Chapter Chapter 26 · IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PARTY TRAVEL BY THE PACIFIC RAILROAD

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 colonise.

The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly, under

the most favourable conditions, at least six months. It is now

accomplished in seven days.

It was in 1862 that, 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 at once

commenced, and pursued with true American energy; nor did the rapidity

with which it went on 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

on the morrow, 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 River 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, _viâ_ 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 traversed in seven days, which 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,

and 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 conducted 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 wanting, and they will have these some day.

Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, 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

stoppages, 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 overcome with sleep. 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 could not obstruct 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 the time

for going to bed had arrived; and 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 traveller had soon 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 north-easterly 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, and towards

midnight, while fast asleep, the travellers 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 travellers 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 mountain-sides, 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 cow-catcher 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; and at midday 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.

Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places in

the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded itself 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

moveable dam. These innumerable multitudes of ruminating beasts often

form an insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the trains; thousands

of them have been seen passing over the track for hours together, in

compact ranks. The locomotive is then forced to stop and wait till the

road is once more clear.

This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was travelling.

About twelve o’clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffalo

encumbered the track. The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to

clear the way with its cow-catcher; 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 travellers 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 they occasioned, and longed to

discharge his arsenal of revolvers upon them.

“What a country!” cried he. “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 programme!

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 cow-catcher;

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.