The Wasp, 1918 · page 312 of 330
The Wasp — 1918 — page 312: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page is prose fiction, not a political cartoon. It appears to be from a serialized story in *The Wasp* magazine about a naval officer named James who has just received an improper promotion to command ten additional guns during what seems to be a naval conflict (likely Napoleonic-era, given references to the French fleet). The passage depicts James's cynical response to his advancement—he's amused rather than ambitious, expecting possible exposure and execution ("hang me to my own yard-arm"). The satire lies in his dark humor about military bureaucracy and the arbitrary nature of rank confirmation. The narrative emphasizes James's grim dedication: he drives his men relentlessly to prove the admiral's choice wasn't foolish, though he expects only death in the coming battle. The tone suggests *The Wasp* is satirizing naval ambition, military hierarchy, and the expendability of officers and men in wartime.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE WASP 303 ‘mess to the gunroom. I will see to it that your rank is confirmed later by the ‘so-called proper authorities.” | : Here was promotion with a vengeance! James was pleased, but in no degree elated ; and he was amused. _ ““ Suppose they don’t find me out until ’m an admiral?’ he reflected. ‘‘ Would they hang me to my own yard-arm then, I wonder.” And still he felt no desire to look into the future beyond the battle which was sure to take place as soon as the French fleet was found. Life held nothing for him, he knew, but one more fight— and death. He was done with ambition, lust, ‘ and anxiety ; but he was proud of his efficiency. So he devoted himself to the task of bringing up the standard of his ten new guns and their crews to that of the five guns and crews which had been his from the first. The guns and their tackles were thoroughly overhauled, and ‘the men were drilled until the weaklings dropped. _ Superior to fatione himself, and hardened to the Swelrering sun and listless airs, James sweated his men like a slave-driver. Purely as a matter of pride he was determined that the glaring ad- miral should not regret having Brenoted him. comichooks.conn