“Only a few persons have died from yellow fever,” I corrected.
“Is that so?” he retorted. “Folks that jest land think they know it all.”
At this juncture he was called by a collector, who appeared much perturbed, and I concluded that something had gone wrong.
“Wal, let them rip; ain’t there a policeman out there?” The man looked disgusted and went out grumbling.
The conductor restated himself, took a new chew of tobacco, and said:
“If I had no more brains than a collector I’d go to live in Panama, git measured for me coffin, take yellow fever an’ die.”
This speech sent a shiver through me, as we were nearing Panama, and my husband already lived there.
“The architect of the Canal Zone died yesterday, and the chief of the Panama police died a few days ago,” went on my tormentor. “It ain’t no place for ladies, an’ I wonder that the government lets them land. We’ll be there in five minutes now. I’d be glad to see you again; an’, say! if ever you go broke let me know an’ I’ll be Johnny-on-the-spot with some dinero for you, fer I ain’t the kind of a man that’ud let a lady go broke. Not with the lax system of the Panama railroad,” he concluded, with a crackling sort of laugh that was truly funny.
We were at the station now. The nurses were being helped into omnibuses; the medical ladies were helped into waiting victorias, which were drawn by handsome black horses, and in a few minutes I, of all the new arrivals, stood on the station platform alone. There was no one to meet me. A lump gathered in my throat and my heart beat loudly. There were negroes hurrying to and fro, but not a white person to be seen anywhere. Finally I was approached by a young man, evidently a Panamanian, who took off his hat and respectfully asked me if I would like him to get a coach for me. “I do not know where I am to go,” I said simply. “I expected my husband would meet me.”
“He must be ill,” said the young man, after a pause, “else he would not have had you wait for him. It will be better for you to take a coach and ride to the hospital at Ancon. The doctor at the gatehouse will know whether your husband is sick or not.”