The most striking demonstration of man’s powerlessness and complete subjection to the mercy of the elements that I ever witnessed was on the day above mentioned—the wind blowing a hurricane with rain in sheets. As far in the misty distance as the eye could discern, was a vessel scudding under bare poles, and not a living soul was to be seen. The situation was anything but pleasant for green landsmen; not one of the passengers failed to pay his tribute to old Neptune in an involuntary effort to turn himself inside out.
As soon as it became evident that the captain knew his business and was attending to it, we buried our fears and really enjoyed the excitement. I was awakened one night by the captain swearing a perfect torrent of oaths. He had gone out on deck, as was his custom through the night, to see that everything was all right. He had nothing on but his shirt. Just as he reached the deck from his stateroom door a tremendous wave dashed over the vessel, drenching him thoroughly. It would be useless to attempt giving a description of the torrent which poured out of his mouth, but I laughed until my sides ached. Several years afterwards I met him at the United States Hotel in New York and reminded him of the storm. He told me it was one of the worst he had ever encountered.
We reached Chagres[88] on the Atlantic side of the Isthmus on the thirteenth day from New York, when we embarked on a little steamboat which had been sent down to navigate the Chagres river.[89] Could that stream, with its banks an impenetrable mass of vegetation, lofty trees covered with vines hanging in festoons with myriads of flowers of all colors, besides monkeys, parrots, paraquets, and many other birds making a perfect babel of song and chattering, bewildering to the northern ear—could it be easily reached by only a day or two of travel from New York, it would attract thousands of visitors.[90] At the head of navigation we were transferred to large dug-outs or canoes, manned by two natives with long poles, to take us to Gorgona[91] some twelve miles higher up the stream. These boatmen were stripped entirely naked for this work and every few rods would run their canoes on to a sandy shore, dive into the water and swim around until cooled off. We paid them fifty cents each for poling us twelve miles against the current. A Real (10 cents) was a day’s wages before the advent of California travel across the Isthmus.
Being ahead of time for the steamer we put up our tent at Gorgona, sent our Captain over to Panama—about 24 miles—to the agent of the steamship company for information. The Chagres river was simply alive with fish. When we threw in a handful of crumbs the water would fairly boil from their efforts to secure them, but if you baited a hook they would not touch it. We exhausted all plans for catching them. We had a net in our outfit 150 feet long, and thought that it would work; we got it out and strung it; got two boats and launched them into the water. Then we surrounded a host of fish and could we have landed them I have no doubt we would have had two wagon loads at least, but with three men to each rope, before we could get to the shore the fish began to jump over the cork line exactly like a flock of sheep over a stone wall; we secured only a few, perhaps a dozen.
Gorgona was at that time a village of perhaps fifty huts, standing on a beautiful plateau at an elevation of fifteen or twenty feet above low water mark. We remained there two weeks, then starting for Panama—distant 24 miles. All freight had to be packed on mules or natives’ backs. It was surprising the loads those natives would shoulder and not lie down until they reached their destination. They had a rack made of reeds to which the freight was lashed; when it had been placed on the shoulders a strap was passed around the points of shoulders and chest, and another around the forehead. I saw a large trunk, which weighed 225 pounds, thus lashed to a native and he started on a lope for Panama, which he reached next day without laying it down as the owner told me afterward. The road was simply a trail such as cattle make, very rough and rocky, making it very tedious to travel with a load. We were a part of two days on the route across, reaching Panama[92] on Sunday afternoon.
The first view I had of the Pacific ocean as it makes inland some 600 miles to form Panama Bay was a memorable event to me. The sea was as smooth as glass with not a ripple, and the reflection of the sun’s rays from the west giving the water a rich yellow appearance, made an impression that I shall never lose. My attention has since been called to some famous lines by the poet Keats on the discovery of the Pacific by the Spaniards. Keats says that when he first read Chapman’s translation of Homer he felt
“Like stout Cortez[93] when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise
Silent upon a peak in Darien.”