We again had to run the gauntlet of the
narrow passage and have our tickets looked over, and this time a new
stowaway was found, and he straightway made application for a job. "Go
below, sir" was all the Captain said. Several died and had their sea
burial, and some who had been so sick all the way as not to get out of
bed, proved tough enough to stand the climate pretty well.
As we were nearing Panama the doctor posted a notice to the mast
cautioning us against eating much fruit while on shore, as it was very
dangerous when eaten to excess. We anchored some little distance from
the shore and had to land in small boats managed by the natives. I went
in one, and when the boat grounded at the beach the boatman took me on
his back and set me on shore, demanding two dollars for the job, which I
paid, and he served the whole crowd in the same way. The water here was
blood warm, and they told me the tide ran very high.
This was a strange old town to me, walled in on all sides, a small plaza
in the center with a Catholic church on one side, and the other houses
were mostly two story. On the side next to the beach was a high, thick
wall which contained cells that were used for a jail, and on top were
some dismounted cannon, long and old fashioned.
The soldiers were poor, lazy fellows, barefooted, and had very poor
looking guns. Going out and in all had to pass through a large gateway,
but they asked no questions. The streets were very narrow and dirty and
the sleeping rooms in the second story of the houses seemed to be
inhabited by cats.
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