To Panama and back

by Henry T. Byford

A BUNCH OF BANANAS

As the temperature is practically the same all the year around, banana trees are planted at any and all seasons and each tree bears twice a year. They do not, however, bear according to the season of the year, but according to their individual maturity. Slips are planted at any time, and begin to bear in a year, and thus bananas are maturing and being gathered at all seasons. When a stock is cut off a new one grows out in its place. The ripe bunches grow wrong side up, for when they become heavy the stem bends until at last the end points downward and the individual bananas upward. They are gathered before they are fully grown, otherwise they burst upon ripening and spoil quickly. The yellow ones are cultivated almost to the exclusion of the red ones, which have less flavor (although perhaps a more delicate one) and have, I believe, poorer keeping qualities.

Doctor Osterhout bribed a negro to find a couple of bunches of plantains to be cooked for us on the ship. The plantain resembles the yellow banana but is nearly twice as long and is not palatable until cooked. When ripe it may either be roasted in the rind or be cut in slices and fried. It has not such a rich fruity flavor as the banana, but is very nourishing and makes a better dish for the table. Those served on the boat were fried and had a slightly tart taste, and were very acceptable as a substitute for fresh vegetables.

The plantations are worked by Jamaica negroes, who are hardier and better laborers than the natives and are said to be good-natured, docile and content. They gathered in crowds to see us pass, for some one had told them that the governor of Jamaica was one of our party, and Doctor Senn was designated as the man. The doctor bore the honor with becoming dignity and left them with the impression that he was genuine. They showed great respect toward him and were evidently loyal British subjects.

We soon rode into a wide valley along which the plantation extended for miles. A lively river ran through it and steep hills arose on either side becoming progressively higher and more rugged. A succession of beautiful and varying views of mountain, forest and river scenery was thus presented to us as we rushed around the curves in an almost constant state of exhilaration for fear of being swung off into the bushes and having our faces scratched.

We stopped at the spot where, during the recent revolution, the insurgents had ambushed the government troops. The insurgents, 1,000 in number, stood on the steep side of a round hill near the railroad track where the train bearing the regulars had to pass. But the foliage on the hill was so dense that not an insurgent or field-piece could be seen from the cars, nor did it look as if there was room for field-pieces between the trees. When, however, the train arrived nearly opposite the rebels, they opened fire with gun and cannon, killing the helpless troops in great numbers. The vivid conception of this horrible tragedy, occurring so recently on the very spot we halted that I looked about me for blood stains, interfered somewhat with the full enjoyment of the scenery.

When we returned, the ship proceeded to the other landing not far away to take on bananas in the dark and start back for Bocas del Toro in time to be there at daybreak. The success of this plan would have saved us three hours of distress, for we would have been asleep during the passage through the choppy sea outside of the reefs. But neither sleep nor a night ride was granted us by destiny.

As it was raining, I retired early and fell asleep about the time the loading in the lagoon was finished, expecting to awake at Bocas del Toro in Almirante Bay. About midnight, however, I was awakened by the noise of the machinery. The screw would start up with a terrific noise, then stop for a few moments and begin again. I soon became aware of the fact that the ship was not moving forward, but only shaking itself like a dog emerging from the water. But why it should want to stay there and shake itself all night and churn us up in its vitals, I could not divine, and lay hoping that it would quiet down or go ahead before bursting something.

At seven o’clock we began to move at last, and I went on deck and learned the truth, viz., that the negro pilot had attempted to find his way out through the channel and, as the night was dark and rainy, had run the boat on a reef. There was no lighthouse to mark the channel, but he, like Admiral Rozhestzensky, had his orders to go and come, and like Rozh—nsky, he had to try his luck. If the reef had not been planed off by Providence and sunk just to the right depth to let us get on and off easily, and had not the wind and waves been kept down, the second-hand ship would have been wrecked and our steamer trunks lost. But the above-mentioned combination of circumstances had conspired in our favor, a combination, take it all in all, the like of which we shall never see again. As it was, the boat must have suffered considerable damage and might not have been able to live in the West Indian storm that was waiting for it—and us.