The Complete Works of Artemus Ward, part 4 | Page 5

strictly honest person in Aspinwall. The
rest, he says, are niggers--which the colored people of the Isthmus
regard as about as scathing a thing as they can say of one another.
I examine the New Grenadian flag, which waves from the
chamber-window of the refreshment saloon. It is of simple design. You
can make one.
Take half of a cotton shirt, that has been worn two months, and dip it in
molasses of the Day & Martin brand. Then let the flies gambol over it
for a few days, and you have it. It is an emblem of Sweet Liberty.
At the Howard House the man of sin rubbeth the hair of the horse to the
bowels of the cat, and our girls are waving their lily-white hoofs in the
dazzling waltz.
We have a quadrille, in which an English person slips up and jams his

massive brow against my stomach. He apologizes, and I say, "all right,
my lord." I subsequently ascertained that he superintended the shipping
of coals for the British steamers, and owned fighting cocks.
The ball stops suddenly.
Great excitement. One of our passengers intoxicated and riotous in the
street. Openly and avowedly desires the entire Republic of New
Grenada to "come on."
In case they do come on, agrees to make it lively for them. Is quieted
down at last, and marched off to prison, by a squad of Grenadian troops.
Is musical as he passes the hotel, and smiling sweetly upon the ladies
and children on the balcony, expresses a distinct desire to be an Angel,
and with the Angels stand. After which he leaps nimbly into the air and
imitates the war-cry of the red man. . . . .
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.