Hamlet found something “rotten in the state of Denmark,” but it was sweet
compared with what I discovered in Central America--the land of eruption
and corruption, of dirt, disease, destitution, darkness, dilapidation,
despots, delay, debt, deviltry and degeneracy, where a conservative
estimate makes 90 per cent of the women immoral, 95 per cent of the men
thieves, and 100 per cent of the population liars.
While strolling about the sultry seaport of Amapala, Spanish Honduras,
and thinking of Morazan, the great Honduran liberator, two deceitful
dames sought to enslave me. I was a stranger and they tried to take me
in--their home nearby. Fortunately a policeman came up and warned me in
broken English that these girls were “always--very--bad--to--everybody.”
Each one took my arm and I thought it was time to take to my legs and
get away. Anticipating my flight, one of them sprang upon me, wrapped
her nether limbs about my waist and her arms around my neck. Thus in
broad daylight in the heart of the town and in full view of the passerby
I was attacked and assaulted. What a shipwreck of character might have
happened had I landed at night! I hurried back to the ship and sought the
seclusion my cabin afforded. The captain congratulated me on my narrow
escape and informed me that on nearly every trip to this port native
women of the town attempt to smuggle themselves at night on board to
exchange their morals for the sailors’ money.