_On the Way to the Southern Continent_
After leaving Kingston, Jamaica, one has an opportunity of observing
some of the many types who journey to the isthmus of Panama.
The steamer is crowded and its comfort impaired by the numerous
obstacles such as luggage and deck chairs, which prevent promenading and
the taking of the usual form of exercise on board ship. On the fore
deck, huddled together in endless confusion, are labourers from the
island just left; behind their “household gods”--parrots, monkeys,
poultry, and dogs--enjoying in many cases more comfort than their
owners.
In the dim shadows cast by the awning spread to protect them from the
glare of the burning sun, or the torrential rain which might at any
moment descend; reclining upon chairs, hammocks or bedding spread upon
the deck, men and women of varying age, colour and costume, seek
oblivion in sleep from the nausea occasioned by the monotonous rolling
of the ship.
On the afternoon of the third day, through the haze of a tropical
downpour, Colon is sighted. Though the rain falls in sheets, the eye can
trace through the silvery mists the faint outline of the coast and
contour of the hills; whilst away across the bay, at its western
extremity, the Toro Lighthouse is dimly visible.
This island of Manzanilla, upon which Colon is built, was passed and
repassed many times by Columbus, when, on his fourth and last voyage, he
searched so diligently for the Straits which he believed existed. His
objective was to reach India, the land of the Grand Khan, and it was
only after his ships had been reduced to mere leaking hulks, that he
abandoned the search for the opening which he imagined must be there.
Four hundred eventful years have passed, yet men’s minds have never
ceased from
[Illustration: OLD WHARVES, COLON.]
dwelling upon the idea of making a waterway through the narrow neck of
land that connects two great continents and divides two vast seas. From
the beginning of the eighteenth century, plans have been put forward for
the accomplishment of this task; but it was not until the railway across
the isthmus was completed in 1854 that any serious thought was given by
responsible persons to such projects. The building of the Panama Railway
was brought about by the discovery of gold in California in 1849, when
hundreds of adventurers from every part of the globe found this the
shortest and quickest route to the western El Dorado. The history of how
Aspinwall and Stevens accomplished their task of completing this short
railway across a fetid tropical country, is one of the finest records of
human endurance and perseverance. Sickness and disease thinned the ranks
of their labourers, and the graves of hundreds of workers who perished
in this enterprise are scattered profusely across the isthmus. There is
a legend current in Panama that every tie on the railroad represents a
human life. (That this is an exaggeration, anyone who reflects will
readily perceive; for it would mean that 150,000 deaths had occurred in
the five years, a number ten times greater than the whole population of
the isthmus at that period.) Trains carrying thousands of passengers,
and tons of goods across the forty-seven miles of track, have never been
able to cope with the enormous and increasing traffic. That a canal,
through which the largest ships might pass from the Atlantic to the
Pacific, would eventually be constructed, few people doubted; and when
De Lesseps, fresh from winning his laurels at Suez, undertook to
construct a waterway, his enthusiasm quickly spread to thousands of his
countrymen, and a French company was formed to carry out his schemes.
The history of the French Canal Company is sad reading, and is now
almost forgotten. The Panama scandals and the trial of the De Lesseps,
father and son, with many others connected with the affair, are things
of the past: the United States Government have taken over the assets of
the derelict company, and innumerable American citizens are carried
annually to the scene of the great undertaking. From the moment the ship
leaves New York, all the talk on board is of the isthmus and the canal,
and those who have never visited the narrow belt of land look forward
eagerly to catching their first glimpse of this much-talked-of country.
But the unfamiliar light that is frequently diffused over all, producing
ever-changing and delicate tints of grey, purple, and blue, veils the
landscape in indistinctness, so that expectations of beholding a land on
which the sun pours down its burning rays, are unrealised, for a deluge
of rain almost invariably welcomes the visitor.
Directly the vessel is berthed, the formalities attendant upon landing
attract the attention. All the passengers are ordered into the saloon,
and are medically examined by the officer of health for the port. Those
unable to produce evidence of recent vaccination are promptly operated
upon, and negroes and negresses reappear upon deck with crimson stains
upon their long black arms, testifying to the work of the lancet.
Frightened mothers and terrified children are sobbing all around, adding
to the general din that arises with the arrival of a steamer. The rain
still pours from the leaden sky, which seems as if it could never
exhaust its weeping grief, and even in the short distance from the shed
upon the wharf to a ramshackle bus or cab, the exposure is sufficient to
ensure a thorough drenching.
The main street, and indeed all of Colon, has undergone great
improvements of recent years. A short drive and Christobal is reached, a
kind of suburb of Colon, now within the territory called Canal Zone,
owned by the American Government.
[Illustration: A FAMILY PARTY, COLON.]
It was in one of the many wooden bungalows built in the time of De
Lesseps, and facing Limon Bay, that I took up my first quarters on the
isthmus. The house is quite typical of hundreds throughout the Zone
occupied by the more responsible workers on the canal, and in every way
possible the comfort of the occupants is considered, and the
accommodation is ample for all ordinary purposes.
The verandahs surrounding the houses are securely screened with
fine-meshed copper gauze to prevent the intrusion of the fever-bearing
stegomyia mosquito and of the thousand other noxious insects which are
the pests of this tropical country.
Every window is covered in the same manner, the doors which open from
the verandahs being furnished with a strong spring, ensuring their being
kept shut. The water cisterns are all covered, as are the rain-water
tubs placed around the buildings, and there is no possibility of any
insect finding a suitable breeding ground. During the whole of my stay
on the isthmus I seldom encountered a mosquito, and it is no
exaggeration to say that this insect runs serious risk of sharing the
fate of the dodo.
The first work that the Americans undertook upon taking possession of
their new territory, was to put into operation all means conceivable for
the destruction of the mosquitoes, a work that would have been
impossible if the Commission had not possessed the power to direct the
sanitary and health measures in the towns of Panama and Colon, which
both lie outside of the Canal Zone, but are so intimately connected with
it as to be sources of danger, in case of epidemics. The maintenance of
law and order is also vested in the United States, in the event of the
Republic of Panama proving unable to cope with it.
For the greatest difficulty the Americans have had to contend with has
been the climatic conditions so fatal to the workers during the
construction of the Panama Railway in 1850, and throughout the
operations of the two ill-fated French Canal Companies.
The careful attention which the Health Department of the Canal
Commission has given to the sanitation and purification of their new
territory, as well as of the towns of Colon and Panama, has amply
justified the enormous expense by the wonderful results obtained. When
one considers that yellow fever has always been regarded by tropical
Americans as indigenous to their climate, it is indeed surprising that
this disease has been practically exterminated from the isthmus of
Panama in so short a time.
Houses have been entered, cleansed and fumigated; marshes drained,
stagnant water treated with petroleum and the bush and scrub around all
dwelling houses cut away, until haunt and breeding ground are alike
denied to the germ-bearing mosquito.
Everywhere one comes across members of the Sanitary Corps, either lowly
negroes and half-bred Indians with cans of petroleum from which they
drop a small quantity of oil on any stray pool or puddle that they come
to; or the doctors ever vigilant in their inspections of the most
out-of-the-way holes and corners in which dirt or disease might lurk.
[Illustration: A CAMP AT BALBOA.]
The large hospital at Colon, built upon piles over the seashore, was
erected originally by the French, but has been improved and modernised
until it is as well equipped as any similar institution. There has not
been a case of yellow fever within its walls for some years now, and the
many screens that formerly were placed around the beds have all been
stored away, except one, left as a specimen to show visitors the methods
employed in isolating patients suffering from the dread disease.
Colon has changed very much during the last ten years. The fires of 1885
and 1890 destroyed a great many of the wooden buildings of which it was
formerly composed; and the only old buildings of any pretensions to
durability are the railway station and offices, and a church which was
built by the pioneers of the isthmian route in the middle of the last
century. Reorganised and rebuilt for the purposes of the Atlantic
terminus of the canal, the most prominent features of the town to-day
are the large wharves and warehouses for the reception of the materials
and supplies for the vast project. Laundries, bakeries, schools,
court-houses and administration buildings, dwellings for employees,
hotels, stores and machine shops, have been erected on this erstwhile
mangrove swamp, an undertaking in itself of great magnitude.
A new railway terminus has been built. The trains which run each way,
three times daily, across the isthmus to Panama, carry passengers and
baggage to that city and to the numerous wayside stations along the
route. They are always crowded with employees of the Canal Commission,
and travellers on their way, via the Pacific port, to countries on the
western side of South America.
Along the route of the canal, which follows closely the line of the
railway, a busy scene of activity is presented. Only those who have
travelled backwards and forwards over the line many times, and have
branched off along the numerous side tracks that have been laid to carry
the excavated earth to convenient or necessary dumping grounds, can be
properly impressed with the magnitude and difficulty of the operations,
as evidenced not only by the existing works, but by continual reminders
of the French enterprise, in hundreds of disused and obsolete trucks,
engines and dredgers which lie half-sunk in deep morasses or overgrown
with dense vegetation.
The towns and villages that have sprung up along the line of the canal
have grown rapidly during the last two or three years, for although the
French had erected over two thousand buildings during their occupation,
the new owners have added so largely to that number that such towns as
Empire, Culebra, Las Cascadas, and Gatum are quite important and
considerable centres of industry, with schools, hotels, court-houses and
large dwelling houses scattered through them.
The headquarters of the Canal Commission are at Culebra, and it is here
also that the largest excavation work is going on. The hill of Culebra
(which means a “serpent”) is about thirty-six miles from Colon and ten
from Panama, and it was at this point that the two French companies
concentrated their efforts. The canal in course of construction, and now
nearing completion, is a high-level one, the amount of excavation being
considerably less than that required if De Lesseps’ original plan of a
sea-level route had been adhered to.
Thousands of persons every year visit this famous cutting, for in it the
majority of the great steam shovels are at work. The progress being made
is apparent, for on the long terraces the positions of the steam shovels
are always altering. Every now and then a great cloud of smoke and dust,
followed by a deafening roar, intimates that blasting operations are in
full swing. Dumpcars of the latest pattern have superseded the old
French ones; and the trains are now composed of a series of new trucks,
coupled together, one side of each car being left open with a movable
iron plate connecting it with its neighbour. A large truck at on end of
the train contains a powerful engine, which pulls a steel plough along
the trucks, emptying them of rock and dirt when the desired dumping
ground is reached. All day these long trains filled with spoil move
backwards and forwards through the cutting, at the different levels made
for them by the steam shovels. Gangs of labourers are kept busy laying
the tracks to enable the shovels to carve their way into the huge rocky
hill. The problem of keeping up a supply of men, fit to stand the
climate, has been solved by importing on to the scene Spaniards,
Portuguese, Italians, and West Indians, and they have endured the
climate surprisingly. It is astonishing that in a shade temperature of
from 89-91 so much energy can be displayed. In the rainy season the
conditions become very difficult to contend against. The River Chagres
rises and carries away long tracks of the railway, putting a stop to
operations for days at a time. The rainfall amounts on an average to
about one hundred and forty inches per annum, most of it falling from
September to May. Yet the work proceeds rapidly in spite of the rain.
The houses built for the labourers are all supplied with drying rooms,
which are very necessary adjuncts to any dwelling on the isthmus, for
otherwise it would be impossible to have any dry clothing.
But for the bad climatic and health conditions, the Panama Canal would
have been finished long ere this, and had the De Lesseps company had the
advantages of modern sanitary methods, the history of the canal might be
different. In England it has been customary to hear exaggerated accounts
of wasted money and material in Panama until the very name is almost
synonymous with fraud and deceit. But on the spot the American engineers
have discovered many evidences of the enormous amount of genuine work
accomplished by the early companies, under depressing circumstances and
difficulties. Much that they did has been utilised, houses, hospitals,
and hotels have been put into order, and have proved of great assistance
to the present owners. The task of keeping up a working force of thirty
thousand men, feeding, housing, and caring for them, can only be
appreciated by those who are acquainted with the tropics. As all
nationalities are to be found in the vast army at work, this means that
the labour camps to accommodate them have to be kept separate and the
food supplies carefully chosen, in accordance with the various tastes of
different nations. The world at large is the market in which the
authorities buy their provisions. It is bewildering to the layman, and
impossible for him to understand the numerous engineering problems into
which the work is divided. The rival schemes of high level, low level,
and sea level, have been subjected to the criticism of the world’s most
expert engineers for over a quarter of a century, and although the
original plan of a sea level waterway was abandoned by De Lesseps, it is
still held by many experts to be the only satisfactory one. The canal
scheme that is at present proceeding is one of locks. The River Chagres,
which rises in the surrounding hills, is subject to enormous floods, and
in the rainy season great tracts of country on the Atlantic side of the
isthmus are under water. Villages and workshops are swamped, the railway
tracks swept away and disorganisation sets in.
[Illustration: THE FIRST LABOUR CAMP, GATUM.]
The control of this river has been the subject of much anxious thought
and the experts’ opinion on it would fill volumes. The present plan
entailed the building of the great dam at Gatum, about seven miles from
the Atlantic terminus of the canal. This is now nearly completed and
fills a gap between two ranges of hills, and much of the excavated
material from the Culebra cutting (thirty miles distant) was dumped
here. As the dam is about a mile and a quarter in length and half a mile
in thickness, over two million cubic yards of material have been used
for its construction. It has great controlling water sluices and locks,
and completes the range of high ground, which will enclose an immense
lake eighty-five feet above the sea level, having an area of over one
hundred and seventy square miles. Towns and villages at present existing
in the territory that extends from Gatum to Culebra will disappear when
the great dam is finished, and the water is already being allowed to
collect to form the great lake. Double sets of locks have been built at
Gatum to raise ships up from the canal, a height of eighty-five feet.
Vessels of one thousand feet in length and one hundred feet beam have
been anticipated, and there will be accommodation for such boats when
they shall be built and present themselves for entrance to the canal.
The navigation channel through the great Gatum Lake will have a depth of
at least forty-five feet and a width at bottom of one thousand feet
until the Culebra cutting is reached, where the width will be diminished
to two hundred feet. About ten miles from the Pacific terminus of the
canal, at Pedro Miguel, the summit level will cease, at a series of
locks which will lower vessels thirty feet, into a channel five hundred
feet in width and about one mile in length. Two more locks at Miraflores
will lower vessels to the Pacific sea level. The channel from Miraflores
to Balboa (the Pacific terminus) will have a width of five hundred feet
right to the open sea. Dredging operations are being carried on for the
purpose of deepening and widening the channels at the Pacific and
Atlantic entrances. Large wharves for the reception of steamers have
been erected at Balboa, and dry docks for repairing have been
constructed. In Panama itself, although the city does not belong to the
United States Government, much money and time have been spent in putting
it into a proper sanitary condition, for by treaty with the Panamanian
Government the Canal Commission have jurisdiction over all matters
connected with health. This ancient Spanish city has now been properly
drained and a good water supply laid on, streets which were formerly
quagmires in the rainy season, have been transformed by stone pavements
thoroughly well laid by the Commission, but charged up to the Panamanian
Government.
[Illustration: THE OLD CHURCH ON THE ISLAND OF TOBAGO, OFF PANAMA.]
There are over five thousand white employees on the work. Police,
magistrates, school officers, medical men, mining engineers, surveyors,
train conductors, hotel managers, overseers, foremen, clerks,
dispensers, judges, mechanics, detectives, chemists, teachers, indeed
quite a state has grown up upon this tropical belt, which but for the
work in hand would be unexplored bush. The engineering shops at Matachin
have grown under the commission to four times the size of the original
French buildings, and are capable of accommodating for repairs and
putting together over twenty large locomotives at one time. Steam
shovels, cranes, trucks, ploughs, and rolling stock generally undergo
repairs in these shops. Everywhere along the line improved, modern,
up-to-date buildings are occupied as fast as they can be erected, and
the social side of life is highly developed. Dances, concerts, and
amateur theatricals are always going forward, while of out-of-door
sports the national game of baseball is easily first favourite.
Everything is done by the authorities to make life on the isthmus as
pleasant and enjoyable as possible, and very different from the early
days when necessities were difficult to obtain and luxuries impossible.
Ice is delivered to all the houses on the Canal Zone daily at a small
charge, and bread, vegetables, meat, everything in fact that a dainty
mortal can desire, is easily obtainable at the Commission’s Stores, so
that in this land of “Perpetual Thirst” there is little of hardship and
much of pleasure for the workers who have to live exiled from home.
The Commission has made a rule that every white employee shall take an
annual holiday and spend it in the United States, so that there is much
coming and going between the States and Panama. In fact, very few stay
for long and the ranks are being continually reinforced with fresh
recruits. The Commission have also a splendid sanatorium situated on the
island of Tobago, a few miles south of Panama. Here, amidst perfect
surroundings, the convalescents are nursed back to health and strength
and tended with the utmost care. Even strangers who are not in any way
connected with the canal, avail themselves of this retreat, and many
Panamanians make it a holiday resort. At the foot of Ancon Hill, just
outside the city of Panama, the Canal Commission have built a
magnificent hotel capable of accommodating over three hundred
first-class guests. It was opened in time to receive President Roosevelt
when he paid his memorable visit to the isthmus in November, 1906, and
since then has housed many other distinguished visitors.