The route across the isthmus in 1849. About forty miles by canoe from Chagres to Cruces; twenty miles by horse, mule, and bullock from Cruces to Panama. Charley's party stopped at Gatun, Dos Hermanos, Peña Blanca, and Cruces. Of course, to-day Gatun Lake covers from Gatun to Gorgona, and people start from Limon Bay, not Chagres, by canal
"Hello!" greeted Mr. Adams. He was as breathless as they, for every minute he was shoving away persons who tried to seize the canoe, and was explaining that it was taken. A black boatman was busy thatching the canopy top with dried palm leaves—and he, too, was obliged to keep shaking his head and saying: "No. No. Go 'way."
"Well, here's our boat," continued Mr. Adams, briskly. "Here's one boatman; his name's Maria. Francisco, the other, is up town buying provisions. No," called Mr. Adams, to a Georgia passenger who was thrusting money fairly into the face of Maria, "you can't hire this boat. It's taken."
"I've paid fifteen dollars apiece, for the three of us and our baggage up to Cruces, forty miles. That's as high as boats go; there we'll have to take mules across to Panama," continued Mr. Adams—the outsider having gone off disappointed. "I think we've got a good boat; but I've had a fight to keep it. If Maria hadn't have stayed, I'd have been thrown out, long ago."
"When do we start?" asked Charley.
"Whenever Francisco comes back."
"Do you reckon we'll have time to eat?" queried Mr. Grigsby.
"Yes. And that might be a good plan, too."
"You and Charley go up and see what you can find, and I'll hold the boat," directed Mr. Grigsby, climbing in.
"All right. Come along, Charley," and Mr. Adams alertly limped on up the gentle slope, to the village.