The Wasp, 1913 · page 58 of 364
The Wasp — 1913 — page 58: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains prose fiction rather than a political cartoon. It appears to be an excerpt from a serialized adventure story in *The Wasp* magazine, depicting a scene of escape or clandestine boat departure. The dialogue references **Nevis and St. Kitts** (Caribbean islands) and mentions the threat of impressment into piracy or indentured servitude to planters—historical concerns in colonial Caribbean narratives. The characters "Todd" and "Burnham" are planning a nighttime escape by boat, with Todd preparing supplies (water, biscuits, weapons). The passage emphasizes dramatic tension through nautical language and dark atmosphere rather than satire. Without seeing accompanying illustrations or understanding the broader narrative context within *The Wasp*, the specific satirical target—if any—remains unclear. This may be straight adventure fiction serialized alongside the magazine's satirical content, or context about who these characters represent would be needed to identify any political commentary.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE WASP 57 “In Nevis,” replied the boy; “to the governor of Nevis. An’ if they can’t make a pirate of ye, they’ll sell ye to a planter.” “In that case we had better try to get ashore in St. Kitts, though I don’t know if it is held by the French or the English just now. Do your best about the boat, lad, and give me a call when it is ready. Water, biscuits, a sail, and oars we must have, and if you can get hold of a musket or a brace of pistols, with powder and ball, so much the better.” The night fell dark, with clouds between the sea ‘and the stars. It was long after midnight when Todd returned to the sweltering forecastle and crept to Burnham’s side. “All’s ready,” he whispered, “an’ everythin’s black as pitch. The boat’s over the starboard side, amidships. Follow me, cap’n. Lay a hand on my shirt. Nota sound, for the love o’ Heaven!” They went up the ladder as soundless as ghosts, the boy in the lead. Truly the night was as black as pitch. Nothing was to be seen but the glimmer- Comichooks.com