Penny Dreadfuls, 1916 · page 89 of 400
Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 89: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
# Page Analysis This is a page of running prose from Chapter 73 of what appears to be a Civil War-era penny dreadful titled "The Committee of Public Safety." The text depicts a tense scene at Oxheart House where characters learn that armed vigilance men have been searching for someone (apparently a Colonel). Tom has been knocked unconscious during their visit, and the enslaved character Dilsey reveals the Colonel is hidden in a room with smallpox patients. The dialogue, rendered in period dialect, suggests suspense and danger involving vigilante violence and what may be political conflict.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THe ComMITTEE OF PusBLic SAFETY 73 Tom raised himself on his elbow. There was an abomi- nable smell of burnt feathers about. And Ole was tiptoeing round with a scared face. Here and there a curtain was dragged to the floor — and Dilsey leaned from a window, listening. Absolute silence brooded over Oxheart House. But out of the distance — the beat of galloping hoofs. The listener muttered, “Gone at las’! Meddlesome devils!”’ Then ‘Tom burst forth, “Where — is — he?” “Oh, my Gord!” screamed the black. Don’ you know whar he? Weal never seed him — ‘Then he’s safe!’’ And the boy dropped back on the pillow; looking so white Dilsey fell to scolding. “Gitterway, Ole. Lemme git ter him! Er man’s de lumberines, thing de Lord ever did let live; ’thouten it’s er ellyphint. Don’ bun no mo’ feathers! Gwine ’stroy de whole bolster? Dis night’s wuk done made me lose all mer ‘ligion. Did n’ know whar de Colonel wuz! Miss Sa’ah ‘citin’ of herse’f! En’ den, when I lets dat gang in here — here lays Marse ‘Tom!— all his senses done knocked out ’n him — en’ him bloody ez er beef!”’ Ole, who had roused too late to see the body of armed men tramp through his dormitory, prodding the big heap of flax with their bayonets, was crestfallen and bewildered. “Vash it — de British, Tom?” he faltered. And Dilsey retorted: “It de Vigilance men! Eachin’ ter hang somebody. Dat whut. Dee wuz all roun’ you, Ole. En’ you des layin’ up dar sno’in’!”’ “Vash dey huntin’ de Colonel?’’ Ole turned yellow. Tom broke in: “My head feels big as a butter-crock. Reckon it’s lucky I did get knocked senseless. It would have been ‘blab or lie’ to the Vigilants. And I’ll be — swung up by the thumbs before I’Il do either!”’ “Whar he?” whispered Dilsey. “In the big tester — yes! In the pest room! Smallpox — two or three cases of it — 1s n’t as dangerous as a cow- pen full of pizen old Whigs — with their hands on a rope and a redcoat!”’ Fool Billy was at the bottom of it all. Having seen [om CORNICLOO® SS (C(O) im