At last all was in readiness; Mr. Mainwaring, who had the steering wheel, gave the signal to start the engines.
Rob gave the big fly-wheel a twist against the compression, while Merritt turned on the gasolene and set the spark. The engine gave a chug and a snort and the big stern paddle wheel, which gave the boat such an odd look but was necessary for shoal water navigation, began to beat the water.
The boys gave a shout and their patrol cries. From the bow of the Pathfinder, as a compliment to them, fluttered the pennants of the Eagles and the Black Wolves, the same which it had been designed to plant at old Panama. At the stern waved Old Glory. Astern towed the two dugouts, loaded deep down with “duffle.”
Thus started a trip that was to prove one of the most adventurous that lads ever embarked upon “by flood or field.”
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE TRACKLESS JUNGLE.
As they slowly ascended the sluggish, though powerful current of the muddy Chagres, Mr. Raynor told them something about the object of their expedition. In the foothills of the Cordillero de Bando, a sort of backbone of mountains extending throughout the length of the Isthmus, many small rivers rise, some of which feed the Chagres and contribute to its floods. The largest of these, a stream known as the Rio Chepalto, was, in the rainy season, quite a formidable torrent. Mr. Mainwaring’s idea was to construct a dam or dig some sort of a connecting link which would divert the waters of the Chepalto in flood time into one of the small rivers that flowed seaward, thus further taming the Chagres.
The Gatun valley was soon left behind and the Chagres plunged into a steaming, luxuriant forest. Between banks overgrown in wild profusion with every sort of tropical growth, its chocolate colored current flowed silently along. In places, muddy bayous led off from the main stream and these, the boys were told, were the haunts of crocodiles and alligators.
Everywhere amidst the luxuriant tangle on the banks were vivid splashes of color, scarlet, yellow, and blue. These were the flowers of a score of varieties of tropic shrubs and flowering bushes. They filled the air with a rank, sweet smell that was almost overpowering. From the tangle, too, there shot up majestic trees, from whose branches drooped long lianas, or creepers, some of them thick as a man’s thigh. Here was a clump of brilliantly green and feathery bamboo, there shot up a grove of coco-bola trees, while once in a while, but this rarely, there loomed in sight a group of the kings of the tropical forests—a majestic gathering of towering mahogany trees.
There were also clumps of banana plants growing to a height of fifteen or twenty feet, with immense broad leaves often six feet in length. Curiously enough, the banana bunches appeared to be hanging upside down. Beyond the fruit extended a stem like a snake, ending in a big blossom something like a red-brown water lily. There were occasional clumps of cocoanut trees, too, at which Tubby looked with a strange mixture of awe and longing.
Occasionally, through all this brilliant jungle gaily colored parrots or a flock of screaming macaws would fly, alarmed by the chugging of the launch. In some of the bayous, pelicans or big blue herons stood like sentinels on one leg, watching the progress of the invaders. But, beautiful as it all was, the boys missed the songs of the woodland birds in the north. Except for the shrieking of the parrots and macaws, or the occasional sullen splash of some unseen creature plunging into the river, the vast forests that reached for miles all about them were silent.