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Updated: June 5, 2025
I was already stepping into a cab en route for the evening train when the Inspector chanced down the hill. "New Gatun is pretty bad on Saturday nights," he remarked. "That reminds me; I haven't been issued a gun or handcuffs yet," I hinted. "Hell's fire, no?" queried the Inspector. "Tell the station commander at Gatun to fix you up."
For, after the first excitement wore off, he found himself much more sore and stiff than he had realized. They were at Gatun now, and there Blake planned to get some views of the big dam from the lower, or spillway side. "But first I'm going back to the slide," he said. "I want to get some views of the dredgers getting rid of the dirt."
After the presentations were made, it was with the greatest difficulty that Lieutenant Gordon restrained himself from at once taking up the topic he had discussed with Mr. Shaw so unsatisfactorily that afternoon the subject of the plot against the Gatun dam. What did the editor know? What did he suspect concerning the raid on his home?
Shaw was interested in emerald mines, and his refusal to reveal the contents of the papers he had secured, led me to the opinion that he had been approached by his partners with a proposition to destroy the Gatun dam, that he had their proposals in writing, and that he had refused to become a party to such an outrage." "Then why didn't he tell us who the men were?" demanded Gordon.
The tug was now resting easily in the basin, but some feet above the sea level. Blake and Joe had taken enough moving pictures of this phase of the Canal, since the next scenes would be but a repetition of the process in the following two locks that would lift the Nama to the level of Gatun Lake. "But I tell you what we could do," Blake said to his chum.
Although I had passed through the canal on a ship and rode up and down it on the train it was only after talking an hour with this engineer and then going into the control station tower and watching boats taken through the Gatun lock system, going into the tunnels below and watching the gigantic cog wheels and wonderful machinery, that I began to appreciate the real ingenuity and brain work of this colossal achievement.
Yet it was a different life. Gatun had changed. Even her concrete light-house was winking all night now up among the I. C. C. dwellings. The breeze from off the Caribbean was heavy and lifeless. The landscape looked wet and lush and rampant, of a deep-seated green, and instead of the china-blue skies the dull, leaden-gray heavens seemed to hang low and heavy overhead, like a portending fate.
"Er would you be kind enough to tell us where we can find this Gatun dam we've heard so much about?" asked a party of four tourists, half and half as to sex, who had been wandering about on it for an hour or so with puzzled expressions of countenance. They addressed themselves to a busy civil engineer in leather leggings and rolled up shirt sleeves.
There was silence for some moments, during which Van Ellis pored over some drawings on his desk, Chester walked the floor excitedly, Gostel regarded the others with a sinister smile on his face, and Itto, the recent arrival, sat watching all the others as a cat watches a mouse. "And this territory will be under the Lake of Gatun?" Chester asked, presently.
There the vista ended. For at Paraiso the canal turns to the left for its plunge through Culebra hill, and all that follows, Empire, Cascadas, and far Gatun, was visible only in the imagination. If only the film of time might roll back and there pass again before our eyes all that has come to pass within sight of Ancon hilltop.
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