Chapter XXII

The Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the 7th of November, directed its course at full steam towards Japan. The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait, and disordered hair, emerged from the cabin, and tottered to a seat on deck. It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows. Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for the smokers. Three hours later the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic. He hurried from the abode of drunkenness. Staggering and holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct, he kept crying out, “The Carnatic! The Carnatic!”

The steamer lay alongside the quay, on the point of starting. Passepartout fell unconscious on the deck, just as the Carnatic was moving off. Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this sort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the cabin, and Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles away from China. Thus he found himself the next morning on the deck of the Carnatic, and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze.

The pure air sobered him. He began to collect his sense, which he found a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the evening before, Fix’s revelation, and the opium-house.

“It is evident,” said he to himself, “that I have been abominably drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I have not missed the steamer, which is the most important thing.”

Then, as Fix occurred to him: “As for that rascal, I hope we are well rid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow us on board the Carnatic. A detective says that Mr. Fogg robbed the Bank of England! Nonsense! Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am a murderer.”

Passepartout got up and proceeded to the afterdeck. He saw no one who resembled either his master or Aouda. “Good!” muttered he; “Aouda has not got up yet, and Mr. Fogg has probably found some partners at whist.”

He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout asked the purser, but the purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of Fogg.

“I beg your pardon,” said Passepartout persistently. “He is a tall gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young lady—”

“There is no young lady on board,” interrupted the purser. “Here is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself.”

Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not upon it. All at once an idea struck him.

“Ah! Am I on the Carnatic?”

“Yes.”

“On the way to Yokohama?”

“Certainly.”

Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong boat; but, though he was really on the Carnatic, his master was not there. He fell on a seat. He remembered that the time of sailing had been changed, that he should have informed his master of that fact, and that he had not done so. It was his fault, then, that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer. He now saw the detective’s trick; and at this moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself perhaps arrested and imprisoned! At this thought Passepartout tore his hair.

After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to study his situation. He found himself on the way to Japan, and what should he do when he got there? His pocket was empty; he had not a solitary shilling, not so much as a penny. So he had five or six days in which to decide upon his future course.

At dawn on the 13th the Carnatic entered the port of Yokohama. This is an important port in the Pacific, where all the mail-steamers, and those carrying travellers between North America, China, Japan, and the Oriental islands put in. Passepartout went timidly ashore on this territory. He had nothing better to do than to wander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama.

The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of a singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar-trees, holy retreats where were sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries of Confucius, and interminable streets. The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in processions, beating their dreary tambourines; soldiers, clad in blue cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns. Passepartout saw begging friars, long-robed pilgrims, and simple civilians, with their jet-black hair.

Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the jewellery establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the restaurants decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses. He went on till he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations.

Night came, and Passepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered through the streets, looking on at the dancers and the astrologers who stood in the open air with their telescopes. Then he came to the harbour.

Chapter XXIII

The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself that he must get something to eat, and the sooner he did so the better. He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to try them upon the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, and could appreciate European talent.

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert. Passepartout therefore decided to wait several hours; and it occurred to him that he would seem rather too well dressed for a wandering artist. He discovered a native dealer in old clothes. The man liked the European costume, and soon some pieces of silver jingled in Passepartout’s pocket.

“Good!” thought he. “I will imagine I am at the Carnival!”

It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave for America. He would offer himself as a cook or servant. Once at San Francisco, he would find some means of going on. The difficulty was, how to traverse the four thousand seven hundred miles of the Pacific which lay between Japan and the New World.

But, as he approached the docks, his project, which at first had seemed so simple, began to grow more and more formidable to his mind. Why would they hire a cook or servant on an American steamer? What references could he give?

Suddenly his eyes fell upon an immense placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets. This placard, which was in English, read as follows:

ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE

LAST REPRESENTATIONS PRIOR TO THEIR DEPARTURE TO THE UNITED STATES

LONG NOSES! LONG NOSES!

UNDER THE DIRECT PATRONAGE OF THE GOD TINGOU!

GREAT ATTRACTION!

“The United States!” said Passepartout; “that’s just what I want!”

He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the Japanese quarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a large cabin.

This was the Honourable William Batulcar’s establishment. That gentleman was the director of a troupe of mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and gymnasts, who, according to the placard, was giving his last performances before leaving the Empire of the Sun for the States of the Union.

Mr. Batulcar appeared in person.

“What do you want?” said he to Passepartout.

“Would you like a servant, sir?” asked Passepartout.

“A servant!” cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beard which hung from his chin. “I already have two who are obedient and faithful, have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment and here they are,” added he, holding out his two robust arms.

“So I can be of no use to you?”

“None. Wait. You are a Frenchman, aren’t you?”

“Yes; a Parisian of Paris.”

“Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?”

“Why,” replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his nationality should cause this question, “we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces, it is true, but not any better than the Americans do.”

“True. Well, if I can’t take you as a servant, I can as a clown. You see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in foreign parts French clowns.”

“Ah!”

“You are pretty strong, eh?”

“Especially after a good meal.”

“And you can sing?”

“Yes.”

“But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on your left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?”

“I think so,” replied Passepartout, recalling the exercises of his younger days.

“Well, that’s enough,” said the Honourable William Batulcar.

The engagement was concluded. Passepartout had at last found something to do. He was engaged to act in the celebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a very dignified position, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco.

The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, was to commence at three o’clock. Passepartout was designated to lend the aid of his sturdy shoulders in the great exhibition of the “human pyramid,” executed by the Long Noses of the god Tingou. This “great attraction” was to close the performance.

Before three o’clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators, comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women and children. The musicians took up a position inside, and were vigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams, flutes, bones, tambourines, and immense drums.

The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world. It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats and gymnasts. Everything was executed with wonderful precision. But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses.

What especially distinguished them was the long noses which were fastened to their faces. These noses were made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long, some straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation warts upon them. As a last scene, a “human pyramid” had been announced, in which fifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But, instead of forming a pyramid by mounting each other’s shoulders, the artists were to group themselves on top of the noses. It happened that the performer who had hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the troupe, and Passepartout had been chosen to take his place.

The poor fellow really felt sad when he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, and fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning him something to eat.

He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who were to compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all stretched themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the ceiling. A second group of artists disposed themselves on these long appendages, then a third above these, then a fourth, until a human monument reaching to the very cornices of the theatre soon arose on top of the noses. Bur suddenly the pyramid tottered, the balance was lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the human monument was shattered like a castle built of cards!

It was Passepartout’s fault. Abandoning his position, and clambering up to the right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators, crying, “Ah, my master! My master!”

“You here?”

“Myself.”

“Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!”

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the theatre to the outside. At half-past six, the very hour of departure they stepped upon the American steamer.