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Chapter XXVI 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, 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 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.