while Passepartout mounted the box beside the driver, and they set out
for the International Hotel.

From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity
the wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon
Gothic churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden and brick warehouses,
the numerous conveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the side-walks,
not only Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and Indians. Passepartout
was surprised at all he saw. San Francisco was no longer the legendary city
of 1849--a city of banditti, assassins, and incendiaries, who had flocked
hither in crowds in pursuit of plunder; a paradise of outlaws, where they
gambled with gold-dust, a revolver in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other:
it was now a great commercial emporium.

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama
of the streets and avenues, which cut each other at right-angles,
and in the midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares,
while beyond appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly imported
from the Celestial Empire in a toy-box. Sombreros and red shirts
and plumed Indians were rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats
and black coats everywhere worn by a multitude of nervously active,
gentlemanly-looking men. Some of the streets-- especially Montgomery Street,
which is to San Francisco what Regent Street is to London,
the Boulevard des Italiens to Paris, and Broadway to New York--
were lined with splendid and spacious stores, which exposed
in their windows the products of the entire world.

When Passepartout reached the International Hotel,
it did not seem to him as if he had left England at all.

The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar,
a sort of restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might
partake of dried beef, oyster soup, biscuits, and cheese,
without taking out their purses. Payment was made only for the ale,
porter, or sherry which was drunk. This seemed "very American"
to Passepartout. The hotel refreshment-rooms were comfortable,
and Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing themselves at a table,
were abundantly served on diminutive plates by negroes of darkest hue.

After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for
the English consulate to have his passport visaed. As he was
going out, he met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not be well,
before taking the train, to purchase some dozens of Enfield rifles
and Colt's revolvers. He had been listening to stories of attacks
upon the trains by the Sioux and Pawnees. Mr. Fogg thought it
a useless precaution, but told him to do as he thought best,
and went on to the consulate.

He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, "by the
greatest chance in the world," he met Fix. The detective seemed
wholly taken by surprise. What! Had Mr. Fogg and himself
crossed the Pacific together, and not met on the steamer!
At least Fix felt honoured to behold once more the gentleman
to whom he owed so much, and, as his business recalled him to Europe,
he should be delighted to continue the journey in such pleasant company.

Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the detective--
who was determined not to lose sight of him--begged permission
to accompany them in their walk about San Francisco--a request
which Mr. Fogg readily granted.

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great
crowd was collected; the side-walks, street, horsecar rails,
the shop-doors, the windows of the houses, and even the roofs,
were full of people. Men were going about carrying large posters,
and flags and streamers were floating in the wind; while loud cries
were heard on every hand.

"Hurrah for Camerfield!"

"Hurrah for Mandiboy!"

It was a political meeting; at least so Fix conjectured, who said to Mr. Fogg,
"Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd. There may be danger in it."

"Yes," returned Mr. Fogg; "and blows, even if they are political
are still blows."

Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see without
being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a flight
of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street. Opposite them,
on the other side of the street, between a coal wharf and a petroleum warehouse,
a large platform had been erected in the open air, towards which the current
of the crowd seemed to be directed.

For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of this
excited assemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was it to nominate
some high official--a governor or member of Congress? It was not improbable,
so agitated was the multitude before them.

Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass.
All the hands were raised in the air. Some, tightly closed,
seemed to disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries--an energetic way,
no doubt, of casting a vote. The crowd swayed back, the banners and flags
wavered, disappeared an instant, then reappeared in tatters.
The undulations of the human surge reached the steps,
while all the heads floundered on the surface like a sea
agitated by a squall. Many of the black hats disappeared,
and the greater part of the crowd seemed to have diminished in height.



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