by Jules Vernes
‘Indeed I did! However, the person you see before you now is not Mrs Melvil, but the chief clerk of the New York merchant and shipowner Henry Melvil, on her way to Albany to supervise the arrival of a shipment of goods. That must be too much for you to understand, living as you do in the over-civilised countries of the Old World! Since my husband couldn’t leave New York this morning, I’m taking his place. And you can be sure that the books will be just as well kept and the calculations every bit as exact.’
‘I’ve decided not to let anything surprise me any more!’ I exclaimed. ‘But if such a thing were to happen in France, if wives carried on their husbands’ business, husbands would soon be doing their wives’ business, playing the piano, cutting flowers, embroidering suspenders.’
Mrs Melvil laughed. ‘You’re not very flattering to your fellow countrymen.’
‘On the contrary! I’m assuming that their wives embroider their suspenders for them.’
The bell rang for the third time. The last passengers rushed onto the deck of the Kentucky, amid the shouts of the sailors, who were picking up long gaffs to push the ship off from the dock.
I offered Mrs Melvil my arm and took her a little farther astern, where the crowd was less dense.
‘I’ve given you some letters of recommendation for Albany,’ she began.
‘So you have. And for the thousandth time, I thank you for them.’
‘Not at all. They’re of no use to you now anyway, since they’re addressed to my father, and I’m on my way to see him now. Please allow me to introduce you personally and to offer you hospitality on his behalf.’
‘I see I was right in trusting to luck to make my journey a charming one. And yet we both came close to not leaving at all.’
‘Why do you say that?’
‘There was one passenger, a man as eccentric as only the English could be before the discovery of America, who wanted to reserve the Kentucky exclusively for himself.’
‘Does he come from the East Indies, then, with a retinue of elephants and dancing girls?’
‘Good heavens, no! I heard the argument that took place when the captain refused his request, and I saw no elephants taking part in the conversation. He’s an odd individual, but he struck me as just a very jovial stout man who likes to have his own way. But look! There he is now. I recognise him. Do you see that man running up onto the dock, waving his arms around and shouting? He’s going to delay us again, just when the boat is getting under way.’
A man of average height, with an enormous head adorned by bushy, flaming red sideburns, and wearing a long double-collared frock coat and a broad-brimmed cowboy hat, puffed and panted his way onto the dock, just as the gang-plank had been taken down. He was gesticulating, stamping his feet, and shouting, completely oblivious to the laughter of the crowd that had gathered around him.
‘Ahoy! Kentucky! Damn it to hell! I’ve booked my passage and paid my fare and still I’m being left behind! Damn it to hell, Captain, I’ll hold you responsible before the High Judge and all his court.’
‘If people are late, that’s their tough luck!’ shouted the captain, climbing up onto one of the paddle-boxes. ‘We’ve got a deadline to meet, and the tide is starting to ebb.’
‘Damn it to hell!’ bellowed the stout man again. ‘I’ll sue you for a hundred thousand dollars at least. Bobby,’ he shouted, turning to one of the blacks who were with him, ‘look after the baggage and run back to the hotel, while Dacopa gets a boat going to catch up with that damned Kentucky.’
‘You’re wasting your time,’ cried the captain, and he gave the order to cast off the last hawser.
‘Get a move on, Dacopa!’ said the stout man, to encourage his black servant.
Dacopa seized the rope just as the steamboat was dragging it past, and deftly slipped the end of it through one of the rings attached to the dock. At the same time, the persistent traveller jumped into a rowboat, to the applause of the bystanders, and, with a few strokes of the scull, drew abreast of the Kentucky’s boarding ladder. He leaped onto the deck, rushed up to the captain, and started shouting at him with the noise of ten men and the speed of twenty fishwives. The captain, unable to get a word in edgewise, and seeing that the traveller appeared to be possessed, decided not to worry about him. He picked up his megaphone and headed towards the engine. He was about to give the signal to leave when the stout man turned on him and shouted, ‘Damn it to hell! What about my luggage?’
‘Well, what about your luggage?’ retorted the captain. ‘Could that by any chance be it that I see coming now?’
Murmurs of protest arose from the passengers, irritated by this new delay.
‘Why are you all blaming me?’ demanded the newcomer, still undaunted. ‘Am I not a free citizen of the United States of America? My name is Augustus Hopkins, and if that doesn’t mean anything to you ...’
I have no idea whether this name carried any weight with most of the passengers, but in any case, the captain of the Kentucky was obliged to tie up again and take on the luggage of Augustus Hopkins, free citizen of the United States of America.
‘I must admit,’ I remarked to Mrs Melvil, ‘that is certainly no ordinary man.’
‘But not as extraordinary as his luggage,’ she replied, pointing to two carts that were approaching the dock, carrying two huge packing cases twenty feet high, wrapped in oilcloth and tied up with a formidable network of cords and knots. The top and bottom were clearly identified in red letters, and the word ‘fragile’, in characters a foot high, struck terror for a hundred yards around into the heart of everyone who was responsible for them in any way. Despite the grumbling occasioned by the appearance of these enormous bundles, Mr Hopkins used his hands, his feet, his head, and his lungs to such good effect that eventually, after much effort and considerable delay, they were deposited on the deck. At last the Kentucky was able to cast off, and she headed up the Hudson among the many different kinds of vessels that were plying its waters.
Augustus Hopkins’s two black servants had taken up their positions near their master’s packing cases, which were the object of intense curiosity on the part of the passengers. Most of them were crowding around, giving free rein to every weird fantasy that a foreigner’s imagination is capable of. Even Mrs Melvil seemed totally engrossed. I, on the other hand, as a true Frenchman, did my best to feign complete indifference.
‘What a strange man you are!’ said Mrs Melvil. ‘You’re not the least bit concerned about what may be in those huge structures. I’m consumed with curiosity.’
‘I must admit,’ I replied, ‘that all this holds very little interest for me. When I saw those two enormous objects arrive, I began making wild guesses as to what was in them. Perhaps there’s a five-storey house with all its occupants, I said to myself, or perhaps there’s nothing at all. Neither of these two bizarre extremes would surprise me very much. However, madam, if you wish, I’ll see what I can find out and I’ll let you know.’
‘Thank you,’ she replied, ‘and while you’re gone I’ll go over these invoices.’
I left my unusual travelling companion adding up figures with the speed of one of those Bank of New York cashiers who are said to be able to calculate the sum of a column of numbers at a single glance.
Still thinking about this singular business arrangement and about the double existence led by these charming American women, I made my way towards the man who had set every tongue wagging and on whom every eye was focused.
Although the forward part of the ship, and even the Hudson River itself, were completely hidden from view by the two packing cases, the helmsman steered the steamboat with absolute confidence and a complete lack of concern for obstacles. And yet, the obstacles must have been numerous, for no river in the world, not even the Thames, was ever travelled by more vessels than the rivers of the United States. At a time when France had no more than 12,000 or 13,000 ships and when England’s total had reached 40,000, the United States already had 60,000, including 2,000 steamships
plying the seven seas. These figures give some idea of the extent of commercial traffic, and also explain why accidents occur so frequently on American rivers.
It is true that these disasters, or collisions, or shipwrecks, Are of little importance in the eyes of the intrepid traders. In fact, they even create new business for the insurance companies, whose profits would be very small if their premiums were not so exorbitant. Pound for pound, and volume for volume, a man is of less value and importance in America than a sack of charcoal or a bale of coffee.
The Americans may be right, but I would have given all the coal mines and coffee plantations in the world for my little French demoiselle. As we sailed full steam ahead through the obstacle course. I had some misgivings as to how our journey would end.
Augustus Hopkins apparently did not share my fears. He must have been one of those people who would jump off the rails or sink rather than miss out on a business deal. In any case, he paid not the slightest attention to the beauty of the landscape along the banks of the Hudson, as they disappeared rapidly behind us. For him, the distance between New York, our point of departure, and Albany, our destination, meant eighteen hours of lost time and nothing more. The delightful resorts on the bank, the villages clustered together in such a picturesque way, the wooded areas scattered here and there throughout the countryside like flowers tossed at the feet of a prima donna, the swift flow of the magnificent river, the first signs of spring – nothing could tear this man away from the speculations that preoccupied him. He paced back and forth from one end of the Kentucky to the other, muttering bits of sentences. Sometimes he would suddenly sit down on a bale of goods and pull from one of his many pockets a large, thick wallet, stuffed with a thousand pieces of paper. I even saw him take this collection of every kind of red tape known to commercial bureaucracy and spread it meticulously out on the deck. He thumbed anxiously through an enormous pile of correspondence, unfolded letters mailed from every country and stamped with the postmarks of every post office in the world, and pored over the closely written lines with a relentless determination that did not fail to attract attention.
I could see that it would be impossible to learn anything by speaking to this man. Several other curious passengers had tried in vain to strike up a conversation with the two blacks standing guard over the mysterious packing cases. The two sons of Africa maintained an absolute silence, quite out of keeping with their customary loquacity.
I was about to go back and give Mrs Melvil my personal impressions when I found myself in a group of passengers standing around the captain of the Kentucky, who was holding forth on the subject of Augustus Hopkins.
‘I tell you,’ he was saying, ‘this crack-pot keeps doing one stupid thing after another. This is the tenth time he’s travelled up the Hudson from New York to Albany, it’s the tenth time he’s managed to arrive late, and the tenth time he’s brought this kind of luggage with him. Where does it all go? I don’t know. The rumour is that Mr Hopkins is setting up some big enterprise near Albany and that people from all over the world are shipping merchandise to him without identifying it.’
‘He must be one of the principal agents of the East India Company,’ said one of the bystanders, ‘and he’s coming here to open an office in America.’
‘He’s more likely a millionaire who owns some goldfields in California,’ said another. ‘There must be some equipment involved ...’
‘Or maybe there’s something up for tender that we can bid on,’ suggested a third. ‘The New York Herald has been hinting at that these past few days.’
‘Pretty soon,’ interjected a fourth, ‘we’ll see shares offered for sale in a new company with a capital of five million dollars. I’ll be the first in. I’ll buy a hundred shares at 1,000 dollars each.’
‘Why should you be the first?’ someone else interrupted.
‘Maybe you’ve already been promised something in this deal. I’m ready to put up the money for 200 shares, and more if I have to.’
‘That’s if there are any left to buy after I’m finished,’ shouted someone on the far side of the crowd, whose face I could not make out. ‘What we’re talking about here is obviously a plan to build a railroad from Albany to San Francisco, and the banker who got the contract to build it is my best friend.’
‘A railroad! What are you talking about? This Mr Hopkins is going to lay an electric cable across Lake Ontario, and these big packing cases contain miles and miles of insulated wire.’
‘Across Lake Ontario? That will bring in a fortune,’ exclaimed several traders who had all caught the speculation fever. ‘Mr Hopkins will have to tell us what kind of business he’s in. I’m buying the first shares!...’
‘For me, Mr Hopkins, please!’
‘No, for me!’
‘No, for me! I’ll pay you a 1,000-dollar bonus!...’
The offers and replies flew back and forth as the confusion increased. Although gambling on the stock market holds no fascination for me, I followed the group of speculators as they made their way towards the hero of the Kentucky. Hopkins was soon surrounded by a tightly packed crowd, on whom he did not even deign to cast a glance. Long rows of figures, and numbers followed by impressive series of zeroes, were spreading across his vast wallet. Arithmetical calculations – addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division – flowed from his pencil. The millions streamed like a torrent from his lips. He seemed to be in the grip of a mathematical frenzy. Silence fell around him, despite the storms created in every American’s brain by an obsession with business.
After an operation of tremendous proportions, during which he broke his pencil three times, Mr Augustus Hopkins succeeded in tracing out a majestic figure 1, which commanded an army of eight magnificent zeroes. Finally, he pronounced these three ritual words:
‘One hundred million!’
He quickly folded his papers, stuffed them back into his impressive wallet, and pulled from his pocket a watch adorned with a double row of fine pearls.
‘Nine o’clock! It’s nine o’clock already!’ he shouted. ‘Is this damned boat not moving at all? The captain! Where’s the captain?’
With this, Hopkins abruptly pushed his way through the three rows of people surrounding him. His glance fell on the captain, who was leaning over the engine room hatchway, giving orders to the engineer.
‘You know, Captain,’ he said pompously, ‘a ten-minute delay could cost me an important business deal.’
‘Who are you talking to about delay?’ retorted the captain, taken aback by this criticism. ‘You were the one responsible for it.’
‘If you hadn’t been so stubborn as to leave me behind,’ replied Hopkins, his voice rising in pitch, ‘you wouldn’t have wasted valuable time – especially valuable at this time of year.’
‘And if you and your packing cases had managed to get here on time,’ the captain shot back in an irritated voice, ‘we could have left on the rising tide, and we’d be a good three miles farther on than we are now.’
‘That’s no concern of mine. I’ve got to be at the Washington Hotel in Albany before midnight. If it’s any later, I might as well not have left New York at all. I’m warning you! If that happens, I’ll sue you and your company for damages.’
‘Just leave me alone!’ shouted the captain, who was beginning to lose his temper.
‘I certainly will not, not as long as you’re so spineless and cheap with your fuel that you could make me lose a fortune ten times over. Come on, stokers, let’s have four or five good shovelfuls of coal in your furnaces. And you there, engineer, just keep your foot on the safety valve of your boiler until we make up the time we’ve lost.’
He took out a purse with a few shiny dollars in it and tossed it down into the engine room.
The captain flew into a violent rage, but his fanatical passenger bellowed even louder and longer than he did. I thought it best to hurry away from the scene of battle, for I knew that Hopkins’s advice to the engineer, to make the ship go faster by hold
ing down the safety valve and increasing the steam pressure, could very well cause the boiler to explode.
Needless to say, our travelling companions considered the advice very sound, and so I decided not to mention it to Mrs Melvil. She would have laughed until she cried at my groundless fears.
When I rejoined her, she had finished her lengthy calculations, and the cares of business no longer furrowed her charming brow.
‘You took leave of a businesswoman,’ she said, ‘and now you return to find a woman of the world, ready to listen to whatever you care to talk about – art, sentiment, poetry ..."
‘How can I talk about art, or dreams, or poetry, after what I’ve just seen and heard? I’ve caught the mercantile spirit, and all I can hear now is the jingling of dollars. I’m blinded by their glittering brilliance. To me, this beautiful river is now simply a route for moving merchandise. Its charming banks are just a highway for transporting goods. Those pretty little towns are nothing but a series of stores for selling sugar and cotton. I’m seriously thinking of building a dam across the Hudson and using the water to turn a coffee mill.’
‘Well now, except for the coffee mill, that’s not a bad idea!’
‘And why, may I ask, should I not have ideas, just like anyone else?’
Mrs Melvil laughed. ‘So you’ve really been bitten by the industry bug, have you?’
‘Listen, and judge for yourself.’
I told her about everything I had seen that day. She listened attentively to my account, as any intelligent American would have done, and then began to ponder over it. A Parisian woman would not have let me tell the half of it.
‘Well, madam, what do you think of this Hopkins?’
‘He could be an investment genius starting up a huge enterprise, or he could be nothing but a bear trainer from the latest Baltimore fair.’