-dest finest-looking fellow CONNICMOOO <S (C(O) im