Around the World in Eighty Days
“The rogue told me a lot of stories,” repeated Passepartout, “about the
meridians, the sun, and the moon! Moon, indeed! moonshine more likely!
If one listened to that sort of people, a pretty sort of time one would
keep! I was sure that the sun would some day regulate itself by my
watch!”
Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had been
divided into twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, he would have
no reason for exultation; for the hands of his watch would then,
instead of as now indicating nine o’clock in the morning, indicate nine
o’clock in the evening, that is, the twenty-first hour after midnight
precisely the difference between London time and that of the one
hundred and eightieth meridian. But if Fix had been able to explain
this purely physical effect, Passepartout would not have admitted, even
if he had comprehended it. Moreover, if the detective had been on board
at that moment, Passepartout would have joined issue with him on a
quite different subject, and in an entirely different manner.
Where was Fix at that moment?
He was actually on board the “General Grant.”
On reaching Yokohama, the detective, leaving Mr. Fogg, whom he expected
to meet again during the day, had repaired at once to the English
consulate, where he at last found the warrant of arrest. It had
followed him from Bombay, and had come by the “Carnatic,” on which
steamer he himself was supposed to be. Fix’s disappointment may be
imagined when he reflected that the warrant was now useless. Mr. Fogg
had left English ground, and it was now necessary to procure his
extradition!
“Well,” thought Fix, after a moment of anger, “my warrant is not good
here, but it will be in England. The rogue evidently intends to return
to his own country, thinking he has thrown the police off his track.
Good! I will follow him across the Atlantic. As for the money, heaven
grant there may be some left! But the fellow has already spent in
travelling, rewards, trials, bail, elephants, and all sorts of charges,
more than five thousand pounds. Yet, after all, the Bank is rich!”
His course decided on, he went on board the “General Grant,” and was
there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived. To his utter amazement, he
recognised Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise. He quickly
concealed himself in his cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation, and
hoped—thanks to the number of passengers—to remain unperceived by Mr.
Fogg’s servant.
On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on the
forward deck. The latter, without a word, made a rush for him, grasped
him by the throat, and, much to the amusement of a group of Americans,
who immediately began to bet on him, administered to the detective a
perfect volley of blows, which proved the great superiority of French
over English pugilistic skill.
When Passepartout had finished, he found himself relieved and
comforted. Fix got up in a somewhat rumpled condition, and, looking at
his adversary, coldly said, “Have you done?”
“For this time—yes.”
“Then let me have a word with you.”
“But I—”
“In your master’s interests.”
Passepartout seemed to be vanquished by Fix’s coolness, for he quietly
followed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of the passengers.
“You have given me a thrashing,” said Fix. “Good, I expected it. Now,
listen to me. Up to this time I have been Mr. Fogg’s adversary. I am
now in his game.”
“Aha!” cried Passepartout; “you are convinced he is an honest man?”
“No,” replied Fix coldly, “I think him a rascal. Sh! don’t budge, and
let me speak. As long as Mr. Fogg was on English ground, it was for my
interest to detain him there until my warrant of arrest arrived. I did
everything I could to keep him back. I sent the Bombay priests after
him, I got you intoxicated at Hong Kong, I separated you from him, and
I made him miss the Yokohama steamer.”
Passepartout listened, with closed fists.
“Now,” resumed Fix, “Mr. Fogg seems to be going back to England. Well,
I will follow him there. But hereafter I will do as much to keep
obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time to put them in
his path. I’ve changed my game, you see, and simply because it was for
my interest to change it. Your interest is the same as mine; for it is
only in England that you will ascertain whether you are in the service
of a criminal or an honest man.”
Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced that
he spoke with entire good faith.
“Are we friends?” asked the detective.
“Friends?—no,” replied Passepartout; “but allies, perhaps. At the least
sign of treason, however, I’ll twist your neck for you.”
“Agreed,” said the detective quietly.
Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the “General Grant” entered
the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San Francisco.
Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day.
CHAPTER XXV.
IN WHICH A SLIGHT GLIMPSE IS HAD OF SAN FRANCISCO
It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout set
foot upon the American continent, if this name can be given to the
floating quay upon which they disembarked. These quays, rising and
falling with the tide, thus facilitate the loading and unloading of
vessels. Alongside them were clippers of all sizes, steamers of all
nationalities, and the steamboats, with several decks rising one above
the other, which ply on the Sacramento and its tributaries. There were
also heaped up the products of a commerce which extends to Mexico,
Chili, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific islands.
Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent,
thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine
style; but, tumbling upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them.
Put out of countenance by the manner in which he thus “set foot” upon
the New World, he uttered a loud cry, which so frightened the
innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are always perched upon these
movable quays, that they flew noisily away.
Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the
first train left for New York, and learned that this was at six o’clock
p.m.; he had, therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian
capital. Taking a carriage at a charge of three dollars, he and Aouda
entered it, while Passepartout mounted the box beside the driver, and
they set out for the International Hotel.
From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity the
wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon Gothic
churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden and brick warehouses,
the numerous conveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the
side-walks, not only Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and Indians.
Passepartout was surprised at all he saw. San Francisco was no longer
the legendary city of 1849—a city of banditti, assassins, and
incendiaries, who had flocked hither in crowds in pursuit of plunder; a
paradise of outlaws, where they gambled with gold-dust, a revolver in
one hand and a bowie-knife in the other: it was now a great commercial
emporium.
The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama of the
streets and avenues, which cut each other at right-angles, and in the
midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares, while beyond
appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly imported from the Celestial
Empire in a toy-box. Sombreros and red shirts and plumed Indians were
rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats and black coats everywhere
worn by a multitude of nervously active, gentlemanly-looking men. Some
of the streets—especially Montgomery Street, which is to San Francisco
what Regent Street is to London, the Boulevard des Italiens to Paris,
and Broadway to New York—were lined with splendid and spacious stores,
which exposed in their windows the products of the entire world.
When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not seem to
him as if he had left England at all.
The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar, a sort of
restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might partake of dried
beef, oyster soup, biscuits, and cheese, without taking out their
purses. Payment was made only for the ale, porter, or sherry which was
drunk. This seemed “very American” to Passepartout. The hotel
refreshment-rooms were comfortable, and Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing
themselves at a table, were abundantly served on diminutive plates by
negroes of darkest hue.
After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for the
English consulate to have his passport _visaed_. As he was going out,
he met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not be well, before
taking the train, to purchase some dozens of Enfield rifles and Colt’s
revolvers. He had been listening to stories of attacks upon the trains
by the Sioux and Pawnees. Mr. Fogg thought it a useless precaution, but
told him to do as he thought best, and went on to the consulate.
He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, “by the greatest
chance in the world,” he met Fix. The detective seemed wholly taken by
surprise. What! Had Mr. Fogg and himself crossed the Pacific together,
and not met on the steamer! At least Fix felt honoured to behold once
more the gentleman to whom he owed so much, and, as his business
recalled him to Europe, he should be delighted to continue the journey
in such pleasant company.
Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the detective—who
was determined not to lose sight of him—begged permission to accompany
them in their walk about San Francisco—a request which Mr. Fogg readily
granted.
They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great crowd
was collected; the side-walks, street, horsecar rails, the shop-doors,
the windows of the houses, and even the roofs, were full of people. Men
were going about carrying large posters, and flags and streamers were
floating in the wind; while loud cries were heard on every hand.
“Hurrah for Camerfield!”
“Hurrah for Mandiboy!”
It was a political meeting; at least so Fix conjectured, who said to
Mr. Fogg, “Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd. There may
be danger in it.”
“Yes,” returned Mr. Fogg; “and blows, even if they are political, are
still blows.”
Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see without
being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a
flight of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street.
Opposite them, on the other side of the street, between a coal wharf
and a petroleum warehouse, a large platform had been erected in the
open air, towards which the current of the crowd seemed to be directed.
For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of this
excited assemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was it to nominate
some high official—a governor or member of Congress? It was not
improbable, so agitated was the multitude before them.
Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass. All
the hands were raised in the air. Some, tightly closed, seemed to
disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries—an energetic way, no
doubt, of casting a vote. The crowd swayed back, the banners and flags
wavered, disappeared an instant, then reappeared in tatters. The
undulations of the human surge reached the steps, while all the heads
floundered on the surface like a sea agitated by a squall. Many of the
black hats disappeared, and the greater part of the crowd seemed to
have diminished in height.
“It is evidently a meeting,” said Fix, “and its object must be an
exciting one. I should not wonder if it were about the ‘Alabama,’
despite the fact that that question is settled.”
“Perhaps,” replied Mr. Fogg, simply.