Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 306 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 306: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is a page of running prose from the penny dreadful *Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil* (page 288). The text depicts Tom Anderson and a French Marquis (Eugène Volney de Treviso, Marquis de la Jonquière) camping together and sharing a meal of fish and turtle eggs. After supper by the sea, the two young men exchange confidences about their lives. The Marquis, born in Barbados to an English mother, recently turned twenty-one and confesses that he has accomplished nothing, merely "battened" his entire life, while Tom begins responding skeptically to this claim.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
288 Tom ANDERSON, DarReE-DEVIL I’m in time for supper. Wish I were marooned out here along with you.” Tom shook his head. “You are not used to roughing it. The Cherokee and myself are ‘lightwood-knots,’ as we say at home. Fancy sleeping in a downpour.” “Pardieu, no. It’s beastly to be wet.” “We could n’t camp here if it were not for the rains. We catch water in those whopping turtle-shells you see yonder. And the rains are only occasional, you know. When your rainy season is on, we shall be off!” “Oh, the French may attack Guadeloupe before June, and we shall need you,” laughing. Unaka unrolled the fish from the leaves in which they had been baked, —1n hot ashes, — dug roasted turtle- eggs out of the same oven, and supper was eaten. The purple sea was smooth as a temple floor. The sun had set in a tempest of topaz light. [he gulls whined like lost souls. And the young West-Indian and the young American talked on and on. From the first [om had been immensely attracted by the Marquis. On the other hand, the auda- cious Virginian stormed the imagination of Eugéne Volney de Treviso, Marquis de la Jonquiére. He had never seen anybody in his life who impressed him so much as Tom Anderson. And so, mutual confidences. Tom gave a thumb-nail sketch of his seventeen years. De la Jon- quiére told a story of jog-trot affluence. The heir to the title and estates of the De la Jonquiéres had been born in Barbados. His mother, English by blood, had been a na- tive of the island. His parents, now dead, had desired that the young nobleman should remain a resident of Barbados until he attained his majority. He had been a good deal in France. | ‘Il was twenty-one six months ago. But I ‘can’t claim any credit for that,” laughing; “nor for anything. Every- thing has always been done for me. I’ve done nothing but +— batten.” . ‘The deuce you have n’t! May I say that I think you EONMNICOOOKS,(©) m