CHAPTER IX. COLON--A RAILWAY FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN...
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CHAPTER IX.
COLON--A RAILWAY FROM OCEAN TO OCEAN--THE JOURNEY FROM COLON TO PANAMA--A FEW WORDS ABOUT THE CITY OF PANAMA -- DEPARTURE FROM PANAMA AND ARRIVAL AT THE ISLAND OF PITCAIRN--SOME ACCOUNT OF PITCAIRN AND ITS INHABITANTS--WE LEAVE AND ARRIVE AT RAPA--VOYAGE FROM THERE TO COOK'S STRAITS.-- A DISASTER AVOIDED AND WELLINGTON HARBOUR REACHED.
COLON, at the time I visited it, was not an attractive place to live in, or to look at. It stood on an open flat of land near to the lower end of a small bay--about five miles deep and three in width--on the eastern side of the Isthmus of Panama. It was open to the sea on one side, and was surrounded by bush-covered land on its three other sides. What was called the sea-port town of Colon (Aspinwall) consisted of a few scattered houses and a number of huts, sheltering a population, mostly colored, and numbering about 3000. The site on which it was built was swampy. The water in front of it was shallow, and had been filled in so as to form pools or basins, and roads across it, whereby the wharves were reached from the land side. The largest of ships could unload at the wharves. The town itself had a neglected, unfinished, and dirty appearance. The streets were unformed, unpaved, and hardly traceable. The principal houses, were old dilapidated wooden structures, two stories in height, and with two verandahs one above the other; yet this was the transit depot for immense
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supplies of goods, (high in price but small in bulk) for the Mails and for tens of thousands of passengers on their way to San Francisco and South American ports. A few good stone buildings were in course of erection, and would improve the appearance of the town and add to the comfort of its residents, when completed; but at this time the best buildings being intermingled with the worst and also with sheets of stagnant water and railway embankments, gave one a good idea of the very inferior capabilities and government of the mongrel races who inhabit these southern regions. It was true the place was now important, but Yankee enterprise had made it so, by constructing the first railway ever made from the Atlantic to the Pacific Oceans, as shown on the map below.
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What gave a repulsive character to the whole place, was the sight of great lazy turkey buzzards, perched on the ridges and gable points of the roofs of the houses, in motionless state, and glutted with the offal they had picked up in the streets and other dirty places--in their capacity of scavengers of Colon. What with the climate and want of cleanliness, it is no wonder that fever permanently resides here. All our passengers were afraid to stay long in it.
The railway across the Isthmus from Colon to Panama consists of only one line, which is 47 miles in length. It was constructed at great expense, mostly by imported labor and at a great sacrifice of human life; so much so as to give rise to the saying that, "The laying of each sleeper on the line cost the life of a man." The time occupied in crossing the Isthmus here, by railway, is usually about four hours. We commenced crossing it at 2 p.m. It was then I recalled to mind the names of the Spanish adventurers and the bold British Buccaneers, who had made this narrow strip of land--uniting two great continents--famous by their exploits. The first part of our journey was through a flat and swampy country-- a real jungle--for four miles, at the end of which we stopped at a railway station, built of wood, two stories in height, with an upper and a lower verandah, and neatly painted. A blast from a horn announced our departure from here, when we found ourselves travelling near to the muddy waters of the river Chagres, which was here about 40 feet in width. On the far side of it were, I observed, a patch of native mud huts, with high-pitched thatched roofs. Four miles more and we were at another neat station, in a tropical garden, and a village composed of reed huts close by it. We stopped next at--at what? the two uncouth sounds of a horn, to take in wood for the boiler fires. The wood, which is plentiful here, being cut in one-foot lengths and stacked alongside the line at fixed intervals, is used instead of coal. On each side of the line, and
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for nearly its whole length, was a luxuriant tropical forest, growing on hilly and undulating ground. A space of ahout fifty feet on each side of the line was kept clear to admit the sun and wind, to dry and ventilate the line; otherwise it would soon he covered and ahsorbed by the rapid and dense hot-house-like growth which is peculiar to these regions. A third station, in a square garden enclosed with white posts, rails, and pales, was arrived at and left behind. Our route lay along the course of the river Chagres, sometimes at a distance, and at other times close to its banks, as may be noticed on the map of the Isthmus. The line was not fenced in, and stoppages to the trains and accidents--principally from cattle straying on it--were often occurring. We had next a view of the chocolate-colored waters of the Chagres, and then we came to another native village, large yet wretched looking: but it had native shops; the principal commodities in them, for sale, appeared to be bottles of liquids of uninviting aspect. The native shopkeepers were standing behind the rude counters, in a state--three parts naked. We passed another station, like the last; then we came to a few acres of green fields and a sort of farm-house. Here we crossed the Chagres by means of a red colored iron bridge, standing close to a station like the one we had last quitted. Near this place we had a fine view of several reaches of the river, and hills in the distance. We could see small cattle grazing, and a native village, with natives in light colored checked shirts sitting at their doors. After two more blasts from that horrid sounding horn we stopped at Mamei. These stations, besides being stopping places, were also used for the accommodation of the workmen employed to keep the line in order. At Mamei we were 21 miles from Panama, and had to remain a short time for the train from Panama. It soon arrived, and, as the line is a double one here, we were transferred to the line it had travelled on, and it was placed on the line we had come by. This line, as it
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recedes from Colon, rises to a height of 262 ft. above the sea level, and then descends to the Pacific Ocean at Panama. It rises from Colon at the rate of 60 feet to one mile, and descends at the same gradient to Panama. It rains often here, and the climate is generally moist and hot. A tremendous tropical shower overtook us soon after we had left Mamei. We duly arrived at Paraiso, a station like the rest--looking neat, clean, and picturesque, amidst tropical scenery.
After this, we passed through a hilly country, a grass plain, a village, and grassy hills and hollows, here and there intermingled with gorgeous flowers, small evergreen trees, and innumerable beautiful and peculiar looking shrubs.
At ten miles from Panama we had hard work to ascend a hill over which the line ran. The engine wheels slipped on the rails, when we had made the ascent over half-way up the incline. So we had to go rapidly down the hill backwards and
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ascend the hill we had just descended, to get an impetus on the train, and so carry us--with the aid of our steam power-- to the top of the hill we wanted to reach. A second time we failed: the passengers became anxious; but on the third trial we barely managed to be successful, and descended to Panama, where we arrived after a journey lasting 3 1/2 hours, and costing the large sum of twenty-five dollars, or (for each passenger) nearly £5, for forty-seven miles.
Panama is an old Colonial Spanish town, containing about 15,000 inhabitants. It stands on a tongue of land with the sea on three sides of it. It has been a walled town; but the walls which now remain are those by the sea-side--towards which the streets run. The old streets had a Spanish appearance. They were only about twenty feet in width. The houses on each side of them are solidly built of stone, and of unequal heights of from two to three stories. Some had one green balcony, others two, according to the height of the buildings. Some of the streets led into the principal square, called the Cathedral Piazza, in which was situated the Grand Hotel, a spacious, and neat-looking building, with two tiers of balconies adorning its two main fronts. Opposite to this hotel was the old stone-built cathedral, flanked by two quaint-looking and three-storied square towers, with roofs terminating in points. It looked a neglected edifice, for plants were growing all over its outer surface. Inside it, I noticed numbers of plain columns and arches, some dauby paintings, paltry woodwork decoration, and a dilapidated squeaking organ, fixed in a precarious organ loft. The altar looked imposing and grandiose--bedecked with candles, flowers, and massive silver decorations.
The back-streets that I walked through wore a repulsive appearance, except where they were relieved by the aspect of the beautiful green and gracefully drooping foliage of cocoa-nut trees planted here and there.
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The natural surfaces of these streets or back lanes were neither paved nor gravelled; but they were strewed with filth and dirt. The houses bounding them were rudely constructed of wood, and sheltered half naked inhabitants. In the more public and better streets I noticed that--like the rest of their sex--the ladies of Panama were fond of finery. There they were in the shops, or sometimes sitting on the stone steps of the doors
of their dwellings, attired in light and airy soiled spotted muslin dresses, trimmed with Spanish white lace, which contrasted strangely and unpleasantly with their dark brown skins and their otherwise untidy appearance, which was not improved when, occasionally, they wore a Panama straw hat with a very-wide brim. Many of the stone houses were in a state of ruin. Signs of decay in Panama, as a town, were visible all over the place. Panama is noted for its ruins; Ah! and ruins too,
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with sculptured masonry bearing many traces of magnificence. The grand and imposing remains of the Jesuits' College--which was never completed--attest this. Then there are the ruins of the Church of St. Domingo, which, when I saw it, was fitted as a temporary theatre. This is a remarkable ruin. So is an-
other inferior building I was shown, and in which I noticed an eliptical arch constructed of thin bricks with a span of about 36 feet and a rise of about 7 feet in the centre, which for several feet, in the middle of it, was almost flat--yet the arch has stood for many years. The country about Panama is
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picturesque in appearance, from the little plains about it being covered with shrubs and savannas clothed with green and velvety grass; but there lurk the pumas and other wild beasts and reptiles.
The Bay of Panama is very large. It measures about 135 miles in width by a depth inland of 120 miles. It is a noble and-beautiful looking bay, studded with islands, some looking green, others hilly and covered with scrub (low bush), like the mainland surrounding the bay.
The present town of Panama, a city of New Granada, maybe called a new town; for the original city of Panama--mostly built of wood, but with a few stone buildings--was taken and destroyed in the year 1671 (after an existence of 152 years) by Morgan and his Buccaneers. After this, in 1673, the Panameans built the present city, which is six miles west of the old one. One of our passengers rode through a wild and difficult country to see the latter, and on his return informed me that he only saw--where the city once stood--a few stone walls and trees growing amongst them.
On the 24th of July we went on board the Mail Steamer "Kaikoura," Captain Machin, 1500 tons burthen, and 350-horse power, which was to convey us to New Zealand. Next day we weighed anchor and steamed away, passing several islands and the large one named Tobago, with its snug little town seated on the shores of a small but pretty bay. The sun shone hotly. The weather was warm and the sea calm. From this time we kept steaming on at an average rate of about 10 miles an hour, with the thermometer ranging from 74 to 80 degrees--until the 10th of August, when we sighted Elizabeth Island, a low, barren, flat mass of rock, five miles long by one wide, and uninhabited. We sighted this island at one o'clock in the morning, and at eight, on the same morning, a soft cloudy looking little mound was visible at a distance of about forty miles. This was Pitcairn Island.
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By twelve o'clock at noon we were within one mile of it, and close to what is called Bounty Bay; but which looked very much like the open sea. Pitcairn Island was discovered as late as 1767, by Captain Carteret. From its rocky and precipitous shores with deep water alongside them a near approach to it is dangerous. This island lies in latitude 25 deg. 3 min. 37 sec. S., and longitude 130 deg. 8 min. 23 sec. W., and is about 2 1/4 miles long by over one mile wide.
Its area may be roughly estimated at nearly 2000 acres, and the altitude of its highest peak about 1000 feet. It is in fact an island hill with its sides formed into mounds and ridges, and with easy slopes and pretty valleys containing flats of rich land. As soon as we arrived at Bounty Bay, we saw it would be dangerous to attempt to land with our boats; so our Captain ordered the steam to be shut off and the boiler fires to be prepared for starting after an afternoon's stay--off and close to, if not on, the Island of Pitcairn. The above engraving is from a sketch taken by my daughter.
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As the weather was very fine and the sea nearly calm, the view of the island from the deck of the "Kaikoura" was romantically picturesque and, in its softness, charming. We could see the misty smoke ascending from human habitations built under the shade of groves of cocoa-nut trees and in proximity to orange and bread-fruit trees, planted -- and luxuriantly growing and abundantly yielding fruits of their several kinds--in the broad valley, rising from Bounty Bay, in the centre of the island, nearly opposite to where we lay. I imagine that there are few of my readers who have not heard of the armed ship "Bounty," 215 tons burthen, sent out to Tahiti,to procure bread-fruit trees for planting in the West Indies, and commanded by Lieutenant Bligh, an arbitrary officer, against whom a portion of the crew, headed by the chief-mate, Fletcher Christian, unwisely mutinied, on the 28th of April, 1789. They next forced Commander Bligh and eighteen others into a provisioned launch, and cast it adrift. 1 After a return to and a stay at Tahiti, to land dissentients of the crew remaining, the mutineers bore away, and at last made the Island of Pitcairn about the end of the year 1789. Here they landed the stores and everything movable belonging to the vessel, and, on the 23rd of January, 1790, the carcase of the "Bounty" was sunk 25 fathoms deep in Bounty Bay, and Christian and his comrades believed, or wished to believe, themselves beyond the reach of discovery. These mutineers consisted of nine British sailors accompanied by eighteen natives from Tahiti (six men and twelve women, one with a baby). Disagreeing amongst themselves at times, they commenced fighting each other in a murderous manner; so much so, that in the course of their first ten years' residence on the island, there remained, at the end of that period, only the women, nineteen children, and one
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man, in this "Garden of Eden," and his name was Adam or, to be exact, Alexander Smith, alias John Adams.
Fortunately the mutineers had landed with some Bibles and prayer-books in their possession. Adams now alone--as a man --in his little island, began to read the good words and precepts in these books, and he became a changed man. From being a great reprobate he became a pious Christian. Like a good father of a family, he successfully trained his little community in the paths of sobriety, industry, virtue and religion, which made them good citizens and happy subjects of their king and patriarch, plain John Adams. Time rolled on till the year 1808 (Haydn says 1814, which is incorrect), 2 when their location was accidentally discovered by Captain Folger, of the American Ship "Topaze." In the year 1854, their numbers had increased to nearly 200, when several gentlemen interested themselves in their welfare. It was then found that the numbers of the Pitcairners were increasing beyond the means of subsistence that the island could afford. The result was that, in 1856, 92 males and 102 females were conveyed from Pitcairn Island to Norfolk Island, which is situated about 400 miles N.W. of New Zealand, and is six miles long and four miles broad.
After being settled on this fruitful island for some little time a few of them pined to return to their old abode. Their longings were gratified; for two families returned in the year 1858 to their first and only homes, and were, with after arrivals, in possession of the island when we arrived abreast of it. As soon as they saw our steamer, eight narrow and deep canoes, painted red and white, put off, and--sailing and paddling as best they could--were soon alongside our steamship. Each canoe contained but one man. The eight natives that thus visited us were all attired in light trowsers and
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shirts, and their canoes contained fine bananas and oranges, large cabbages, onions, shalots, potatoes and beautiful flowers; among which were daisies and orange blossoms, all brought to barter, for slops, powder, caps, and old clothes, for use by the whole community; and brandy, wine, and flour, required for the sick.
One man amongst them was recognised as their chief to buy and sell. His name was Thursday October Christian, which meant a great deal. He informed me, in excellent English, that, about three years before this time, he and nearly fifty others left Norfolk Island to return to Pitcairn, which they liked better than any other place. He told me they had a chapel at the other side of the island, the services of which were well attended, and that the sexes of their little community were about equal, and they were all very happy. Those natives who came off to the ship spoke good English. One called himself McCoy, another Young. They were all descendants of the mutineers. Only three or four came on board; the remainder were left to take care of the canoes and the stores afloat. The oranges they sold to us were the largest and most delicious I had ever tasted. They lingered long about the steamer, and had an abundant supply of good useful clothing given to them; but the time--late in the afternoon-- came when we must leave them behind. The Captain appeared on the bridge; the Chief Engineer gave orders to start the engine; our large steamship began to move through the smooth waters; Thursday October Christian descended the ship's side by a rope ladder into his curious and frail craft called a canoe; there he stood, with tears in his eyes, as if reluctant to part with us; he and his comrades looked on as we steamed away; we looked at them, and then we gazed on the miniature green woods--the brown patches of soil made ready for crops on the hill sides--the banana and other fruit-tree plantations growing in sheltered nooks
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and little valleys--the high peak and the rugged rocks, all of which, combined, formed their romantic island home, which, as the shades of evening closed around us, gradually disappeared, melted away, and left us mentally wishing these lonely but contented and interesting islanders a final good-bye.
About a year after our stay at Pitcairn the N. Z. and Panama line of steamers ceased to run from Panama to Wellington, and as the Island of Pitcairn lies out of the general track of trading vessels, I fear now, and for years to come, that the Islanders of Pitcairn will know little of, and have much less communication with the great world outside them, than they have lately been used to. Since the time that Sir Thomas More wrote his Utopia, great and learned men have written and devised plans for making people perfectly happy, but none have succeeded: it remained for an unlettered sailor--John Adams--to make the nearest approach to communal ideal happiness at Pitcairn Island. 3
Three days after leaving the Island of Pitcairn, on the evening of the 13th, we reached the Island of Oparo, or Rapa, situated in latitude 27 deg. 37 min. 40 sec. S., and longitude 144 deg. 15 min. W. It is about 8 miles long and 6 miles wide; it contained a miserable population of nearly 1500 souls, has a good harbour, and was used as a coaling station for the N. Z. and P. Mail Steam-ships, of which our ship, the "Kaikoura," formed one. To myself this island presented a wild and uninviting appearance, and consists, for the most part, of lofty peaks connected by bare and sharp ridges. It lies 2 1/2 degrees further south than Pitcairn. It is therefore colder. Neither the bread-fruit tree nor the cocoa-nut will ripen their fruit here. The oranges grown are sour: but potatoes and cabbages can be cultivated with success. We arrived abreast
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of the harbour on a stormy night, and just as it was becoming dusk; here our steamer was hove to,--rockets were thrown up, blue lights were burned, a gun was fired,--but no boats coming off we left, when, an hour after sunset, a nearly full moon occasionally shone from between the driving clouds, and threw fitful gleams of light on land, and sea, and lighted us on our way as, without regret, we took our departure from the Island of Rapa.
Wednesday the 14th brought a sudden change of wind, which freshened into a heavy gale, accompanied by loud peals of thunder and vivid flashes of lightning. This gale damaged our sails. The next day was fine, when the dead bodies of a passenger and seaman, who died the day previous, were sewed up in their hammocks, weighted to sink, placed on a gun carriage, and--as the burial service was being solemnly read-- passed through a gun port, and then, after a plunge and a splash, the corpses disappeared in the deep waters of the South Pacific Ocean. One of the men was a passenger who died of consumption, the other a sailor who succumbed to Chagres fever. Next day the personal effects of both were sold, on deck, by auction, and the proceeds of the sale remained with the Captain for future distribution amongst the relatives of the deceased.
We continued our voyage until the 21st, which was the day we should--according to the Mail contract time--have been in Wellington, yet we were 1000 miles from it. The weather continued fine; and on Saturday the 25th, when in longitude 180 deg., we lost a day,--that is, to correct our reckoning, we skipped over a day, and passed from Saturday to Monday, the 26th. Monday was, to us, a remarkable day. It was both pleasant and unpleasant. We were cheerful in the morning and desponding in the evening. The wind was light but fair; the sea was well nigh calm; the sky was without a cloud, and the sun shone out in full splendour--when I went on deck at
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7 o'clock in the morning, and found, to my surprise, that we were within seven miles of New Zealand- Cape Turnagajn was before us. So, "on to Wellington!" was now the cry. Great was our pleasure as we sailed and steamed alpng the, coast--at about five miles' distance from it--all day, and, until-- at 7 o'clock in the evening---we were at the entrance of Cook's Straits, when, to the surprise of the passengers, we found out that the commander of our steam-ship, Capt, Machin, was tipsy, and giving contrary directions as ta steering the ship. I spoke to him as to the steamer's position, when he pointed, to two lights, or fires, in Palliser Bay, and said, "that's the light from the Lighthouse at Wellington Heads." I knew this was impossible, as we were miles away from the latter place, and a range of mountains intervened and shut out the light on Pencarrow head at the entrance to the Port of Wellington. I saw at once that to obey his orders was certain destruction to the ship, and, perhaps, loss of life to passengers. Yet, what could be done? The Captain was an experienced navigator, and was supreme on board. There he was, I was informed, standing, or rather staggering about, on the bridge, till at last he fell off and down upon the iron gratings below, and severely cut his forehead. At this juncture I was sent for, from the saloon below, by the Mail Agent and the chief Officer. I went on deck and persuaded him to go into his cabin: here we washed the blood from his wounded face, but could not induce him to stay in his cabin. He again went on the bridge, turned the handle of the indicator --which conveyed instructions to the Engineers below in the engine room--first one way, then another, in a bewildering way. Again we got him down into his cabin. He called for case gin. It was given him, and he soon drank himself to sleep and incapability. Meanwhile some other passengers and myself consulted together, and came to the conclusion that the Mail Agent--to save the ship and passengers from im-
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minent danger--should request the Chief Officer to take charge of it, which he did, and steered it for Wellington Heads, where we arrived about midnight. It was too dark to enter Wellington harbour then; so we stood off and on till daylight. No one went to bed that night. I never passed a more anxious night at sea, than I did on this occasion: fortunately the weather was moderately fine, otherwise we should have been in great danger; for the Chief Officer admitted that he knew but little of the ship's position or the rock-bound coasts on either side of it. After many wishes for daylight, it came at last, when we entered the narrow channel leading to the harbour of Wellington, where we anchored on the morning of the 27th of August, 1867; just six days after our due date.
