The Carnatic left Hong Kong at half past six on November 7 and headed at full speed toward Japan.
The ship was crowded with passengers and carried a large cargo. But two cabins at the back of the ship were empty—the cabins that Phileas Fogg had reserved.
The next morning, one of the passengers appeared on deck looking terrible. His eyes were half closed, his hair was a mess, and he could barely walk.
It was Passepartout.
Here was what had happened.
After Fix left the opium den, two servants had carried the unconscious Passepartout to a bed reserved for smokers.
Three hours later, Passepartout suddenly woke up. Even while he was still half drunk, one thought kept running through his mind.
The Carnatic!
He fought against the effects of the drug and staggered out of the opium den.
He could barely stand. He held on to the walls, fell several times, crawled back up, and continued toward the harbor.
“The Carnatic! The Carnatic!” he kept shouting.
The steamer was already beside the quay and preparing to leave.
Passepartout only had a short distance to go.
He rushed across the gangplank and collapsed unconscious on the deck just as the ship began to move.
Several sailors, clearly familiar with drunken passengers, carried him down to the second cabin.
Passepartout did not wake again until the ship was about 150 miles from China.
The next morning, he finally opened his eyes on the deck of the Carnatic. The fresh sea air felt wonderful.
The clean breeze slowly cleared his head.
He began trying to remember what had happened.
“Good heavens,” he muttered. “I must have been horribly drunk!”
He rubbed his forehead.
“What will Mr. Fogg say?”
Then he suddenly smiled.
“At least I didn’t miss the ship. That is the most important thing.”
Then he remembered Fix.
“That rascal! I hope we’ve seen the last of him. He surely didn’t dare come aboard the Carnatic after all.”
“A detective following Mr. Fogg around the world because he thinks he robbed the Bank of England! Nonsense! Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am a murderer.”
Passepartout then wondered whether he should tell his master what Fix had confessed.
“Should I tell Mr. Fogg everything?”
He thought about it.
“Perhaps I should wait until we get back to London. Then I can tell him that a police detective followed us around the world—and we can have a good laugh about it.”
For now, his first job was to find Mr. Fogg and apologize for his strange behavior.
Passepartout stood up and carefully made his way toward the rear of the ship.
He looked around.
There was no sign of Mr. Fogg.
There was no sign of Aouda either.
“Good,” he murmured. “Aouda is probably still asleep. And Mr. Fogg has probably found someone to play whist with.”
He went down to the saloon.
Mr. Fogg was not there.
Passepartout approached the purser.
“Excuse me. What is Mr. Fogg’s cabin number?”
The purser looked puzzled.
“I don’t know any passenger named Fogg.”
Passepartout stared at him.
“Surely you must know him. He’s a tall gentleman, very quiet, and he doesn’t talk much. He is traveling with a young lady.”
“There is no young lady aboard,” the purser interrupted. “Here is the passenger list. You can check it yourself.”
Passepartout quickly scanned the list.
The name Fogg was nowhere to be found.
Suddenly, a terrible thought struck him.
“Wait a minute. Am I really on the Carnatic?”
“Yes.”
“Going to Yokohama?”
“Of course.”
Passepartout had briefly feared that he was on the wrong ship.
But he was on the Carnatic.
His master was not.
He collapsed onto a seat.
Now everything was clear.
He remembered that the sailing time had been changed.
He was supposed to tell Mr. Fogg.
But he had never done it.
“It’s my fault!” he cried.
“Mr. Fogg and Aouda must have missed the ship because of me.”
Then he clenched his fists.
“No! It’s even more Fix’s fault!”
He finally understood the detective’s trick.
“Fix got me drunk on purpose so that I would be separated from my master. He wanted to keep Mr. Fogg in Hong Kong!”
Passepartout grabbed his hair.
“Mr. Fogg is finished! He’ll lose his bet!”
“And I may end up in prison!”
His anger turned toward Fix.
“If that scoundrel ever comes within reach of me, I’ll settle the matter with him!”
After a while, however, Passepartout calmed down and began thinking practically.
His situation was certainly unpleasant.
He was now sailing toward Japan.
But what could he possibly do once he arrived?
He checked his pockets.
Nothing.
Not a single shilling.
Not even a penny.
Fortunately, his passage had already been paid for.
That gave him five or six days to figure out what to do.
At mealtime, however, Passepartout had no trouble deciding what to do.
He ate.
And he ate a lot.
He ate as if he were eating for three people—himself, Mr. Fogg, and Aouda.
He helped himself generously to everything on the table, as though Japan were a desert where food might never be found again.
At dawn on November 13, the Carnatic entered the port of Yokohama.
Yokohama was an important Pacific port. Mail ships and passenger ships traveling between North America, China, Japan, and the islands of the East regularly stopped there.
The city stood on the Bay of Yeddo, not far from the Japanese capital.
The Carnatic anchored near the customs house, surrounded by ships flying flags from many different countries.
Passepartout stepped ashore cautiously.
He had no money and no idea what to do.
So he decided to let luck guide him.
He wandered through the streets of Yokohama.
At first, he found himself in the European district.
The buildings had low fronts and pleasant verandas. The streets were filled with Americans, Englishmen, Chinese, Dutchmen, and merchants from many other places.
Everyone seemed busy buying or selling something.
Passepartout looked around.
“I feel completely alone here,” he thought.
He had one possible solution.
He could ask the French or English consul for help.
But he did not want to explain his entire story. His own adventure was closely connected with Mr. Fogg’s, and he was ashamed of what had happened.
So he decided to try everything else first.
He left the European district and entered the Japanese quarter.
If necessary, he would even continue on to Yeddo.
The Japanese district of Yokohama was called Benten, after the goddess of the sea.
Passepartout found himself surrounded by sights he had never seen before.
There were beautiful groves of fir and cedar trees.
There were strange sacred gates, elegant bridges hidden among bamboo and reeds, and temples shaded by enormous cedars.
There were Buddhist priests and followers of Confucius.
And everywhere he saw children.
Hundreds of them.
They had rosy cheeks and bright faces, almost as if they had stepped out of Japanese paintings.
They played in the streets with little dogs and yellowish cats.
The streets were packed with people.
Priests passed by in processions, beating slow, gloomy drums.
Police officers and customs officials walked around in pointed, lacquered hats, with two swords hanging from their belts.
Soldiers wore blue cotton uniforms with white stripes and carried guns.
Guards of the emperor appeared in elaborate silk armor and coats of mail.
Military men of every rank moved through the streets.
Passepartout noticed how highly respected soldiers were in Japan.
“This is very different from China,” he thought.
He also saw begging monks, pilgrims in long robes, and ordinary Japanese citizens.
Their black hair was arranged in unusual styles. Their bodies were generally small, with large heads, long upper bodies, and slender legs.
Their skin ranged from copper-colored to almost white.
They looked very different from the Chinese.
Passepartout was fascinated by the strange vehicles everywhere.
There were carriages, palanquins, carts with sails, and bamboo litters.
Then he noticed the Japanese women.
He did not find them especially beautiful.
They walked with tiny steps because of their small feet and wore cloth shoes, straw sandals, or wooden clogs.
Their eyes looked narrow, their chests were flat, and many had deliberately blackened teeth.
Their colorful robes were crossed with silk scarves and tied in large knots at the back.
Passepartout wandered through this strange and colorful world for several hours.
He looked through the windows of expensive shops.
He admired jewelry stores filled with unusual Japanese ornaments.
He passed restaurants decorated with flags and banners.
He saw tea houses where people drank tea with sake, a drink made from fermented rice.
He also found smoking houses.
But unlike China, where opium was common, the Japanese smoked a fine, stringy tobacco.
Passepartout continued walking until the streets gave way to open countryside.
Soon he was surrounded by enormous rice fields.
He saw beautiful camellias covered in flowers.
In Japan, these flowers grew on trees rather than small bushes.
There were also bamboo fences and trees grown mainly for their blossoms—cherry trees, plum trees, and apple trees.
Strange-looking scarecrows stood among them to frighten away sparrows, pigeons, crows, and other hungry birds.
Large eagles sat on cedar branches.
Herons stood perfectly still on one leg among the weeping willows.
Crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and cranes were everywhere.
The Japanese considered cranes sacred because they represented long life and prosperity.
As Passepartout walked along, he noticed some violets growing beside the road.
“Excellent!” he said. “I’ll have these for dinner.”
He picked them up and smelled them.
There was no scent at all.
He sighed.
“Nothing to eat here.”
He had wisely eaten a huge breakfast before leaving the Carnatic.
But after walking all day, his hunger was becoming impossible to ignore.
He passed several butcher shops.
There was no mutton.
No goat.
No pork.
Passepartout knew that cattle were considered sacred and were generally kept for farming rather than slaughter.
“So meat isn’t easy to find here,” he thought.
He would have been happy with wild boar, deer, partridge, quail, fish—anything at all.
But the Japanese ate mainly fish and rice, along with other foods that were unfamiliar to him.
Passepartout had no choice.
He would have to wait until the next morning.
Night finally arrived.
Passepartout returned to the native quarter.
The streets were now glowing with lanterns of many colors.
He watched dancers performing graceful steps and energetic jumps.
Astrologers stood outside with their telescopes, studying the night sky.
Eventually, Passepartout reached the harbor.
The fishermen were still working, their boats lit by bright resin torches as they searched the water for fish.
As the night grew later, the streets became quieter.
Patrols began moving through the city.
The officers wore such splendid uniforms and were surrounded by so many attendants that Passepartout thought they looked like foreign ambassadors.
Every time another group passed him, he laughed to himself.
“Wonderful! Another Japanese embassy setting off for Europe!”