Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 38 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 38: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose from *Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil*, a Victorian penny dreadful (page 22). The text presents two interconnected scenes: first, a dialect-heavy anecdote told by a character named Ish about a Revolutionary War encounter between Captain Ben Taliaferro and a British officer, emphasizing Taliaferro's defiant pride; second, Tom's reaction to a bundle of clothes sent by Mrs. Anderson, followed by Ishmael's mention of someone named Peake Dangeridge—a name the narrator hints will prove significant to Tom's future.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
22 Tom ANDERSON, Dare-DEvIL Ish gave the story-teller’s chuckle. “We’s up dar roun’ Princeton den, me’n’ Marse Audley. Well, when Marse Ben Taliaferro’s comman’ tuk er comp’ny er redcoats, here come de British cap’n in his fine ridgermentals, a-prancin’ up ter our line, ter d’liver up his sode ter Cap’n Taliaferro. Here stan’ Marse Ben — draw’d up!— straight ez er pine tree! toes a-struttin’ in de snow — it de troof!— done march hisse’f bar-footed. More’n dat, done march hisse’f mighty nigh naked! No shutt on! It de Gord’s troof! En’ I ainh gwine tell no lie on Gord! Well, fus’ he ’fuse ter cep’ de sode — ’count er dem toes er his’n, — en’ ’count er his coat bein’ buttoned up naix ter de naked meat! Sont ner officer ter tek de sode. Den, sir! he ’cide, shoes er no shoes, shutt er no shutt, he er “Merican officer! all de same! Wid dat, out he steps! Proud ez de Devil! Lord, Lord! He’s de scornfules’ white man — not ter have no shutt on his back!— de Lord ever let live! En’ so, he made out ter connerscen’ ter ‘cep’ dat sode!”’ “My conscience! would n’t I like to be Ben Taliaferro?” And [om turned over the bundle sent by Mrs. Anderson. Ishmael was happy. ‘‘Whut Miss Sa’ah stud’n’ *bout ter gimme dis? Des ez spick en’ span ez de day it come fum Phil’delphia! Look at de gole braid, a-quilein’ ever which way. When I goes lopin’ inter camp on Black Sloven wid Marse Audley’s ole m’litia coat on, dee’ll think Lord Cornwallis done s’prised ’em!— stidder Ole Ish!” laughing delightedly. ‘Tom’s eyes were on the fire. The curling flames were all chevrons of red gold. How long the war had been going on! How long it had been since his father had left his command to visit home and kin! Ishmael studied the brooding face. “Lemme see, lil’ Marse? Wunner does you ’member Peake Dangeridge? You’s a little chunk when he went off fum here —”’ Peake Dangeridge? The name had a reminiscent ring. But Tom little dreamed it was a foreword of the future — that it had to do with the epic stride of coming events. Ishmael ran on: “ Dat Peake wuz de las’ ’n’ ter w’ar dis ECOMICOOOKSae© m