Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 396 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 396: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil (Page 374) This is a page of running prose from a Victorian penny dreadful serial. The text describes a dramatic nighttime escape: a character called "Dare" and a Welshman named Busher flee on horseback across fields and highways to evade a cavalry-led caravan. The passage details their journey through darkness and dawn, the horses' behavior, and the surrounding landscape, while also referencing earlier plot elements including a deaf paralytic woman ("Billy's Granny") calling for someone called the Fool. The narrative emphasizes mystery and impending danger as morning approaches and the horses become increasingly alert.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
374 ~ Tom AnpErRson, Dare-DeEvIL object was distinct in the light of the burning buildings. A cur, hidden under a floor, howled distractedly at deser- tion and flames. But no human creature had been left behind. Nay, there was one. “Billy's Granny,” the deaf paralytic, sat solitary in the darkness — calling aloud for the Fool. “Billy! Er-er-h, Billy/” ‘The croak was coax- ing; but she clutched “the fire-stick’’ — the rod for the Fool’s back. Who could know what momentous things hung on the _ Fool’s doings this night? ‘Tragedy and mystery were dog- ging him. Mystery that remained mystery forever. In the shadow of a cabin waited the giant. [The red coat that he could not get his arms into was swung round his neck — like a bib. Iwo black horses were tied to the ash- hopper. One of *em — queerly enough — was the very beast I’om bestrode on his desperate ride to Camden! Be- wildered, but ready to die in her service, the Welshman. Not his to reason why. But in the breast of his knitted- wool shirt — Busher had knitted it himself, with needles fashioned from the bone of a wild duck — was an old deer-knife, with a ferocious blade. He pressed it against his ribs, and nodded to himself. “We must cut across the fields, Busher, and get ahead of that/”’ with a sweep of the arm in the direction of the highway, where two-footed and four-footed creatures were being rounded up by a body of cavalry. Before long they were well in advance of the caravan; large bodies move slowly. Once on the highway, they let out their horses. For eight or ten miles the fiery sky lent a sort of light to their road. Then came miles of darkness, when they heard no sound but an owl’s hoot, a dog’s bark. Sometimes they descended into woody hollows, black as a well, full of the friendly fragrance of haws and wild plums, or poppied with yellow jasmin, or ghostly with Indian-pipes. By and by the east was white. Dare was shivering. [he King’s horse neighed eagerly. Came an answering neigh out of the distance. Busher looked grim. Dare patted the long, scrawny neck of the black horse. “Ride up, busher!” Gomichbooksreom