Excerpt from Between the Andes and the Ocean
It takes from six to seven days to make the journey of 1,970 miles from New York to the isthmus. You might go from New Orleans in three days and from Tampa in two. The Illinois Central Railway and the Plant Company would put on lines of vessels to bring freight for their railway trains, but for the quarantine regulations, which make traffic during the summer months almost impossible, at least impracticable.
There is always more or less fever in the isthmus. It is difficult to keep it away, for Colon and Panama catch human driftwood from all over the American continent, and arc the asylum for refugees from plagues as well as politics. When a man is run out of any of the west-coast countries or Central America for any reason he always strikes for Panama. It has a fine, large hotel, indifferently kept, but commodious, and a number of handsome residences that may be rented for short terms, like the houses in Washington and London for the season. If their walls could talk they might tell interesting tales of intrigue and conspiracy, for since the days when Pedrarias, governor of the first colony on the American continent, overthrew Balboa in a shameful manner, Panama has sheltered adventurers and conspirators.
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