New Year’s Day and the Sabanas
Cathedral Bells--The Bawl after the Ball--Ringing in the New
Year--Unique Chimes--The Musical Score--A Drive to the Sabanas--The
Suburban Highway--Natives--Open Prairie--Señor Arango’s Summer
Residence--Great Variety of Flowers, Fruits and Foliage--Good Cattle
Country--Fire-crackers--The Siesta Hour--A Quiet Funeral--Ho! for the
Bull-fight.
New Year’s eve I was awakened at midnight by the ringing of the
cathedral bells, which, being directly across the plaza and at about
the same altitude as my open window, had a good chance at me. After a
long time the noisy tolling ceased and I again dropped off to sleep.
But I was hardly asleep when I was awakened by singing, that universal
type of popular song that has its source in the saloon where good cheer
is manufactured for holidays; where holidays are howling days, and
pay days are heydays. It was the bawl after the ball, and commanded
attention. As New Year’s day is a sort of Panama Fourth of July, both
as to temperament and temperature, the night watchmen considerately
allowed the singing to go on, although they probably kept the amateur
musicians moving, and thus distributed the noise impartially over
the different parts of the town. At any rate, the noise died away in
the distance long enough for me to go asleep, when it came back and
commanded attention again.
At six-thirty in the morning when I was in the depths of my final heavy
tenacious sleep, we had another musical entertainment, an official
one this time. At the break of each New Year’s day boys were hired to
pound the bells in the cathedral towers, each boy having two or three
bells to strike promiscuously and loudly, according to his strength and
inclination. The rhythm as nearly as can be reproduced was as follows:
Ting-aling, ting-tong, ting-ting, ating-tong, go-it-boys-aping-pong,
right-along, sing-song, ring-wrong, hong-kong, gong-gong!
This was kept up right-along until the boys who did the hitting must
have been tired and lame-shouldered, when peace again reigned in the
air. The performance was a relic of old Panama, a musical ruin. Tooting
horns and blowing whistles would have been more cheerful and practical.
As the lottery prizes were not to be drawn until noon, nor the
bull-fight to be fought until four o’clock, I was very glad to take a
drive with Doctor Echeverría and Señor Arango to the latter’s country
residence on the “sabanas” or “prairies.” But for the almost continuous
succession of courtesies shown me by the doctor and his friends,
time would have hung heavily on my hands and I should have seen and
understood much less of the real life of the people. My acquaintances
would have been mainly negro cabmen and American travelers, and my
knowledge that of the near-sighted tourist who travels hundreds of
miles in order to get pointers on his guide book and commit a few
well-known facts to memory, and recite them incorrectly.
We drove through the town and out on the highway, quite a long stretch
of which had been paved by Señor Arango himself. The road-bed was good,
but like everything else in a country that had been having revolutions
every two years, with access to the treasury, the road was sadly out
of repair and must have been very bad during the muddy season. The
horse didn’t go fast enough to make the ruts and ridges objectionable,
however, and the dust and heat were the only things to interfere with
the enjoyment of our drive. Arrangements were being made to repave the
highway, which was the only pleasure drive about Panama. This and the
repaving of the Panama streets are undoubtedly doing something toward
making life livable there.
The highway and surrounding landscape were unattractive for a short
distance after passing the railway station. But a little farther on,
the road was lined with huts in front of which native laborers who were
spending New Year’s day at home were gathered with their families; and
it was interesting to study the crowd of mixed races of all shades
from the white Spanish to the black negro, in which the Indian and
negro blood seemed to play a predominant part. I was reminded of Midway
Plaisance at the Chicago World’s Fair and of the St. Louis Pike, minus
the hallooing and calling. The low brows, narrow foreheads, coarse
features and dark skin gave them a sort of villainous appearance at
first sight, but I noticed, upon looking at them closely, that they
had a serious rather than sinister expression upon their faces. I
also happened to remember that I had not been accosted by a beggar,
either in Colón or Panama. Whether this is due to the fact that all
men find work; or to the scarcity of tourists to teach them to beg; or
to the small number and want of affluence of the members of the better
classes, rendering the profession of begging unprofitable; or whether
my observation was not accurate, I do not know. I suspect that what
little it costs the poor to live, is easily earned, but not so easily
begged. However, when the canal is finished beggars will undoubtedly
appear, among other innovations.
After we had traversed about a mile of this suburban highway, the road
led through a pleasant stretch of mildly rolling prairie-land with
scattered woody areas. Occasionally we passed a farm-house without much
farm and, here and there, a few grazing cattle. After about an hour
of slow driving we came to two or three country residences and soon
arrived at Señor Arango’s.
It was an enclosure of five or six acres planted quite thickly with a
great variety of trees, shrubbery and flowers; there seemed to be a
dozen different kinds of fruit and flowering trees, many of them not
indigenous to Panama. Flowers unfamiliar to me grew in great profusion
upon bushes and small plants, and the ground was strewn with limes,
mangoes, and other fruits whose names I knew not. Hence, a short walk
was a walk of great interest, and was especially pleasant because of
the dense shade afforded by the thick foliage. The house was a story
and a half high. One side of the lower floor was entirely made up of
wide doors, allowing it to open up almost as completely as if it had
no wall on that side, and the porches were wide and covered by the
projecting roof. The windows and large door spaces could be closed with
lattice-work that kept out the sun, but not the air. The furniture was
rustic but plentiful. A dark-skinned native lived apparently in one of
the outhouses, but could not have had much to do except to watch the
fruit grow, and eat it, for the place was evidently quite capable of
taking the care of itself. The foliage was too thick for a shaven lawn
to be cultivated under it, and there was no spring and autumn “taking
up” and planting of delicate bulbs, or covering of roots in winter,
etc. Once planted things required almost no care; flowers and fruits
matured and fell and began to grow again. After a pleasant hour spent
in looking about, gathering nosegays, tasting fruits and cooling off in
the rustic shade, we started back.
Farther away from the town in the same direction Señor Arango’s father
had a larger summer residence, and still farther up the isthmus had a
farm of several thousand acres with large droves of cattle. The sabanas
are well adapted to cattle-raising and good beef is plentiful on the
hoof. But the transportation facilities are poor, for the country has
neither highways nor railways.
As we rode back we found the boys in the city setting off fire-crackers
and enjoying themselves as well as they could in a city with scarcely
any street-space or yard-area. Otherwise the only activity noticeable
was the passing of lottery ticket venders offering their goods for the
drawing at noon. The hotel was more quiet than usual on New Year’s
day, for the father of the proprietors (two brothers) had died the day
before and was to be buried in the afternoon. The barroom was closed
and but few visitors were about except those who came to visit the
chamber of death.
After eleven o’clock breakfast we went to our rooms to take a short
siesta, agreeing to meet again at half past three and go to the
bull-fight. I lay down as on the previous day and began thinking of the
mestizo bell boy. He did not appear, but my thoughts of him kept me
awake until time to get up and go down-stairs. I had conquered him, but
I could sleep no more.
Descending the steps, I noticed that the funeral cortège was preparing
to leave. The body had lain in state all day and had been visited by
many people. Some services were apparently being held in the room,
but I heard neither singing nor other music. A crowd of citizens in
black clothes, and with silk hats that had evidently been caught in
many a shower, was waiting in the corridor near the street door. When
the body was brought down from the silent room, instead of being put
into a hearse, it was borne through the streets by the pall-bearers,
and followed by the relatives. All went on foot and I suppose that the
burial was in some church in the neighborhood. It was an exceedingly
silent and sensible funeral, but probably could not have been conducted
so simply and quietly in a large city. I was told that the deceased
was Jewish, a fact which may have given the peculiar character to the
ceremony. At any rate, it seemed in good taste for a man thus to leave
the world more quietly than he had entered it.
Soon after the funeral procession had disappeared, I started with
Doctor Echeverría for the courtyard of the International Club, where
the bull-fight was to take place, prepared for the sensation of my
life. I wished to see this relic of Spanish medievalism, yet dreaded
somewhat the expected artistic display of killing qualifications. Two
bulls were to be killed.