Steampunk Diaries – May 17th, 1878

Steampunk Diaries – May 17th, 1878

The passage across the Channel was quite calm and quick for this time of the year. Should the tunnel ever be finished, it would be wonderful to experience traveling via train from London to France. Possibly even directly to Paris itself! Having the two great nations connected such would no doubt go a long ways towards healing our historic differences.

At the terminal I happened upon a newspaper article covering the possible Treaty that has been proposed by the Russian Ambassador, Count Nikolai Pavlovich Ignatiev. My English passport should be enough to get me through the lines to Romania, but this current peace will make that much easier.

On the same page was another piece about that scoundrel, Spring Heeled Jack. Speculation still abounds about his true identity, although the common folk still think of him as the Devil himself and take such precautions as the local superstitions suggest.

I had the luck of being able to interview a Miss Abigail White of Portsmouth some years ago. She had been accosted by the man himself sometime in August of 1874. His metal claws raked her skin through the torn fabric of her attire leaving her feeling quite vulnerable. Her screams brought the local Constable brandishing his club and yelling at the fiend to stop. Jack then jumped at the Constable and proceeded to slap the poor man to the ground with one blow. His powerful leap took him to the top of a nearby building by which means he escaped confinement once again.

I dare say that such a man who does this must be mad. One can only hope that his reign of terror is soon over as by my count he has been taunting the populace and soldiers of our Island for two score years.

Tomorrow shall see me on the train to Deutsches Reich and on into the Turkish Empire within a fortnight. Tonight is Supper at a club around the corner – at least I hope it is nearby. My French is not quite as I remember it and the devil of a doorman seemed to take some pride in attempting to confuse directions with his dialect. No doubt he is a former soldier who suffered defeat at the hands of our Army.

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