The Wasp, 1918 · page 48 of 330
The Wasp — 1918 — page 48: what you’re looking at
What you’re looking at
This page contains narrative prose rather than a cartoon—it appears to be a serialized story excerpt published in the satirical magazine. The text describes a violent altercation aboard a ship between characters named Smith and Burnham, with a mate named Winch intervening by striking Burnham unconscious with a belaying-pin (a nautical tool). Burnham awakens imprisoned in the ship's forecastle (crew quarters), chained and injured. The vivid description of the cramped, foul conditions—with stagnant air reeking of tobacco, bilge, and human filth—emphasizes the brutal, degrading nature of seafaring life. Without seeing accompanying illustrations or knowing the story's larger context, the specific satirical target remains unclear. However, *The Wasp* typically lampooned social injustices, corruption, and class hierarchies. This passage may be critiquing harsh maritime labor conditions or shipboard abuse of authority, common subjects for American satirical magazines of this era.
📄 Transcribed text from this page (OCR, searchable)
Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.
THE WASP 39 artful foot to advantage. This time Smith measured his full length upon the planking. Burnham laughed dangerously, and decided in a flash that he would meet the next attack with his fist instead of his foot. Smith scrambled up with a splutter of oaths, and at that moment Mr. Winch, the mate who had left the cabin by way of the after-companion, smote Burnham on the back of the head with a belaying-pin. When Burnham recovered consciousness it was to find himself in the brig’s forecastle, alone, ironed, and sprawled in a corner. His head, neck, and shoulders ached dully, and the back of his skull was as tender as a boil. His stomach was heavy and his mouth was dry. The stagnant air of the forecastle stank of dead tobacco-smoke, of bilge, of soiled garments andhumanity. This dismal apartment was below K the level of the deck and slam in the brig’s bows, and such light and ventilation as it could boast were supplied by one small hatch. Now the sunshine flooded straight down the open hatch. Burnham stared fixedly at the bolt of sunshine _and remembered everything that had happened to him up to the time of the blow on the head. comichooks.com