April 18th, 1883

My dear Mother,

Don’t be surprised if you see me once more in London, about the 26th or 27th of next month. It is just possible I may leave Colón by the steamer of the 5th of May; if I do come, will telegraph on arrival at Plymouth. I will however probably go on to Southampton, where I suppose we should arrive about two days later owing to the steamer calling at Cherbourg.

This place has not agreed with me at all; have been sick with fever and nearly all the time. I came over on the 2nd; we were 24 hours from Panama, becalmed nearly all day under a broiling sun, and no shade on these wretched little boats. Fortunately I again fell in with kind people, though they were black; I was confined to my bed for four days but am all right again now.

Shall leave this place as soon as I can, probably for the Island of Taboga and perhaps spend a week or two there, anywhere rather than Panama (City).

Isla Taboga, seen from near Panama City

The trip to Old Providence I shall probably abandon; these small islands appear to be useless for my work, have found nothing here.

If San Miguel were not about as hot as the lower regions, it would not be a bad place; the people are nearly all black and live by planting coconuts, yams, otos, rice, maize, yucas, etc; we see the range of mountains of the mainland very plain about 30 miles distant. Nearly all the houses are of bamboo, thatched with palm leaves, very few of wood or cement. It is a most ruinous looking place and the people live chiefly on salt beef and rice, cooked in coconut grease; though there are plenty of fish on the coast they don’t seem to catch many.

Father might drop a few lines to Mr. Godman, in case I do not write again to him. I went over to Colón on the 27th returning the following day; I scarcely knew the place again it has altered so much in 4 years, the place is swarming with negroes, Frenchmen, organ grinders (!), cheap Jacks, etc; at night it is a perfect Babel. Where the people sleep goodness only knows, but oh, the heat and the smell of the place; it is built on a swamp, I don’t wonder at people getting sick, especially the newcomers, and water is so scarce that you can scarcely get enough to wash your hands in. All along the line of the Canal the Frenchmen are building houses, clearing the bush, levelling, etc, but they do not appear to have excavated a yard yet anywhere except to level the ground.

Hoping all being well, soon to be with you all again and with best love to all.

March 6th 1883

My dear Mother,

I am still detained here, waiting for a sailing vessel to take me to Panamá (City), but hope to get off in a few days; there is a small vessel here now, called the “Catalina”, but goodness knows when she will be ready to start. At this season, the winds are so strong, and hurricanes frequent, that I should not wonder at all if we take ten days or a fortnight to get to Panamá, then I shall have the same trouble over again to reach the Pearl Islands owing to the contrary winds; the weather is splendid (if one can stand the heat) but the dust is awful, doors and shutters banging (windows you don’t find in these countries) every moment, tiles blowing off, and the coconuts bend with the wind but they do not break) but almost a cloudless sky since Christmas, and scarcely a drop of rain. I would rather remain a few months longer than return in the winter, especially as London has few if any attractions for me (except to see you all again) at the present time. I doubt if I will ever be able to get used to the noise and bustle again, having lived so long in the wilds, of course you know that I never liked London, and during my four years absence in the tropics, my dislike has increased tenfold.

This letter I shall send by land; if I had my own way I would not start for any journey by sea for another month yet, but as I have been so much delayed from one cause and another, and as I ought to have been in Panamá by the end of December, I must start at the first opportunity. You can have no idea how uncertain and slow everything is in this country, there is not the slightest certainty about anything, the people never hurry themselves, it is always “tomorrow” and when tomorrow comes, it is the day after.

During my last journey to Tolé, Peña Blanca etc, I was fortunate enough to be able to go to the annual gathering of the Indians of the district, held at a very solitary, out-of-the-way place in the mountains. There were about 300 Indians, men, women, and children present, many from places very far distant; they came with their faces hideously painted, red and black, the men wearing straw hats full of feathers, and most of them carrying a stuffed puma or other animal on their backs, women bare-headed, painted like the men, and with a long dress like a coloured bedgown from the shoulders to the heels; this dress they wear quite loose, not tied at the waist, and they cut their hair short all round alike and comb it down over their eyes, but Oh! so dirty, you constantly see them (fleas/lice?) collecting on one another’s heads, I think you would be astonished if you could see them. Some of the men carry a bow and arrows and nearly all have at least two or three wives. Their idea of amusement at these gatherings is to make as much noise as they can with bells, flutes, horns etc and to dance, and while dancing they throw short poles at one another’s heels, constantly falling down of course. They bothered me a good deal as I was the only foreigner present, asking me all sorts of questions in bad Spanish. The “Gobernador” or Chief would persist in embracing me occasionally, but they did not molest me, a little too friendly, that was all. For two or three days, they kept up the feast, sleeping on the bare ground (there was no village or houses).

The country people in Chiriquí, men and women alike, even if rich, go barefoot, though they think nothing of giving a sovereign for a straw hat, in which they are very extravagant. They are very fond indeed of dancing, and very often, especially on a moonlight night, in the dry season, they get up a “ball” or dance which they keep up the whole night; only one couple dance at a time, face to face, without touching one another, and when tired, another couple takes their place. The coffee business seems to be an utter failure (the price having gone down so much in London, New York, and Chiriquí), and nearly all my old friends on the slope of the Volcano are leaving to try their fortune elsewhere. The proprietor of Eureka failed and has gone back to Costa Rica, the same thing will happen, I expect, in Guatemala, the planters will be ruined.

Here in David I always stay with a Frenchman; it seems almost like a home. I have stayed so many times in the house. Here I can leave all my heavy things while travelling; the family are always very kind to me; only wish there were such places to stay in Panama. There if you don’t go to the Grand Hotel and spend about £1 a day you have to live like a pig. I promised you a long letter and now have kept my word, my next will be short ones, will write on arrival at Panama. How I am going to get through my works in 2 months, I hardly know, the stay in Jamaica will probably have to be given up, and there is the trip from Colón to the Islands of Old Providence; anyway I ought to spend April in the Pearl Islands, and I ought to arrive in England about the end of May or beginning of June. Write care of the British Consul, Panama.

The sailing vessel “Catalina” is to leave on the 12th, all being well ought to arrive at Panama about the 22nd. She is now loading with hides, rice, coconuts and coffee, she will also carry I expect about 50 pigs, and perhaps 8 or 10 passengers, where the latter will stow themselves, goodness only knows, one thing, it is the dry season.