Around the World in 80 Days
chance should direct the steps of the unfortunate servant,
whom he had so badly treated, in this direction; in which
case an explanation the reverse of satisfactory to the
detective must have ensued. But the Frenchman did not
appear, and, without doubt, was still lying under the
stupefying influence of the opium.
John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start,
and the Tankadere, taking the wind under her brigantine,
foresail, and standing-jib, bounded briskly forward over
the waves.
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Chapter XXI
IN WHICH THE MASTER OF
THE 'TANKADERE' RUNS
GREAT RISK OF LOSING A
REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED
POUNDS
This voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous
venture on a craft of twenty tons, and at that season of the
year. The Chinese seas are usually boisterous, subject to
terrible gales of wind, and especially during the equinoxes;
and it was now early November.
It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to
carry his passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a
certain sum per day; but he would have been rash to
attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudent even to
attempt to reach Shanghai. But John Bunsby believed in
the Tankadere, which rode on the waves like a seagull;
and perhaps he was not wrong.
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Late in the day they passed through the capricious
channels of Hong Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by
favourable winds, conducted herself admirably.
'I do not need, pilot,' said Phileas Fogg, when they got
into the open sea, 'to advise you to use all possible speed.'
'Trust me, your honour. We are carrying all the sail the
wind will let us. The poles would add nothing, and are
only used when we are going into port.'
'Its your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you.'
Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart,
standing like a sailor, gazed without staggering at the
swelling waters. The young woman, who was seated aft,
was profoundly affected as she looked out upon the ocean,
darkening now with the twilight, on which she had
ventured in so frail a vessel. Above her head rustled the
white sails, which seemed like great white wings. The
boat, carried forward by the wind, seemed to be flying in
the air.
Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter,
and her insufficient light would soon die out in the mist
on the horizon. Clouds were rising from the east, and
already overcast a part of the heavens.
The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very
necessary in these seas crowded with vessels bound
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landward; for collisions are not uncommon occurrences,
and, at the speed she was going, the least shock would
shatter the gallant little craft.
Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation.
He kept apart from his fellow-travellers, knowing Mr.
Fogg's taciturn tastes; besides, he did not quite like to talk
to the man whose favours he had accepted. He was
thinking, too, of the future. It seemed certain that Fogg
would not stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the
boat for San Francisco; and the vast extent of America
would ensure him impunity and safety. Fogg's plan
appeared to him the simplest in the world. Instead of
sailing directly from England to the United States, like a
common villain, he had traversed three quarters of the
globe, so as to gain the American continent more surely;
and there, after throwing the police off his track, he would
quietly enjoy himself with the fortune stolen from the
bank. But, once in the United States, what should he, Fix,
do? Should he abandon this man? No, a hundred times
no! Until he had secured his extradition, he would not
lose sight of him for an hour. It was his duty, and he
would fulfil it to the end. At all events, there was one
thing to be thankful for; Passepartout was not with his
master; and it was above all important, after the
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confidences Fix had imparted to him, that the servant
should never have speech with his master.
Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who
had so strangely disappeared. Looking at the matter from
every point of view, it did not seem to him impossible
that, by some mistake, the man might have embarked on
the Carnatic at the last moment; and this was also Aouda's
opinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy
fellow to whom she owed so much. They might then find
him at Yokohama; for, if the Carnatic was carrying him
thither, it would be easy to ascertain if he had been on
board.
A brisk breeze arose about ten o'clock; but, though it
might have been prudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after
carefully examining the heavens, let the craft remain
rigged as before. The Tankadere bore sail admirably, as she
drew a great deal of water, and everything was prepared
for high speed in case of a gale.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at
midnight, having been already preceded by Fix, who had
lain down on one of the cots. The pilot and crew
remained on deck all night.
At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the
boat had made more than one hundred miles. The log
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indicated a mean speed of between eight and nine miles.
The Tankadere still carried all sail, and was accomplishing
her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind held as it was,
the chances would be in her favour. During the day she
kept along the coast, where the currents were favourable;
the coast, irregular in profile, and visible sometimes across
the clearings, was at most five miles distant. The sea was
less boisterous, since the wind came off land—a fortunate
circumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owing to
its small tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.
The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in
from the south-west. The pilot put up his poles, but took
them down again within two hours, as the wind freshened
up anew.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the
roughness of the sea, ate with a good appetite, Fix being
invited to share their repast, which he accepted with secret
chagrin. To travel at this man's expense and live upon his
provisions was not palatable to him. Still, he was obliged
to eat, and so he ate.
When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and
said, 'sir'—this 'sir' scorched his lips, and he had to control
himself to avoid collaring this 'gentleman'—'sir, you have
been very kind to give me a passage on this boat. But,
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though my means will not admit of my expending them as
freely as you, I must ask to pay my share—'
'Let us not speak of that, sir,' replied Mr. Fogg.
'But, if I insist—'
'No, sir,' repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not
admit of a reply. 'This enters into my general expenses.'
Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going
forward, where he ensconced himself, did not open his
mouth for the rest of the day.
Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John
Bunsby was in high hope. He several times assured Mr.
Fogg that they would reach Shanghai in time; to which
that gentleman responded that he counted upon it. The
crew set to work in good earnest, inspired by the reward
to be gained. There was not a sheet which was not
tightened not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted; not
a lurch could be charged to the man at the helm. They
worked as desperately as if they were contesting in a
Royal yacht regatta.
By evening, the log showed that two hundred and
twenty miles had been accomplished from Hong Kong,
and Mr. Fogg might hope that he would be able to reach
Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal; in
which case, the many misadventures which had overtaken
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him since he left London would not seriously affect his
journey.
The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which
separate the island of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in
the small hours of the night, and crossed the Tropic of
Cancer. The sea was very rough in the straits, full of
eddies formed by the counter-currents, and the chopping
waves broke her course, whilst it became very difficult to
stand on deck.
At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and
the heavens seemed to predict a gale. The barometer
announced a speedy change, the mercury rising and falling
capriciously; the sea also, in the south-east, raised long
surges which indicated a tempest. The sun had set the
evening before in a red mist, in the midst of the
phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.
John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of
the heavens, muttering indistinctly between his teeth. At
last he said in a low voice to Mr. Fogg, 'Shall I speak out
to your honour?'
'Of course.'
'Well, we are going to have a squall.'
'Is the wind north or south?' asked Mr. Fogg quietly.
'South. Look! a typhoon is coming up.'
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'Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us
forward.'
'Oh, if you take it that way,' said John Bunsby, 'I've
nothing more to say.' John Bunsby's suspicions were
confirmed. At a less advanced season of the year the
typhoon, according to a famous meteorologist, would
have passed away like a luminous cascade of electric flame;
but in the winter equinox it was to be feared that it would
burst upon them with great violence.
The pilot took his precautions in advance. He reefed all
sail, the pole-masts were dispensed with; all hands went
forward to the bows. A single triangular sail, of strong
canvas, was hoisted as a storm-jib, so as to hold the wind
from behind. Then they waited.
John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below;
but this imprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air,
and the boat bouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant.
Neither Mr. Fogg, Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the
deck.
The storm of rain and wind descended upon them
towards eight o'clock. With but its bit of sail, the
Tankadere was lifted like a feather by a wind, an idea of
whose violence can scarcely be given. To compare her
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speed to four times that of a locomotive going on full
steam would be below the truth.
The boat scudded thus northward during the whole
day, borne on by monstrous waves, preserving always,
fortunately, a speed equal to theirs. Twenty times she
seemed almost to be submerged by these mountains of
water which rose behind her; but the adroit management
of the pilot saved her. The passengers were often bathed in
spray, but they submitted to it philosophically. Fix cursed
it, no doubt; but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her
protector, whose coolness amazed her, showed herself
worthy of him, and bravely weathered the storm. As for
Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part
of his programme.
Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her
course to the north; but towards evening the wind,
veering three quarters, bore down from the north-west.
The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves, shook
and rolled terribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence.
At night the tempest increased in violence. John Bunsby
saw the approach of darkness and the rising of the storm
with dark misgivings. He thought awhile, and then asked
his crew if it was not time to slacken speed. After a
consultation he approached Mr. Fogg, and said, 'I think,
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Around the World in 80 Days
your honour, that we should do well to make for one of
the ports on the coast.'
'I think so too.'
'Ah!' said the pilot. 'But which one?'
'I know of but one,' returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly.
'And that is—'
'Shanghai.'
The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend; he
could scarcely realise so much determination and tenacity.
Then he cried, 'Well—yes! Your honour is right. To
Shanghai!'
So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.
The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if
the craft did not founder. Twice it could have been all
over with her if the crew had not been constantly on the
watch. Aouda was exhausted, but did not utter a
complaint. More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect
her from the violence of the waves.
Day reappeared. The tempest still raged with
undiminished fury; but the wind now returned to the
south-east. It was a favourable change, and the Tankadere
again bounded forward on this mountainous sea, though
the waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and
counter-shocks which would have crushed a craft less
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solidly built. From time to time the coast was visible
through the broken mist, but no vessel was in sight. The
Tankadere was alone upon the sea.
There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these
became more distinct as the sun descended toward the
horizon. The tempest had been as brief as terrific. The
passengers, thoroughly exhausted, could now eat a little,
and take some repose.
The night was comparatively quiet. Some of the sails
were again hoisted, and the speed of the boat was very
good. The next morning at dawn they espied the coast,
and John Bunsby was able to assert that they were not one
hundred miles from Shanghai. A hundred miles, and only
one day to traverse them! That very evening Mr. Fogg
was due at Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss the steamer
to Yokohama. Had there been no storm, during which
several hours were lost, they would be at this moment
within thirty miles of their destination.
The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea
fell with it. All sails were now hoisted, and at noon the
Tankadere was within forty-five miles of Shanghai. There
remained yet six hours in which to accomplish that
distance. All on board feared that it could not be done,
and every one—Phileas Fogg, no doubt, excepted—felt
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his heart beat with impatience. The boat must keep up an
average of nine miles an hour, and the wind was
becoming calmer every moment! It was a capricious
breeze, coming from the coast, and after it passed the sea
became smooth. Still, the Tankadere was so light, and her
fine sails caught the fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the
aid of the currents John Bunsby found himself at six
o'clock not more than ten miles from the mouth of
Shanghai River. Shanghai itself is situated at least twelve
miles up the stream. At seven they were still three miles
from Shanghai. The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward
of two hundred pounds was evidently on the point of
escaping him. He looked at Mr. Fogg. Mr. Fogg was
perfectly tranquil; and yet his whole fortune was at this
moment at stake.
At this moment, also, a long black funnel, crowned
with wreaths of smoke, appeared on the edge of the
waters. It was the American steamer, leaving for
Yokohama at the appointed time.
'Confound her!' cried John Bunsby, pushing back the
rudder with a desperate jerk.
'Signal her!' said Phileas Fogg quietly.
A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the
Tankadere, for making signals in the fogs. It was loaded to
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the muzzle; but just as the pilot was about to apply a red-
hot coal to the touchhole, Mr. Fogg said, 'Hoist your
flag!'
The flag was run up at half-mast, and, this being the
signal of distress, it was hoped that the American steamer,
perceiving it, would change her course a little, so as to
succour the pilot-boat.
'Fire!' said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little
cannon resounded in the air.
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Chapter XXII
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT
FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT
THE ANTIPODES, IT IS
CONVENIENT TO HAVE
SOME MONEY IN ONE'S
The Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past
six on the 7th of November, directed her course at full
steam towards Japan. She carried a large cargo and a well-
filled cabin of passengers. Two state-rooms in the rear
were, however, unoccupied—those which had been
engaged by Phileas Fogg.
The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye,
staggering gait, and disordered hair, was seen to emerge
from the second cabin, and to totter 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
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carried him to the bed reserved for the smokers. Three
hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed idea, the
poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying
influence of the narcotic. The thought of a duty unfulfilled
shook off his torpor, and 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 puffing alongside the quay, on the
point of starting. Passepartout had but few steps to go; and,
rushing upon the plank, he crossed it, and 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 second
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
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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
on the track of Mr. Fogg, accused of robbing the Bank of
England! Pshaw! Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am
a murderer.'
Should he divulge Fix's real errand to his master?
Would it do to tell the part the detective was playing.
Would it not be better to wait until Mr. Fogg reached
London again, and then impart to him that an agent of the
metropolitan police had been following him round the
world, and have a good laugh over it? No doubt; at least,
it was worth considering. The first thing to do was to find
Mr. Fogg, and apologise for his singular behaviour.
Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could
with the rolling of the steamer, to the after-deck. 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 had only, however, to ask the purser the
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number of his master's state-room. 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 thunderstruck on a seat. He saw it all now. 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. Yes, but it was
still more the fault of the traitor who, in order to separate
him from his master, and detain the latter at Hong Kong,
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had inveigled him into getting drunk! 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. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a
settling of accounts there would be!
After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer,
and began to study his situation. It was certainly not an
enviable one. 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. His passage had fortunately been paid for in
advance; and he had five or six days in which to decide
upon his future course. He fell to at meals with an
appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and himself. He
helped himself as generously as if Japan were a desert,
where nothing to eat was to be looked for.
At dawn on the 13th the Carnatic entered the port of
Yokohama. This is an important port of call in the Pacific,
where all the mail-steamers, and those carrying travellers
between North America, China, Japan, and the Oriental
islands put in. It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at but
a short distance from that second capital of the Japanese
Empire, and the residence of the Tycoon, the civil
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Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor,
absorbed his office in his own. The Carnatic anchored at
the quay near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd
of ships bearing the flags of all nations.
Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious
territory of the Sons of the Sun. He had nothing better to
do than, taking chance for his guide, to wander aimlessly
through the streets of Yokohama. He found himself at first
in a thoroughly European quarter, the houses having low
fronts, and being adorned with verandas, beneath which
he caught glimpses of neat peristyles. This quarter
occupied, with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses,
all the space between the 'promontory of the Treaty' and
the river. Here, as at Hong Kong and Calcutta, were
mixed crowds of all races, Americans and English,
Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy
or sell anything. The Frenchman felt himself as much
alone among them as if he had dropped down in the midst
of Hottentots.
He had, at least, one resource to call on the French and
English consuls at Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank
from telling the story of his adventures, intimately
connected as it was with that of his master; and, before
doing so, he determined to exhaust all other means of aid.
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As chance did not favour him in the European quarter, he
penetrated that inhabited by the native Japanese,
determined, if necessary, to push on to Yeddo.
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, where a perfect
harvest of rose-tinted and red-cheeked children, who
looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese screens, and
who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles
and yellowish cats, might have been gathered.
The streets were crowded with people. Priests were
passing in processions, beating their dreary tambourines;
police and custom-house officers with pointed hats
encrusted with lac and carrying two sabres hung to their
waists; soldiers, clad in blue cotton with white stripes, and
bearing guns; the Mikado's guards, enveloped in silken
doubles, hauberks and coats of mail; and numbers of
military folk of all ranks—for the military profession is as
much respected in Japan as it is despised in China—went
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hither and thither in groups and pairs. Passepartout saw,
too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims, and simple
civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads,
long busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions
varying from copper-colour to a dead white, but never
yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the Japanese widely
differ. He did not fail to observe the curious equipages—
carriages and palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and
litters made of bamboo; nor the women— whom he
thought not especially handsome—who took little steps
with their little feet, whereon they wore canvas shoes,
straw sandals, and clogs of worked wood, and who
displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests, teeth fashionably
blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in an
enormous knot behind an ornament which the modern
Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed from the dames of
Japan.
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, where the
odorous beverage was being drunk with saki, a liquor
concocted from the fermentation of rice, and the
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comfortable smoking-houses, where they were puffing,
not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a very
fine, stringy tobacco. He went on till he found himself in
the fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations. There he
saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves, with flowers
which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes,
not on bushes, but on trees, and within bamboo
enclosures, cherry, plum, and apple trees, which the
Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit,
and which queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows
protected from the sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other
voracious birds. On the branches of the cedars were
perched large eagles; amid the foliage of the weeping
willows were herons, solemnly standing on one leg; and
on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and a
multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred,
and which to their minds symbolise long life and
prosperity.
As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some
violets among the shrubs.
'Good!' said he; 'I'll have some supper.'
But, on smelling them, he found that they were
odourless.
'No chance there,' thought he.
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The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat
as hearty a breakfast as possible before leaving the
Carnatic; but, as he had been walking about all day, the
demands of hunger were becoming importunate. He
observed that the butchers stalls contained neither mutton,
goat, nor pork; and, knowing also that it is a sacrilege to
kill cattle, which are preserved solely for farming, he made
up his mind that meat was far from plentiful in
Yokohama— nor was he mistaken; and, in default of
butcher's meat, he could have wished for a quarter of wild
boar or deer, a partridge, or some quails, some game or
fish, which, with rice, the Japanese eat almost exclusively.
But he found it necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to
postpone the meal he craved till the following morning.
Night came, and Passepartout re-entered the native
quarter, where he wandered through the streets, lit by
vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers, who
were executing skilful steps and boundings, and the
astrologers who stood in the open air with their telescopes.
Then he came to the harbour, which was lit up by the
resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from
their boats.
The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the
officers of which, in their splendid costumes, and
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surrounded by their suites, Passepartout thought seemed
like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling crowd. Each time
a company passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to
himself: 'Good! another Japanese embassy departing for
Europe!'
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Chapter XXIII
IN WHICH
PASSEPARTOUT'S NOSE
BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY
LONG
The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout
said to himself that he must get something to eat at all
hazards, and the sooner he did so the better. He might,
indeed, sell his watch; but he would have starved first.
Now or never he must use the strong, if not melodious
voice which nature had bestowed upon him. He knew
several French and English songs, and resolved to try them
upon the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since
they were for ever pounding on their cymbals, tam-tams,
and tambourines, and could not but appreciate European
talent.
It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a
concert, and the audience prematurely aroused from their
slumbers, might not possibly pay their entertainer with
coin bearing the Mikado's features. Passepartout therefore
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decided to wait several hours; and, as he was sauntering
along, it occurred to him that he would seem rather too
well dressed for a wandering artist. The idea struck him to
change his garments for clothes more in harmony with his
project; by which he might also get a little money to
satisfy the immediate cravings of hunger. The resolution
taken, it remained to carry it out.
It was only after a long search that Passepartout
discovered a native dealer in old clothes, to whom he
applied for an exchange. The man liked the European
costume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his shop
accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided
turban, faded with long use. A few small pieces of silver,
moreover, jingled in his pocket.
Good!' thought he. 'I will imagine I am at the
Carnival!'
His first care, after being thus 'Japanesed,' was to enter
a tea-house of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird
and a little rice, to breakfast like a man for whom dinner
was as yet a problem to be solved.
'Now,' thought he, when he had eaten heartily, 'I
mustn't lose my head. I can't sell this costume again for
one still more Japanese. I must consider how to leave this
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country of the Sun, of which I shall not retain the most
delightful of memories, as quickly as possible.'
It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were
about to leave for America. He would offer himself as a
cook or servant, in payment of his passage and meals.
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.
Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging,
and directed his steps towards the docks. But, as he
approached them, his project, which at first had seemed so
simple, began to grow more and more formidable to his
mind. What need would they have of a cook or servant on
an American steamer, and what confidence would they
put in him, dressed as he was? What references could he
give?
As he was reflecting in this wise, 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,
HONOURABLE WILLIAM BATULCAR,
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Around the World in 80 Days
PROPRIETOR,
LAST REPRESENTATIONS,
PRIOR TO THEIR DEPARTURE TO THE UNITED
STATES,
OF THE
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, adorned with several clusters
of streamers, the exterior walls of which were designed to
represent, in violent colours and without perspective, a
company of jugglers.
This was the Honourable William Batulcar's
establishment. That gentleman was a sort of Barnum, 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.
Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who
straightway appeared in person.
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Around the World in 80 Days
'What do you want?' said he to Passepartout, whom he
at first took for a native.
'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, furrowed with veins as
large as the strings of a bass-viol.
'So I can be of no use to you?'
'None.'
'The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with
you!'
'Ah!' said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. 'You are no
more a Japanese than I am a monkey! Who are you
dressed up in that way?'
'A man dresses as he can.'
'That's true. 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.'
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