Not everyone reached California by prairie schooner. Molly and her family traveled by steamship and crossed the soggy jungles of the Isthmus of Panama by train.
The Carolina steamed across the Caribbean toward Central America and eventually reached the Panamanian coastline. There, the crewmen dropped anchor at Aspinwall, a tiny, waterlogged settlement at the eastern terminus of the Panama Pacific Railroad
Molly stepped out onto the flat, soggy island at the mouth of the Chagres River, and her heart sank. Before her lay a cluster of sorry buildings perched on rotted wood pilings.
“What in the world?” She lifted a hand to cover her nose, but the oppressive heat and humidity made it impossible to escape the stench of mud and decay. “It smells terrible here.”
“Oh, my goodness, what a miserable place,” Lizzie said.
“This heat is unbearable,” Joanna said. “And can you believe all the insects?”
The air was alive, and the bugs were after blood. Molly tried shooing away the clouds of sand flies and mosquitoes but met with little success. Thankfully, she’d draped her face and neck with gauze netting so that her long cotton skirt, sunbonnet, gloves, shoes, and thick cotton stockings covered every inch of skin.
“That must be our train.” Mother was pointing toward a small engine at rest on a set of narrow iron rails. “Let’s hope we board soon.”
Rusty tracks led to a tin-roofed depot building next to an expanse of wet, marshy mudflats. A few workers were covered with sweat, hard at work transferring heavy bundles of mail. Others loaded baggage from the steamship onto the waiting locomotive. Some of the westbound passengers were growing impatient.
“When will we board our train?” asked a rotund, red-faced fellow. Sweat dripped off his face, his clothes were soaked with perspiration, and he looked highly uncomfortable. “We deserve better than this, considering the cost of our tickets.”
“We all want to be away from this place,” said an older man with a thin, graying beard and droopy mustache. “It appears there’s a shortage of labor. Unless you wish to pitch in and help load the freight, there is nothing to be done for it but to sit and wait.”
Another traveler pulled a damp linen kerchief from his pocket and began wiping away the water beading on his forehead and dripping from his nose.
“Yes, sir,” he said. “He’s absolutely right. Complaining won’t help a bit. Besides, you should be grateful for the train. I reckon you never heard ’bout all it took to cross this isthmus before it was finished.”
“Charlie and me, we crossed here in fifty-one,” said a man who was using a ragged canvas hat to swat at a swarm of flies. “It was risky business back then. All we could think of was getting to the gold, and the only way upriver was to paddle yerself and yer gear in a dugout canoe. Ain’t that so, Charlie?”
His companion squinted and spit a mouthful of tobacco juice into a muddy puddle next to his nearly worn-out boots. “Yep, then ’twas over the mountains on the back of a mule. Had to fight off bandits, didn’t we? Barely escaped with our skins.”
“’Sides them robbers, poisonous water snakes and hungry gators wanted nothin’ more than havin’ us for dinner.”
Charlie nodded and scratched at his scraggly, juice-stained yellow beard. “Glad we’re goin’ through the jungle by daylight this time. Too many ghosts in there. Hundreds, maybe thousands, died puttin’ in them rails. Swore I’d never cross through there again. But this train ain’t so bad. It’ll get us to Panama City lickety-split. Be there in just a few hours.”
He gave a toothless grin and spit again.
Molly turned and went to stand with Mother. She wasn’t sure if she believed in ghosts, but the place felt eerie enough to be full of them. Mossy vines draped the mangrove trees like weird, shadowy veils, and the air itself seemed haunted. Seasickness or not, she looked forward to reaching the Pacific Ocean as soon as possible.
Mother was also growing impatient. She decided to go inside the depot to ask when they might expect to board. A few minutes later, she emerged from the building with one of the railroad officials.
“Girls,” she said, “we’re ready to depart. This gentleman promises to find us a place where we can sit together.”
They boarded the train, the conductor showed them their seats, and they settled in as best they could.
Lizzie was growing peevish. “This metal bench is not at all comfortable,” she said.
“Upholstery would rot in this humidity,” Molly snapped irritably. “Be glad you have somewhere to sit.” She considered reminding Lizzie of their good fortune. They could be following a Conestoga wagon across the prairies, blistering the soles of their feet on the Oregon Trail.
