The Boy Scouts at the Panama Canal Part 20

CHAPTER XIX.

THE GATUN DAM.

The scene changes to a day when the boys had their first view of the mighty Gatun Dam, a work that, as President Taft said, is "as solid as the everlasting hills." Picture a vast valley hemmed in by hills heavily timbered with tropical growth. Across the valley floor the current of the muddy Chagres slowly serpentines, with workmen's huts cl.u.s.tered along its sides, and everywhere preparations being made to hem it in, much as the Liliputians set about harnessing Gulliver, a giant to them.

The floor of the valley, once a trackless jungle and destined within a short time from the moment that the Boy Scouts gazed upon it to become a mighty lake, was crisscrossed in every direction by lines of railroad along which contractors' engines were puffing and hauling long winding trains of dirt cars. In places, great steam shovels were at work eating out whole hillsides, taking great mouthfuls at a time.

"Like Tubby eating pie," laughed Merritt, as he watched one of them.

Across the valley floor, the huge dam, a veritable mountain of concrete, was rising. Busy human ants swarmed everywhere and, at the spot on which the boys stood, with Mr. Mainwaring and some a.s.sistant engineers to explain things, hundreds of black workmen were working like beavers on the summit of the great wall. Where they stood the wonderful dam was 100 feet wide, just one-fourth the length of the steamer on which they had come to the Isthmus.

At the base of the dam the width of the gigantic structure is 1,900 feet, and its ma.s.sive foundations go down into the earth for many feet more.

"Just think," exclaimed Rob, aglow with the wonder of it all, "before long all this valley floor will be a huge inland sea across which vessels can push their way from Pedro Miguel to Gatun."

The roar of an excavating machine drowned his comrades' replies, but their looks showed how deeply they were impressed.

"It makes you feel like a--a fly speck," exclaimed Tubby, when the uproar ceased for an instant.

Up along a line of rails glided a movable steam shovel. On a side track a busy little locomotive had already bunted a train of flat cars. There was a loud clatter of chains; two white spouts of steam leaped high above the shelter which protected the steam shovel's engineer from the burning sun.

Down swung the huge steel dipper. Almost like a hungry human being, rather like some famished giant, it swung its iron-toothed jaws apart and bit deep into a bank which had to be moved. In an instant its mouth was closed again and the receptacle was full of rough, broken material. Big rocks were among the earth, but that made no difference to this devouring leviathan.

"Hi!" shouted a big shining negro man on the flat car.

The big steam shovel gave a sharp scream of warning, the steam spurted forth again from the vent pipes and up swung the load. The long arm slowly reached out above the flat car. A mighty scampering of the negro loaders followed.

"Hi!" came the cry of the boss negro again.

The bottom of the dipper opened. There was a roar of falling rock and earth and a flat car was filled. Then the process was repeated till the hillock that was to be removed melted away like a plate of ice cream before a healthy boy.

Thus, amid shouting, seeming confusion, the clanging and crash of metal, the scream of steam whistles, shouted orders and the noise of steam and the fog of smoke, the work went on,--the mighty job that Uncle Sam, contractor, is putting through for the benefit of the civilized world.

Mr. Mainwaring told the boys that there is keen rivalry among the steam-shovel men. Prizes are given every month for the record amount of dirt that flies. Each shovel is pushed to the limit of its capacity. In an eight-hour day one of the steam shovels excavated and loaded on flat cars 3,500 cubic yards. This means about 160 carloads for the day, or a carload every three minutes.

The boys noticed, too, that the negroes, Italians and Spaniards toiled away at their tasks without appearing to take much interest in their work beyond keeping just hard enough at it to avoid getting into trouble. But on the faces of the "gold-men," as the engineers and American officials are termed, was the stern determination of men animated by a great purpose. Off duty, the gold-men, so called because they are paid in American gold and not in Panama coinage, are a joking, jolly lot of men, who like to play tennis and baseball, and indulge in all sorts of sports.

But on duty, clad in khaki and gaiters, with great sun helmets to keep off the baleful rays of the tropical sun, they are like changed men.

The expression the boys noticed on their faces as they hurried about with blue prints or levels and theodolites was set and stern. They seemed to be, in a way, instruments of a great destiny. Each bore himself as if he knew that the work in hand required the best that was in him.

"It seems to me," said Mr. Mainwaring, "that these great steam shovels and their crews, the activity and all the purposeful bustle and hustle down here, represent more fully than anything that I have ever seen the determined, fearless American spirit that has overridden what appeared to be impossibilities, and is carrying the Ca.n.a.l through to a triumphant completion. It's a great thing for a boy to be able to say that he has seen such a work, and it will be a still greater thing if he takes to heart the lessons to be learned here on every hand."

Here he looked at Tubby who, not paying any attention to this "preachifying," as he mentally termed it, was drinking the milk out of a cocoanut. The fat boy had become very fond of the cocoanut, which can be bought on the Isthmus for little or nothing. He had slung several around his waist and at intervals, amidst the dust and turmoil of the work on the great dam, he refreshed himself by a copious draught of their cool contents.

At the boys' feet, as they stood on the lofty concrete battlement, lay the cut for the Gatun locks, which will raise and lower vessels eighty-five feet. There are no such locks anywhere in the world. While the boys watched, a steady stream of concrete was being poured into giant moulds for the locks, and rows of arc-light poles, like gaunt trees, showed that under the glare of electric lights the work was pushed forward even at night. Not a minute of time was wasted all through that vast system. They soon had become aware of that.

While the boys stood there an erect, military-looking man came up to Mr.

Mainwaring, who greeted him with every appearance of respect. The newcomer was tall, bore an air of authority, and was dressed in a white military uniform.

"Colonel," the boys heard Mr. Mainwaring say, after a few minutes' grave conversation, "I wish to introduce to you my son Fred and his three chums,--all, as you see, Boy Scouts."

Tubby hastened to chuck his empty cocoanut sh.e.l.l off the top of the dam as he saw that a social ceremony was going forward. The sh.e.l.l lit on a negro's skull far below and bounded off with a loud crack.

"Mah goodness, dem musquitoes is wusser dan ebber to-day," the negro remarked to the man shoveling at his side, which would have made Tubby laugh if he had heard it.

After a few kind words to the chums, the military-looking man pa.s.sed on, stopping every now and then to examine the work with every appearance of minutest care.

"Wonder what kind of a boss he is?" remarked Tubby nonchalantly after he had pa.s.sed on. "Steam shovel boss, concrete boss, dynamite boss, engineering boss or surveying boss,--there are other kinds but I forget 'em."

"Why, you chump," roared Fred, "don't you know who that was?"

"I didn't catch his name," rejoined Tubby.

"Well, that wasn't anybody more important than Lieut.-Col. George W.

Goethals, chairman of the Isthmian Ca.n.a.l Commission, and known as the 'man who dug the ditch.'"

"Oh-h-h-h-h-h!" mumbled Tubby, a great light breaking upon him, "I guess I'll take another cocoanut on that."

And the fat boy selected a fine specimen from the several that adorned his belt like scalps hanging round an Indian warrior.

CHAPTER XX.

A DYNAMITE VOLCANO.

After a while, despite the thrilling novelty of the scene and the significant interest it held for the four American lads, the dust, the heat, the noise and the confusion and bustle became wearisome, and they began looking about, boy like, for something new.

A white man in a duck uniform and pith helmet hastened by in company with a colored man who looked different from any negro the boys had yet seen.

The man had straight black hair, long and glossy. He wore a small sort of skull cap and white clothes with odd velvet shoes not unlike those affected by Chinese.

"Hullo, Raynor!" shouted Mr. Mainwaring to the white man, as the pair hustled by along the rampart-like heights of the big dam, "where are you bound for?"

The dark man and his companion came to a halt, the former standing in a respectful att.i.tude and saluting Mr. Mainwaring.

"We're going to shoot a test hole," was the reply.

"Do you mind taking these lads along? As you see, they are Boy Scouts, and anxious to see all that they can."

"I'll be delighted to. I've a kid brother at home whose letters are full of the doings of his patrol. Come along, young men. I'll show you something that will make your eyes open."

"I'll meet you here in time for dinner," said Mr. Mainwaring.

"We'll be here," rejoined Tubby, whose eyes had brightened at the mention of a meal. Although he had devoured the milk and creamy meat of two huge cocoanuts, the stout youth was still ready for another chance at edibles.

Mr. Raynor hastened on, beckoning to the boys to follow him.