Jules Verne · a new plain-English translation from the original language
It was seven o'clock in the morning when Phileas Fogg, Mrs. Aouda, and Passepartout set foot on the American continent—if one may give that name to the floating quay on which they landed. These quays, which rise and fall with the tide, make the loading and unloading of ships easier. Here moor clippers of every size, steamers of every nationality, and those several-storied steamboats that run the service of the Sacramento and its tributaries. Here, too, are heaped the products of a trade extending to Mexico, Peru, Chile, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the islands of the Pacific Ocean.
Passepartout, in his joy at touching American soil at last, had thought he ought to carry out his landing by performing a somersault of the finest style. But when he came down again on the quay, whose planking was worm-eaten, he nearly went right through it. Quite disconcerted by the way he had «set foot» on the new continent, the honest fellow let out a tremendous cry, which sent flying an innumerable flock of cormorants and pelicans, the habitual denizens of the movable quays.
Mr. Fogg, as soon as he had landed, inquired what time the first train departed for New York. It was at six in the evening. Mr. Fogg had therefore a whole day to spend in the Californian capital. He sent for a carriage for Mrs. Aouda and himself. Passepartout climbed onto the box, and the vehicle, at three dollars the trip, set off for the International Hotel.
From the elevated seat he occupied, Passepartout observed with curiosity the great American city: wide streets, low houses well aligned, churches and temples of an Anglo-Saxon Gothic, immense docks, warehouses like palaces, some of wood, others of brick; in the streets, numerous carriages, omnibuses, tramway «cars,» and on the crowded sidewalks, not only Americans and Europeans, but also Chinese and Indians—in short, enough to make up a population of more than two hundred thousand inhabitants.
Passepartout was rather surprised by what he saw. He still had in mind the legendary city of 1849, the city of the bandits, the arsonists, and the murderers, come flocking to the conquest of the gold nuggets, an immense pandemonium of all the outcasts, where men gambled for gold dust, a revolver in the one hand and a knife in the other. But that «fine old time» was past. San Francisco presented the aspect of a great commercial city. The high tower of the city hall, where the watchmen keep guard, dominated this whole array of streets and avenues cutting each other at right angles, among which flourished green squares, then a Chinese town that seemed brought over from the Celestial Empire inside a toy box. No more sombreros, no more red shirts in the fashion of the placer-diggers, no more feathered Indians, but silk hats and black coats, worn by a great number of gentlemen endowed with a devouring activity. Certain streets, among others Montgomery Street—the Regent Street of London, the Boulevard des Italiens of Paris, the Broadway of New York—were lined with splendid shops that offered on their counters the products of the whole world.
On arriving at the International Hotel, Passepartout could hardly have believed he had left England.
The hotel's ground floor was taken up by an immense «bar,» a kind of buffet open free of charge to every passerby. Dried meat, oyster soup, biscuit, and Cheshire cheese were served there without the customer having to loosen his purse. He paid only for his drink—ale, port, or sherry—if his fancy led him to refresh himself. This struck Passepartout as «very American.»
The hotel restaurant was comfortable. Mr. Fogg and Mrs. Aouda settled themselves at a table and were abundantly served, in Lilliputian dishes, by black waiters of the deepest black.
After breakfast, Phileas Fogg, accompanied by Mrs. Aouda, left the hotel to go to the offices of the English consul in order to have his passport visaed. On the sidewalk he found his servant, who asked him whether, before taking the Pacific railroad, it would not be prudent to buy a few dozen Enfield rifles or Colt revolvers. Passepartout had heard talk of Sioux and Pawnees, who stop trains like so many Spanish robbers. Mr. Fogg replied that this was a useless precaution, but he left him free to act as he saw fit. Then he headed for the offices of the consular agent.
Phileas Fogg had not gone two hundred paces when, «by the greatest of chances,» he met Fix. The inspector showed himself extremely surprised. What! Mr. Fogg and he had made the Pacific crossing together, and they had not met aboard! In any case, Fix could only be honoured to see once more the gentleman he owed so much to, and, his affairs recalling him to Europe, he would be delighted to continue his journey in such agreeable company.
Mr. Fogg answered that the honour would be all his, and Fix—who was anxious not to lose sight of him—asked his leave to visit with him this curious city of San Francisco. Which was granted.
So here are Mrs. Aouda, Phileas Fogg, and Fix strolling through the streets. Before long they came out into Montgomery Street, where the throng of the populace was enormous. On the sidewalks, in the middle of the roadway, on the tramway rails, despite the ceaseless passing of coaches and omnibuses, at the thresholds of the shops, at the windows of all the houses, and even up on the roofs, an innumerable crowd. Sandwich-men circulated among the groups. Banners and streamers floated in the wind. Shouts burst out on all sides.
«Hurrah for Kamerfield!
--Hurrah for Mandiboy!»
It was a meeting. That at least was Fix's thought, and he communicated his idea to Mr. Fogg, adding:
«We would perhaps do well, sir, not to mix in this mob. There is nothing to be got here but hard knocks.
--Indeed,» replied Phileas Fogg, «and blows, for being political, are no less blows for that!»
Fix thought fit to smile on hearing this remark, and, in order to see without being caught in the fray, Mrs. Aouda, Phileas Fogg, and he took their place on the upper landing of a staircase served by a terrace, set above Montgomery Street. Before them, across the street, between the wharf of a coal merchant and the store of a petroleum dealer, spread a large open-air office toward which the various currents of the crowd seemed to converge.
And now, why this meeting? On what occasion was it being held? Phileas Fogg was absolutely ignorant of it. Was it about the appointment of some high military or civil official, a state governor or a member of Congress? One might well conjecture as much, seeing the extraordinary excitement that stirred the city.
At that moment a considerable movement arose in the crowd. Every hand was in the air. Some, tightly clenched, seemed to rise and fall rapidly amid the shouts—an energetic way, no doubt, of formulating a vote. Eddies stirred the mass as it surged back. The banners swayed, vanished for a moment, and reappeared in tatters. The undulations of the swell spread as far as the staircase, while all the heads tossed on the surface like a sea suddenly stirred by a squall. The number of black hats was diminishing before one's eyes, and most seemed to have lost their normal height.
«It is obviously a meeting,» said Fix, «and the question that has provoked it must be a burning one. I would not be surprised if it were still about the affair of the Alabama, though that is settled.
--Perhaps,» replied Mr. Fogg simply.
«In any case,» Fix went on, «two champions are face to face with each other, the honourable Kamerfield and the honourable Mandiboy.»
Mrs. Aouda, on Phileas Fogg's arm, watched with surprise this tumultuous scene, and Fix was about to ask one of his neighbours the reason for this popular ferment, when a more marked movement declared itself. The hurrahs, garnished with insults, redoubled. The banner-poles turned into offensive weapons. No more hands—fists everywhere. From the tops of the halted carriages, and the omnibuses stopped in their course, hearty blows were exchanged. Everything served as a projectile. Boots and shoes described very taut trajectories through the air, and it even seemed that a few revolvers mingled their national detonations with the vociferations of the crowd.
The mob drew nearer the staircase and surged back onto the first steps. One of the parties was evidently being driven back, without the mere spectators being able to tell whether the advantage lay with Mandiboy or with Kamerfield.
«I think it prudent for us to withdraw,» said Fix, who was anxious that «his man» should not get a bad blow or land in a bad business. «If England is in question in all this and we are recognized, we shall be badly compromised in the brawl!
--An English citizen...» replied Phileas Fogg.
But the gentleman could not finish his sentence. Behind him, from that terrace which fronted the staircase, came frightful howls. They were shouting: «Hurrah! Hip! Hip! for Mandiboy!» It was a troop of voters arriving to the rescue, taking the partisans of Kamerfield in the flank.
Mr. Fogg, Mrs. Aouda, and Fix were caught between two fires. It was too late now to get away. This torrent of men, armed with lead-loaded canes and bludgeons, was irresistible. Phileas Fogg and Fix, shielding the young woman, were horribly jostled. Mr. Fogg, no less phlegmatic than usual, tried to defend himself with those natural weapons that nature has set at the end of every Englishman's arms, but in vain. An enormous fellow with a red tuft of beard, a ruddy complexion, and broad shoulders, who looked to be the leader of the band, raised his formidable fist over Mr. Fogg, and would have badly damaged the gentleman had not Fix, out of devotion, taken the blow in his place. An enormous bump swelled up instantly under the detective's silk hat, turned into a mere flat cap.
«Yankee!» said Mr. Fogg, casting his adversary a look of deep contempt.
«Englishman!» the other retorted.
«We shall meet again!
--Whenever you please.--Your name?
--Phileas Fogg. Yours?
--Colonel Stamp W. Proctor.»
Then, that said, the tide passed on. Fix was knocked over and got up again, his clothes torn, but without serious injury. His travelling overcoat had parted into two unequal halves, and his trousers resembled those breeches which certain Indians—a matter of fashion—do not put on until they have first removed the seat. But, on the whole, Mrs. Aouda had been spared, and Fix alone had suffered for his blow.
«Thank you,» said Mr. Fogg to the inspector, the moment they had cleared the crowd.
«Not at all,» replied Fix, «but come.
--Where?
--To a ready-made clothier's.»
Indeed, this visit was timely. The clothes of Phileas Fogg and Fix were in shreds, as if these two gentlemen had fought on behalf of the honourable Kamerfield and Mandiboy.
An hour later, they were properly dressed and hatted. Then they returned to the International Hotel.
There, Passepartout stood awaiting his master, carrying half a dozen six-shot dagger-revolvers with central-fire ignition. When he caught sight of Fix in Mr. Fogg's company, his brow darkened. But Mrs. Aouda having, in a few words, given the account of what had happened, Passepartout grew calm again. Evidently Fix was no longer an enemy, he was an ally. He was keeping his word.
The dinner over, a coach was brought around, to take the travellers and their luggage to the station. As they were about to get into the carriage, Mr. Fogg said to Fix:
«You have not seen that Colonel Proctor again?
--No,» replied Fix.
«I shall return to America to hunt him down,» said Phileas Fogg coldly. «It would not be fitting for an English citizen to let himself be treated in such a way.»
The inspector smiled and did not reply. But, as we see, Mr. Fogg was of that race of Englishmen who, if they do not tolerate the duel at home, fight abroad when it is a matter of upholding their honour.
At a quarter to six, the travellers arrived at the station, where the train stood ready to leave. Just as Mr. Fogg was about to board, he noticed an employee and, going up to him:
«My friend,» he said to him, «has there not been some disturbance today in San Francisco?
--It was a meeting, sir,» replied the employee.
«And yet I thought I noticed a certain animation in the streets.
--It was simply a meeting got up for an election.
--The election of a commander-in-chief, no doubt?» asked Mr. Fogg.
«No, sir, for a justice of the peace.»
At this reply, Phileas Fogg boarded the car, and the train set off at full steam.