After dinner I made the acquaintance of the Italian ship doctor, who spoke Italian and French; and Doctor Echeverría from Limón, who spoke Spanish, French and English; and a physician from Austria, who spoke Italian, Spanish, French, English and German. And as I attempted to palm off on them a kind of English, German, Spanish, Italian and French confusion, we had a dizzy and delightful time together. Sometimes two languages were spoken at once. But even when the conversation became general among us the language was apt to be changed with each speaker, who often could express himself better in a language other than that of the previous speaker. The comforting part of it was that even when the language changed with each speaker, most of us could understand what was said, and only became a little bit dazed and stuttery when we got to gesticulating and talking too fast. It was delightful, but it was strenuous. It would have been more congruous to have adopted French, the only language which we all spoke, as a common medium, but as none of us was French no one volunteered.
After our polyglot jugglery had exhausted our energies and our interest we separated, and I lay down on a bench and rested my brain. I remained there until quite late, for down among the staterooms there was so much noise and bad air and so many roaches, that the cool quiet fresh air on deck was not to be exchanged for that below except for the purpose of obtaining the needed sleep.
When I finally concluded that it was necessary to go to bed, I noticed some passengers preparing to spend the night in their steamer chairs. I did not wonder at their choice of lodgings, but wondered how many shower baths they would get before morning. To have no place to sleep more comfortable than a reclining chair with wobbly wooden legs and arms, is one of those sidelights of travel that books seldom tell about and tourists never look forward to. Down below I found the portholes on my side of the ship closed in order to keep the waves and fresh air outside where they belonged. I sighed and climbed up into the upper berth near the ceiling, for the lower one was occupied by dingy sheets and pillow cases. The person who had a right to sleep there had given it up, and was probably outside on a steamer chair where he could breathe better.
The walls or partitions between the staterooms reached only to within a foot of the ceiling, which was a provision for diffusing the bad air and odors equally and impartially among the passengers. I did no eavesdropping nor had I any desire to pry into my neighbors’ private affairs, nevertheless I heard doleful groans and desperate whoops that were intended to be kept secret. The genial English linguist who had kept sober on champagne cider was in the room next to mine doing penance. Even after the general noises had subsided he occasionally broke the silence and started desultory responses and imitations down the corridor. Finally the forced contemplation of misery became monotonous and wearisome and I fell asleep and slept until the morning noises and noisomeness began to come over the partitions and awake my ears and nostrils to a renewed sense of the situation.
I descended from my elevated couch, hurried into my clothes and went on deck to let the close air out of my air passages. The effect of the fresh air was hypnotic, and purgatory was forgotten. In a short time life became worth living, and I descended to the dining room where the odors were agreeable, and fortified myself with a water roll and two cups of café-au-lait. It seemed to me that the half of seasickness consisted in being stowed away in poorly ventilated and malodorous covey holes.
We arrived at Colón between eight and nine o’clock. The town has a good but exposed harbor with large covered piers. Only two or three other steamships were at the piers, and during the time I was in the town I never saw more than four there at a time. Although quite a number of ships stopped, but few stayed long, which was possibly due in part to the fact that the harbor afforded but little protection from the terrible “Northers” that occasionally visited it.
As we moved up to the pier, its edge was crowded with gesticulating negroes asking in Spanish and broken English to carry our baggage but who, when we finally called to them, told us to wait. This useless calling made the crowded landing place seem lively and busy, although nothing was being done but waiting. The health officer came aboard and vaccinated a few obstinate steerage passengers who had resisted the efforts of the ship surgeon, but now had to be vaccinated or be sent back home. He then ordered the cabin passengers all into the dining-room, glanced at us and talked with the ship surgeon. Then the custom officer called us into the parlor and made us sign a declaration of our baggage. Finally, after about an hour of fruitless formality they allowed us to step on the pier, but held us there to have our baggage rummaged. At the opportune moment the linguistic San José Englishman who the day before had drunk champagne cider to everybody’s health but his own, and to whom the habit not only of talking to everybody in his or her native language but of giving assistance and information to everybody, either was an inherited instinct or had become second nature by cultivation and habit, appeared suddenly, as if by magic and from nowhere, and made the custom officer ashamed to examine my trunk. He was not acquainted with the young officer, but he was as expert with strangers as an insurance agent, and had an extra traveling experience as well as a compelling touch of nature. One became his friend at the second word he uttered. His mouth was so full of words that they came out spontaneously and seemed to enjoy themselves on their way out. Although he had never heard of me elsewhere, he introduced me as a delegate to the Medical Congress and guest of the Republic of Panama, and made me out so important and distinguished that the officer touched his hat apologetically and hastily closed and marked my trunk.
Sanitary circular No. 13 was handed to every one who landed at Colón. It contained instructions as to the best way of avoiding malaria and yellow fever. I have preserved mine, but it has become so badly torn and soiled and wrinkled from much handling and stuffing away in a crowded steamer trunk that it is almost illegible. For the benefit of those who stay at home, but wish to know how to avoid these maladies, I reproduce it here. I was unable to smooth out the wrinkles, however, and think that it must have become slightly altered by my typewriter.
WAR DEPORTMENT.
ISTHMAN CANAL COMMOTION.