Around South America with a sample case

Introduction

Two days out from New York, on a Ward Line Steamer, bound for Havana, some years ago, one of the lady passengers came to me and said : "This is my first ocean trip and I am looking for 'thrills.' Will I have any before getting back home, do you think?" Being- anxious to please the ladies at all times I promised to see what could be done for her. Ten days later I helped her escape from a wrecked ship in the midst of a stormy sea, and she seemed to think the effort overdone.

I left New York hoping for adventures worth telling about and g'ot crowded a bit. There was a prospect of going to the summit of the Corderillos, but not coining down in a hand car. A bit of rough weather was certain but did not count on bucking the greatest storm ever experienced on the Pacific Coast, and that too in a ship of only one thousand tons register. It was also necessary for me to get on intimate terms with cattle and sheep in order to secure data on these important South American industries, but I surely got a jolt when informed I had become infected with anthrax. On more than one occasion friends have called me a "blooming goat," but did not consider myself close enough akin to the Animal Kingdom to get their disease. Coming safely through these events add interest to the story, which is dedicated to the dear friends whose good wishes went with me, and the equally dear friends who gathered about me at every stage of the journey, always ready to turn aside from their personal affairs to render helpful service, chief among whom is the wonderful woman whose self-sacrificing devotion saved me from death, and nursed me back to health. And if these, my friends, read this book with half the pleasure felt in writing it for them, my labor of love will be repaid.

THE AUTHOR.

OFF FOR PANAMA.

CHAPTER I. "Life, how much more

From the calm shore?

Down the far ways of the winds

And the deeps impell me?

I hear thy song,

Not as landsmen sing it!

Mine be the long

Roll of sea-drums, and the song

As the thunders sing it."

A day like a day in June, a farewell lunch at White's with Mr. Foster ; his good company to the dock, and, later another party of dear friends reached the pier to bid me a tender farewell, the memory of which will linger until they welcome me on my return. We cast off at six o'clock and headed down the bay, bidding good-bye to the familiar landmarks along the way. As the twilight came on the city's fantastic skyline was draped in a filmy sheen of palest pink and purple, and made of it a thing of beauty.

We passed close by the Statue of Liberty and it never meant so much to me before, although I have sailed past it many times, but tonight it seemed to radiate the spirit of freedom, and, to judge from recent results, it must have had the same effect on the boys, who, in passing it en route for France, pledged their precious lives to maintain forever that for which it stands, and right royally did they redeem their pledge ; bless their gallant hearts ! It was nearly dark when we passed the Narrows, and soon the light on the "highland" sent out its friendly signal to warn and to welcome. A few hours later the glare of Atlantic City's board-walk illumination lit up the sky with a cheerful glow. There will be weeks and months of sunshine and storm and strange adventures for me before these familiar lights gladden my ey\s again, as I am booked for a long journey, and will visit lands where the mysteries of past ages still linger with clearer imprint than elsewhere in the western world.

The second night out Captain ,Hudgins Invited me to his. cabin where I met his charming wife, and, together, they made the balance of the vovage all too short. Captain Hudgins has had a most interesting career, and I was able to induce him to tell me some of his experiences. In exchanging reminiscenes of the sea, I learned he was second officer on the "Dom Pedro II" out of Baltimore, and she was in the harbor of Rio when I sailed from there on the Old Hartford so long ago that neither of us cared to count the years. It is interesting to know Captain Hudgins has the distinction of commanding the first ship that passed through the Panama Canal when it was opened. When war was declared, he promptly applied for a naval berth for which he was so well fitted, but got the same answer from the Navy Department that shattered my hopes, but he could not be side-tracked, and, by heroic effort, succeeded in getting a commission as captain in the Engineer Corps, where he rendered very valuable service until the armistice was signed. A chap like this is well worth knowing, and he won my admiration by his modesty and efficiency. His accuracy in navigation was positively uncanny. I was in his cabin the third night out and telling him of a clever piece of navigation by Captain Foss of the N. Y. & P. R. Liner "Brazos" last year when she picked up the distress call from the "Iroquois." The helpless craft was 186 miles distant when the call came, and when we laid our course for her Captain Foss told me we would "pick her up" at four bells in the mid watch (2 A. M.) There was a thick haze over the western sky line when I joined the lookout at 1 :30, but in ten minutes we saw the "Iroquois" lights almost ahead. Just as four bells struck, the engines on the "Brazos" stopped and the ships were within three hundred yards of each other. When I finished the story Captain Hudgins ssid

"Yes ; one can be rather accurate in these calculations ; as, for instance, we will pick up Wattling Island light two points off the starboard bow in five minutes." I was anxious to verify this claim from the bridge, but Mrs. Hudgins had taken up the conversation so I remained seated. In precisely four and one-half minutes the officer in charge of .the bridg-e came to the cabin and reported Wattling Island Light, giving the direction in degrees. I expected to note a well-satisfied expression on the captain's countenance, but he seemed a bit disgruntled because he had missed the time by one-half minute, and the direction by one sixtyfourth of a degree. This same performance was pulled off the next night. The captain and I were on the bridge, and, taking out his watch he said, "we will see Cassoway light in eight minutes." In exactly eight minutes the lookout reported a light but it was at least two points off. The captain remained quiet and I fancied him seeking in his mind to locate the current that had carried him even so little out of his course. Just then another light was reported ; this time in the right direction, and it proved to be Cassoway, and the other a freighter homeward bound. So I lift my seaman's cap to the Master.

The next day we passed in sight of Nipi Bay and the purple mountains of Cuba Orienti. Here we changed our course and headed for Colon, with the blue waters of the Caribbean before us. Unfortunately a dense haze overcast the sky. so we were denied a view of Hayti and San Domingo, which, otherwise, would have loomed high within our vision. No land was sighted until Sunday at noon, but then the mountains of Columbia begun to separate from the low-lying clouds and gradually shaped themselves into a massive range.

At four o'clock in the afternoon the clouds lifted and Cape Manzanillo thrust its splendid front into the blue waters and the cluster of houses marking the town of Porto Bello was plainly seen. Immediately visions of Bluebeard, Blackbeard, Morgan, Drake and all the buccaneers came into the mental vision for this was the one spot where they foregathered and fought many a bloody battle.

It was in one of the harbors of the Gulf of Darien just around the corner of Porto Bello that Drake made the first attempt to solve the problem of yellow fever, for it was here he ordered his only brother's body dissected, and stood by whilst it was done, in order to discover the cause of the mysterious death that had taken so heavy a toll from his ranks. The gruesome task was in vain, and the yellow scourge continued its ravages tor centuries, but is now almost a thing of the past, thanks to Victor Blue and his brave companions who risked their lives but not in vain for they scotched the yellow jack when the mosquito was found to be the sinner that had brought so much suffering: and death to the world.

It was just off this port Drake made his last fight. Sir Frederick Treves tells us "In seven days after leaving the Island of Nombre de Dios the fleet anchored off Porto Bello. It was the morning of January 28th, 1596, Drake had long sunk into a state of semi-consciousness. At the dawn of this day something- roused him. It may have been the tramp of men overhead shortening sail, or the rattle of the chain in the hawser pipe as the anchor was dropped. He raised himself in the cot, a shrunken ghost of a man, and then it would seem that there came upon him for the first time the knowledge that he was dying.

But die he would not ! He had fought every foe under the canopy of heaven. He would fight death too. He sat up ; he called for his clothes, he railed ; and mocked at the coming shadow. His trembling servant dressed him, sighing to note the once great wrists turned to the wrists of a child and the sturdy limbs shrivelled to nothing more than bones. The master would put on his best tunic, his lace collar, his shoulder ribbons and his last new sword belt. He would now walk out upon the quarter-deck to show his crew that Francis Drake was ready to lead them still. One step and it was his last. He was lifted back to his bed, and there, clad as he would have been on the eve of a battle, the great sea captain died.

He was buried a league out at sea, and on either side of him were sunk one of his own ships and the last Spanish prize he had taken.

It was just such a resting-place as his heart would desire and in just such company would he wish to be. Landwards stretches the scene of his early exploits, for Porto Bello lies here open to the tides, while round the cape is the haven of Nombre de Dios, and the beauty of the spot is unsurpassed. It is endless summer here. The hills that creep down to the beach are as green as the hills of Devon. The sea is an iris-blue, and when the wind is still there is never a sound to be heard but that of surf breaking on the reefs. The great warrior may rest quietly when the sea is calm but when a storm sweeps over his resting place his spirit must awaken for he was happy only when in the midst of storm and strife.

We were almost at the breakwater when I pulled myself back to the present day and in a few minutes the port officers came on board. Everyone was herded in the cabin for quarantine inspection, and, for some unaccountable reason, my name was at the bottom of the list, which resulted in being kept a prisoner until we were alongside the dock. This prevented me from seeing the approach to the great breakwater that had caused the government so much trouble and expense. The customs passed us quickly, and a regular "down home darky" loaded me into his still more "down home" outfit and carried me to the Washington

Hotel. The whole outfit was a duplicate of Old George's rig- at Chase City, which I used to patronize twenty-five years ago, but thank Heaven the hotel was not a relic of ancient days. If anything, it was extraordinary in its equipment, even for these modern days. After dinner I left the hotel on a voyage of discovery and soon found myself in what proved to be the native quarter of Colon. I had not gone far before my attention was drawn to what was unmistakably a Salvation Army meeting. Following the lead, I was soon outside the Barracks. Just as I reached the door I heard the preacher say, "I am the resurrection and the life. He that believeth on me though he were dead, yet shall he live again." I have heard great preachers give out this text but never have I known them to carry such power and conviction. He repeated the text and then preached a sermon that for pure religious fervor has seldom, if ever, been equalled in my hearing. He was evidently a Jamaican negro, for his voice was musical and his spoken words even more so. He made no effort to play upon the emotions of his hearers ; although they were all negroes except myself, but talked to them in well-chosen language, telling them about the Christ, and through Him the hope for peace in their hearts here and hereafter, life eternal. There was no likeness between this service and a like meeting in our Southland. It was only when the sermon was ended and a song begun that characteristics of the race were in evidence. Then the wild cadence of the black man's music rang true, and for a moment I imagined myself in Georgia instead of on the Canal Zone.

I left them chanting "Over the Line" and had gone but a short distance when the weird music of the African "Tom-Tom" literally throbbed in my ears. I could scarcely believe I had heard aright, but only walked a short distance when I came upon a group that seemed strangely savage. Had it been the moon instead of an arc lamp lighting the scene it would have been a picture of the upper Congo. Seated on boxes were two coal black men making the drums tell of witches and voo-doo, making an anthem well calculated to inspire the ring of hearers grouped around them with visions of days when music like this preceeded the feast furnished by dead foes. In a moment a man and woman stepped into the circle and executed the weirdest dance I have ever witnessed. Within an hour I had seen the savage rights of a primitive people and a service of true worship, and that by the same race of people. If it were not for the modern romance of the canal and the old romance of the bucaneers, Colon and vicinity would be a most uninteresting place, but when one remembers that some of the wildest scenes of piracy and bloodshed ever enacted were pulled off in these waters, then mountains and inlets become alive with epics of other days. Days when Drake and Morgan harried every settlement along the coast, levying tribute from both priest and publican, and decorating nearby trees with victims of their murderous lust when the loot fell short of the expectations.

There was nothing here in the way of business, so last evening I left Colon by rail and came over to Panama. Today I visited the plant of the Canal Zone at Balboa, and have seen what is perhaps the most complete machine shop on earth. It is a revelation to anyone who knows the value of complete equipment. The officials extended every courtesy, and indicated the possibility of great trade in case we can get started with our products, for much belt and babbitt metal is used here yearly. Returning to Panama I learned that our chances, of doing business with the Panamanians, for the time being at least, is absolutely nil, owing to the stupid blunder of our commanding officer on the Zone. He issued his famous order No. 26 forbidding officers and men of the army and navy from leaving the Zone and. in support of this unholy order, wrote the authorities at Washington saying that official investigation of the women found on Avenida Central (the main street in Panama) showed that ninety-seven per cent were immoral. All of which, according to a letter over the signature of the Governor of Panama in this morning's paper, was published in the Congressional Record in all its brutal untruth. I sent the paper with a letter to Mr. John Barrett asking him to do his best to let the people of America know that General Blatchford's statement was both false and silly. Just at this time, and I fear for .some time to come, an American could not sell gold dollars for fifty cents to these people ; and if this sort of thing should occur often we who hope to open up the Latin American trade to our country will simply waste our time and money. General Blatchford has been ordered home, and I hope the War Department send him to Wolfville, Ariz. Incidently, it would please me to hear him make a like statement about the ladies of the aforesaid town. Enright and Doc. Peets would see that due respect was paid to the dead out there, but when the news reached Panama there would be no flags at halfmast. I have now been here several days, and have spent much time, both day and night on the street. I found absolutely no serious evidence of lewdness. In fact, compared with upper Broadway, New York, and Market Street, Philadelphia, Avenida Central presented a modest face.

I left the Tivola immediately after dinner last night, and walked to the Plaza Independencia and back. The street was thronged with people of every class, and I walked slowly with eyes open for any irregularity, but the only infraction of the moral law seen throughout the trip was seventeen lottery venders within one short city block, but they did not seem to be spreading calamity very rapidly, for I stood and eyed the bunch for ten full minutes and did not see a sale made. So I am inclined to think General Blatchford sees things within rather than without, for, verily, "as a man thinketh in his heart so is he," according to Holy writ.

I am tempted to write something about this beautiful place, but the subject has been exhausted by abler pens and I shall limit myself to the statement that Panama, Ancon and Balboa represent perfect cleanliness and order. A party of us drove out to see the ruins of Old Panama and I have never looked upon ruins marking greater desolation. This is perhaps more oppressive because we read that once this same city rivaled Venice in her splendor, and the slave market equalled that of Rome in the days of the Caesars. There is massive masonry everywhere and the old avenues can still be traced, but none of this masonry has definite form except the square tower of the cathedral. This successfully withstood the destructive onslaught of Morgan's men and the centuries have not loosened a brick since that event. It was here Pizarro made his vows to the Virgin on his way to conquer Peru and Morgan outraged the bishop by stealing his sword of state, leaving in its place his battered blood-stained weapon, which was presented to Col. Shanton by the city of Panama as a token of their appreciation of his work during the construction of the canal.

It is difficult to think of old Panama as a one-time harbor rilled with gold ladened galleons, for today it presents a scene of utter desolation with not even a bark canoe to disturb its surface. The only visible sign of life was a lone pelican, and he was winging his way up coast making all speed that could be gotten out of his lumbering flight.

I returned to my hotel with a sense of mental depression difficult to explain unless it was that death still broods over the lonely place where such awful deeds were done.

A perfect deluge of rain almost flooded the place when we left Panama for Colon, and a less attractive fifty miles of railroad does not exist on earth. The entire distance is one stretch of desolation which culminates in the utter ghastlinesss of Gatun Lake. Here trees were left standing when the back waters covered the land. They are now g*hostly white surrounded by black waters, in which one would expect to find all the vile things which inhabit the deep. The trip was bad enough when made in a well-equipped railroad coach, but fancy having to plod through the red clay mire with poisonous snakes underfoot and disease-infested mosquitoes all about as the forty-niners did. Or go back to the old gold road days when guarded pack trains started on their perilous journey from Panama to Nombre de Dios. These caravans were beset by all these evil forces of nature with a band of murderous Indians or still more blood-thirsty pirates thrown in as a side issue. Surely nothing short of this lure of gold could ever induce men to face such suffering and danger. Treves speaks of this famous gold road as follows :

"It was a precious burden these mule trains bore. It was the harvest of robbery and murder, the sheaves reaped by treachery and torture, a devil's crop. Every grain of gold came from a crucible whose furnace was fed with human lives. Every load bore some contribution from wretches who had been either worked to death or beaten to death. It was an argosy of cruelty and greed. Costly as it was, none seem to have been made the richer by all the wealth that came by this pitiless way."

Thanks to the courtesy of Mr. Grubbs, a dispatcher in the office of the captain of the port, I was able to visit the Gatun locks under most favorable conditions. He called for me at the hotel, and I had dinner at his home where I met his charming wife and kiddie. We returned to the hotel at two o'clock where we were joined by Mr. Barnum, chief engineer of the Carib Syndicate. The port captain's launch was at our disposal and we were soon plowing our way through the water of the lower bay, reaching the canal entrance in twenty-five minutes. Overhead, seaplanes were circling and sailing, and making my heart sick with a desire to be in one of them. Mr. Grubbs, being one of the force, insured every courtesy from the lock officials, and the workings of the mighty elevator were shown and explained in detail. First we walked for nearly a mile through a tunnel running the full length of the locks, and were permitted to see the mechanism of the system. There were enormous pistons controlling the machinery, and baffle chains with links' strong enough to almost lift a ship. Giant valves, monster geared wheels and ponderous arms of steel which opened and shut the still more ponderous gates. Seen in detail, it represents one of the greatest engineering feats of the age. However elaborate the description might be it would fail to convey an idea of its immensity. Leaving the tunnel we climbed the winding stairway to the upper room in the lock house. There we saw, in miniature, all we had seen below. In fact the entire system is there in minute detail. A ship was passing through at the time, and we watched the operator move an insignificant little brass handle. The tiny gates in the model began to slowly shut. When the joint was tight another handle was shifted and we could hear the rush of waters passing out, and see it fall, carrying the ship to the level below. Again the baby gates slowly opened and the ship was taken in tow by electric motors and carried into the second lock. Once more the gates close, again the rush of waters is heard, and the third drop carries the ship to sea level. The lake level is eighty-five feet above, but small vessels are let down or carried up in thirty seven minutes. Large ships are handled in an hour.

We watched four ships pass through and then walked over to the "spillway." Here we were able, in a measure, to mentally grasp the magnitude of the work. The actual dam is nearly two miles long, and eighty-five feet high. The fourteen-gate spillway is about half way between the canal and hillside, at the far end. The hydro-electric plant is located in the gorge below the spillway developing 13,500 H. P. Concrete bases for two more 4500 H. P. dynamos are about complete. When these are installed they can meet the demand for light and power for years to come. I looked longingly at the sweep of concrete, with the steel and concrete bafflers at the base. The lock superintendent told me the w r ater was extremely low in the lake, and he did not think I could get a gate opened, but I assumed a pathetic expression, and, in a voice equally pathetic, expressed my regret that I could not see the results of an overflow. Evidently the engineer was a good Indian and had a kind heart, for he excused himself, saying he would call up the hydrographic office and ask permission to open one of the gates. In a few minutes he returned saying, "Get up on top and see the show." We lost no time getting on top, and as we reached the bridge the deluge started. The slope is beautifully curved, and at first it presented an attractive "shoot the chute" proposition with its smooth surface, but as the volume increased and swept down against the great blocks of concrete, then did

AROUND SOUTH AMERICA WITH A SAMPLE CASE ZO

all hades break loose. I always thought the whirlpool below Niagara Falls stirred things up a bit, but compared to the turmoil at the Gatun spillway, even with one gate open, Niagara Falls is only a modest ripple that would fade into utter insignificance if all the gates were open. There were times when a seemingly solid column of water was lifted fifty feet and fell with a roar of mighty thunder. If this pyramid could be illuminated with colored lights, it would justify a trip around the world to see. The place was so fascinating we did not start back to Colon until the sun had gone down, and it was 10:30 P. M. before we finished dinner.

Bannon proved to be a regular Richard Harding- Davis character and the dinner hour was but little less fascinating than our afternoon had been. He told us briefly of a six-hundred mile mule-back trip across Columbia to the Pacific coast. On this trip he came across a tribe of Indians that had only heard tales of white men, but had never seen one. Bannon is a husky guy, and very presentable, and the result was he nearly lost his freedom and got saddled with forty wives. The interpreter told him the chief was anxious to introduce blue eyes into his tribe, in that he felt sure he could sell the children for at least fifty per cent advance over the ruling market quotations. There were many tragic scenes also. He graphically described the death of one of their men, and their heroic work that kept him alive until they reached the coast, but it was too late to save him. It seemed like a shame to go to bed when we had such a chap to talk with, but even owls must sleep, so I bade him good-night at one A. M. Tomorrow he starts back to the jungle, and I begin my journey to the land of Inca.

THE PATHWAY OF PIZARRO.

Chapter II

"How are you going down the coast, P. C. or E.," which being translated means ; Peruvian, Chilian or English. This was asked on all sides and if English was suggested the fact was made plain that "service on the English ships was simply rank", with statements even more disturbing, if the possibility of using one of the other lines was suggested, so I booked passage on all three, and sought an equation ; but reports were so conflicting I finally gave it up, and placed hyself at the mercy of my good friends, the Panama agencies, and they booked me on the Chilian S. S. Aysen. I had learned my lesson, and quit discussing the matter, for had I told people I was sailing on the Chilian ship their hands would have gone up to express horror, and I would have been convinced that roaches four inches long would nightly feast on my silk suit and bath slippers ; that fleas the size of June bugs foregathered under the sheets for a nightly campaign, and that scouts stayed with the victims all day in order to locate and report the tender sections to their companions for the night raid. I came on board in fear and trembling, being born with an intuitive hatred for roaches, and with no kindly regard for fleas. Well, we are two days out, and my suit and slippers are still intact. And if there is a flea on board it is being taken care of on the deck below. There has not been a movement made on this deck to indicate the presence of even a fleaette.