Somerville in the inimitable _Experiences of an Irish R.M._ noticed
this. "By Gad! that fellow will get fever if he sits in the draught
from the swamps. I'll go and warn him." I told Martin that the South
American spoke no English. "That's all right," cried Martin. "I speak a
little Spanish myself." Taking a seat by the Peruvian, Martin tapped
him on the shoulder to secure his attention, pointed a warning finger
at the open window, and said slowly but impressively, in a strong Co.
Galway accent, "Swamp--o, mustn't-sit-in-draught--o; sit-in-draught--o,
get-chill--o; get-chill--o, catch-fever--o; catch-fever--o, damned-ill
--o; damned-ill--o, die--o." He repeated this twice, and upon the
Peruvian turning a blank look of incomprehension at him, returned to
his place saying, "I don't believe that fellow understands one single
word of Spanish," so I went myself and warned the Peruvian in Spanish
of the risk he was running, and he closed the window. I do not know
whether he suffered for his imprudence, but Martin was down next day
with a sharp bout of fever.

Martin next announced that the Southern Cross had gone stark, staring
mad, and had moved round by mistake to the North. We were travelling
from the Pacific to the Atlantic, therefore presumably going from West
to East, and there, through the window, sure enough was that
much-overrated constellation, the Southern Cross, shining away gaily
in the North. Upon reflexion, it seemed unreasonable to suppose that
the Southern Cross could have so far forgotten its appointed place in
the heavens, the points of the compass, and the very obligations its
name imposed upon it, as to establish itself deliberately in the
North: there must be some mistake somewhere. So we got a map, and
discovered, to our amazement, that, though Colon is on the Atlantic
and Panama on the Pacific, yet Colon is _West_ of Panama, owing
to the kink in the Isthmus at this point. The railway from the Pacific