Life — May 24, 1883 — page 3: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

MAY 24th, 1883. 1155 Broapway, New York. Published every Thursday, $5 a year in advance, postage free. Single copies, 10 cents, {2 Subscribers who do not receive their copies will please nolify the office at once, OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT : KIDNAPPED !! Queer Cook's Excursionists ! En Route For Moscow. ANTWERP, May 7th, 1883. FTER tossing restlessly for hours on my bed after the Duke’s din- ner, I finally went to sleep—into a sleep which was at first fitful, then profound. I awakened with a start, feeling stifled and uncomfortable. I seemed to be in a tomb. It was dark and damp, and a foot above my head I felt aplank. The mausoleum, to my surprise, seemed to sway and toss in an uncomfortable way, and there was a strong smell of oil and bilge water about it. I found that I was completely dressed, and felt in my pocket for a match. Striking a light, I found that I was in a state-room of an ocean steamship, in the corner of which my traps were neatly packed. I hurriedly made my way to the deck. It was a cold, gray morning, and the vessel was rolling terribly in a choppy sea. “These,” said he," are your comfagnons de voyage.” “On what steamer am I, and whither bound?” I asked of the man at the wheel. re ane Mis-spent Life, to Antwerp,” he gruffly re- plied. i The horror of the situation overcame me. I had’ been drugged in my sleep in my London lodgings, taken to the steamer and booked for Antwerp. I was completely in the hands of the Anarchists. Going back to my state-room, I opened my portman- teau, and found lying on top of my clothes a Cook's excursion ticket to Moscow, via St. Petersburg, with the return coupons cut off. The bag of gold which I had returned to the Honorable Percy Amarynth was stowed in acorner of the portmanteau. I sat down upon the berth to think over my situation. Just then there was a tap upon my door ; anda tall, slim man, with a heavy black beard, came into the room. “Who are you ?” I inquired. “T am your conductor,” he answered. “My conductor?” “Yes. You purchased a personally conducted Cook's excursion ticket to Moscow, via St. Petersburg. It is my duty to personally conduct you to Moscow. I have quite a large party under my charge on their way to see the Coronation.” “ And when does that take place ?” I feebly asked. “The date is not definitely fixed,” he answered. “Still we can amuse and instruct ourselves in Russia while we are waiting. The throne to be used at the Coronation is to be of ebonized oak, with nickel-plated trimmings. Are you interested in electricity ?” “Tam not,” I answered sternly. “Tt is dinner time,” he said. “‘ This pink ticket will pay for your dinner.” I followed him to the saloon. The tables were occupied by a crowd of men, and the heat of the saloon was stifling. I remembered that I was to have lunched that day with the poet Dobson, and I had written a dainty trio- let to read to him as we smoked our cigarettes. Truly the “ unexpected only happens.” “My triolet would not be appreciated by these personally-conducted tou- tists,” I said to myself, as I looked at their dull, unim- aginative faces, which seemed strangely familiar to me. The tourists were dressed with the usual exaggeration of their kind, and had evidently been gotten up to look respectable very recently. They were under a re- straint of manner, and seemed very anxious to conform to the table etiquette of civilized beings. They occa- sionally introduced their food into their mouths with a fork, and when on the point of wiping their mouths upon their coat-sleeves, would restrain themselves, and use the table cloth instead. Still, I felt in my bones comicbooks.com