Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 377 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 377: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page 357 of "In High Cabal" This is a page of running prose from what appears to be a serialized novel (page 357). The text describes Tom's emotional reunion with companions named Troupe and Peake at a campfire, followed by a tense encounter the next day when a large detachment of troops under General Simcoe suddenly appears on the road. Rory, apparently leading the group, stops the soldiers by invoking the King's name and presenting passports, claiming to be Major Roderick McIntosh escorting two gentlemen from the British West Indies—though the narrative hints that at least one member of the party is actually a dispatch-bearer to Washington, raising tension about whether they'll be searched.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
In Hich CaBAL 357 come was his!— and as soon as [om could “get the smoke - out of his eyes”’ he laid the Marquis’s hand in ‘l'roupe’s. But the smoke had got into his throat now. He could n’t get out a word. He kicked the fire furiously. It burst into a blaze. He turned and looked. Troupe was white about the gills, and pitifully thin. But Tom had never been prouder of him. He looked what he was, the flower of the Cavaliers. And Peake the Indomitable! The hand- some young fellow was a sight for “sair een.” Tom’s heart was full as he gazed at the two. How that light- wood smoke stuck in his throat! Tired as they were, there was no sleep for anybody around that campfire before midnight. By daylight they were again on the road, Troupe and Peake bringing up the rear in an old tinker’s cart drawn by a one-eyed mule with a philosophy of life all his own. Hark! The rhythmic pounding of hoofs. They poured out of the gray dark by hundreds upon hundreds. [hey filled the roads for miles. Like a herd of bison they came hur- tling down on four men on horseback and an old two- wheeled cart crawling along the road. It was a detach- iia of troops under General Simcoe, A tense minute, that! “Halt!” thundered an officer, spurring ahead of the foremost squad of cavalry. Rory wheeled his horse, bared his head, and roared out, ““God save the King!” Came the gruff rejoinder, “God save the King! Who are these?”’ “This is Major Roderick McIntosh of His Majesty’s Militia,” pompously. “I hae here passports frae my Lord Rawdon, Commandant o’ the Post at Chairleston, —”’ “And these, sir?”’ a little less sulkily. Rory strutted. “Twa gentlemen o’ station and fortune frae the British West Indies: the Marquis de la Jonquiére and Thomas Anderson, Esq.” “Tf they search me!” thought the dispatch-bearer to Washington. CORNICLOO@ eS (C©) m