The natives amass wealth by carrying valises, &c., then squander it for liquor.My native comes to me as I sit on the veranda of the Howard House smoking a cigar, and solicits the job of taking my things to the cars next morning.He is intoxicated, and has been fighting, to the palpable detriment of his wearing apparel; for he has only a pair of tattered pantaloons and a very small quantity of shirt left.
We go to bed.Eight of us are assigned to a small den upstairs, with only two lame apologies for beds.
Mosquitoes and even rats annoy us fearfully.One bold rat gnaws at the feet of a young Englishman in the party.This was more than the young Englishman could stand, and rising from his bed he asked us if New Grenada wasn't a Republic? We said it was."I thought so," he said."Of course I mean no disrespect to the United States of America in the remark, but I think I prefer a bloated monarchy!"He smiled sadly--then handing his purse and his mother's photograph to another English person, he whispered softly."If I am eaten up, give them to Me mother--tell her I died like a true Briton, with no faith whatever in the success of a republican form of government!"And then he crept back to bed again.
....
We start at seven the next morning for Panama.
My native comes bright and early to transport my carpet sack to the railway station.His clothes have suffered still more during the night, for he comes to me now dressed only in a small rag and one boot.
At last we are off."Adios, Americanos!" the natives cry; to which I pleasantly reply, "ADOUS! and long may it be before you have a chance to Do us again."The cars are comfortable on the Panama railway, and the country through which we pass is very beautiful.But it will not do to trust it much, because it breeds fevers and other unpleasant disorders, at all seasons of the year.Like a girl we most all have known, the Isthmus is fair but false.
There are mud huts all along the route, and half-naked savages gaze patronizingly upon us from their doorways.An elderly lady in spectacles appears to be much scandalized by the scant dress of these people, and wants to know why the Select Men don't put a stop to it.From this, and a remark she incidentally makes about her son, who has invented a washing machine which will wash, wring, and dry a shirt in ten minutes, I infer that she is from the hills of Old New England, like the Hutchinson family.
....
The Central American is lazy.The only exercise he ever takes is to occasionally produce a Revolution.When his feet begin to swell and there are premonitory symptoms of gout, he "revolushes" a spell, and then serenely returns to his cigarette and hammock under the palm-trees.
These Central American Republics are queer concerns.I do not of course precisely know what a last year's calf's ideas of immortal glory may be, but probably they are about as lucid as those of a Central American in regard to a republican form of government.
And yet I am told they are a kindly people in the main.I never met but one of them--a Costa-Rican; on board the Ariel.He lay sick with fever, and I went to him and took his hot hand gently in mine.I shall never forget his look of gratitude.And the next day he borrowed five dollars of me, shedding tears as he put it in his pocket.
....
At Panama we lose several of our passengers, and among them three Peruvian ladies, who go to Lima, the city of volcanic eruptions and veiled black-eyed beauties.
The Senoritas who leave us at Panama are splendid creatures.They learned me Spanish, and in the soft moonlight we walked on deck and talked of the land of Pizarro.(You know old Piz.conquered Peru!
and although he was not educated at West Point, he had still some military talent.) I feel as though I had lost all my relations, including my grandmother and the cooking stove when these gay young Senoritas go away.
They do not go to Peru on a Peruvian bark, but on an English steamer.Off to Acapulco.
4.3.MEXICO.
We make Acapulco, a Mexican coast town of some importance, in a few days, and all go ashore.
The pretty peasant girls peddle necklaces made of shells and oranges, in the streets of Acapulco, on steamer days.They are quite naive about it.Handing you a necklace they will say, "Me give you pres-ENT, Senor," and then retire with a low curtsey.
Returning, however, in a few moments, they say quite sweetly, "You give me pres-ENT, Senor, of quarter dollar!" which you at once do unless you have a heart of stone.
Acapulco was shelled by the French a year or so before our arrival there, and they effected a landing.But the gay and gallant Mexicans peppered them so persisently and effectually from the mountains near by that they concluded to sell out and leave.
Napoleon has no right in Mexico.Mexico may deserve a licking.
That is possible enough.Most people do.But nobody has any right to lick Mexico except the United States.We have a right, Iflatter myself, to lick this entire continent, including ourselves, any time we want to.
The signal gun is fired at 11, and we go off to the steamer in small boats.
In our boat is an inebriated United States official, who flings his spectacles overboard, and sings a flippant and absurd song about his grandmother's spotted calf, with his ri-fol-lol-tiddery-i-do.
After which he crumbles, in an incomprehensible manner, into the bottom of the boat, and howls dismally.
