The Boy Scouts at the Panama Canal

  CHAPTER XIX. THE GATUN DAM.

  The scene changes to a day when the boys had their first view of themighty Gatun Dam, a work that, as President Taft said, is "as solid asthe everlasting hills." Picture a vast valley hemmed in by hills heavilytimbered with tropical growth. Across the valley floor the current of themuddy Chagres slowly serpentines, with workmen's huts clustered along itssides, and everywhere preparations being made to hem it in, much as theLiliputians set about harnessing Gulliver, a giant to them.

  The floor of the valley, once a trackless jungle and destined within ashort time from the moment that the Boy Scouts gazed upon it to become amighty lake, was crisscrossed in every direction by lines of railroadalong which contractors' engines were puffing and hauling long windingtrains of dirt cars. In places, great steam shovels were at work eatingout 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 whichthe boys stood, with Mr. Mainwaring and some assistant engineers toexplain things, hundreds of black workmen were working like beavers onthe summit of the great wall. Where they stood the wonderful dam was 100feet wide, just one-fourth the length of the steamer on which they hadcome to the Isthmus.

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

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

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

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

  Up along a line of rails glided a movable steam shovel. On a side track abusy little locomotive had already bunted a train of flat cars. There wasa loud clatter of chains; two white spouts of steam leaped high above theshelter 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 andbit deep into a bank which had to be moved. In an instant its mouth wasclosed again and the receptacle was full of rough, broken material. Bigrocks were among the earth, but that made no difference to this devouringleviathan.

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

  The big steam shovel gave a sharp scream of warning, the steam spurtedforth again from the vent pipes and up swung the load. The long armslowly reached out above the flat car. A mighty scampering of the negroloaders followed.

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

  The bottom of the dipper opened. There was a roar of falling rock andearth and a flat car was filled. Then the process was repeated till thehillock that was to be removed melted away like a plate of ice creambefore 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 andthe 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 thesteam-shovel men. Prizes are given every month for the record amount ofdirt that flies. Each shovel is pushed to the limit of its capacity. Inan eight-hour day one of the steam shovels excavated and loaded on flatcars 3,500 cubic yards. This means about 160 carloads for the day, or acarload every three minutes.

  The boys noticed, too, that the negroes, Italians and Spaniards toiledaway at their tasks without appearing to take much interest in their workbeyond keeping just hard enough at it to avoid getting into trouble. Buton the faces of the "gold-men," as the engineers and American officialsare termed, was the stern determination of men animated by a greatpurpose. Off duty, the gold-men, so called because they are paid inAmerican 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 keepoff the baleful rays of the tropical sun, they are like changed men.

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

  "It seems to me," said Mr. Mainwaring, "that these great steam shovelsand their crews, the activity and all the purposeful bustle and hustledown here, represent more fully than anything that I have ever seen thedetermined, fearless American spirit that has overridden what appeared tobe impossibilities, and is carrying the Canal through to a triumphantcompletion. It's a great thing for a boy to be able to say that he hasseen such a work, and it will be a still greater thing if he takes toheart 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 acocoanut. The fat boy had become very fond of the cocoanut, which can bebought on the Isthmus for little or nothing. He had slung several aroundhis waist and at intervals, amidst the dust and turmoil of the work onthe great dam, he refreshed himself by a copious draught of their coolcontents.

  At the boys' feet, as they stood on the lofty concrete battlement, laythe cut for the Gatun locks, which will raise and lower vesselseighty-five feet. There are no such locks anywhere in the world. Whilethe boys watched, a steady stream of concrete was being poured into giantmoulds for the locks, and rows of arc-light poles, like gaunt trees,showed that under the glare of electric lights the work was pushedforward even at night. Not a minute of time was wasted all through thatvast 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. Thenewcomer was tall, bore an air of authority, and was dressed in a whitemilitary uniform.

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

  Tubby hastened to chuck his empty cocoanut shell off the top of the damas he saw that a social ceremony was going forward. The shell lit on anegro's skull far below and bounded off with a loud crack.

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

  After a few kind words to the chums, the military-looking man passed on,stopping every now and then to examine the work with every appearance ofminutest care.

  "Wonder what kind of a boss he is?" remarked Tubby nonchalantly after hehad passed 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 Canal 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 guessI'll take another cocoanut on that."

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