CHAPTER 5

August 1885

Everyone said that Jules Dingler had gone crazy after the death of his wife, the last member of his family lost to malaria. The day of the funeral, January 1, he had gone to work at his office, like any other day. After the burial, he’d taken his horse, his wife’s horse, and his children’s horses to a hill near his house where he shot them. From then on, every day was a nightmare for the director and his team.

From morning to night, Dingler screamed orders, taking only small breaks during which he’d rock in his chair with his head in his hands to try to relieve the agony that gnawed at his brain. On one occasion, several engineers had to restrain Dingler to keep him from throwing an accountant from his plaza-facing office balcony for having agreed to pay for a mysterious shipment of ink barrels sent from the office in New York.

By August, he couldn’t take any more. He sent a telegram to Paris affirming his resignation, packed all his possessions, and ordered that his carriage be prepared to embark. Before departing, he stopped at the cemetery to say goodbye to his family. He wept bitterly for an hour but never lost his composure, and when he was ready, he kissed the headstones and got back into the carriage.

Passing through Colón, he noticed a number of people gathered at the railroad tracks. Over the rails, a wooden structure had been built, and from it, a thin rope was hanging and being greased by the port captain, an American by the name of Harris who had been a vigilante in the American West where he often acted as judge and executioner.

A brown-skinned man, dressed in a suit and tie over a white shirt, was helped onto a train car platform situated below the knot. Removing his derby hat and revealing his curly hair, he kept repeating that he was innocent, that he hadn’t tried to burn the city, and then he blew a kiss to a woman who was crying as she covered the eyes of a boy who didn’t understand what was happening. A soldier in tattered clothing put the rope on the man’s neck, allowed Pedro Prestán to replace his derby hat, and Captain Harris immediately gave the order to move the platform on which the condemned man stood.

The hanging of Pedro Prestán.

Photo courtesy of the Panama Canal Authority.

At the port, Maurice Hutin and Philippe were waiting for Dingler. The two senior engineers at the Canal Company saw Dingler as a model of honesty, hard work, and perseverance in the face of adversity. Both were dismayed by the abandonment of their boss. Hutin, a tall and well-built man with the heart of a child, had been chosen as the new general director. “Mr. Dingler, it has been an honor to work with you,” Maurice said, trying unsuccessfully to hold back his tears, which caused great discomfort to both Dingler and Philippe.

“Don’t follow my example; don’t abandon Panama,” said the defeated engineer before hugging the two men and boarding the Lafayette.

Two weeks after having assumed direction of the company, Maurice contracted yellow fever. Crying inconsolably in times of lucidity, he begged for his life so he could return to his family. In the fourth week, he began to show signs of improvement and as soon as he could, he packed his things and told his colleague he would be returning to France. “Forgive me for leaving, Philippe, but I can’t risk my life for an enterprise that might not make it to the end of the year. The company is almost bankrupt, can’t you see? We have barely progressed and they say the money is almost gone…”

Philippe interrupted, “Have you forgotten our agreement? Have you forgotten the Polytechnic School motto? The canal will be completed; ‘Le Grand Français’ will know how to solve all of these problems. We have to finish the canal in any way we can. Don’t be a coward!”

“Don’t you realize what is happening? We haven’t made any progress and they say there is no money for the project, the Americans want to sabotage our work to take over the canal and every day there are more deaths. Like I said, I’m sorry but I’m going. And no, no I haven’t forgotten the motto, but I can help to complete the canal from Paris.” And with that, Maurice Hutin left Panama.

With no other candidates willing to take on the position at the moment, the Canal Company had to elect the engineer of highest rank as director, and so the position was given to Philippe Bunau-Varilla. At only twenty-six years old, he was put in charge of France’s most important project of the century.

Far from feeling insecure about taking responsibility for tens of thousands of workers at such a young age, Philippe was happy that finally he could do his job without having to ask for permission to carry out certain projects. Every morning he went to different areas of the excavation to evaluate the contractors’ progress. Then he’d visit patients at the nearest hospital who were sometimes cared for out in the open for lack of space.

So not to lose time, Philippe ate stew for lunch in the workers’ mess hall and then returned to the excavation to study the enemy: he spent hours trying to understand the various types of terrain they’d have to dig into.

At night, he’d joint his subordinates to discuss the progress of the work for which each was responsible. At ten at night, he would read and write letters or reports for the office in Paris. He’d sleep three hours before beginning a new day. He’d never been so tired, but he’d also never been so happy.

French dredge during excavations.

Photo Courtesy: Panama Canal Authority