14th. Pleasant morning; we are just off the inner point. A fine breeze blows off, our ship bows to the impulse, and we stand along under the lee of the land. Cry of dolphin, captain strikes one with the harpoon, it struggles with the instrument, disengages itself, and disappears in the direction of the bottom; he strikes another, it is hauled safely on board and served up for dinner. A whale passes, but not sufficiently near to receive our salutation. 4 P.M., it blows a gale, captain cries out, “clue up the top-gallantsail,” “aye, aye, sir.” During the night we have a terrific gale; it carries away our jib, foretop-sail, foretop-gallantsail, maintop-staysail, and maintop-gallantsail.
15th. The gale still continues; we are driven out of sight of land, but arrive in sight of the South American coast at 3 P.M., the Andes towering up, hiding themselves in the clouds.
16. Strong winds; we are about sixty miles from Panama, running close in shore. At evening, the kind-hearted inhabitants light beacons upon the side of the mountain, to guide us during the night. At nine we put about on the other tack, and at four in the morning were within ten minutes run of being aground.
Chapter Thirty-first.
BAY OF PANAMA—ITS BEAUTIES—TROPICAL FRUITS—THE CITY IN SIGHT—EXCITEMENT ON BOARD—APPEARANCE OF THE CITY; HER RUINS—PREPARATIONS TO DROP ANCHOR—“STAND BY”—“LET GO THE ANCHOR”—FAREWELL TO THE SICK—A PERILOUS RIDE ON THE BACK OF AN INDIVIDUAL—ON SHORE—FIRST DINNER—NOTHING LEFT—AN INDIVIDUAL FEELING COMFORTABLE—PANAMA AMERICANIZED—A MOONLIGHT SCENE VIEWED FROM A BRASS “FIFTY-SIX”—A DILAPIDATED CONVENT, AS SEEN AT NIGHT—CHURCH BELLS—BURNING THE DEAD—EXPOSURE OF THE DESECRATED REMAINS—SICKENING AND DISGUSTING SIGHT—INFANTS CAST INTO PITS—THE RESCUE OF THEIR SOULS REQUIRING A GIGANTIC EFFORT ON THE PART OF THE CHURCH—A HECTACOMB—“ETERNAL LIGHT”—IGNORANCE OF THE MASS—PEERLESS CHARACTERISTICS.
18th. We are surrounded by islands; is there another bay that will compare with this? Certainly I never imagined anything so like a fairy scene. We are in the midst of twenty islands, all covered with tropical fruits of spontaneous growth; the orange, lime, fig, and cocoa-nut trees, interlaced with the grape, forming shelter for the inhabitants, and presenting them with food. We were in a condition to appreciate, most fully, the surrounding scene. Our voyage, which had now lasted fifty-one days, was commenced under adverse circumstances; five of the passengers had already died, and several were still confined to their berths with scurvy, some of them destined to breathe their last on board.
4 P.M. As we emerge from behind a small island, we are in fall view of Panama, the towers of her cathedral looming up, and her dilapidated wall extending along the water line; all are now in a phrensy of excitement; the passengers are climbing into the rigging, gazing with astonishment upon the surrounding scene. The wind blows fresh from the land, and we are obliged to beat up directly in its eye; we passed near Tobago in the evening, and in the morning were near our anchorage. We run up the stars and stripes, and prepare to drop anchor; our trunks are in readiness, and we expect soon to be transferred to the shore.
The city, nestling cosily at the base of Cerro Lancon, looks enchantingly, her towers and domes being lighted up by the morning sun. Her dilapidated monasteries are also seen, and her extended wall, the base of which is washed by the gentle surf. That distant tower, shrouded in ivy, dripping with the morning dew, seems weeping over the tomb of a departed city. Everything conspired to awaken emotions of the most romantic character. Our captain mounts the quarter deck and cries out, “all hands on deck to work ship.” “Aye aye, sir.” “Clue up the mainsail” “hard a-lee,” “main-topsail, haul;” “haul taut the weather main-braces;” the ship comes about on the other tack. A boat nears us, “Stand by to throw a rope;” a man comes on board; “bout ship,” “stand by the anchor,” “haul down the jib;” mate heaves the lead and cries out, “four fathom o’ the deep ho!” “fore and main-sail, clue up.” We are now standing towards the United States’ man-of-war Southampton. “Let go the mizen top-sail braces,” “stand by,” “let go the anchor,” and at 9 A.M., our ship rounded to and bowed submission to her chains. We are now at anchor five miles from shore; a fleet of bungoes are coming off for the passengers, propelled by natives in their “dishabille;” all who are able, are prepared to debark, but fourteen of our number are confined to their berths in a helpless, and almost hopeless condition; my friend Clark is one of the number; the scurvy has rendered his limbs entirely useless, and there is no hope entertained of his recovery. We bade them farewell, and started for the shore. We looked back at the ship, which now presents the trim appearance of a ship close-reefed.