The Panama Canal: A history and description of the enterprise

by J. Saxon Mills

Gatun Upper Lock, looking North from Lighthouse.

Without some protection the entrance to the canal would have been exposed to the extremely violent storms which occur in the Caribbean during the winter months. During these storms vessels cannot lie safely in Colon harbour, and could not safely enter or issue from the canal. So a breakwater two miles long has been run out from Toro point in an easterly direction, covering the extremity of the canal. A glance at the map will suggest a thought that this barrier will not provide sufficient protection, and that another breakwater will have to be run out from the eastern shore. Such a further protection will be provided if the need should arise.

At this point then, west of Colon and at the mouth of Limon Bay, our vessel enters the buoyed submarine channel of the canal and speeds onwards along the first section of the waterway, 500 feet in bottom-width and 41 feet deep, towards the locks at Gatun. But the locks are not yet visible. It is not until the fifth mile—that is, at Mindi—that a bend of the canal opens that gigantic structure to view, and by that time the vessel has left the broad waters and is enclosed within banks. The experience which awaits the traveller who has looked forward with some excitement to see the world's greatest wonder of to-day has been vividly imagined by Mr. Bryce. Our late American Ambassador writes:—

The voyager of the future, in the ten or twelve hours of his passage from ocean to ocean, will have much variety. The level light of the fiery tropic dawn will fall on the houses of Colon as he approaches it in the morning, when vessels usually arrive. When his ship has mounted the majestic staircase of the three Gatun locks from the Atlantic level, he will glide slowly and softly along the waters of a broad lake which gradually narrows toward its head—a lake enclosed by rich forests of that velvety softness one sees in the tropics, with vistas of forest-girt islets stretching far off to right and left among the hills; a welcome change from the restless Caribbean Sea which he has left. Then the mountains will close in upon him, steep slopes of grass or brushwood rising two hundred feet above him as he passes through the great Cut. From the level of the Miguel lock he will look southward down the broad vale that opens on the ocean flooded with the light of the declining sun, and see the rocky islets rising, between which in the twilight his course will lie out into the vast Pacific. At Suez the passage from sea to sea is through a dreary and monotonous waste of shifting sand and barren clay. Here one is for a few hours in the centre of a verdant continent, floating on smooth waters, shut off from sight of the ocean behind and the ocean before—a short sweet present of tranquillity between a stormy past and a stormy future.

The Gatun locks, each chamber of which is a sort of "canyon of cement," will almost oppress the imagination with the sense of immensity. At the foot of the locks the vessel will surrender its own volition and entrust itself wholly to the canal operators. It will be attached to the electric apparatus ashore and gently towed into the lock-chambers. In less than an hour it should have climbed the three gigantic steps and be afloat on the surface of the lake, 85 feet above sea-level. The traveller might fail even to notice of himself the great dam which abuts on the locks to the west. He may be surprised to hear that the whole being of the canal depends upon that earthwork, and that with the Culebra Cut it absorbed the greater part of the labour and skill and solicitude of the canal-builders. The Gatun dam has indeed been so adopted and transfigured by Nature that it appears only a part, and not a very conspicuous part, of the landscape. Nor would our traveller, without previous information, guess the history of the great expanse of water which stretches to right and left up many a distant arm or loch and round many a picturesque island, and over which his vessel, once more resuming its own power and control, begins to advance. The buoys alone indicate that the channel, the true and well-wrought link between the two oceans, still holds its course through the bed of the lake. Mr. Bryce has pointed out what a pleasant interlude in a long ocean journey will be afforded by this placid glide of 22 miles over the inland lake from Gatun to Gamboa. The bottom widths through the lake are 1,000 feet for 16 miles, 800 feet for 4 miles, and 500 feet for about 3 miles.

At Gamboa the vessel enters the eight-mile section of the Culebra Cut. Here again, though the traveller in future days will need no reminding of the enterprise represented by this tremendous trench driven through the backbone of the isthmus, he will have to imagine the busy scene during the days of construction which will then have disappeared. He must try to reproduce what was little less than a manufacturing town at Gorgona, just near the entrance to the Cut, where stood the machine shops, boiler shops, smith shops, car shops, pattern shops, where repairs of all kinds were made and machines of all sorts and sizes constructed. He should think of that model residential town to the west of the Cut where the chief engineer and his assistants lived, surrounded by the quarters of the men, each dwelling protected with its fine wire netting to exclude the mosquitoes, the whole settlement scrupulously clean and bright with well-kept lawns and flowerbeds. All this will have passed away with the crowds of workers who interrupted for a dozen years the stillness of the primeval forest. Nature and silence will in a large degree have resumed their sway, but the world will not forget the debt it owes to that conquering industrial army which divided the land here in order to unite the nations.

Through the cutting the bottom width of the canal is 300 feet. Having accomplished the eight or nine mile passage through the deep gorge, the vessel reaches the end of the high-level section at the Pedro Miguel locks. Here she is gently lowered 30 feet down to the bosom of little Miraflores Lake, held at 55 feet above sea-level. The length of this subsection is about a mile and a half, and it ends at the Miraflores locks, where the ship is lowered by two steps to the level of the Pacific. Then follows the last stage of this eventful transit—the eight-mile tidal section along which the vessel glides between low swamps to her own element of deep sea-water beyond the new port of Balboa, west of Panama, whose wharves are being constructed from the waste material of the inland excavations. The new breakwater which runs out from Balboa to Naos Island suggests wind and storm. But eternal calm reigns along these shores, and the object of the breakwater is to protect the line of the canal, not from heavy seas, but from the silt-bearing currents from the east which set at right angles to the channel. Constant dredging was necessary to prevent the bed of the canal becoming filled with this sediment. The dyke has proved very effectual for this purpose.

Such is the Panama Canal which has for so many centuries been the desire of the nations, and which is now one of the permanent geographical features of the globe. It is so well and truly constructed that nothing short of an earthquake could ever seriously damage it. The question naturally arises whether this ultimate danger needs to be seriously considered. Panama is rather suspiciously close to a region where geological conditions are not remarkable for stability. The earthquake at Kingston a few years ago was as destructive a calamity as those of Messina and San Francisco. Costa Rica, too, almost an isthmian country, enjoys a very bad reputation for this kind of friskiness. Panama, however, seems happily to lie outside the zone of such disturbances. Slight earthquake shocks have been felt, probably only the reflections of severer shocks elsewhere. But there is no record or tradition of a really serious convulsion. There is, indeed, one visible and reassuring evidence of the self-possession of the earth's surface in this region. To the east of the modern city of Panama is the site of old Panama, of which the lofty tower of the old cathedral—a pathetic and picturesque object—is still standing. This shows that there has been no serious earthquake here for the greater part of four centuries. Still, the danger—great or small—does exist, and it threatens a high-level canal, with its elaborate lock-machinery and masonry, far more than it would have affected a canal at sea-level. No very severe convulsion might be necessary to throw one of these locks out of gear, and the entire canal, therefore, out of operation for a considerable time. But against such perils there is no guarding, and every precaution having been taken against foreseeable and preventable dangers, all else must be left to the disposal of that Providence "which by his strength setteth fast the mountains," "who laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed for ever."