Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 208 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 208: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page 190: Running Prose from *Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil* This is a page of running prose text from a Victorian penny dreadful serial. The narrative follows Tom, who faces desperate circumstances: pursuit by a slaver, danger of execution if recognized, and knowledge of a nearby prison-ship. While an old Scotchman discusses General Lachlan McIntosh (a historical Rebel general), Tom gazes anxiously from a window at Charleston harbor, resolving to find his father. The dialogue employs Scottish dialect, and a character named Rory makes sardonic observations about the McIntosh clan's courage and Cherokee ancestry.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
190 Tom ANDERSON, Dare-DEVIL there’s nane better. The King himsel’— God save His Majesty!— could na eat salt off the head o’ The MclIn- tosh,” with all the infallibility of Scotch pride. “There are several of the clan here, it seems. Do you know General Lachlan McIntosh?” “The Rebel general wha was ta’en prisoner at the sur- render o’ the city?” “The same: an able soldier and brave man.” “Nae doot,” dryly. “It taks a brave mon to mak a gude Rebel!” There was no answer; and the old man looked a bit dis- concerted. Tom was thinking wildly. Pursuit from the slaver was certain. If he was recognized —the gibbet awaited one of Sumter’s lieutenants. ‘he prison-ship was close by! And his enemies had spread a net for the feet of the Swamp Fox! Bigger issues than Bruce’s decision hung upon a spider-web in Charleston. Marion’s life trembled in the balance! Everything was impending. And it seemed to the boy that he was hopelessly entangled among possi- ble and impossible “‘moves.”’ He went to one little window and looked out on the harbor, black under the stars; and there, the masts of British vessels. A few only. The fleet had long since been withdrawn. Had it not been officially announced that the South was subdued? That “the war was over” in the South? Somewhere out in the offing la the prison-ship. “I zz// find my father! So help me God!”’ The old Scotchman, propping the tea-kettle on the fire- dogs, shot a glance at the unconscious blanketed figure. Tom stared out into the night, heedless of the bubbling kettle and rattling dishes. And Rory muttered, “The chiel whilk turns his back on his belly has muckle on his mind!” That the contortionist capable of this feat has never been born did not trouble Rory. He was satisfied to be sagacious — like most sagacious people! ‘Mair than that,” he resumed, “whaur wad ye find a chicken-hearted McIntosh? We hae some o’ the clan doun 1 Georgia, on the Chattahoochee; wi’ noggins 0’ Cherokee blood rinning 1’ their veins — like a mill-tail— an’ nae ECONMMIELOOOKSa(©) m