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[The Blog of Phileas Fogg: 1883 onwards] September 28th 1884

From: Harry Hayfield <harryhayfield~at~googlemail.com>
Date: Fri, 10 Jul 2009 12:22:03 -0700 (PDT)
To: jvf~at~gilead.org.il

We were all woken up this morning at just after seven o'clock by a very
loud rumbling. Passepartout dashed in and declared it was an earthquake
(which I quickly dismissed stating that Florida wasn't on an fault line
and as such didn't have them). It was William who solved the mystery by
coming in and saying "Since when were tractors that big?"

A quick dress later and we were standing on the main road that led to
the centre of Stones Hill watching the biggest tractor I have ever seen
and behind it, it was pulling what to all intents and purposes looked
like a very large bullet all decked in American flags and followed by
Mr. Barbicane with a big smile on his face. When I asked what the
object was, he said "Follow me" and that's precisely what we did




As we walked up the road following this object, I made some
measurements using this box of tricks and everything seemed to check
out that this was a very large bullet. It then asked if I wanted to see
inside. Looking around cautiously, I consented and the following image
appeared on the page



Well, you can imagine my suprise when I saw what was in it and so
quickened my pace slightly and asked Mr. Barbicane to confirm what I
had seeen.

"What's inside?" he asked, "Well, at this precise moment my assistant,
my pet dog and some general odds and ends, but don't worry, they're
just for show. Once we get to the centre of town, they'll get out and
I'll show you around!"

After what seemed like an eon we arrived at the centre of town where a
sheet had been covered over something. Mr. Barbicane (in a outlandish
demonstration of swordplay) cut the ropes holding the sheet and it
revealed a very large hole. I peered in and noticed it was very deep
and very dark. Mr. Barbicane noted this and asked if I fancied having a
look.

A basket of honor took us all down and my word, if you thought that
South Carolina was hot, that had nothing on this! We nearly suffocated
but once we got to the bottom I had to admit the Americans had
certainly done justice to this project. A table had been laid with six
covers on the massive stone which formed the bottom of the Columbiad,
and lighted by a jet of electric light resembling that of day itself.

As we walked around several exquisite dishes, which seemed to descend
from heaven,
were placed successively before the guests, and the richest wines of
France flowed in profusion during this splendid repast, served nine
hundred feet beneath the surface of the earth (which put a smile of
Passepartout's face!)

After that, we were all dragged up and formally introduced to the
Columbiad (which Mr. Barbicane had mentioned in passing) and that's
when it dawned on me. "It's the bullet!" I declared and Mr. Barbicane
laughed. "The Limey finally gets it!" he bellowed and slapped me on the
back (something I am wishing he won't do everything I make a statement)

We were then invited to take part in a father-son baseball match. I
said that I wasn't familar with the game but William said that he'd
picked up the basics whilst staying with that family in San Francisco
and that basically it was bascially rounders. I was therefore put in
charge of the father's team and William was put in charge of the sons
team and William won the toss and elected to pitch, which put me in the
difficult position of batting first. Thankfully William allowed me to
have a few practice swings and feeling confident I nodded to the umpire
who announced "PLAY BALL!" in a voice so loud that I had to fiddle my
ears slightly.

Which might explain why I missed the first ball completely (to which a
shout of "Strike!" was issued), I managed to hit the second ball and
was about to start running when the umpire shouted "Foul Ball!". I
later discovered this was because I had hit it out of play. I managed
to miss the third ball (earning another strike) and so girded my loins
and decided to hit the next one with all my muster which caused the
ball to sailing into the air.

"RUN" shouted William (as the rest of the city's children dashed after
it) but just as I got to first base (or plate as I believe it is
called) the umpire declared "HOME RUN!". I stopped and was bawled at by
Mr. Barbicane to carry on running. When I crossed home plate, Mr.
Barbicane explained that a home run means that the ball has been hit so
far that all the plates are considered to have been crossed and as such
the fathers now had a run on the board.

After two innings (involving a spectactular home run by Mr. Barbicane
and his son) the sons were leading by 3 runs to 2 and it was my turn to
pitch to William. "Remember what I told you" he said as he walked
towards home plate, "it's like bowling at cricket!". Well, that piece
of information helped me and I unleashed two deliveries that would have
made Wisden himself applaud (generating two strikes). Barbicane then
shouted "Get him out and then we have a chance to win!" so I did the
same again, and had to duck very quickly as William returned the ball
straight at me. William ran and one of the engineers caught the ball
and threw it to first base, just as William slid. We looked to the
umpire who declared "You're OUT!" thus ending the son's team and with
the father's needing two runs to win. However, the first two batsmen up
were both caught out and when Barbicane stepped up I could tell he was
in a foul temper. He missed the first two balls but hit the third like
a shot. Quite forgetting myself (and noting that it was heading for
William) I shouted "Catch it!" which he did but not before Barbicane
had reached first base and then it was my turn to bat. "Hit another
Homer!" shouted Barbicane as the pitcher made his delivery and
amazingly I did. The ball went sailing into the air and both myself and
Barbicane started to run. However, I had hit it straight at the
Columbiad and the ball pinged off the top of it and landed squarely in
William's hands therefore catching me out but allowing Barbicane to
complete the run, making the final score three runs apiece.

"An honourable draw" I said to William.

"An honourable draw!" he replied

--
Posted By Harry Hayfield to The Blog of Phileas Fogg: 1883 onwards on
7/10/2009 08:09:00 PM

Received on Fri 10 Jul 2009 - 22:22:12 IDT

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