Cars were in readiness to take us immediately to Aspinwall, where the
steamer North Star was waiting to convey us to New York. Many of the
gentlemen took passage in them; but the ladies were too exhausted to
think of proceeding farther that day; and, as the specie and baggage had
not all arrived, there was no danger of the North Star sailing until the
next night.
So we all retired, and did not rise again until the next morning. Our
accommodations at Obispo were similar to those at Panama--great rush,
nothing to eat, and not much to lie upon.
In the morning, as we were well-nigh famished, a gentleman of the party
invited a friend of mine and myself to breakfast with him, as he had
been to the trouble of purchasing something, and hiring it cooked
expressly for himself. The breakfast consisted of broiled chicken, fried
plantains, and eggs. That meal cost five dollars, and it was the only
one I had while at Obispo. That forenoon, our baggage arrived, and,
while out on the plaza, it was exposed to one of the hardest showers I
ever witnessed. Wo to the contents of those trunks which were not
water-proof!
I must not leave the beautiful valley of Obispo without descanting upon
its loveliness. It was inclosed by lofty hills, whose sides and summits
were clothed with the most beautiful tropical foliage. There grew the
tall palm-tree, laden with its milky fruit; the luscious pine-apple;
also bananas, and plantains in abundance.
There were, perhaps, twenty native bamboo-huts, thatched with the woven
fibre of the palm-leaf, scattered about the valley; around the doors of
which, and under the leafy shade of the lime and palmetto, lounged the
indolent natives, of both sexes. And why should they exert themselves,
when nature has so abundantly supplied their wants?
They appeared perfectly happy and contented in their ignorance. No
soaring aspirations for fame caused them to pass sleepless nights and
anxious days. They were slaves to no goddess of fashion; and, if they
had any pride, I cannot conceive to what point it tended, unless it was
an overweening desire to excel in roasting monkeys. Oh, this was a sunny
spot! I can see it, even now, in my mind’s eye, as it appeared when
viewed from the top of that mountain height, after a day of toilsome
travel. That old adage, “It is always the darkest just before day,” was
never more fully illustrated than when, after such a toilsome, dangerous
day’s ride as we had accomplished, that lovely, pleasant valley burst
upon our view. That last two miles of mule-back travel I shall never
forget. Whether it surpassed all other portions of the route in steep
and dangerous passes, or whether we were so completely worn out with
fatigue, that everything appeared more dark and gloomy than it really
was, I cannot say; but that old maxim kept ringing in my ears, and
cheering me on--“It is always the darkest just before day.” And,
certainly, I could not compare that sunshiny valley, at the terminus of
our route, to other than the brightest day that ever followed the
darkest night.
About four o’clock in the afternoon, we seated ourselves in the cars
bound to Aspinwall. Those cars on the Isthmus had cane seats and backs,
and were, therefore, not so comfortable for the sick, sore, and lame, as
if they had been otherwise.
We were borne over the track quite slowly, as the many short curves
which the road made prevented their going with greater speed. The
railroad seemed to follow the bed of the Chagres River. We crossed it
several times. The scenery was grand and sublime, commingled with the
beautiful. On one side of the track, perhaps, a towering mountain raised
its rocky sides far above us; while, on the opposite side, the eye might
wander far, far down a steep precipice, causing a shudder to run through
the frame at the thought of an accident occurring at such a spot.
How frightened the parrots, paroquets, and monkeys, must have been, when
the iron horse first startled those leafy solitudes with his fiery
snort! Never again will profound stillness reign triumphant along the
course of the Chagres River. Those feathered songsters, of brilliant
plumage, lured to its vine-clad banks by the gentle ripple of its tiny
waves, will fly, startled from their leafy coverts, at the approach of
the iron steed.
By and by, the town of Aspinwall appeared to view. The country all about
looked so sunken and marshy, as to impress the beholder at once with an
idea of its unhealthy location. It was quite a place, however, and at
that time seemed to be all alive with people. We passed from the cars
directly on board the steamer, as it was near night, and we wished to
get possession of our rooms before sailing. I ascertained the steamer
would not get away before midnight, as it was an almost endless task to
select the baggage, and get it on board.
Being very weary, I concluded to lie down, and get a nap in the first
part of the evening, in order to be awake, and be on deck, when we left
Aspinwall.
When next I opened my eyes, it was broad daylight. Aspinwall was far out
of sight, and we on the broad Atlantic.
Amid all the bustle and confusion preparatory to sailing, even firing of
guns, I had slept soundly. One lady, thinking I would like to see
Aspinwall by lamp-light, endeavored to awaken me; said she spoke my name
several times, and shook my arm, but still I slept on; and she left me
to the enjoyment of my dreams.
Upon going on deck, I met again all the Uncle Sam’s passengers, and saw
many strangers who had come on board at Aspinwall. On the North Star I
had only two room-mates, and was minus baby and parrot.
Now that I was on the Atlantic, I felt that the distance between home
and myself would be speedily annihilated. Nothing occurred worthy of
note during the passage; and, on the ninth day after leaving Aspinwall,
we made Sandy Hook. It is impossible to describe my sensations upon
nearing my native land, after an absence of four years. I was returning
_alone_, too, to the home of my youth. At times, my feelings were
overpowering.
When the health officer boarded us, I saw a sight that would have drawn
pity from the breast of the most obdurate. It appeared that at Aspinwall
there had been brought on board, and placed in the steerage, three sick
individuals, the remnant of a family of eight persons, who had left New
York for California a short time previous. On their arrival at the
Isthmus, the father and mother had sickened, and died. The six children
started to cross to Panama. They were robbed of all their money on the
way; and, ere they arrived at Panama, the two eldest brothers and one
sister died, leaving a young brother and two sisters, penniless and
sick. In this condition they were found by some good Samaritan, brought
back to Aspinwall, and placed on board the North Star. They were very
sick indeed--in fact, but just alive; but their sickness was not of an
infectious nature.
While preparations were being made to lower away a boat in which to take
them to the hospital, they were brought aft, and placed upon deck. One
look at those poor, sick, emaciated children of sorrow would so stamp
itself upon the pages of memory, that long afterwards their ghastly
countenances, with their sunken, hollow eyes, ashen lips, and shrivelled
forms, would present themselves in your day-dreams as well as your
night.
The eldest girl was about sixteen; the other might be fourteen, and the
boy twelve. Not two months since, they had left New York, a healthy,
happy family. Now the remaining three were brought back to die in the
hospital. The eldest girl died in the boat while being transported to
the hospital. The other two, I have no doubt, quickly followed her, as
they looked more like tenants of the tomb than aught else.
I must not forget to mention the fate of those two little orphans whose
mother was buried on the Isthmus. The kind-hearted lady who took them in
charge had faithfully fulfilled her mission. The children were well and
happy, in their guileless innocence. A collection was taken for them on
board the North Star, to the amount of three hundred dollars. This,
added to the two hundred previously taken, was delivered up to the lady
who had them in charge; and she was going with them to Cincinnati, at
which place a sister of the deceased mother resided, and to whom the
dying mother had bequeathed them.