Passepartout Learns Money Is Useful Even at the Antipodes

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 “Carnatic” left Hong Kong at half past six on November 7 and headed toward Japan at full steam. It carried a large cargo and a full cabin of passengers. But two staterooms at the rear were empty. They were the rooms Phileas Fogg had booked.

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.

The next day, a passenger emerged from the second cabin. His eyes were half-dazed, his hair was messy, and he staggered 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 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!’”

It was Passepartout, and this was what had happened to him. Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters lifted the unconscious Passepartout and carried him to the bed reserved for smokers. Three hours later, still haunted by a single thought even in his dreams, the poor fellow awoke. He struggled against the drug’s numbing effects. The thought of a duty left undone shook him out of his stupor, and he hurried from the den. He staggered along, holding himself up against the walls, falling down and getting up again. Driven by a kind of instinct he could not resist, 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.

The steamer was puffing alongside the dock, about to leave. Passepartout had only a few steps left to go. He rushed across the gangplank and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the “Carnatic” was pulling away. Several sailors carried the poor Frenchman down to the second cabin. They were evidently used to scenes like this. Passepartout did not wake until they were 150 miles from China. The next morning, he found himself on the deck of the “Carnatic,” eagerly breathing in the refreshing sea breeze. The pure air sobered him. He began to gather his thoughts, though he found it difficult. At last, he remembered the events of the previous evening, 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 have not missed the steamer, which is the most important thing.”

“Clearly,” he said to himself, “I was terribly drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I haven't missed the steamer. That's 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.”

Then he thought of Fix. “As for that rascal, I hope we are well rid of him. I hope he hasn't dared to follow us aboard the “Carnatic,” as he said he would. A detective on the trail of Mr. Fogg, accused of robbing the Bank of England! Nonsense! 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.

Should he tell his master why Fix was really there? Would it be wise to reveal the detective’s role? Would it be better to wait until Mr. Fogg returned to London? Then he could tell him that a London police officer had followed him around the world, and they could have a good laugh about it. Surely that was worth considering, at least. First, he had to find Mr. Fogg and apologize for his strange behavior.

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.”

Passepartout got up and made his way to the rear deck as best he could, as the steamer rolled. He saw no one who looked like either his master or Aouda. “Good!” he muttered. “Aouda has not gotten up yet, and Mr. Fogg has probably found some partners to play whist.”

He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout had only, however, to ask the purser the number of his master’s state-room. The purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of Fogg.

He went down to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. But Passepartout only had to ask the purser for his master's cabin number. The purser replied that he did not know any passenger named 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—”

“Excuse me,” Passepartout persisted. “He’s tall and quiet, and he doesn’t talk much. He has a young woman with him...”

“There is no young lady on board,” interrupted the purser. “Here is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself.”

“There’s no young lady on board,” interrupted the purser. “Here’s the passenger list. You can see for yourself.”

Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not upon it. All at once an idea struck him.

Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not on it. Suddenly, an idea struck him.

“Ah! am I on the ‘Carnatic?’”

“Ah! Am I on the ‘Carnatic?’”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“On the way to Yokohama?”

“On the way to Yokohama?”

“Certainly.”

“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.

For a moment, Passepartout feared he was on the wrong boat. But although he was indeed 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, 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!

He collapsed into a seat, stunned. He saw it all now. He remembered that the sailing time had changed. He should have told his master, but he had not. So it was his fault that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer. Yes, but it was even more the fault of the traitor who had tricked him into getting drunk! The traitor had done it to separate Passepartout from his master and keep Mr. Fogg in Hong Kong. Passepartout now saw the detective’s trick. And by now, Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined. His bet was lost, and he himself had perhaps been arrested and imprisoned! At the 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.

After his initial despair, Passepartout grew calmer and began to consider his situation. It was certainly not a good one. He was on his way to Japan, but what would he do when he arrived? His pocket was empty. He did not have a single shilling, not even a penny. Fortunately, his passage had been paid for in advance. He had five or six days to decide what to do next. At meals, he ate heartily, eating enough for Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and himself. He served himself generous portions, as if Japan were a desert where no food could be found.

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 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.

At dawn on the 13th, the “Carnatic” entered the port of Yokohama. Yokohama is an important Pacific port of call. All the mail steamers and ships carrying travelers between North America, China, Japan, and the Oriental islands stop there. The port is in the bay of Yeddo, a short distance from Yeddo, the Japanese Empire’s second capital. Yeddo was the residence of the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor, took over his office. The “Carnatic” anchored at the quay near the customs house, among a crowd of ships flying 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.

Passepartout stepped timidly ashore in this curious land of the Sons of the Sun. With nothing better to do, he wandered aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama, letting chance guide him. At first, he found himself in a thoroughly European quarter. Its houses had low fronts and verandas, beneath which he glimpsed neat rows of columns. The quarter, with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, occupied all the space between the “promontory of the Treaty” and the river. Here, as in Hong Kong and Calcutta, crowds of all races mingled: Americans, English, Chinese, and Dutch. Most were merchants ready to buy or sell anything. The Frenchman felt as alone among them as if he had been dropped among 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. 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.

He had at least one option: he could ask the French and English consuls in Yokohama for help. But he was reluctant to tell the story of his adventures, which were closely connected to his master's. He decided to try every other way of getting help first. When he had no luck in the European quarter, he went into the quarter inhabited by the native Japanese. He was determined to continue to Yeddo if necessary.

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.

Yokohama's Japanese quarter is called Benten, after the goddess of the sea, who is worshipped on the surrounding islands. There, Passepartout saw beautiful groves of firs and cedars, sacred gates with unusual architecture, and bridges half hidden among bamboo and reeds. He saw temples shaded by enormous cedar trees and sacred retreats that sheltered Buddhist priests and followers of Confucius. He also saw endless streets filled with a veritable harvest of rosy, red-cheeked children. They looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese screens and played among short-legged poodles and yellowish cats.

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 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.

The streets were crowded with people. Priests passed in processions, beating their gloomy tambourines. Police and customs officers wore pointed hats coated with lac and carried two swords at their waists. Soldiers in blue cotton uniforms with white stripes carried guns. The Mikado’s guards wore silk jackets and coats of mail. Many military men of all ranks moved about in groups and pairs. The military profession is as respected in Japan as it is despised in China. Passepartout also saw begging friars, pilgrims in long robes, and ordinary civilians. They had wavy, jet-black hair, large heads, long torsos, slender legs, and short stature. Their complexions ranged from copper-colored to a pale white, but never yellow like the Chinese. The Japanese differ greatly from the Chinese. He also noticed the unusual vehicles: carriages and palanquins, carts fitted with sails, and bamboo litters. He noticed the women, too, though he did not think them especially handsome. They took little steps on little feet, wearing canvas shoes, straw sandals, or carved wooden clogs. They had narrow-looking eyes, flat chests, and teeth blackened according to fashion. Silk sashes crossed their gowns and were tied in enormous knots behind them. Modern Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed this ornament from the women 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 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.

Passepartout wandered for several hours among the colorful crowd, looking into the windows of rich and unusual shops. Jewelry stores glittered with quaint Japanese ornaments, and restaurants were decorated with streamers and banners. In the tea houses, people drank fragrant tea with “saki,” a liquor made from fermented rice. In the comfortable smoking houses, people puffed not on opium, which was almost unknown in Japan, but on fine, stringy tobacco. He continued until he reached the countryside, surrounded by vast rice fields. There he saw dazzling camellias growing on trees rather than bushes. Their flowers were displaying the last of their colors and giving off the last of their fragrance. Inside bamboo fences grew cherry, plum, and apple trees. The Japanese cultivated these trees more for their blossoms than for their fruit. Oddly shaped, grinning scarecrows protected them from sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other hungry birds. Large eagles perched on the branches of cedar trees. Among the leaves of the weeping willows, herons stood solemnly on one leg. Everywhere he looked were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and countless cranes. The Japanese considered cranes sacred and saw them as symbols of long life and prosperity.

As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among the shrubs.

As he walked along, Passepartout spotted some violets among the shrubs.

“Good!” said he; “I’ll have some supper.”

“Good!” he said. “I’ll have some supper.”

But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless.

But when he smelled them, he found they had no odor.

“No chance there,” thought he.

“No chance there,” he thought.

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 good fellow had made sure to eat as hearty a breakfast as possible before leaving the “Carnatic.” But he had been walking all day, and his hunger was becoming hard to ignore. He noticed that the butchers’ stalls had no mutton, goat, or pork. He also knew that killing cattle was considered sacrilege and that cattle were kept solely for farming. So he concluded that meat was scarce in Yokohama, and he was right. With no butcher’s meat available, he would have welcomed a quarter of wild boar or deer, a partridge, or some quails. He would have welcomed any game or fish, which the Japanese ate almost exclusively, along with rice. But he had to keep his spirits up and put off the meal he craved until the next morning. Night came, and Passepartout returned to the native quarter. He wandered through streets lit by colorful lanterns, watching dancers perform skillful steps and leaps. He also watched astrologers standing outdoors with their telescopes. Then he came to the harbor, which was lit by the resin torches of fishermen fishing from their boats.

The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of which, in their splendid costumes, and 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!”

At last, the streets grew quiet, and patrols took the place of the bustling crowd. Their officers wore splendid costumes and were surrounded by their attendants. Passepartout thought they looked like ambassadors. Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled and said to himself: “Good! Another Japanese embassy leaving for Europe!”