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,
December 7th, they stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green
River station. Snow had fallen heavily 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. Among these Aouda recognized Colonel
Stamp Proctor, the same man who had so grossly insulted Phileas
Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognized,
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 recognized 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 awakened, 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 favorite pastime--even on the railway.
Passepartout was despatched 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 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 travelers 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 travelers caught sight for an instant of
Fort Halleck, which commands that section. 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."
This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a
mile from the place where they now were. According to the
signal-man, it was in a ruinous condition, several of the iron
wires being broken; and it was impossible to risk the passage. He
did not in any way exaggerate the condition of the bridge. It may
be taken for granted that, rash as the Americans usually are,
when they are prudent there is good reason for it.
Passepartout, not daring to tell his master what he heard,
listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.
"Hum!" cried Colonel Proctor, "but we are not going to stay here,
I imagine, and take root in the Snow?"
"Colonel," replied the conductor, "we have telegraphed to Omaha
for a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow
in less than six hours."
"Six hours!" cried Passepartout.
"Certainly," returned the conductor, "besides, it will take us as
long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot."
"But it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers.
"Yes, but it's on the other side of the river."
"And can't we cross that in a boat?" asked the colonel.
"That's impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a
rapid, and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the
north to find a ford."
The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway
company and the conductor. Passepartout, who was furious, could
not help but agree with him. Here was an obstacle, indeed, which
all his master's banknotes could not remove.
There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who,
without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge
fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow. They grumbled and
protested, and would certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg's
attention if he had not been completely absorbed in his game.
Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master
what had occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning
towards the car, when the engineer--a true Yankee, named
Forster--called out, "Gentlemen, perhaps there is a way, after
all, to get over."
"On the bridge?" asked a passenger.
"On the bridge."
"With our train?"
"With our train."
Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.
"But the bridge is unsafe," urged the conductor.
"No matter," replied Forster; "I think that by putting on the
very highest speed we might have a chance of getting over."
"The devil!" muttered Passepartout.
But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the
engineer's proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially
delighted, and found the plan a very feasible one. He told
stories about engineers leaping their trains over rivers without
bridges, by putting on full steam; and many of those present
avowed themselves of the engineer's mind.
"We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over," said
one.
"Eighty! ninety!"
Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything
to get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a
little too American. "Besides," thought he, "there's a still more
simple way, and it does not even occur to any of these people!
Sir," said he aloud to one of the passengers, "the engineer's
plan seems to me a little dangerous, but--"
"Eighty chances!" replied the passenger, turning his back on him.
"I know it," said Passepartout, turning to another passenger,
"but a simple idea--"
"Ideas are no use," returned the American, shrugging his
shoulders, "as the engineer assures us that we can pass."
"Doubtless," urged Passepartout, "we can pass, but perhaps it
would be more prudent--"
"What! Prudent!" cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to
excite prodigiously. "At full speed, don't you see, at full
speed!"
"I know--I see," repeated Passepartout; "but it would be, if not
more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more
natural--"
"Who! What! What's the matter with this fellow?" cried several.
The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.
"Are you afraid?" asked Colonel Proctor.
"I afraid! Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman
can be as American as they!"
"All aboard!" cried the conductor.
"Yes, all aboard!" repeated Passepartout, and immediately. "But
they can't prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural
for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come
after!"
But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have
acknowledged its justice. The passengers resumed their places in
the cars. Passepartout took his seat without telling what had
passed. The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.
The locomotive whistled vigorously. The engineer, reversing the
steam, backed the train for nearly a mile--retiring, like a
jumper, in order to take a longer leap. Then, with another
whistle, he began to move forward. The train increased its speed,
and soon its rapidity became frightful. A prolonged screech
issued from the locomotive. The piston worked up and down twenty
strokes to the second. They perceived that the whole train,
rushing on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour, hardly bore
upon the rails at all.
And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the bridge.
The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and
the engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles
beyond the station. But scarcely had the train passed the river,
when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash into the
rapids of Medicine Bow.