Photo by Underwood & Underwood
THE ANCON HOSPITAL GROUNDS
The beauty of the grounds is due to early French planning
A SUNKEN RAILROAD
Nine feet below the boat is the roadbed of the old Panama railroad
Disease on the Isthmus coöperated with distrust in Paris to bring about failure. The French in 1880 knew nothing of the modern scientific systems for checking yellow-fever contagion and the spread of malaria. The part mosquitoes play as carriers of disease germs was not dreamed of. Beyond building excellent hospitals for the sick, some of which we still use, and dosing both sick and well liberally with quinine, they had no plan of campaign against “Yellow Jack.” As a result, death stalked grimly among them, and the stories written of his ravages are ghastly. On the south side of Ancon Hill, where the quarry has gashed the hillside, stood, until recently, a large frame house, built for Jules Dingler, first director-general of canal work. It cost $150,000, though perhaps worth a third of that sum, and was called “La Folie Dingler.” But it was a rather tragic folly for poor Dingler, for before he had fairly moved into it his wife, son and daughter died of yellow fever and he returned to Paris to die too of a broken heart. His house, in which he anticipated such happiness, became a smallpox hospital, and was finally sold for $25 with the stipulation that the purchaser remove it.
A ZONE WORKING VILLAGE
The low houses were built by the French: all screening added by Americans
