enough to know that he'd want you to have it. Yes, I understand that
you didn't help us out for pay--you or any in your party. This isn't
pay; it's just a little tit for tat. Sell that ticket and divide the
proceeds among you, not omitting the boy. It may tide you over a tight
place, just as you tided us over a tight place. You see, the ticket's
no good to me. And now there's another thing or two, before we part.
You've run a big chance of getting left; and even if you reach Panama
in time for the steamer, you're liable to find her full up ere that.
Here's a note I've written to Captain Flowers, of the _California_.
He's an old ship-mate of mine. I sailed with him before I got my
papers, and we're as close as brothers. He's expecting me, at Panama,
and he'd hold the ship for me, if possible. I've asked him to take
your party on instead, and he'll do so even if he has to give up his
own cabin. My two boatmen will ship with your craft and help your boys
up-river from here to Cruces. There they'll find you the mules to
carry you on to Panama. Without these fellows you might have
difficulty to find any mules, for the crowd in advance probably has
hired every tassel-tail in sight. But I'm known all along the trail
from Chagres to Panama; I've been across time and again, and I have my
lines laid. Now I think you're fixed for a quick passage."
"But, my dear man!" exclaimed Mr. Adams. "This is too much. We can't
accept----"
"It isn't, and you can," retorted the captain, bluntly. "I'm not
inconveniencing myself a particle, whereas your party took a risk. Now
good-bye and good luck to you, gentlemen; and the same to you, my lad.
Here are the documents. You'll find my boatmen with your boatmen in
the morning. There'll not be much time to say good-bye then, if you
start as early as I think you'll start. I'll leave word for you to be
called at four o'clock."
So saying, the bluff captain shook hands all around, declined to listen
to further thanks, and ducked back down the ladder.
"There's a good turn repaying another in short order," remarked Mr.
Grigsby. "If we help somebody else off a snag we're likely to have a
whole ship put at our disposal!"
"Well, don't look for _that_," laughed Mr. Adams. "I'd help the next
man anyway."
"Certainly," agreed the Frémonter. "So would I."
And Charley sleepily determined that he would, also. But anyway, the
future looked bright again.
"We ought to reach Cruces to-morrow, and Panama the day after,"
remarked Mr. Adams; which were the last words that Charley heard until
he was shaken by the shoulder and his father's voice was saying: "All
right, Charley. Time to start."
The interior of the room was not yet pink with very early morning.
Charley stiffly scrambled to his feet, and followed his father down the
ladder, and through the room below--treading carefully so as not to
disturb the sleepers there. Mr. Grigsby already was out; and if
Captain Crosby was awake he pretended to be asleep so as to avoid more
thanks!
A little fire blazed on the river bank, near the boat. The boatmen had
made coffee and boiled some rice in cocoa-milk for the breakfast, so
that within fifteen minutes the boat was headed up-stream, on the spurt
for Cruces.
Now urged by four paddlers instead of two, it fairly flew, cleaving the
current while the dim shores and water grew lighter. The mountain
divide ahead was gradually drawing closer, and all the country along
the stream seemed steeper. One by one ranches were passed which in the
midst of cleared forest and jungle looked more prosperous than the
ranches of the lower river.
Well it was that the boat was equipped with four boatmen, for the
current ran very swift off the high hills, and contained several rapids
where two of the men--yes, and once all four of them--had to shove with
poles. They constantly chewed sections of sugar-cane cut from an
armful that had been tossed in at Peña Blanca. Charley tried the same
stunt, and found that the sugar-cane juice was good for a lunch.
Shortly after noon the course made a long turn about the foot of a
mighty, rounded hill, standing alone. Great trees clustered thickly to
its top; and here, high above all, up rose a single straight palm, like
a plume in the crown of a noble chief. The boatmen spoke, one to
another, and Francisco pointed.
"There you are, Charley," said Mr. Adams. "That's Mount Carabali. It
used to be a lookout for Indians and pirates. From that palm you can
see both the Atlantic and the Pacific. We're about ten miles from
Cruces."
In four miles more a large village called Gorgona was passed. During
half the year this was the place where people crossing the Isthmus
changed from boat to mule-back, but during the other half Cruces, six
miles above, was the junction. (As for old Gorgona, to-day it has been
swallowed, the most of it, by the greedy Gatun Lake of the big canal.)
Above Gorgona about two miles the Chagres River, whose course had
mainly been east and west, turned sharply to the left, while a fork
called the Obispo River continued on toward the Pacific. (Here,
to-day, at the forks, the Gatun Lake ends, after swallowing Gorgona,
and the celebrated Culebra Cut proceeds on west into the mountains,
making a path for the great canal, with Panama only fifteen miles away.
However, in 1849 and for many years afterward, the Panama Canal across
the Isthmus was not visible to the eye. There was no Gatun Lake and no
Culebra Cut; there was only the beautiful, tricky Chagres River,
flowing between its high jungly banks and divided, above Gorgona, where
the Obispo entered.) So the canoe carrying Charley and his party turned
south up the Chagres, and toiled on, amidst rugged green walls, to
Cruces, at last.
Las Cruces (The Place of Crosses) was situated on the west bank of the
Chagres, and as the canoe approached appeared to be a village of much
importance. As Charley had heard, it had been a famous old town,
connected with Panama by a paved stone road called the Royal Road, over
which treasure of gold and silver and pearls was borne by slaves and
mules and horses, on the way from the Pacific to the Atlantic at Porto
Bello and Nombre de Dios. Yes, and in 1670 Las Cruces was captured by
the pirates of Henry Morgan (Morgan the Buccaneer, who sacked the whole
Isthmus), on their way overland to attack Panama.
As the canoe grounded, old Cruces, with its regulation thatched cane
huts and a few--very few--wooden buildings, looked sleepy enough in the
late afternoon sunlight, as if treasure-trains and pirates and even
those other gold seekers, the California Forty-niners, never had been
here. One of Captain Crosby's boatmen, named Angel (and a queer black
angel he was!), sprang nimbly ashore, to proceed on "up town." The
other boatmen hauled the canoe higher.
"Angel's gone to find the mules," explained Mr. Adams, as all
disembarked, glad to stretch their legs. "There's not an animal in
sight; that's sure. The crowd ahead of us cleaned out the place."
"They didn't all get away, though. See the tents, yonder?" spoke Mr.
Grigsby; for three tents had been pitched, not far back from the river,
on the edge of the town.
Francisco saw, too, and shook his head vehemently, as did his comrades.
"Muy malo. Colera--mucha colera. Cuidado (Very bad. Cholera--much
cholera. Be careful)," he said.
"Shouldn't wonder," muttered Mr. Adams.
"I'll go over," volunteered Mr. Grigsby, "and see if we can do
anything." Shouldering his faithful rifle, the tall Frémonter strode
for the tents.
When he returned he reported that Francisco had guessed truly: the
tents held sick gold seekers, laid by with the dreaded cholera. But in
a couple of more tents, beyond, were some engineers on a survey for the
new Panama railroad. They had insisted that every horse and mule in
the region had been gobbled by the gold-seeker crowd, and that the
Adams party must wait for several days, at least, until the pack trains
returned from Panama. However, here came Angel, grinning, and
beckoning. He called shrilly; whereupon the three other boatmen
promptly shouldered the baggage and started for him.
"Angel evidently has fixed us out," asserted Mr. Adams, as with Charley
and Mr. Grigsby he followed.
"If he has he deserves his name," answered the Frémonter.
Angel led the way straight through the hot town, where the natives
stared languidly at the little procession, to a large plantation
beyond. Here, in a clearing devoted to maize and sugar-cane, amidst
bananas and plantains and palms, and huge acacias laden with fragrant
yellow blossoms, was nestled a white wooden house, two storied,
encircled with porch and wide upper veranda. A path of white crushed
shells led through luxuriant flowers to the front porch, where somebody
was lying in a hammock. Charley felt rather awed, for this evidently
was a wealthy ranch, belonging to cultured people.
As the party approached, crunching over the walk, the person in the
hammock rolled out, to receive them. He proved to be a stout, heavy
man, in loose white trousers, slippers, and white shirt. His
complexion was swarthy, a magnificent black beard covered his chin and
cheeks, and he plainly was a Spaniard. But he spoke good English.
"Welcome, señors," he greeted, with a wave of his hand. "I understand
you are from my good friend El Capitan Crosby. If so, my house and all
that is mine are at your disposal--a su disposición, señors."
That was a pleasant speech, indeed. Still, Mr. Adams, like Charley,
felt a little doubtful.
"Thank you, sir," he responded. "Captain Crosby was kind enough to
tell us that we would find accommodations at Las Cruces, that is true.
We left him down at Peña Blanca. But we do not wish to intrude upon
you. Our main thought is to get to Panama; and if you know of any
mules or horses, and a guide----"
The stout man courteously interrupted.
"Enough said, with your permission, señor. Horses and guide shall be
found, of course; and meantime you will honor me by spending the night.
You would gain nothing by attempting the trip before morning. The
trail is bad enough, by day. This is the Hacienda las Flores, and I am
Don Antonio de Soto. Let your men drop your baggage, which will be
properly attended to, and be pleased to enter."
Mr. Adams introduced himself and party; and with Don Antonio refusing
to listen to any apologies, into the house they went. It was
delightfully cool there, where the rooms were high and large and simply
furnished with cane chairs and couches. Don Antonio's wife, the Señora
Isabella (and a beauty), came forward also to welcome them. In white
dress, with a red rose stuck into her black hair, she took Charley's
fancy at once. Then there was a boy, Pascal, about Charley's age--a
handsome young fellow, slim and dark, with wonderful black-brown eyes
and dazzling white teeth. Servants glided hither-thither, to bring
glasses of lemonade and pine-apple juice, and to distribute the
bed-rooms; and when Charley found himself confronted by a real bed,
with a bath at his disposal, he thought that they all were in right
good hands. He wished that his mother was here, too. The Señora made
him rather homesick. How his mother would enjoy this place!
"We noticed the tents of some of the new railroad engineers, at the
edge of town, sir," remarked Mr. Adams, at supper, where Charley,
arrayed in his last clean suit of white, found the creamy beaten cocoa,
served on a spotless table, was the most delicious thing that he had
ever tasted. "I wonder how the work is going on."
"Excellently," responded Don Antonio. "I believe that a partial survey
has been made clear across. From the Atlantic end at Limon Bay the
line follows up along the right bank of the Chagres, about to Gorgona,
where it crosses and uses the old treasure-trail over Culebra Pass to
Panama."
"Then we'll see the survey, to-morrow?"
"No, señor, I fear not. You will follow the Camina Reale (Royal Road)
from Cruces, which runs far to the northward of the other trail from
Gorgona. But tell me, you being so lately from the United States, what
is the report upon this Panama Railroad? The Americans are to build
it, we hear."
"Yes, sir. A French company had the contract to cross this part of New
Granada with a railroad, but they didn't do anything, and at the
beginning of this year an American company got the right. The company
is formed by William Henry Aspenwall, John Lloyd Stevens, and Henry
Chauncy, of New York. The contract runs for forty-nine years from date
of completion of the road, which must be finished within six years. No
doubt the active construction will begin this fall or winter, at Colon;
and I am glad to know that the preliminary survey is already being
made. A railroad is badly needed."
"Ah, but the difficulties will be immense, señors," said the Dona
Isabella. "Swamps, mountains, fevers, wild beasts, rains--!" and she
exclaimed in Spanish, with despairing gesture of her white hands.
"It will be done, if the Americans go at it," asserted Don Antonio.
"You Americans are a wonderful people. I shall send our Pascal north,
this coming winter, to be an American. Eh, Pascal? He must learn
English, too. I myself was educated at Lima, where there are many
Americans and English."
"If I was going to be home you could send Pascal to St. Louis, Don
Antonio," spoke Charley, impulsively. "Then I could show him 'round."
"He would enjoy that, I'm sure," answered Don Antonio; and Pascal, as
if understanding, smiled friendly across the table at Charley.
"Yes, sir; a year or so in the States would do him good," agreed Mr.
Grigsby.
"Our friend Captain Crosby will take care of him," said Don Antonio.
"The matter has been arranged. And now after the railroad," he
continued, "will come the ship canal, no doubt. That will be a still
greater undertaking."
Mr. Adams nodded.
"Yes, I believe you. A canal across this Isthmus of Darien, as the old
navigators termed it, has been talked of ever since 1520, when Charles
the Fifth of Spain ordered a survey made. I expect to live to see the
railroad completed; whether I or you or any of us here will see a
canal, I don't know. But there'll be one; there'll be one."
That evening, after supper, Dona Isabella played charmingly on the
guitar, while amidst the shrubbery before the house the enormous
fire-flies made long streaks of light or blazed like jewels on leaf and
twig. With the graceful Pascal Charley chased and captured some.
Pascal had a wicker cage partly full of them, and used it as a lantern.
He lent it to Charley to go to bed by!
From the chase Charley returned to the porch in time to hear Don
Antonio discussing the road to Panama.
"The distance is twenty miles," he said, "and must be made in daylight.
The old road is not what it was in the time of golden Panama, when it
was kept open by the treasure trains. I would not hurry you,
gentlemen, but you should start early in the morning, for this is our
rainy season and you are liable to be delayed."
"It is a paved road, you say, sir?" queried Mr. Adams.
"After a fashion," smiled Don Antonio, "but laid more than 300 years
ago. From Panama to Cruces it was paved with flat stones, and was made
wide enough for two carts to pass one another. That, too, señors, was
a great undertaking, through the jungle and over the mountains, and
hundreds of poor natives died at the work. Ah, what millions in gold
and silver and precious stones, to enrich us Spaniards, have traveled
that long road all the way from the Pacific to the Atlantic! The
portion between Cruces and Panama has been kept open the longest, for
soon after the completion of the whole vessels began to ply back and
forth between Cruces and Chagres, and the lower road was not so much
used."
"You spoke of animals for our use to-morrow," suggested Mr. Adams.
"They shall be ready, señor. We at the Hacienda las Flores do not need
to keep horses and mules for hire, but I have plenty for my friends."
"We wish to pay for their use, sir," spoke Mr. Adams, quickly. "We
would not think of accepting them, otherwise. That is only fair.
Isn't it so, Grigsby?"
"I say the same," agreed the Frémonter.
Don Antonio politely bowed.
"In that case," he answered, "I shall yield. The regular hire from
Cruces to Panama is ten dollars each for the riding animals, and six
dollars for each 100 pounds of freight. However, the animals ate at
your disposal without price, if you permit me. With the packers and
guide you can settle among yourselves."
Lighted to bed by his firefly lantern, that night Charley slept between
sheets, under a mosquito-net canopy. He slept soundly, but he dreamed
of being a pirate, and capturing a long treasure train of mules piled
high with golden bars and shining pearls and rubies on the way from old
Panama.
X
ALMOST LEFT BEHIND
Don Antonio proved as good as his word. After the early breakfast, at
which all the family hospitably presided, back of the house were found
waiting three saddle horses, and two bullocks for pack animals. The
trunk was balanced on the broad back of one bullock, and firmly lashed
there; considerable of a trick it was, too, to fasten it in place on
the rolling hide, but Don Antonio's packers did the job in short order.
On the other bullock were lashed the bedding rolls. Now there remained
only to bid good-bye to host and hostess, pay off Maria and Francisco,
thank everybody, mount and follow the guide to Panama.
Maria and Francisco refused to accept anything extra for their faithful
services; so did Angel and Ambrosio, Captain Crosby's boatmen. They
shook their heads. "No, we may be black, but we are very much
gentlemen. When Americans treat us right, we treat them right," they
asserted.
"It is well that you have no ladies in your party," vouchsafed Don
Antonio. "The trip is hard for ladies, señors. They must either ride
astride, through rain and mud, or trust themselves to chairs upon the
backs of natives. _Sellero_ do we call that kind of a contrivance."
And when Charley had seen the road, he was rather glad, after all, that
his mother had not come. However, as Don Antonio remarked, "women had
gone that way, and many others probably would do the same." Charley
felt certain that his mother could get through, if any woman could!
She was spunky.
The horses were thin, scrawny fellows, so small that Charley himself
stood higher than they. On the other hand, the saddles were
prodigious; they covered the little animals completely, and the large
wooden stirrups nearly grazed the ground. It seemed to Charley that
the saddle alone was weight enough for such horses; but when at word
from his father he cautiously mounted into the seat, his horse appeared
not to mind. With its high horn and cantle, the saddle fitted like a
chair. To fall off would be hard--which was one good thing, at least.
So they started; the guide (who was a real Indian) walking barefoot
before, Mr. Adams, Mr. Grigsby and Charley riding in single file after,
the two pack bullocks plodding behind, and another Indian, to drive
them, trudging at the rear of all.
The narrow trail led first through a large tract of sugar-cane growing
much higher than one's head, and forming a thick, rustling green wall
on either side. As the little cavalcade proceeded, the Indian guide,
who wore a peaked plaited straw hat called jipijapa, a pair of white
cotton pantaloons, and a heavy-bladed knife--a machete--hanging at his
waist, with his machete occasionally slashed off a cane, to suck.
Suddenly the trail left the cane, and plunged into the jungle; and for
most of this day the party did not see the sun again. Here the guide
did a queer thing: he halted a moment, took off his pantaloons and hung
them about his neck. Evidently this was the sign that the plantation
and town had been left behind!
The horses' hoofs clattered and slipped; and looking down, Charley saw
that he was riding over a rude pavement, made by flat stones embedded
in the soft soil. This, then, was the ancient Royal Road--the Treasure
Trail from Panama! The stones were tilted and sunken and covered with
mud; a thicket of plants and brush crowded either edge, and gigantic
trees, enveloped with flowering vines, towered over, forming an emerald
archway through which a few faint sunbeams filtered to fleck the way.
Monkeys swung from branch to branch, and jabbered and gathered
cocoanuts and other fruit; gayly colored parrots flew screaming, or
hung upside down and screamed. The whole dense forest was alive with
strange animals and strange cries. Charley's eyes and ears were
constantly on the alert. He was having a great experience.
Ever the old road led on. In places it disappeared, swallowed by mud
and vegetation. There were numerous holes, where the stones had sunk
or been displaced; and picking their way the tough little horses and
the panting bullocks floundered to their knees. The trail seemed to be
climbing; it also was growing rougher. It crossed dank, dark ravines;
skirted their sides; and wound along the rim of precipices so deep that
the sight made Charley dizzy.
Toward noon the customary daily thunderstorm descended. So they halted
under a spreading plantain tree, whose leaves, broader even than banana
leaves, really were very good umbrellas. Here they ate their lunch,
too.
The rain made traveling worse, and worse waxed the old road.
"I vow!" exclaimed Mr. Adams, as his small horse staggered and almost
fell on a steep, slippery place. "This is as bad as storming the City
of Mexico. How do you like it, Grigsby?"
"I thought I'd seen bad trails, on some of my overland trips with
Frémont, but this beats them all."
Several times dead mules, perhaps with their necks broken, were passed;
and frequently were passed trunks and other baggage, thrown aside, all
of which showed that this trail of the old fortune-hunters was now the
trail of the new fortune-hunters, also, bound for California.
"We must be on top of the range," presently remarked Mr. Grigsby.
"Feels like it, anyhow."
Scarcely had he spoken, when on a sudden the trail emerged from the
forest, to creep along the face of another precipice. The path was
only a ledge jutting out not more than three feet from the solid wall
hung with vines; at the edge was a sheer drop of thousands of feet--or
maybe not more than 2000, but to Charley, whose left foot hung over the
drop, it looked like 20,000.
The horses trod gingerly, with ears pricked, carefully avoiding
scraping the wall lest they be forced over. This was wise, but not
pleasant for the riders. Behind, the bullocks snorted. Gazing off,
Charley saw what might have been a whole world spread beneath him:
league after league of rolling, misty green, where the jungle was
dwarfed by distance so that it looked like a lawn! Above it circled
and circled huge vultures; and although these were high in the air, he
and his party were higher yet!
"I smell salt water!" exclaimed Mr. Grigsby. "We're at the Pacific
slope!"
Charley sniffed; he heard his father sniffing; but he must admit that
Mr. Grigsby's nose was better than theirs. Now the trail entered
another jungly forest, and it certainly led down instead of up, as if
indeed they had crossed the divide. Hurrah!
However, the journey was not done, by any means. The road grew worse
still, as if the rain here had been harder. Making a misstep, down
slipped Charley's horse from the trail, over the edge of a clay bank,
and landed on his side twenty feet below. Charley sprawled on his face
in mud and rotted branches.
[Illustration: Down slipped Charley's horse from the trail]
"Hurt?" called his father.
"No, sir," answered Charley, grabbing the lines; and pulling his horse
along, he struggled to the trail again. He was not hurt, but he was a
sight to behold. The only thing to do was to laugh, and go on.
"Yes, boys; I smell salt water," insisted Mr. Grigsby. "And," he
added, "I'll be mighty glad to see it."
The paving was now so bad that the horses and bullocks preferred
walking at one side, following little paths that made long cuts and
short cuts through the brush. These paths were so narrow that the
riders had to clutch tight and bend low, or be swept from their
saddles. But there was no use in trying to guide those little horses,
who seemed to know what they wanted. Soon Charley and the others were
wringing wet, from the rain-soaked trees and bushes. This was part of
the game, but Charley was beginning to feel tired and cross. Still, he
wouldn't have missed the trip for anything. He'd have a lot to tell
Billy Walker, when they met in the gold fields.
It was late afternoon when the Indian guide (whose name was Pablo)
stopped short, at a mud puddle, washed his feet, and put on his
pantaloons!
"Hurrah!" cheered Mr. Adams. "That means Panama. Pablo's dressing.
And now I do smell the ocean, and no mistake."
"I've been smelling it for hours," reminded Mr. Grigsby.
Yes, the smell of ocean was in the air! Charley recognized it. It
smelled the same as the Atlantic, but of course it must be from the
Pacific. And within a few minutes the road had broadened; huts began
to appear, alongside. Through an opening, ahead, were disclosed
buildings of stone--a crumbling old church, almost covered with vines,
was passed--and beyond appeared a wide stretch of beautiful blue: the
Pacific Ocean!