Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 73 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 73: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This is a page of running prose from Chapter VII ("The Wind in the Keyhole") of a Victorian penny dreadful. The text depicts a sickroom scene where a character named Dare grieves over a dying man (apparently a British soldier or "redcoat" named Tarleton, referred to as "the Enemy of Our Country") while Tom expresses loyalty to him despite political divisions. A doctor diagnoses pleuro-pneumonia and praises the patient's youth and his nurse. The passage concludes with description of a ten-day snowstorm isolating the mansion in deepening gloom, establishing an atmosphere of suspense and melodrama typical of the genre.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
CHAPTER VII THE WIND IN THE KEYHOLE SHE was aware of Ole, beside the hearth; of Mimi, mov- ing gently about in the rosy stillness. But she looked only at the face among the pillows. Oh, forlornest change! His noble features were gaunt and pinched, his hollow eyes sealed. He seemed barely alive. In an agony of compassion Dare gave way to tears. Tom whispered, “God knows we have n’t treated him like the enemy of our country!” “The Enemy of Our Country? Tarleton the Bandit? I don’t believe the wicked things they say about him! J don t!”’ and, unable to stifle her sobs, she was gone. And Tom? How his heart yearned over the gallant fellow, who looked to be dying before their eyes. He was desperate. ‘Damme if old man Henry and the whole Continental Congress can make me mistrust yon redcoat for a scurvy fellow!” The doctor was coming twice a day now. Tom dared a question. “Doctor? What 2s pleuro-pneumonia?”’ “It’s the Devil! There’s only one thing to fight it with: Youth! He’s got that. And the constitution of a Scotch quarryman. And look what a nurse! Why, I’d be willing to have yellow fever, if I had ma’m’selle to stand by me, like that!” But Dare asked no questions. She understood how omi- nous was the seal of silence set upon the house. She dared not cry out against that barred door! Fear tied her tongue. A ten days’ snowstorm was on; a pallid, opaque light in the windows; the rasp of frozen boughs against the outer walls; the tumultuous silence of flying flakes. Snowbound, the old mansion sank into deeper and deeper gloom. [he EGOMGIOO eS (E©) im