CHAPTER 3

Construction of the Panama Canal, Colombia, March 1885

It was seven in the morning and in spite of the torrential rain, Philippe had already been inspecting the excavation site for two hours. Gustave, his assistant, held an umbrella that covered them both as they walked uphill on a path that was more like a stream. Today, like the last three days, the downpour had made advancing the excavation all but impossible.

With his boots covered in mud and his fine clothing soaking wet, Philippe held his derby hat so the wind wouldn’t carry it away. He’d never been in the habit of wearing Hawkes styled English hats or clothing like the other engineers wore, which seemed unsuitable for the momentous job they were working on.

Philippe had arrived in Panama six months earlier on the same ship as his new boss, Dingler, the general director, who was returning from France with his wife after a short vacation. Dingler’s son, daughter, and son-in-law were buried in the Panamanian soil after succumbing to tropical sicknesses a year before.

The journey lasted weeks, during which Philippe had dedicated himself to impressing Jules Dingler and demonstrating how much he had studied for the job to be done, particularly on the Culebra Cut: the section where the majority of the excavation would take place. The young engineer succeeded in making his mark on the general director.

From the top of the mountain, and while Gustave did what he could to protect his superior from the rain, Philippe observed thousands of workers using picks and shovels, trying to widen the small crack that was the beginning of the Culebra Cut. Alongside the workers, huge machines blew smoke while depositing mud and rocks in small wagons responsible for collecting and removing the materials. From there, Culebra was a green bulge crossed by a band of brown, swarming with men and machines.

It was a spectacular view that Philippe enjoyed every day. He was constructing a canal for France and for the world, and the dream he’d had since he was only ten years old was coming true. The view also reminded him of the engineer who had visited his childhood home after returning from working in Suez.

But Panama wasn’t the land of “eternal spring” as de Lesseps had promised. And the terrain they were excavating couldn’t be worked in “the same way as in Europe,” like Abel Couvreux had said. The strange mixture of clay, sandstone, and silt that made up the Culebra Cut turned out to be unstable, and with the torrential rain it collapsed almost daily, refilling what had been excavated, at times submerging entire brigades of workers in the landslide.

The contractors, responsible for practically the entire excavation, did their best to try to fulfill their obligations in the most economic and profitable way, with little regard for actual progress of the job. In the last year, the excavation on Culebra averaged only one meter in depth. Still, many of them threatened to pull out if the Canal Company didn’t improve contractual conditions, a request that was generally accepted.

There had also been problems with labor. The black French-speaking workers fought the black Spanish-speakers with machetes. Some blacks who had been slaves until only recently refused to follow the orders of team leaders, claiming they were “free men.” And several of the Chinese didn’t want to work on the excavation at all anymore, and turned instead to commerce.

If the workers weren’t working or drunk, they were probably sick. Although many illnesses afflicted people on the isthmus, there were two which took the majority of lives: the swampy emanations from the excavation caused malaria, so the more they excavated, the more people fell ill. The predominant filth in Cólon was the cause of yellow fever. Marcus Schouwe, the contractor in charge of importing labor, couldn’t fill positions with the same speed that illnesses were creating new vacancies.

The diseases were so lethal than many people perished even during short visits to Panama. Philippe remembered cases such as the Dolphin, a ship carrying wood from New Orleans that had stopped in Colón to replenish necessities, and weeks later, was still tied to the dock: the entire crew had died and there was no one left to captain the orphan ship to other ports.

But Philippe wasn’t afraid of disease. In fact, he visited the hospitals on a daily basis. There, he encouraged the many workers who were dying, he greeted the patients, shook their hands, and joked with those who could still do so. Sometimes, his visits were interrupted when he had to make room for coffins placed beside the beds of those he was visiting.

He wasn’t afraid of contracting diseases because malaria attacked people with weak morals; he was protected by his lack of fear. Furthermore, a local healer had recommended a mixture of quinine and brandy that had kept several American engineers healthy during construction of the railroad. Surely this would protect Philippe.

In spite of all the bad things that were taking place in Panama, including the numerous deaths of his colleagues, disorder and bureaucracy within the company, as well as the dishonest and corrupt contractors, Philippe was happy to be there. He was living the dream he’d had since he was a child: to join two oceans just like “Le Grand Français” had done in Suez.

In fact, before coming to Panama, he’d already known of all the risks to which he would be exposed. The Parisian newspapers, in spite of the efforts of the Canal Company to hide such occurrences, had been reporting for some time the deaths of many known Frenchmen as a result of diseases. When, before departure, Mr. Schwoebele asked why he’d want to expose himself to so much danger by going to Panama, Philippe had responded without hesitation, “For the same reason a soldier goes to battle, Mr. Schwoebele.”

Philippe and a group of engineers in Panama. He is second from the left, in the derby hat. Jules Dingler is seated in the center, wearing white pants and resting his hands on an umbrella.

Photo courtesy of Ricardo López Arias.