Chapter XXIV

Phileas Fogg, Aouda and Fix reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of November. Fogg lost no time in going on board the Carnatic, where he learned, to Aouda’s great delight—and perhaps to his own, though he betrayed no emotion—that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived the day before.

The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening, and it became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay. Chance, or perhaps a kind of presentiment, at last led him into the Honourable Mr. Batulcar’s theatre. He certainly would not have recognised Passepartout in the eccentric costume; but the latter, lying on his back, perceived his master in the gallery.

Aouda recounted to Passepartout what had taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the Tankadere, in company with Mr. Fix. Passepartout thought that the time had not yet arrived to divulge to his master what had taken place between the detective and himself; and he simply excused himself for having been overtaken by drunkenness, in smoking opium at a tavern in Hong Kong.

The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San Francisco was named the General Grant. It was a large steamer of two thousand five hundred tons; well equipped and very fast. Phileas Fogg was hoping that he would reach San Francisco by the 2nd of December, New York by the 11th, and London on the 20th—before the fatal date of the 21st of December.

There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them English, many Americans, a large number of Chinese people on their way to California, and several East Indian officers, who were spending their vacation in making the tour of the world. Nothing happened on the voyage; the steamer went on, and the Pacific almost justified its name. Mr. Fogg was as calm and taciturn as ever. His young companion felt herself more and more attached to him by other ties than gratitude; his silent but generous nature impressed her more than she thought.

On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed exactly one half of the terrestrial globe. The General Grant passed, on the 23rd of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and was at the very antipodes of London. Mr. Fogg had exhausted fifty-two of the eighty days in which he was to complete the tour, and there were only twenty-eight left. But, though he was only half-way by the difference of meridians, he had really gone over two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had been obliged to make long circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay, from Calcutta to Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama.

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 gone 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. Good! I will follow him across the Atlantic!”

He went on board the General Grant, and was there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived. To his utter amazement, he recognised Passepartout. 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, grasped him by the throat.

“Let me have a word with you,” said Fix.

“But I—”

“In your master’s interests.”

Passepartout quietly followed Fix, and they sat down aside from the rest of the passengers.

“Now, listen to me,” said Fix. “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! 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. 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.

“Are we friends?” asked the detective.

“Friends? No,” replied Passepartout; “but allies, perhaps.”

“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.

Chapter XXV

It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout set foot upon the American continent. 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 6 p.m.; he had, therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian capital. Taking a carriage at a charge of three dollars, they set out for the International Hotel.

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: it was now a great commercial emporium.

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama of the streets and avenues. Some of the streets were lined with splendid and spacious stores, which exposed in their windows the products of the entire world.

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 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 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! The detective 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 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; and Fix 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.”

For what purpose was this meeting? 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.

“It is evidently a meeting,” said Fix, “and its object must be an exciting one. At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy.”

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg’s arm, observed the tumultuous scene with surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all was. Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and excited shouts were heard; the staffs of the banners began to be used as offensive weapons; and fists flew about in every direction. A big brawny fellow with a red beard, flushed face, and broad shoulders, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, but Fix rushed in and received it in his stead.

“Yankee!” exclaimed Mr. Fogg.

“Englishman!” returned the other. “We will meet again!”

“When you please.”

“What is your name?”

“Phileas Fogg. And yours?”

“Colonel Stamp Proctor.”

Happily, Fix was not seriously hurt. His travelling overcoat was divided into two unequal parts. Aouda had escaped unharmed.

“Thanks,” said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were out of the crowd.

“No thanks are necessary,” replied. Fix; “but let us go.”

“Where?”

“To a tailor’s.”

The clothing of both Mr. Fogg and Fix was in rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged in the contest between Camerfield and Mandiboy. An hour after, they were once more suitably attired, and with Aouda returned to the International Hotel.

Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen six-barrelled revolvers. When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows; but Aouda, in a few words, told him of their adventure. Fix evidently was no longer an enemy, but an ally; he was faithfully keeping his word.

Mr. Fogg said to Fix, “You have not seen this Colonel Proctor again?”

“No.”

“I will come back to America to find him,” said Phileas Fogg calmly. “It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself to be treated in that way.”

The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr. Fogg was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate duelling at home, fight abroad when their honour is attacked.

As he was about to enter the train, Mr. Fogg called a porter, and said to him: “My friend, what was there today in San Francisco?”

“It was a political meeting, sir,” replied the porter.

“The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“No, sir; of a justice of the peace.”

Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.