Round the World in Eighty Days

CHAPTER XXV

A Glimpse of San Francisco. A Political Meeting.

At seven o'clock in the morning, Mr. Fogg and his companions landed in America, or rather upon the floating pier at which the steamers load and unload. There they mingled with ships and steamers of all nationalities, and steam ferry-boats with two or three decks which performed the service on the Sacramento and its affluents.

Passe-partout was so delighted to reach America, that he thought it necessary to execute one of his most active leaps. But when he landed upon the quay, he found the planks worm-eaten, and he went through them. His cry of alarm frightened all the birds which perched upon these floating quays.

Mr. Fogg's first care was to ascertain when the next train left for New York. It started at six o'clock, so they had a whole day before them. Then hiring a carriage, they drove to the International Hotel. From his position on the box of the vehicle, Passe-partout observed with great curiosity the wide streets, the rows of lofty houses, the churches and other places of worship built in the Anglo-Saxon gothic style, immense docks, palatial warehouses, innumerable cabs, omnibuses, and tramway-cars; while Americans, Europeans, Chinese, and Indians occupied the pathways. San Francisco surprised Passe-partout. It was no longer the habitation of bandits, incendiaries, and assassins, who gambled for gold-dust, a revolver in one hand and a knife in the other. This "good time" had passed. The city was now the hive of commerce. The tower of the city-hall overlooked the labyrinth of streets and avenues, which crossed each other at right angles, amongst which verdant squares extended; and the Chinese quarter looked like an importation from the Celestial Empire in a toy-puzzle. Sombreros, red shirts, and Indian head-dresses had given way to silk hats and black coats, and some of the principal streets were lined with splendid shops, offering the products of the whole world for sale.

When Passe-partout reached the International Hotel, he could scarcely recognise that he was not in England. The ground-floor of this immense building was occupied by a bar, at which free lunch of cold meat, oyster soup, biscuits and cheese, was always to be had; wine or beer had to be paid for. The restaurant was comfortable. Mr. Fogg and Mrs. Aouda sat down to a table, and were waited on by the blackest of negroes.

After breakfast, Phileas Fogg, accompanied by Mrs. Aouda, went to the English Consul to have his passport viséd. On the pavement he met his servant, who wanted to know whether he should not purchase some revolvers and rifles. Passe-partout had heard of Sioux and Pawnees, who are in the habit of stopping the trains. His master replied that the precaution was needless, but permitted him to do what he pleased in the matter, and pursued his way to the Consulate.

He had not gone very far when, of course by the merest chance, he met Fix. The detective appeared very much astonished. Was it possible that he and Mr. Fogg had crossed in the same steamer, and never met? Fix professed himself honoured at meeting the gentleman to whom he owed so much. Business called him to Europe, and he would be proud to travel in such agreeable company.

Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his, and thereupon Fix, who had made up his mind not to lose sight of the other, requested permission to accompany Mr. Fogg in his walks about the city, which was granted.

So the three travellers soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, and on the outskirts of a great crowd. People were everywhere looking on and shouting, going about carrying large printed bills; flags, and streamers were waving, and everyone was calling out "Hurrah for Camerfield!" or "Hurrah for Maudiboy!"

It was a political meeting, at least Fix thought so; and said to Mr. Fogg that it might perhaps be better not to mingle with the crowd for fear of accidents.

Mr. Fogg agreed, and added "that blows, even though inflicted in a political sense, were nevertheless blows."

Fix smiled, and then in order to be able to see without being hustled, the three travellers mounted a flight of steps at the upper end of the street. Opposite was a large platform towards which the crowd appeared to be moving.

Mr. Fogg could not form any opinion as to what the meeting was about. Perhaps it was the nomination of a governor of a State, or of a member of Congress, which was not unlikely. Just then the excitement of the crowd became greater, fists were raised as if to register a vote by a show of hands. The crowd swayed backwards and forwards, flags were displayed and immediately torn to pieces, hats were smashed, and the greater part of the crowd seemed to have grown suddenly shorter.

"It is evidently a political meeting," said Fix; "perhaps it is about the Alabama Claims, although they are settled by this time."

"Perhaps it is," replied Mr. Fogg.

"At any rate," continued Fix, "here are the candidates. The Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Maudiboy have met."

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg's arm, was regarding the tumult with curiosity, and Fix was about to ask the reason of the disturbance when the uproar increased to a terrific extent. The crowd became more excited, blows were exchanged, boots and shoes were sent whirling through the air, and the spectators thought they could hear the crack of revolvers mingling with the cries of men. The combatants approached the steps on which the party had taken refuge. One of the candidates had evidently been repulsed, but whether Camerfield or Maudiboy had got the best of it, mere spectators could not tell.

"I think we had better retire," said Fix; "if there is any discussion about England, and we were recognised, we might receive some injury."

"An Englishman – " began Mr. Fogg.

But he never finished the sentence, for a tremendous uproar arose on the terrace just behind them, and there were loud shouts for Maudiboy, a party of whose adherents were taking their opponents in the flank.

Our travellers were now between two fires; it was too late to escape; the torrent of men armed with life-preservers and sticks could not be withstood. Phileas Fogg and Fix did all they could to protect their fair companions with the weapons nature had provided, but unsuccessfully. A great ruffian, with a red beard, who appeared to be the chief of the band, was about to strike Mr. Fogg, and would probably have done him serious injury if Fix had not stepped in and received the blow in his stead, thereby getting his hat completely smashed.

"You low Yankee!" exclaimed Mr. Fogg contemptuously.

"You English beast!" replied the other.

"We shall meet again."

"Whenever you please."

"What is your name?"

"Phileas Fogg; and yours?"

"Colonel Stamp Proctor."

And the tide of humanity swept past, overturning Fix, who, however, speedily regained his feet, and though much dishevelled was not seriously hurt. His overcoat was torn in two, and his trousers were more like those worn by the Indians; but fortunately Aouda had escaped, and Fix only showed any traces of the encounter.

"Thank you," said Mr. Fogg to the detective when they were out of the crowd.

"Don't mention it," replied Fix; "let us go on."

"Where to?"

"To a tailor's."

In fact this course had become necessary, for the clothes of both men were torn as badly as if they had taken an active part in the contest, but in an hour they were newly clad and safely back at the hotel again.

There they found Passe-partout waiting and armed with a dozen six-barrelled central-fire revolvers. When he perceived Fix with Mr. Fogg he frowned, but when Mrs. Aouda had told him all that had passed his brow cleared. Fix evidently was no longer an enemy; he was an ally, and was adhering to his agreement.

After dinner they took a carriage and drove to the railway-station. As Mr. Fogg was getting into the cab he said to Fix, "Have you seen that Colonel Proctor since?"

"No," replied Fix.

"I will make a point of coming back to America to find him out," replied Fogg coolly. "It would never do for an Englishman to allow himself to be treated as he treated us."

The detective smiled, but made no reply. It was evident, however, that Mr. Fogg was of that race of Britons who, though they do not permit duelling at home, fight in foreign countries when their honour is in any way attacked.

At a quarter to six the travellers reached the railway-station, and found the train ready. Mr. Fogg called a porter and asked him the reason of the excitement that afternoon.

"It was a meeting, sir," replied the porter.

"I thought there was some great commotion in the streets."

"It was merely an election meeting."

"For a commander-in-chief, no doubt?" suggested Mr. Fogg.

"Oh dear no," replied the man. "It was for a justice of the peace."

On this reply Phileas Fogg entered the train, which started almost immediately.

CHAPTER XXVI

Showing how Mr. Fogg and Party journeyed in the Pacific Express.

"From ocean to ocean," as the Americans say, and this sentence is the usual expression to intimate the crossing of the continent by the Pacific Railway. That line is really divided into two, viz. the Central Pacific, between San Francisco and Ogden; and the Union Pacific, between Ogden and Omaha. There are five trunk-lines from Omaha to New York.

New York and San Francisco are thus united by a continuous iron road more than three thousand seven hundred and eighty-six miles in length; between the Pacific and Omaha the railroad traverses a country still inhabited by Indians and wild beasts, and a vast extent of territory which the Mormons began to colonise in 1845, when they were driven out from Illinois.

Formerly, under the most favourable circumstances, the journey from New York to San Francisco occupied six months, now it is accomplished in seven days.

It was in 1862 that, notwithstanding the opposition of Confederate members of Congress, who desired a more southerly route, the railroad track was planned between the forty-first and the forty-second parallels of latitude. President Lincoln himself fixed the termination of the new line at Omaha, in Nebraska. The work was immediately begun and continued with characteristic American energy, which is neither red-tapeish nor bureaucratic. The rapidity of the work did not affect its completeness; they laid a mile and a half of line across the prairie every day; an engine, carrying the rails to be used next day, ran on the line only just laid, and advanced as quickly as they were fixed.

The Pacific railroad has several branches in the States of Iowa, Kansas, Colorado, and Oregon. When it leaves Omaha the line runs along the left bank of the river Platte, as far as the mouth of the northern branch, follows the south branch, crosses the Laramine territory and the Wahsatch Mountains to Salt Lake City (the Mormon capital), plunges into the Tuilla Valley across the desert, Mounts Cedar and Humboldt, the Humboldt river and the Sierra Nevada, and then descends by Sacramento to the Pacific; the gradient all the way, even over the Rocky Mountains, not exceeding a hundred and twelve feet to the mile.

Such was the line along which Phileas Fogg hoped to be carried to New York in seven days in time to reach the Steamer to Liverpool on the 11th.

The car in which our travellers were seated was a sort of long omnibus, with four wheels at each end, without compartments; rows of seats were placed at each side, a passage running between them from end to end of this carriage, and practically of the train, for every carriage was closely connected with the next. There were drawing-room cars, smoking-cars, and restaurants. The only thing wanting was the theatre-car, but no doubt that will some day be supplied. Vendors of books and papers, eatables, drinkables, and tobacco, continually passed through the train.

The train started from Oakland Station at six p.m. It was already dark, and snow was threatening; the pace did not exceed twenty miles an hour, including stoppages. There was not much conversation amongst the passengers, and most of them soon went to sleep. Passe-partout was next to the detective, but did not address him, for after what had happened there could be no sympathy between them. Fix had not altered, but Passe-partout was extremely reserved, and on the least suspicion would have strangled his former friend.

In about an hour snow began to fall, but not sufficiently thick to hinder the progress of the train. Nothing could be seen from the windows but an immense white sheet, against which the steam of the engine looked gray.

At eight o'clock the steward entered and said that bed-time had come. The backs of the seats were thrown down, bedsteads were pulled out, and berths improvised in a few moments. By this ingenious system each passenger was provided with a bed, and protected by curtains from prying eyes. The sheets were clean, the pillows soft. There was nothing to do but to go to bed and sleep, which everybody did as if they were on board ship, while the train rushed on across the State of California.

The territory between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very hilly, and the railroad runs in a north-easterly direction along the American river which falls into the Bay of San Pablo. The hundred and twenty miles' distance between these cities was accomplished in six hours, and as it was midnight when they passed through Sacramento, the travellers could see nothing of the city.

Leaving Sacramento and passing Junction, Rochin, Auburn, and Colfax, the railroad passes through the Sierra Nevada range, and the train reached Cisco at seven o'clock. An hour afterwards the sleeping-car was retransformed to an ordinary carriage, and the passengers were enabled to look out upon the magnificent scenery of this mountainous country. The track followed all the caprices of the mountains, at times suspended over a precipice, boldly rounding angles, penetrating narrow gorges which had apparently no outlet. The engine, with fire gleaming from the grate and black smoke issuing from its funnel, the warning-bell ringing, the "cow-catcher" extending like a spur, mingled its whistlings and snortings with the roar of torrents and waterfalls, and twining its black smoke around the stems of the pine-trees. There are few tunnels or bridges on this portion of the route, for the line winds round the sides of the mountains and does not penetrate them.

About nine o'clock the train entered the State of Nevada by the Carson Valley, still proceeding in a north-easterly direction. At midday the train quitted Reno, where it had stopped twenty minutes for luncheon.

After lunch the passengers took their places in the car again, and admired the scenery. Sometimes great troops of buffaloes were massed like an immense moveable dam on the horizon. These immense troops frequently oppose an impassable barrier to the trains, for they cross the track in close array in thousands and thousands, occupying several hours in their passage. On these occasions the train is brought to a standstill and obliged to wait till the track is clear.

In fact, an incident of this kind happened on this occasion. About three o'clock in the afternoon a troop of ten or twelve thousand beasts blocked the line. The engineer slackened speed and tried to proceed slowly, but he could not pass the mass of buffaloes.

The passengers could see the buffaloes defiling quietly across the track, and now and then bellowing loudly. They were larger than European bulls, the head and shoulders being covered with a long mane, beneath which rises a hump; the legs and tails are short. No one would ever think of attempting to turn them aside. When once they have taken a certain direction, they cannot be forced to swerve from it. They compose a torrent of living flesh which no dam can withstand.

The passengers gazed on this curious spectacle, but the man most interested of all in the speedy progress of the train, Phileas Fogg, remained calmly in his place to wait till the buffaloes had passed by. Passe-partout was furious at the delay which the animals caused, and wished to discharge his armoury of revolvers at them.

"What a country this is!" he exclaimed. "Fancy a whole train being stopped by a herd of cattle, which do not hurry themselves in the least, as if they were not hindering us; I should like to know whether Mr. Fogg anticipated this delay. And here we have an engine-driver who is afraid to run his train against a few cows."

The engine-driver certainly did not attempt to do so, and he was quite right. No doubt he might have killed two or three of the first buffaloes he came in contact with; but the engine would soon have been thrown off the line, and progress would have been hopeless.

The best thing to do, then, was to wait patiently, and trust to make up time when the buffaloes had passed; but the procession of animals lasted for fully three hours, and it was night before the track was clear. The head of the column had ere this disappeared below the southern horizon.

It was eight o'clock when the train had traversed the defiles of the Humboldt range, and half-past nine when it entered Utah, the region of the great Salt Lake and the curious Mormon territory.

CHAPTER XXVII

Showing how Passe-partout went through a Course of Mormon History, at the rate of Twenty Miles an Hour.

During the night of the 5-6th December, the train kept in a south-easterly direction for about fifty miles, and then went up in a north-east course towards Salt Lake.

About nine o'clock in the morning, Passe-partout went out upon the platform to get a breath of fresh air. The weather was cold and the sky was dull, but there was no snow falling then. The sun in the mist looked like an enormous disc of gold, and Passe-partout was calculating what it would be worth in English money, when he was disturbed by the appearance of a very curious personage.

This individual, who had got into the train at Elko, was tall and of dark complexion, had a black moustache, wore black stockings, and black hat and clothes, except his necktie, which was white, and his gloves, which were dog-skin. He looked like a minister. He went the whole length of the train, and fastened a small notice-bill on the door of every car. Passe-partout read one of these "posters," and learnt that the Honourable Elder William Hitch, Mormon Missionary, would take advantage of the occasion to deliver a lecture upon Mormonism, in car No. 117, at eleven o'clock in the fore-noon till twelve noon, and invited all those who wished to learn something about the "Latter-day Saints" to attend the lecture.

"Faith, I'll go," muttered Passe-partout, who knew nothing about Mormonism, except the plurality of wives.

The news spread rapidly amongst the passengers, and about thirty out of the hundred travellers were attracted to car No. 117. Passe-partout took a front seat. Neither his master nor Fix troubled themselves about the matter.

At the hour named the elder William Hitch got up, and in a somewhat irritable manner, as if he had been already contradicted, cried out:

"I tell you that Joe Smith is a martyr, and his brother Hiram is another, and the way the Government is persecuting Brigham Young will make him a martyr also. Now who dares say anything to the contrary?"

No one ventured to contradict him, and his vehemence certainly contrasted strangely with his calm features. But no doubt his anger was kindled by the indignities to which the Mormons had been actually exposed. The United States Government had certainly had a great deal of trouble to bring these fanatics to reason. It was now master of Utah, after having imprisoned Brigham Young on the charges of rebellion and polygamy. Since that time the followers of the prophet had redoubled their efforts, and, if not by deeds, by words resisted the authority of the United States Government. Elder W. Hitch, as we have seen, was endeavouring to gain converts in the railroad-cars.

Then he went on to recite passionately the history of Mormonism from patriarchal times. How in Israel a Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals of the new religion, and left them to his son Morom; and how, many centuries later, a translation of this wonderful book was made by Joseph Smith, junior, a Vermont farmer, who revealed himself as a prophet in 1823, when the angel appeared to him and gave him the sacred roll of the book.