Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 219 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 219: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Description of Page This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful (page 201, titled "Charleston"). The text depicts a scene set during the American Revolution in Charleston, where characters Tom and Rory move through the occupied city. Tom has secretly visited his father and must now hide that Rory harbors Sumter's aide—a dangerous secret that could lead to execution if discovered by Royalists. The passage describes deserted mansions draped in mourning crape (their owners fled since British occupation) and Rory's conspicuous behavior eating from street vendors while drawing attention from British dragoons. The narrative employs Scottish dialect throughout.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
CHARLESTON 201 there’s muckle tae look at, an’ mair tae eat. An’ my Leddy carries hersel’ as if she’d bidden ’em; ilka ane. Tarleton himsel—”’ “Is Tarleton there?” ‘Did na I tell ye, lad, there’s thretty 0’ ’em i’ the hoose? My Lord Rawdon, Commandant o’ the post, Colonel Tarleton, Colonel Nisbet Balfour, Colonel Lloyd, Sir Aineas McIntosh — hout, tout! mair than I can ca’.” One sustaining thought Tom hugged to his heart: “Come what will, I’ve seen my father, and conveyed good news to him!” And then: “Come what may, I must not involve Rory. If the Royalists knew that somebody was harboring Sumter’s aide here, in His Majesty’s post, — “To the gibbet with him!’”’ Rory pointed out a deserted mansion. ‘This is wheer the Rebel Governor Rutledge lives, when he’s no rinnin’ . awa frae the foorces o’ His Majesty. Sune syne he flew the coop, ye ken.” There was crape on the door of the Governor’s mansion, and crape on many and many another beautiful residence which had been brought piecemeal over sea — brick, mar- ble, rosewood, and mahogany. Most of them were vacant; the owners refugees since the British occupation. Rory and his protégé were by no means unnoticed. In his anxiety to seem unconfused by his naked knees Tom was sufficiently haughty; and Rory was the picture of pomposity. He was living up to his uniform; and that would have put to shame the gorgeousness of Alexander McGillivray, at the palmy period when he held commis- - slons under three governments simultaneously! To make matters worse, Rory halted before every gingerbread-stall and pie-woman’s basket, to urge: — “Tak a bite o’ this gude pone, Daur-Deevil. Eh, sirs! I hae tasted warse seedcake 1 my time. Why winna ye hae the giblet-pie, lad?’’ And Rory proceeded to eat his way through Main Street, like a mouse through a cheese. More than one gibe from strolling dragoons reached his ears. “Who is it?” jeered one. “G’wan wid ye. It’s the Lord CORNICMOOO® cS (CO) m