Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 269 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 269: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful titled "The Duel" (page 251). The text depicts a tense scene in which a prisoner in black is brought before Lord Rawdon, a commandant, in a mahogany library. A young man named Habersham searches the prisoner's pockets and discovers personal effects including a silk handkerchief, tobacco, a pen-knife, a pamphlet by De Foe, a hunting-knife, and an ivory fan. The passage emphasizes the crisis and drama of the moment, with hints that multiple characters face difficult circumstances that night.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THe DUvuEL' 251 “Rawdon.” The Hessian shoved his prisoner through the crowd, through the guarded gate, past more sentries, and into a spacious hall. He rapped at a door; pushed his cap- tive and himself into a room; folded his arms and leaned his blue-and-red bulk against the door. To all of these movements the prisoner had offered no resistance. He had no intention of making matters worse. His head was in the lion’s jaws. At a center-table, illuminated by a massive silver lamp which smelled of fish-oil, a young man was writing. He shot one displeased glance at the black figure from under the green shade worn over his eyes — and plunged into his papers again. [om seated himself with as much com- posure as if he had been bidden to a chair. ‘The room, a library wainscoted in mahogany and somberly handsome, was so still that he caught impressions of things outside of it. How subdued every voice! how careful the hurrying footsteps without! The tiptoeings and whispers conveyed to the American a sense of crisis. Not only for the wounded man upstairs: the poor baronet and the prisoner in black must each “grapple with his evil star” this night. A door swung open. My Lord Rawdon! The Commandant — especially handsome and distinguished in ballroom dress — looked worn and haggard. His eyebrows writhed when he saw the “missionary to the Indians.” He flung one or two questions at the Hesse-Cassel man, in German, and nodded to him to be gone. When the door had closed upon the Hessian, — who was the fellow [om eluded by taking refuge in St. Michael’s, — His Lordship turned to the quill-driver. “Habersham, search him,” and he leaned back in his chair with a harassed sigh and closed his eyes. He of the green shade emptied Jom’s pockets. A well-worn silk handkerchief, a pen-knife, tobacco, and one of De Foe’s pamphlets — belongings of Francis Marion. From the breast of the threadbare waistcoat, Rory’s hunting-knife and — the ivory fan! Habersham scrutinized these, and then, husky with excitement: “Will Your Lordship have CONnNICLOO eS (C©) m