In Which Phileas Fogg and Party Travel by the Pacific Railroad
"From ocean to ocean"--so say the Americans; and these four
words compose the general designation of the "great trunk line"
which crosses the entire width of the United States. The Pacific
Railroad is, however, really divided into two distinct lines: the
Central Pacific, between San Francisco and Ogden, and the Union
Pacific, between Ogden and Omaha. Five main lines connect Omaha
with New York.
New York and San Francisco are thus united by an uninterrupted
metal ribbon, which measures no less than three thousand seven
hundred and eighty-six miles. Between Omaha and the Pacific the
railway crosses a territory which is still infested by Indians
and wild beasts, and a large tract which the Mormons, after they
were driven from Illinois in 1845, began to colonize.
The journey from New York to San Francisco took, formerly, under
the most favorable conditions, at least six months. It is now
accomplished in seven days. In 1862, in spite of the Southern
Members of Congress, who wished a more southerly route, it was
decided to lay the road between the forty-first and forty-second
parallels. President Lincoln himself fixed the end of the line at
Omaha, in Nebraska. The work was started at once and pursued with
true American energy. The rapidity with which it went on did not
injuriously affect its good execution. The road grew, on the
prairies, a mile and a half a day. A locomotive, running on the
rails laid down the evening before, brought the rails to be laid
the next day, and advanced upon them as fast as they were put in
position.
The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in Iowa,
Kansas, Colorado and Oregon. On leaving Omaha, it passes along
the left bank of the Platte Rivet as far as the junction of its
northern branch, follows its southern branch, crosses the Laramie
territory and the Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great Salt Lake,
and reaches Salt Lake City, the Mormon capital, plunges into the
Tuilla Valley, across the American Desert, Cedar and Humboldt
Mountains, the Sierra Nevada, and descends, via Sacramento, to
the Pacific--its grade, even on the Rocky Mountains, never
exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the mile.
Such was the road to be traveled in seven days. It would enable
Phileas Fogg--at least, so he hoped--to take the Atlantic
steamer at New York on the 11th for Liverpool.
The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight
wheels, with no compartments in the interior. It was supplied
with two rows of seats, perpendicular to the direction of the
train on either side of an aisle which led to the front and rear
platforms. These platforms were found throughout the train, and
the passengers were able to pass from one end of the train to the
other. It was supplied with saloon cars, balcony cars,
restaurants and smoking-cars. Theatre cars alone were missing,
and they will have these some day.
Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, beverages and cigars,
who seemed to have plenty of customers, were continually
circulating in the aisles.
The train left Oakland station at six o'clock. It was already
night, cold and cheerless, the heavens being overcast with clouds
which seemed to threaten snow. The train did not proceed rapidly.
Counting the stops, it did not run more than twenty miles an
hour, which was a sufficient speed, however, to enable it to
reach Omaha within its designated time.
There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of
the passengers were asleep. Passepartout found himself beside the
detective, but he did not talk to him. After recent events, their
relations with each other had grown somewhat cold. There could no
longer be mutual sympathy or intimacy between them. Fix's manner
had not changed; but Passepartout was very reserved, and ready to
strangle his former friend on the slightest provocation.
Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow,
however, which happily did not deter the train. Nothing could be
seen from the windows but a vast, white sheet, against which the
smoke of the locomotive had a greyish aspect.
At eight o'clock a steward entered the car and announced that
bedtime had arrived. In a few minutes the car was transformed
into a dormitory. The backs of the seats were thrown back,
bedsteads carefully packed were rolled out by an ingenious
system, berths were suddenly improvised, and each traveler soon
had at his disposition a comfortable bed, protected from curious
eyes by thick curtains. The sheets were clean and the pillows
soft. It only remained to go to bed and sleep--which everybody
did--while the train sped on across the State of California.
The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very
hilly. The Central Pacific, taking Sacramento for its starting
point, extends eastward to meet the road from Omaha. The line
from San Francisco to Sacramento runs in a northeasterly
direction, along the American River, which empties into San Pablo
Bay. The one hundred and twenty miles between these cities were
accomplished in six hours. Towards midnight, while fast asleep,
the travelers passed through Sacramento; so that they saw nothing
of that important place, the seat of the state government, with
its fine quays, its broad streets, its noble hotels, squares and
churches.
The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction,
Roclin, Auburn and Colfax, entered the range of the Sierra
Nevada. 'Cisco was reached at seven in the morning; and an hour
later the dormitory was transformed into an ordinary car, and the
travelers could observe the picturesque beauties of the mountain
region through which they were steaming. The railway track wound
in and out among the passes, now approaching the mountainsides,
now suspended over precipices, avoiding abrupt angles by bold
curves, plunging into narrow defiles, which seemed to have no
outlet. The locomotive, its great funnel emitting a weird light,
with its sharp bell, and its cowcatcher extended like a spur,
mingled its shrieks and bellowings with the noise of torrents and
cascades, and twined its smoke among the branches of the gigantic
pines.
There were few or no bridges or tunnels on the route. The
railway turned around the sides of the mountains, and did not
attempt to violate nature by taking the shortest cut from one
point to another.
The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley
about nine o'clock, going always northeasterly. At midday it
reached Reno where there was a delay of twenty minutes for
breakfast.
From this point the road, running along Humboldt River, passed
northward for several miles by its banks. Then it turned
eastward, and kept by the river until it reached the Humboldt
Range, nearly at the extreme eastern limit of Nevada.
After breakfast, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places
in the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded as
they passed along: the vast prairies, the mountains lining the
horizon, and the creeks, with their frothy, foaming streams.
Sometimes a great herd of buffaloes, massing together in the
distance, seemed like a movable dam. These innumerable
multitudes of beasts often form an insurmountable obstacle to the
passage of the trains. Thousands of them have been seen passing
over the track for hours in compact ranks. The locomotive is then
forced to stop and wait till the road is once more clear.
This happened to the train in which Mr. Fogg was traveling. About
twelve o'clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffalo
covered the track. The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to
clear the way with its cowcatcher; but the mass of animals was
too great. The buffaloes marched along with a tranquil gait,
uttering now and then deafening bellowings. There was no use of
interrupting them, for, having taken a particular direction,
nothing can moderate and change their course. It is a torrent of
living flesh which no dam could contain.
The travelers gazed on this curious spectacle from the platforms.
But Phileas Fogg, who had the most reason of all to be in a
hurry, remained in his seat, and waited philosophically until it
should please the buffaloes to get out of the way.
Passepartout was furious at the delay, and longed to discharge
his arsenal of revolvers upon them.
"What a country!" he cried. "Mere cattle stop the trains, and go
by in a procession, just as if they were not impeding travel!
Parbleu! I should like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap in
his program! And here's an engineer who doesn't dare to run the
locomotive into this herd of beasts!"
The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was
wise. He would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with
the cowcatcher; but the locomotive, however powerful, would soon
have been checked, the train would inevitably have been thrown
off the track, and would then have been helpless.
The best course was to wait patiently, and regain the lost time
by greater speed when the obstacle was removed. The procession of
buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it was night before the
track was clear. The last ranks of the herd were now passing over
the rails, while the first had already disappeared below the
southern horizon.
It was eight o'clock when the train passed through the defiles of
the Humboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated Utah,
the region of the Great Salt Lake, the singular colony of the
Mormons.