Around the World in Eighty Days
verandas and porches, surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias,
palms, and locusts. A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded
the town; and in the principal street were the market and several
hotels adorned with pavilions. The place did not seem thickly
populated. The streets were almost deserted, except in the vicinity of
the temple, which they only reached after having traversed several
quarters surrounded by palisades. There were many women, which was
easily accounted for by the “peculiar institution” of the Mormons; but
it must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists. They are
free to marry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting that it is
mainly the female citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as,
according to the Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the
possession of its highest joys. These poor creatures seemed to be
neither well off nor happy. Some—the more well-to-do, no doubt—wore
short, open, black silk dresses, under a hood or modest shawl; others
were habited in Indian fashion.
Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women,
charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon. His
common sense pitied, above all, the husband. It seemed to him a
terrible thing to have to guide so many wives at once across the
vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it were, in a body to the
Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them in the company of the
glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that delightful
place, to all eternity. He felt decidedly repelled from such a
vocation, and he imagined—perhaps he was mistaken—that the fair ones of
Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his person. Happily, his
stay there was but brief. At four the party found themselves again at
the station, took their places in the train, and the whistle sounded
for starting. Just at the moment, however, that the locomotive wheels
began to move, cries of “Stop! stop!” were heard.
Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one. The gentleman who uttered
the cries was evidently a belated Mormon. He was breathless with
running. Happily for him, the station had neither gates nor barriers.
He rushed along the track, jumped on the rear platform of the train,
and fell, exhausted, into one of the seats.
Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast,
approached him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken
flight after an unpleasant domestic scene.
When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to ask
him politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner in which he
had decamped, it might be thought that he had twenty at least.
“One, sir,” replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward —“one, and
that was enough!”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT DOES NOT SUCCEED IN MAKING ANYBODY LISTEN TO
REASON
The train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for an
hour as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles
from San Francisco. From this point it took an easterly direction
towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains. It was in the section included
between this range and the Rocky Mountains that the American engineers
found the most formidable difficulties in laying the road, and that the
government granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand dollars per mile,
instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work done on the plains.
But the engineers, instead of violating nature, avoided its
difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks. One
tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to
arrive at the great basin.
The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the
Great Salt Lake. From this point it described a long curve, descending
towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the
waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific. There were many creeks in
this mountainous region, and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek,
Green Creek, and others, upon culverts.
Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix
longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than
Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents,
and set foot on English soil.
At ten o’clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, and
twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of
Bitter Creek throughout. The next day, 7th December, they stopped for a
quarter of an hour at Green River station. Snow had fallen abundantly
during the night, but, being mixed with rain, it had half melted, and
did not interrupt their progress. The bad weather, however, annoyed
Passepartout; for the accumulation of snow, by blocking the wheels of
the cars, would certainly have been fatal to Mr. Fogg’s tour.
“What an idea!” he said to himself. “Why did my master make this
journey in winter? Couldn’t he have waited for the good season to
increase his chances?”
While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and the
depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a
totally different cause.
Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and
down the platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp
Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San
Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognised, the young woman drew
back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery. She was
attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily evidences of
the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend, perhaps, the depth
of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which she
called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was
really more than that. Her heart sank within her when she recognised
the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call to account for
his conduct. Chance alone, it was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor on
this train; but there he was, and it was necessary, at all hazards,
that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his adversary.
Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and
Passepartout whom she had seen.
“That Proctor on this train!” cried Fix. “Well, reassure yourself,
madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg; he has got to deal with me! It
seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two.”
“And, besides,” added Passepartout, “I’ll take charge of him, colonel
as he is.”
“Mr. Fix,” resumed Aouda, “Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge him. He
said that he would come back to America to find this man. Should he
perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might
have terrible results. He must not see him.”
“You are right, madam,” replied Fix; “a meeting between them might ruin
all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be delayed,
and—”
“And,” added Passepartout, “that would play the game of the gentlemen
of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York. Well, if my
master does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that
chance will not bring him face to face with this confounded American.
We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it.”
The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking
out of the window. Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by his
master or Aouda, whispered to the detective, “Would you really fight
for him?”
“I would do anything,” replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined
will, “to get him back living to Europe!”
Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but
his confidence in his master remained unbroken.
Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a
meeting between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult
task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious.
The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few
moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, “These are long and slow hours, sir, that
we are passing on the railway.”
“Yes,” replied Mr. Fogg; “but they pass.”
“You were in the habit of playing whist,” resumed Fix, “on the
steamers.”
“Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards nor
partners.”
“Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the
American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays—”
“Certainly, sir,” Aouda quickly replied; “I understand whist. It is
part of an English education.”
“I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well, here are
three of us, and a dummy—”
“As you please, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resume his
favourite pastime even on the railway.
Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned
with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with
cloth.
The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even
received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg. As for the
detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being matched against
his present opponent.
“Now,” thought Passepartout, “we’ve got him. He won’t budge.”
At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of
the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four
feet above the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by
the track in crossing the Rocky Mountains. After going about two
hundred miles, the travellers at last found themselves on one of those
vast plains which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so
propitious for laying the iron road.
On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches of
the North Platte River, already appeared. The whole northern and
eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which
is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest
being Laramie Peak. Between this and the railway extended vast plains,
plentifully irrigated. On the right rose the lower spurs of the
mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas
River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.
At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort
Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky
Mountains were crossed. There was reason to hope, then, that no
accident would mark the journey through this difficult country. The
snow had ceased falling, and the air became crisp and cold. Large
birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and flew off in the distance.
No wild beast appeared on the plain. It was a desert in its vast
nakedness.
After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his
partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard,
and the train stopped. Passepartout put his head out of the door, but
saw nothing to cause the delay; no station was in view.
Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get
out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant,
“See what is the matter.”
Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers had
already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.
The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way. The
engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom
the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent
on before. The passengers drew around and took part in the discussion,
in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner, was conspicuous.
Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, “No! you
can’t pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear the
weight of the train.”