The road from Panama to Crucez, on the Chagres River, was eighteen miles long, and all were glad when they were on the last end of it.

The climate here seems to take all the starch and energy out of a man's body, and in this condition he must be very cautious or some disease will overtake him and he will be left to die without burial for his body if he has no personal friends with him.
We started on the next morning, and on our way stepped over a large ship anchor that lay across the trail.

I suppose the natives had undertaken to pack it across the isthmus and found it too heavy for them.

Perhaps it was for Capt.

Kidd, the great pirate, for it is said that he often visited Panama in the course of his cruising about in search of treasures.
Passing along a sandy place in the trail, a snake crossed and left his track, big as a stovepipe it seemed to be, and after this we kept a sharp watch for big snakes that might be in waiting to waylay us for game.
There were plenty of monkeys and parrots climbing and chattering around in the trees.