of mountains. There the monkeys and parrots furnished the tropical
atmosphere, assisted somewhat by innumerable dead mules along the trail.
Vultures sat in every tree waiting for more things to happen. The trail
was of the consistency of very thick mud. In this mud the first mule
had naturally left his tracks; the next mules trod carefully in the
first mule's footprints, and all subsequent mules did likewise. The
consequence was a succession of narrow deep holes in the clay into which
an animal sank half-way to the shoulder. No power was sufficient to make
these mules step anywhere else. Each hole was full of muddy water. When
the mule inserted his hoof, water spurted out violently as though from a
squirt-gun. Walking was simply impossible.

All this was merely adventure for the young, strong, and healthy; but
the terrible part of the Panama Trail was the number of victims claimed
by cholera and fever. The climate and the unwonted labor brought to the
point of exhaustion men unaccustomed to such exertions. They lay flat by
the trail as though dead. Many actually did die either from the jungle
fever or the yellow-jack. The universal testimony of the times is that
this horseback journey seemed interminable; and many speak of being
immensely cheered when their Indian stopped, washed his feet in a
wayside mudhole, and put on his pantaloons. That indicated the
proximity, at last, of the city of Panama.

It was a quaint old place. The two-story wooden houses with corridor
and verandah across the face of the second story, painted in bright
colors, leaned crazily out across the streets. Narrow and mysterious
alleys led between them. Ancient cathedrals and churches stood gray with
age before the grass-grown plazas. In the outskirts were massive masonry
ruins of great buildings, convents, and colleges, some of which had
never been finished. The immense blocks lay about the ground in