Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 235 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 235: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Description This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful serial titled "My Lord Rawdon and the Runty Rebel" (page 217). The text describes a character named Tom observing Charleston from a church belfry at night, learning that someone called Valentine Paris (or Captain Paris) has been murdered. Tom himself had fought with Paris hours earlier and fears suspicion may fall upon him. The passage combines dramatic narration with Tom's internal anxieties about the murder mystery and his homesick reflections on the James River.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
My Lorp Rawpon AND THE RuNTy REBEL 217 little less than two hundred feet, he looked out over the city. Everywhere was stir and tumult. The white-pillared colonnades were full of people; the pavements swarmed; squads of cavalry galloped by; coaches and chariots, by hundreds, rolled through Main Street en route to Lady Savage's ball. And over all, the scream of angry eagles robbed of their young! The pibrochs. The voices of passers-by reached the listener distinctly. He heard the word “murder” again; and so learned the horror. Valentine Paris had been assassinated! The shock made Tom tremble. Not many hours ago he and Paris had fought on the street. A mystery surrounded his murder, as he gathered from the excited talk on the street. If he were appre- hended, it would go hard with him. “Poor Paris. I bore him no malice. For all that, I’d rather be up here in the belfry of old St. Michael’s to-night than anywhere else in Charleston.” At this instant between his eyes and the stars went a winged triangle. There was a chorus of horns from the hautboys of the sky. Wild geese went trumpeting by St. Michael’s tower, as heedless of the haunts of men as were the stars above, or the sea below. Tom listened with a homesick tugging at his heart awak- ened by the familiar sound. How they used to “holler” along the James River! “T wish the old ‘honk-honks’ might betray the murder- ers of poor Captain Paris to the British, as the wild cranes betrayed the murderers of [bycus.”’ Had he known who had done Paris to death, Tom’s words would have died in his throat! Now, as he reviewed the events of the day, he wondered how it was that Sir A‘neas had failed to be present when the British dragoons surprised “the house in Tradd Street.” However, the strain of “the day’s sharp exigence’’ was over; for the present, at least. Questions and surmises, too, were done with; for, his back against the belfry wall, CORNICLIOO SS (©) im