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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 103 ***</div>
<div class="fig" style="width:55%;">
<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" />
</div>
<h1>Around the World in Eighty Days</h1>
<h2 class="no-break">by Jules Verne</h2>
<hr />
<h2>Contents</h2>
<table summary="" style="">
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER, THE ONE AS MASTER, THE OTHER AS MAN</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST PHILEAS FOGG DEAR</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. IN WHICH A NEW SPECIES OF FUNDS, UNKNOWN TO THE MONEYED MEN, APPEARS ON ’CHANGE</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, BETRAYS A VERY NATURAL IMPATIENCE</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS AS AIDS TO DETECTIVES</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TALKS RATHER MORE, PERHAPS, THAN IS PRUDENT</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS TO THE DESIGNS OF PHILEAS FOGG</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET OFF WITH THE LOSS OF HIS SHOES</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SECURES A CURIOUS MEANS OF CONVEYANCE AT A FABULOUS PRICE</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS VENTURE ACROSS THE INDIAN FORESTS, AND WHAT ENSUED</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT RECEIVES A NEW PROOF THAT FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL VALLEY OF THE GANGES WITHOUT EVER THINKING OF SEEING IT</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. IN WHICH THE BAG OF BANKNOTES DISGORGES SOME THOUSANDS OF POUNDS MORE</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. IN WHICH FIX DOES NOT SEEM TO UNDERSTAND IN THE LEAST WHAT IS SAID TO HIM</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. SHOWING WHAT HAPPENED ON THE VOYAGE FROM SINGAPORE TO HONG KONG</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG, PASSEPARTOUT, AND FIX GO EACH ABOUT HIS BUSINESS</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TAKES A TOO GREAT INTEREST IN HIS MASTER, AND WHAT COMES OF IT</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. IN WHICH FIX COMES FACE TO FACE WITH PHILEAS FOGG</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE “TANKADERE” RUNS GREAT RISK OF LOSING A REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE’S POCKET</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT’S NOSE BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. DURING WHICH MR. FOGG AND PARTY CROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. IN WHICH A SLIGHT GLIMPSE IS HAD OF SAN FRANCISCO</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PARTY TRAVEL BY THE PACIFIC RAILROAD</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT UNDERGOES, AT A SPEED OF TWENTY MILES AN HOUR, A COURSE OF MORMON HISTORY</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII. IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT DOES NOT SUCCEED IN MAKING ANYBODY LISTEN TO REASON</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX. IN WHICH CERTAIN INCIDENTS ARE NARRATED WHICH ARE ONLY TO BE MET WITH ON AMERICAN RAILROADS</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SIMPLY DOES HIS DUTY</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI. IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, CONSIDERABLY FURTHERS THE INTERESTS OF PHILEAS FOGG</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ENGAGES IN A DIRECT STRUGGLE WITH BAD FORTUNE</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SHOWS HIMSELF EQUAL TO THE OCCASION</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AT LAST REACHES LONDON</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI. IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG’S NAME IS ONCE MORE AT A PREMIUM ON ’CHANGE</a></td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td> <a href="#chap37">CHAPTER XXXVII. IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT PHILEAS FOGG GAINED NOTHING BY HIS TOUR AROUND THE WORLD, UNLESS IT WERE HAPPINESS</a></td>
</tr>
</table>
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER, THE ONE AS MASTER,
THE OTHER AS MAN</h2>
<p>
Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington Gardens, the
house in which Sheridan died in 1814. He was one of the most noticeable members
of the Reform Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention; an
enigmatical personage, about whom little was known, except that he was a
polished man of the world. People said that he resembled Byron—at least
that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live
on a thousand years without growing old.
</p>
<p>
Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg was a
Londoner. He was never seen on ’Change, nor at the Bank, nor in the
counting-rooms of the “City”; no ships ever came into London docks
of which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been
entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln’s
Inn, or Gray’s Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of
Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen’s Bench, or the
Ecclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he a
merchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the scientific and
learned societies, and he never was known to take part in the sage
deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London Institution, the
Artisan’s Association, or the Institution of Arts and Sciences. He
belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the English
capital, from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly for the
purpose of abolishing pernicious insects.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all.
</p>
<p>
The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple enough.
</p>
<p>
He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit. His cheques
were regularly paid at sight from his account current, which was always flush.
</p>
<p>
Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could not
imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last person to whom
to apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary,
avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, or
benevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was,
in short, the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed all
the more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite open
to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing that he had
always done before, that the wits of the curious were fairly puzzled.
</p>
<p>
Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world more
familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to have an
intimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear words, the
thousand conjectures advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of
travellers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with
a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions. He must
have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit.
</p>
<p>
It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself from London
for many years. Those who were honoured by a better acquaintance with him than
the rest, declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhere
else. His sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist. He often won
at this game, which, as a silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his
winnings never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities.
Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his
eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless, unwearying
struggle, congenial to his tastes.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which may happen to
the most honest people; either relatives or near friends, which is certainly
more unusual. He lived alone in his house in Saville Row, whither none
penetrated. A single domestic sufficed to serve him. He breakfasted and dined
at the club, at hours mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same
table, never taking his meals with other members, much less bringing a guest
with him; and went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed. He
never used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured
members. He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row, either in
sleeping or making his toilet. When he chose to take a walk it was with a
regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic flooring, or in the circular
gallery with its dome supported by twenty red porphyry Ionic columns, and
illumined by blue painted windows. When he breakfasted or dined all the
resources of the club—its kitchens and pantries, its buttery and
dairy—aided to crowd his table with their most succulent stores; he was
served by the gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles,
who proffered the viands in special porcelain, and on the finest linen; club
decanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his port, and his
cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were refreshingly cooled with ice,
brought at great cost from the American lakes.
</p>
<p>
If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed that there is
something good in eccentricity.
</p>
<p>
The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly comfortable.
The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but little from the sole
domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be almost superhumanly prompt and
regular. On this very 2nd of October he had dismissed James Forster, because
that luckless youth had brought him shaving-water at eighty-four degrees
Fahrenheit instead of eighty-six; and he was awaiting his successor, who was
due at the house between eleven and half-past.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close together like
those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his knees, his body
straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a complicated clock which
indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the days, the months, and the
years. At exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would, according to his daily
habit, quit Saville Row, and repair to the Reform.
</p>
<p>
A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where Phileas
Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant, appeared.
</p>
<p>
“The new servant,” said he.
</p>
<p>
A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.
</p>
<p>
“You are a Frenchman, I believe,” asked Phileas Fogg, “and
your name is John?”
</p>
<p>
“Jean, if monsieur pleases,” replied the newcomer, “Jean
Passepartout, a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness
for going out of one business into another. I believe I’m honest,
monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I’ve had several trades. I’ve been
an itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard, and
dance on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of gymnastics, so as
to make better use of my talents; and then I was a sergeant fireman at Paris,
and assisted at many a big fire. But I quitted France five years ago, and,
wishing to taste the sweets of domestic life, took service as a valet here in
England. Finding myself out of place, and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg
was the most exact and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to
monsieur in the hope of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even
the name of Passepartout.”
</p>
<p>
“Passepartout suits me,” responded Mr. Fogg. “You are well
recommended to me; I hear a good report of you. You know my conditions?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, monsieur.”
</p>
<p>
“Good! What time is it?”
</p>
<p>
“Twenty-two minutes after eleven,” returned Passepartout, drawing
an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.
</p>
<p>
“You are too slow,” said Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible—”
</p>
<p>
“You are four minutes too slow. No matter; it’s enough to mention
the error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m., this
Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service.”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head with an
automatic motion, and went off without a word.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new master going out.
He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, James Forster, departing in his
turn. Passepartout remained alone in the house in Saville Row.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS CONVINCED THAT HE HAS AT LAST FOUND HIS IDEAL </h2>
<p>
“Faith,” muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried,
“I’ve seen people at Madame Tussaud’s as lively as my new
master!”
</p>
<p>
Madame Tussaud’s “people,” let it be said, are of wax, and
are much visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.
</p>
<p>
During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been carefully
observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty years of age, with fine,
handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; his hair and whiskers were
light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teeth
magnificent. His countenance possessed in the highest degree what
physiognomists call “repose in action,” a quality of those who act
rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a
perfect type of that English composure which Angelica Kauffmann has so
skilfully represented on canvas. Seen in the various phases of his daily life,
he gave the idea of being perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a
Leroy chronometer. Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this
was betrayed even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as
well as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions.
</p>
<p>
He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was
economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never took one step too many,
and always went to his destination by the shortest cut; he made no superfluous
gestures, and was never seen to be moved or agitated. He was the most
deliberate person in the world, yet always reached his destination at the exact
moment.
</p>
<p>
He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation; and as he
knew that in this world account must be taken of friction, and that friction
retards, he never rubbed against anybody.
</p>
<p>
As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he had abandoned
his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he had in vain searched
for a master after his own heart. Passepartout was by no means one of those
pert dunces depicted by Molière with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the
air; he was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding,
soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see
on the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund, his
figure almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his physical powers
fully developed by the exercises of his younger days. His brown hair was
somewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors are said to have known
eighteen methods of arranging Minerva’s tresses, Passepartout was
familiar with but one of dressing his own: three strokes of a large-tooth comb
completed his toilet.
</p>
<p>
It would be rash to predict how Passepartout’s lively nature would agree
with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the new servant would turn out
as absolutely methodical as his master required; experience alone could solve
the question. Passepartout had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and
now yearned for repose; but so far he had failed to find it, though he had
already served in ten English houses. But he could not take root in any of
these; with chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular,
constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure. His
last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after passing his
nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home in the morning on
policemen’s shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of respecting the gentleman
whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance on such conduct; which, being
ill-received, he took his leave. Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for
a servant, and that his life was one of unbroken regularity, that he neither
travelled nor stayed from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the
place he was after. He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.
</p>
<p>
At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the house in
Saville Row. He began its inspection without delay, scouring it from cellar to
garret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him
like a snail’s shell, lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both
these purposes. When Passepartout reached the second story he recognised at
once the room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it.
Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower
stories; while on the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in
Mr. Fogg’s bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant.
“That’s good, that’ll do,” said Passepartout to
himself.
</p>
<p>
He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon inspection,
proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house. It comprised all
that was required of the servant, from eight in the morning, exactly at which
hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past eleven, when he left the house for the
Reform Club—all the details of service, the tea and toast at twenty-three
minutes past eight, the shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and
the toilet at twenty minutes before ten. Everything was regulated and foreseen
that was to be done from half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour at which
the methodical gentleman retired.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg’s wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. Each pair
of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of year and
season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing; and the same
system was applied to the master’s shoes. In short, the house in Saville
Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder and unrest under the
illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness, comfort, and method
idealised. There was no study, nor were there books, which would have been
quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform two libraries, one of general
literature and the other of law and politics, were at his service. A
moderate-sized safe stood in his bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as
well as burglars; but Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons
anywhere; everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.
</p>
<p>
Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a broad
smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully, “This is just what I
wanted! Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I! What a domestic and
regular gentleman! A real machine; well, I don’t mind serving a
machine.”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/>
IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST PHILEAS FOGG
DEAR</h2>
<p>
Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven, and having
put his right foot before his left five hundred and seventy-five times, and his
left foot before his right five hundred and seventy-six times, reached the
Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall Mall, which could not have cost less
than three millions. He repaired at once to the dining-room, the nine windows
of which open upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with
an autumn colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover of
which had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted of a side-dish, a
broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef garnished with
mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel of Cheshire cheese, the
whole being washed down with several cups of tea, for which the Reform is
famous. He rose at thirteen minutes to one, and directed his steps towards the
large hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings. A
flunkey handed him an uncut <i>Times</i>, which he proceeded to cut with a
skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation. The perusal of
this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst the
<i>Standard</i>, his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner
passed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the reading-room and
sat down to the <i>Pall Mall</i> at twenty minutes before six. Half an hour
later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the fireplace, where
a coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg’s usual partners at
whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers;
Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank
of England—all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club
which comprises the princes of English trade and finance.
</p>
<p>
“Well, Ralph,” said Thomas Flanagan, “what about that
robbery?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh,” replied Stuart, “the Bank will lose the money.”
</p>
<p>
“On the contrary,” broke in Ralph, “I hope we may put our
hands on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal
ports of America and the Continent, and he’ll be a clever fellow if he
slips through their fingers.”
</p>
<p>
“But have you got the robber’s description?” asked Stuart.
</p>
<p>
“In the first place, he is no robber at all,” returned Ralph,
positively.
</p>
<p>
“What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no
robber?”
</p>
<p>
“No.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps he’s a manufacturer, then.”
</p>
<p>
“The <i>Daily Telegraph</i> says that he is a gentleman.”
</p>
<p>
It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers, who
made this remark. He bowed to his friends, and entered into the conversation.
The affair which formed its subject, and which was town talk, had occurred
three days before at the Bank of England. A package of banknotes, to the value
of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the principal
cashier’s table, that functionary being at the moment engaged in
registering the receipt of three shillings and sixpence. Of course, he could
not have his eyes everywhere. Let it be observed that the Bank of England
reposes a touching confidence in the honesty of the public. There are neither
guards nor gratings to protect its treasures; gold, silver, banknotes are
freely exposed, at the mercy of the first comer. A keen observer of English
customs relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the
curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds. He took
it up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the next man, and so
on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was transferred to the end of a
dark entry; nor did it return to its place for half an hour. Meanwhile, the
cashier had not so much as raised his head. But in the present instance things
had not gone so smoothly. The package of notes not being found when five
o’clock sounded from the ponderous clock in the “drawing
office,” the amount was passed to the account of profit and loss. As soon
as the robbery was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool,
Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the
proffered reward of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum that
might be recovered. Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching those
who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination was at once
entered upon.
</p>
<p>
There were real grounds for supposing, as the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> said, that
the thief did not belong to a professional band. On the day of the robbery a
well-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and with a well-to-do air, had been
observed going to and fro in the paying room where the crime was committed. A
description of him was easily procured and sent to the detectives; and some
hopeful spirits, of whom Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension.
The papers and clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were
discussing the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club was
especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.
</p>
<p>
Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely to be in
vain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly stimulate their zeal
and activity. But Stuart was far from sharing this confidence; and, as they
placed themselves at the whist-table, they continued to argue the matter.
Stuart and Flanagan played together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his
partner. As the game proceeded the conversation ceased, excepting between the
rubbers, when it revived again.
</p>
<p>
“I maintain,” said Stuart, “that the chances are in favour of
the thief, who must be a shrewd fellow.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, but where can he fly to?” asked Ralph. “No country is
safe for him.”
</p>
<p>
“Pshaw!”
</p>
<p>
“Where could he go, then?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I don’t know that. The world is big enough.”
</p>
<p>
“It was once,” said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. “Cut,
sir,” he added, handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.
</p>
<p>
The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up its thread.
</p>
<p>
“What do you mean by ‘once’? Has the world grown
smaller?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly,” returned Ralph. “I agree with Mr. Fogg. The
world has grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly
than a hundred years ago. And that is why the search for this thief will be
more likely to succeed.”
</p>
<p>
“And also why the thief can get away more easily.”
</p>
<p>
“Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart,” said Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand was finished,
said eagerly: “You have a strange way, Ralph, of proving that the world
has grown smaller. So, because you can go round it in three
months—”
</p>
<p>
“In eighty days,” interrupted Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“That is true, gentlemen,” added John Sullivan. “Only eighty
days, now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the Great Indian
Peninsula Railway, has been opened. Here is the estimate made by the <i>Daily
Telegraph:</i>—
</p>
<p class="letter">
From London to Suez <i>viâ</i> Mont Cenis and Brindisi, by rail and steamboats
................. 7 days<br/>
From Suez to Bombay, by steamer .................... 13 ”<br/>
From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail ................... 3 ”<br/>
From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer ............. 13 ”<br/>
From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer ..... 6 ”<br/>
From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer ......... 22 ”<br/>
From San Francisco to New York, by rail ............. 7 ”<br/>
From New York to London, by steamer and rail ........ 9 ”<br/>
-------<br/>
Total ............................................ 80 days.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, in eighty days!” exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement made
a false deal. “But that doesn’t take into account bad weather,
contrary winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so on.”
</p>
<p>
“All included,” returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite
the discussion.
</p>
<p>
“But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails,” replied
Stuart; “suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage-vans, and
scalp the passengers!”
</p>
<p>
“All included,” calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down the
cards, “Two trumps.”
</p>
<p>
Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on: “You
are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically—”
</p>
<p>
“Practically also, Mr. Stuart.”
</p>
<p>
“I’d like to see you do it in eighty days.”
</p>
<p>
“It depends on you. Shall we go?”
</p>
<p>
“Heaven preserve me! But I would wager four thousand pounds that such a
journey, made under these conditions, is impossible.”
</p>
<p>
“Quite possible, on the contrary,” returned Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Well, make it, then!”
</p>
<p>
“The journey round the world in eighty days?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“I should like nothing better.”
</p>
<p>
“When?”
</p>
<p>
“At once. Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense.”
</p>
<p>
“It’s absurd!” cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed
at the persistency of his friend. “Come, let’s go on with the
game.”
</p>
<p>
“Deal over again, then,” said Phileas Fogg. “There’s a
false deal.”
</p>
<p>
Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly put them down
again.
</p>
<p>
“Well, Mr. Fogg,” said he, “it shall be so: I will wager the
four thousand on it.”
</p>
<p>
“Calm yourself, my dear Stuart,” said Fallentin. “It’s
only a joke.”
</p>
<p>
“When I say I’ll wager,” returned Stuart, “I mean
it.”
</p>
<p>
“All right,” said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he
continued: “I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring’s which I
will willingly risk upon it.”
</p>
<p>
“Twenty thousand pounds!” cried Sullivan. “Twenty thousand
pounds, which you would lose by a single accidental delay!”
</p>
<p>
“The unforeseen does not exist,” quietly replied Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least possible
time in which the journey can be made.”
</p>
<p>
“A well-used minimum suffices for everything.”
</p>
<p>
“But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically from the
trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon the trains again.”
</p>
<p>
“I will jump—mathematically.”
</p>
<p>
“You are joking.”
</p>
<p>
“A true Englishman doesn’t joke when he is talking about so serious
a thing as a wager,” replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly. “I will bet
twenty thousand pounds against anyone who wishes that I will make the tour of
the world in eighty days or less; in nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or a
hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred minutes. Do you accept?”
</p>
<p>
“We accept,” replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan, Flanagan,
and Ralph, after consulting each other.
</p>
<p>
“Good,” said Mr. Fogg. “The train leaves for Dover at a
quarter before nine. I will take it.”
</p>
<p>
“This very evening?” asked Stuart.
</p>
<p>
“This very evening,” returned Phileas Fogg. He took out and
consulted a pocket almanac, and added, “As today is Wednesday, the 2nd of
October, I shall be due in London in this very room of the Reform Club, on
Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine p.m.; or else the
twenty thousand pounds, now deposited in my name at Baring’s, will belong
to you, in fact and in right, gentlemen. Here is a cheque for the
amount.”
</p>
<p>
A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by the six parties,
during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical composure. He certainly did not
bet to win, and had only staked the twenty thousand pounds, half of his
fortune, because he foresaw that he might have to expend the other half to
carry out this difficult, not to say unattainable, project. As for his
antagonists, they seemed much agitated; not so much by the value of their
stake, as because they had some scruples about betting under conditions so
difficult to their friend.
</p>
<p>
The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the game so that Mr.
Fogg might make his preparations for departure.
</p>
<p>
“I am quite ready now,” was his tranquil response. “Diamonds
are trumps: be so good as to play, gentlemen.”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT</h2>
<p>
Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends, Phileas
Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his duties, was
more than surprised to see his master guilty of the inexactness of appearing at
this unaccustomed hour; for, according to rule, he was not due in Saville Row
until precisely midnight.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg repaired to his bedroom, and called out, “Passepartout!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called; it was not the
right hour.
</p>
<p>
“Passepartout!” repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout made his appearance.
</p>
<p>
“I’ve called you twice,” observed his master.
</p>
<p>
“But it is not midnight,” responded the other, showing his watch.
</p>
<p>
“I know it; I don’t blame you. We start for Dover and Calais in ten
minutes.”
</p>
<p>
A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout’s round face; clearly he had not
comprehended his master.
</p>
<p>
“Monsieur is going to leave home?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” returned Phileas Fogg. “We are going round the
world.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up his hands, and
seemed about to collapse, so overcome was he with stupefied astonishment.
</p>
<p>
“Round the world!” he murmured.
</p>
<p>
“In eighty days,” responded Mr. Fogg. “So we haven’t a
moment to lose.”
</p>
<p>
“But the trunks?” gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his
head from right to left.
</p>
<p>
“We’ll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and three
pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We’ll buy our clothes on
the way. Bring down my mackintosh and traveling-cloak, and some stout shoes,
though we shall do little walking. Make haste!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out, mounted to his own
room, fell into a chair, and muttered: “That’s good, that is! And
I, who wanted to remain quiet!”
</p>
<p>
He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure. Around the
world in eighty days! Was his master a fool? No. Was this a joke, then? They
were going to Dover; good! To Calais; good again! After all, Passepartout, who
had been away from France five years, would not be sorry to set foot on his
native soil again. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would do his
eyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps
would stop there; no doubt—but, then, it was none the less true that he
was going away, this so domestic person hitherto!
</p>
<p>
By eight o’clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag,
containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still troubled in
mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and descended to Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed a red-bound
copy of Bradshaw’s Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide,
with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of steamers and railways.
He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of
England notes, which would pass wherever he might go.
</p>
<p>
“You have forgotten nothing?” asked he.
</p>
<p>
“Nothing, monsieur.”
</p>
<p>
“My mackintosh and cloak?”
</p>
<p>
“Here they are.”
</p>
<p>
“Good! Take this carpet-bag,” handing it to Passepartout.
“Take good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand pounds were in
gold, and weighed him down.
</p>
<p>
Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked, and at the
end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to Charing Cross. The cab
stopped before the railway station at twenty minutes past eight. Passepartout
jumped off the box and followed his master, who, after paying the cabman, was
about to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in her arms,
her naked feet smeared with mud, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from
which hung a tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl,
approached, and mournfully asked for alms.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist, and handed them
to the beggar, saying, “Here, my good woman. I’m glad that I met
you;” and passed on.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master’s action
touched his susceptible heart.
</p>
<p>
Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased, Mr. Fogg was
crossing the station to the train, when he perceived his five friends of the
Reform.
</p>
<p>
“Well, gentlemen,” said he, “I’m off, you see; and, if
you will examine my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge whether
I have accomplished the journey agreed upon.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,” said Ralph
politely. “We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour.”
</p>
<p>
“You do not forget when you are due in London again?” asked Stuart.
</p>
<p>
“In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a quarter
before nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen.”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage at
twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed, and the
train slowly glided out of the station.
</p>
<p>
The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas Fogg, snugly
ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips. Passepartout, not yet recovered
from his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormous
treasure.
</p>
<p>
Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly uttered
a cry of despair.
</p>
<p>
“What’s the matter?” asked Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Alas! In my hurry—I—I forgot—”
</p>
<p>
“What?”
</p>
<p>
“To turn off the gas in my room!”
</p>
<p>
“Very well, young man,” returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; “it will
burn—at your expense.”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/>
IN WHICH A NEW SPECIES OF FUNDS, UNKNOWN TO THE MONEYED MEN, APPEARS ON
’CHANGE</h2>
<p>
Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London would create a
lively sensation at the West End. The news of the bet spread through the Reform
Club, and afforded an exciting topic of conversation to its members. From the
club it soon got into the papers throughout England. The boasted “tour of
the world” was talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as if
the subject were another Alabama claim. Some took sides with Phileas Fogg, but
the large majority shook their heads and declared against him; it was absurd,
impossible, they declared, that the tour of the world could be made, except
theoretically and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the existing
means of travelling. The <i>Times, Standard, Morning Post</i>, and <i>Daily
News</i>, and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.
Fogg’s project as madness; the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> alone hesitatingly
supported him. People in general thought him a lunatic, and blamed his Reform
Club friends for having accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration
of its proposer.
</p>
<p>
Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question, for
geography is one of the pet subjects of the English; and the columns devoted to
Phileas Fogg’s venture were eagerly devoured by all classes of readers.
At first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler sex, espoused his
cause, which became still more popular when the <i>Illustrated London News</i>
came out with his portrait, copied from a photograph in the Reform Club. A few
readers of the <i>Daily Telegraph</i> even dared to say, “Why not, after
all? Stranger things have come to pass.”
</p>
<p>
At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin of the
Royal Geographical Society, which treated the question from every point of
view, and demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.
</p>
<p>
Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed alike
by man and by nature. A miraculous agreement of the times of departure and
arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary to his success. He
might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at the designated hours, in
Europe, where the distances were relatively moderate; but when he calculated
upon crossing India in three days, and the United States in seven, could he
rely beyond misgiving upon accomplishing his task? There were accidents to
machinery, the liability of trains to run off the line, collisions, bad
weather, the blocking up by snow—were not all these against Phileas Fogg?
Would he not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the mercy
of the winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be two or
three days behind time? But a single delay would suffice to fatally break the
chain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once miss, even by an hour; a
steamer, he would have to wait for the next, and that would irrevocably render
his attempt vain.
</p>
<p>
This article made a great deal of noise, and, being copied into all the papers,
seriously depressed the advocates of the rash tourist.
</p>
<p>
Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who are of a higher
class than mere gamblers; to bet is in the English temperament. Not only the
members of the Reform, but the general public, made heavy wagers for or against
Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the betting books as if he were a race-horse.
Bonds were issued, and made their appearance on ’Change; “Phileas
Fogg bonds” were offered at par or at a premium, and a great business was
done in them. But five days after the article in the bulletin of the
Geographical Society appeared, the demand began to subside: “Phileas
Fogg” declined. They were offered by packages, at first of five, then of
ten, until at last nobody would take less than twenty, fifty, a hundred!
</p>
<p>
Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only advocate of
Phileas Fogg left. This noble lord, who was fastened to his chair, would have
given his fortune to be able to make the tour of the world, if it took ten
years; and he bet five thousand pounds on Phileas Fogg. When the folly as well
as the uselessness of the adventure was pointed out to him, he contented
himself with replying, “If the thing is feasible, the first to do it
ought to be an Englishman.”
</p>
<p>
The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against him, and the
bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one; and a week after his
departure an incident occurred which deprived him of backers at any price.
</p>
<p>
The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o’clock one
evening, when the following telegraphic dispatch was put into his hands:
</p>
<p class="center">
<i>Suez to London.</i>
</p>
<p class="letter">
R<small>OWAN</small>, C<small>OMMISSIONER OF</small> P<small>OLICE</small>,
S<small>COTLAND</small> Y<small>ARD</small>:<br/>
I’ve found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send without delay warrant
of arrest to Bombay.
</p>
<p class="right">
F<small>IX</small>, <i>Detective</i>.
</p>
<p>
The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous. The polished gentleman
disappeared to give place to the bank robber. His photograph, which was hung
with those of the rest of the members at the Reform Club, was minutely
examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the description of the robber
which had been provided to the police. The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg
were recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden departure; and it seemed clear
that, in undertaking a tour round the world on the pretext of a wager, he had
had no other end in view than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his
track.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/>
IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, BETRAYS A VERY NATURAL IMPATIENCE</h2>
<p>
The circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about Phileas Fogg was
sent were as follows:
</p>
<p>
The steamer “Mongolia,” belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental
Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and five
hundred horse-power, was due at eleven o’clock a.m. on Wednesday, the 9th
of October, at Suez. The “Mongolia” plied regularly between
Brindisi and Bombay <i>viâ</i> the Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest
steamers belonging to the company, always making more than ten knots an hour
between Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.
</p>
<p>
Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd of natives
and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling village—now,
thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing town. One was the
British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies of the English Government,
and the unfavourable predictions of Stephenson, was in the habit of seeing,
from his office window, English ships daily passing to and fro on the great
canal, by which the old roundabout route from England to India by the Cape of
Good Hope was abridged by at least a half. The other was a small, slight-built
personage, with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering out from
under eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching. He was just now manifesting
unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing up and down, and unable to
stand still for a moment. This was Fix, one of the detectives who had been
dispatched from England in search of the bank robber; it was his task to
narrowly watch every passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who
seemed to be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the description of
the criminal, which he had received two days before from the police
headquarters at London. The detective was evidently inspired by the hope of
obtaining the splendid reward which would be the prize of success, and awaited
with a feverish impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the steamer
“Mongolia.”
</p>
<p>
“So you say, consul,” asked he for the twentieth time, “that
this steamer is never behind time?”
</p>
<p>
“No, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul. “She was bespoken
yesterday at Port Said, and the rest of the way is of no account to such a
craft. I repeat that the ‘Mongolia’ has been in advance of the time
required by the company’s regulations, and gained the prize awarded for
excess of speed.”
</p>
<p>
“Does she come directly from Brindisi?”
</p>
<p>
“Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there, and she
left there Saturday at five p.m. Have patience, Mr. Fix; she will not be late.
But really, I don’t see how, from the description you have, you will be
able to recognise your man, even if he is on board the
‘Mongolia.’”
</p>
<p>
“A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than
recognises them. You must have a scent for them, and a scent is like a sixth
sense which combines hearing, seeing, and smelling. I’ve arrested more
than one of these gentlemen in my time, and, if my thief is on board,
I’ll answer for it; he’ll not slip through my fingers.”
</p>
<p>
“I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery.”
</p>
<p>
“A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand pounds! We
don’t often have such windfalls. Burglars are getting to be so
contemptible nowadays! A fellow gets hung for a handful of shillings!”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fix,” said the consul, “I like your way of talking, and
hope you’ll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from easy.
Don’t you see, the description which you have there has a singular
resemblance to an honest man?”
</p>
<p>
“Consul,” remarked the detective, dogmatically, “great
robbers always resemble honest folks. Fellows who have rascally faces have only
one course to take, and that is to remain honest; otherwise they would be
arrested off-hand. The artistic thing is, to unmask honest countenances;
it’s no light task, I admit, but a real art.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a tinge of self-conceit.
</p>
<p>
Little by little the scene on the quay became more animated; sailors of various
nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters, fellahs, bustled to and fro as if
the steamer were immediately expected. The weather was clear, and slightly
chilly. The minarets of the town loomed above the houses in the pale rays of
the sun. A jetty pier, some two thousand yards along, extended into the
roadstead. A number of fishing-smacks and coasting boats, some retaining the
fantastic fashion of ancient galleys, were discernible on the Red Sea.
</p>
<p>
As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit, scrutinised the
passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.
</p>
<p>
It was now half-past ten.
</p>
<p>
“The steamer doesn’t come!” he exclaimed, as the port clock
struck.
</p>
<p>
“She can’t be far off now,” returned his companion.
</p>
<p>
“How long will she stop at Suez?”
</p>
<p>
“Four hours; long enough to get in her coal. It is thirteen hundred and
ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the Red Sea, and she has to
take in a fresh coal supply.”
</p>
<p>
“And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?”
</p>
<p>
“Without putting in anywhere.”
</p>
<p>
“Good!” said Fix. “If the robber is on board he will no doubt
get off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies in Asia by some
other route. He ought to know that he would not be safe an hour in India, which
is English soil.”
</p>
<p>
“Unless,” objected the consul, “he is exceptionally shrewd.
An English criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London than
anywhere else.”
</p>
<p>
This observation furnished the detective food for thought, and meanwhile the
consul went away to his office. Fix, left alone, was more impatient than ever,
having a presentiment that the robber was on board the “Mongolia.”
If he had indeed left London intending to reach the New World, he would
naturally take the route <i>viâ</i> India, which was less watched and more
difficult to watch than that of the Atlantic. But Fix’s reflections were
soon interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which announced the arrival
of the “Mongolia.” The porters and fellahs rushed down the quay,
and a dozen boats pushed off from the shore to go and meet the steamer. Soon
her gigantic hull appeared passing along between the banks, and eleven
o’clock struck as she anchored in the road. She brought an unusual number
of passengers, some of whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama
of the town, while the greater part disembarked in the boats, and landed on the
quay.
</p>
<p>
Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face and figure which made
its appearance. Presently one of the passengers, after vigorously pushing his
way through the importunate crowd of porters, came up to him and politely asked
if he could point out the English consulate, at the same time showing a
passport which he wished to have <i>visaed</i>. Fix instinctively took the
passport, and with a rapid glance read the description of its bearer. An
involuntary motion of surprise nearly escaped him, for the description in the
passport was identical with that of the bank robber which he had received from
Scotland Yard.
</p>
<p>
“Is this your passport?” asked he.
</p>
<p>
“No, it’s my master’s.”
</p>
<p>
“And your master is—”
</p>
<p>
“He stayed on board.”
</p>
<p>
“But he must go to the consul’s in person, so as to establish his
identity.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, is that necessary?”
</p>
<p>
“Quite indispensable.”
</p>
<p>
“And where is the consulate?”
</p>
<p>
“There, on the corner of the square,” said Fix, pointing to a house
two hundred steps off.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll go and fetch my master, who won’t be much pleased,
however, to be disturbed.”
</p>
<p>
The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/>
WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS AS AIDS TO
DETECTIVES</h2>
<p>
The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to the
consul’s office, where he was at once admitted to the presence of that
official.
</p>
<p>
“Consul,” said he, without preamble, “I have strong reasons
for believing that my man is a passenger on the ‘Mongolia.’”
And he narrated what had just passed concerning the passport.
</p>
<p>
“Well, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul, “I shall not be sorry to
see the rascal’s face; but perhaps he won’t come here—that
is, if he is the person you suppose him to be. A robber doesn’t quite
like to leave traces of his flight behind him; and, besides, he is not obliged
to have his passport countersigned.”
</p>
<p>
“If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come.”
</p>
<p>
“To have his passport <i>visaed?</i>”
</p>
<p>
“Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks, and aiding in
the flight of rogues. I assure you it will be quite the thing for him to do;
but I hope you will not <i>visa</i> the passport.”
</p>
<p>
“Why not? If the passport is genuine I have no right to refuse.”
</p>
<p>
“Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to arrest him
from London.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, that’s your look-out. But I cannot—”
</p>
<p>
The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock was heard at
the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was the servant whom Fix had
met on the quay. The other, who was his master, held out his passport with the
request that the consul would do him the favour to <i>visa</i> it. The consul
took the document and carefully read it, whilst Fix observed, or rather
devoured, the stranger with his eyes from a corner of the room.
</p>
<p>
“You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?” said the consul, after reading the
passport.
</p>
<p>
“I am.”
</p>
<p>
“And this man is your servant?”
</p>
<p>
“He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout.”
</p>
<p>
“You are from London?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“And you are going—”
</p>
<p>
“To Bombay.”
</p>
<p>
“Very good, sir. You know that a <i>visa</i> is useless, and that no
passport is required?”
</p>
<p>
“I know it, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg; “but I wish to prove,
by your <i>visa</i>, that I came by Suez.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well, sir.”
</p>
<p>
The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after which he added his
official seal. Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee, coldly bowed, and went out,
followed by his servant.
</p>
<p>
“Well?” queried the detective.
</p>
<p>
“Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man,” replied the
consul.
</p>
<p>
“Possibly; but that is not the question. Do you think, consul, that this
phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature, the robber whose
description I have received?”
</p>
<p>
“I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—”
</p>
<p>
“I’ll make certain of it,” interrupted Fix. “The
servant seems to me less mysterious than the master; besides, he’s a
Frenchman, and can’t help talking. Excuse me for a little while,
consul.”
</p>
<p>
Fix started off in search of Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the quay, gave
some orders to Passepartout, went off to the “Mongolia” in a boat,
and descended to his cabin. He took up his note-book, which contained the
following memoranda:
</p>
<p>
“Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.
</p>
<p>
“Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m.
</p>
<p>
“Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m.
</p>
<p>
“Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 a.m.
</p>
<p>“Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m.
</p>
<p>
“Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 p.m.
</p>
<p>
“Sailed on the ‘Mongolia,’ Saturday, at 5 p.m.
</p>
<p>“Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.
</p>
<p>
“Total of hours spent, 158½; or, in days, six days and a half.”
</p>
<p>
These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns, indicating the
month, the day of the month, and the day for the stipulated and actual arrivals
at each principal point Paris, Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore,
Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco, New York, and London—from the 2nd of
October to the 21st of December; and giving a space for setting down the gain
made or the loss suffered on arrival at each locality. This methodical record
thus contained an account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg always knew
whether he was behind-hand or in advance of his time. On this Friday, October
9th, he noted his arrival at Suez, and observed that he had as yet neither
gained nor lost. He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never once
thinking of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who are wont to
see foreign countries through the eyes of their domestics.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TALKS RATHER MORE, PERHAPS, THAN IS PRUDENT</h2>
<p>
Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking about on the quay,
as if he did not feel that he, at least, was obliged not to see anything.
</p>
<p>
“Well, my friend,” said the detective, coming up with him,
“is your passport <i>visaed?</i>”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, it’s you, is it, monsieur?” responded Passepartout.
“Thanks, yes, the passport is all right.”
</p>
<p>
“And you are looking about you?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a dream. So
this is Suez?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“In Egypt?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly, in Egypt.”
</p>
<p>
“And in Africa?”
</p>
<p>
“In Africa.”
</p>
<p>
“In Africa!” repeated Passepartout. “Just think, monsieur, I
had no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw of Paris
was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes before nine in the
morning, between the Northern and the Lyons stations, through the windows of a
car, and in a driving rain! How I regret not having seen once more Père la
Chaise and the circus in the Champs Elysées!”
</p>
<p>
“You are in a great hurry, then?”
</p>
<p>
“I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes and
shirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag.”
</p>
<p>
“I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want.”
</p>
<p>
“Really, monsieur, you are very kind.”
</p>
<p>
And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as they went along.
</p>
<p>
“Above all,” said he; “don’t let me lose the
steamer.”
</p>
<p>
“You have plenty of time; it’s only twelve o’clock.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout pulled out his big watch. “Twelve!” he exclaimed;
“why, it’s only eight minutes before ten.”
</p>
<p>
“Your watch is slow.”
</p>
<p>
“My watch? A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from my
great-grandfather! It doesn’t vary five minutes in the year. It’s a
perfect chronometer, look you.”
</p>
<p>
“I see how it is,” said Fix. “You have kept London time,
which is two hours behind that of Suez. You ought to regulate your watch at
noon in each country.”
</p>
<p>
“I regulate my watch? Never!”
</p>
<p>
“Well, then, it will not agree with the sun.”
</p>
<p>
“So much the worse for the sun, monsieur. The sun will be wrong,
then!”
</p>
<p>
And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a defiant gesture.
After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed: “You left London hastily,
then?”
</p>
<p>
“I rather think so! Last Friday at eight o’clock in the evening,
Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three-quarters of an hour afterwards
we were off.”
</p>
<p>
“But where is your master going?”
</p>
<p>
“Always straight ahead. He is going round the world.”
</p>
<p>
“Round the world?” cried Fix.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, and in eighty days! He says it is on a wager; but, between us, I
don’t believe a word of it. That wouldn’t be common sense.
There’s something else in the wind.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?”
</p>
<p>
“I should say he was.”
</p>
<p>
“Is he rich?”
</p>
<p>
“No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand new banknotes with
him. And he doesn’t spare the money on the way, either: he has offered a
large reward to the engineer of the ‘Mongolia’ if he gets us to
Bombay well in advance of time.”
</p>
<p>
“And you have known your master a long time?”
</p>
<p>
“Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London.”
</p>
<p>
The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious and excited detective
may be imagined. The hasty departure from London soon after the robbery; the
large sum carried by Mr. Fogg; his eagerness to reach distant countries; the
pretext of an eccentric and foolhardy bet—all confirmed Fix in his
theory. He continued to pump poor Passepartout, and learned that he really knew
little or nothing of his master, who lived a solitary existence in London, was
said to be rich, though no one knew whence came his riches, and was mysterious
and impenetrable in his affairs and habits. Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg
would not land at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.
</p>
<p>
“Is Bombay far from here?” asked Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
“Pretty far. It is a ten days’ voyage by sea.”
</p>
<p>
“And in what country is Bombay?”
</p>
<p>
“India.”
</p>
<p>
“In Asia?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly.”
</p>
<p>
“The deuce! I was going to tell you there’s one thing that worries
me—my burner!”
</p>
<p>
“What burner?”
</p>
<p>
“My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this moment
burning at my expense. I have calculated, monsieur, that I lose two shillings
every four and twenty hours, exactly sixpence more than I earn; and you will
understand that the longer our journey—”
</p>
<p>
Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout’s trouble about the gas? It is
not probable. He was not listening, but was cogitating a project. Passepartout
and he had now reached the shop, where Fix left his companion to make his
purchases, after recommending him not to miss the steamer, and hurried back to
the consulate. Now that he was fully convinced, Fix had quite recovered his
equanimity.
</p>
<p>
“Consul,” said he, “I have no longer any doubt. I have
spotted my man. He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round the
world in eighty days.”
</p>
<p>
“Then he’s a sharp fellow,” returned the consul, “and
counts on returning to London after putting the police of the two countries off
his track.”
</p>
<p>
“We’ll see about that,” replied Fix.
</p>
<p>
“But are you not mistaken?”
</p>
<p>
“I am not mistaken.”
</p>
<p>
“Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the <i>visa</i>, that he had
passed through Suez?”
</p>
<p>
“Why? I have no idea; but listen to me.”
</p>
<p>
He reported in a few words the most important parts of his conversation with
Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
“In short,” said the consul, “appearances are wholly against
this man. And what are you going to do?”
</p>
<p>
“Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched
instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the ‘Mongolia,’ follow
my rogue to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely, with my
warrant in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder.”
</p>
<p>
Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective took leave
of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office, whence he sent the
dispatch which we have seen to the London police office. A quarter of an hour
later found Fix, with a small bag in his hand, proceeding on board the
“Mongolia;” and, ere many moments longer, the noble steamer rode
out at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/>
IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS TO THE DESIGNS OF
PHILEAS FOGG</h2>
<p>
The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and ten miles,
and the regulations of the company allow the steamers one hundred and
thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it. The “Mongolia,” thanks
to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so rapid was her
speed, to reach her destination considerably within that time. The greater part
of the passengers from Brindisi were bound for India some for Bombay, others
for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that a railway
crosses the Indian peninsula. Among the passengers was a number of officials
and military officers of various grades, the latter being either attached to
the regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops, and receiving high
salaries ever since the central government has assumed the powers of the East
India Company: for the sub-lieutenants get £280, brigadiers, £2,400, and
generals of divisions, £4,000. What with the military men, a number of rich
young Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable efforts of the purser,
the time passed quickly on the “Mongolia.” The best of fare was
spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the eight
o’clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously changed their toilets twice a
day; and the hours were whirled away, when the sea was tranquil, with music,
dancing, and games.
</p>
<p>
But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most long and
narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African or Asian coast the
“Mongolia,” with her long hull, rolled fearfully. Then the ladies
speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancing
suddenly ceased. Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind or
wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. What was Phileas Fogg doing all
this time? It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would be constantly
watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging of the
billows—every chance, in short, which might force the
“Mongolia” to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey.
But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by any
outward sign.
</p>
<p>
Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no incident could
surprise, as unvarying as the ship’s chronometers, and seldom having the
curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed through the memorable scenes of
the Red Sea with cold indifference; did not care to recognise the historic
towns and villages which, along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines
against the sky; and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which
the old historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient
navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices.
How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the “Mongolia”?
He made his four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent
rolling and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist
indefatigably, for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as
himself. A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus
Smith, returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-general of the
English army, who was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the
party, and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing
silence.
</p>
<p>
As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his meals
conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed the voyage, for he was
well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in the scenes through which
they were passing, and consoled himself with the delusion that his
master’s whim would end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day after
leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging person with whom he had walked and
chatted on the quays.
</p>
<p>
“If I am not mistaken,” said he, approaching this person, with his
most amiable smile, “you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered to
guide me at Suez?”
</p>
<p>
“Ah! I quite recognise you. You are the servant of the strange
Englishman—”
</p>
<p>
“Just so, monsieur—”
</p>
<p>
“Fix.”
</p>
<p>
“Monsieur Fix,” resumed Passepartout, “I’m charmed to
find you on board. Where are you bound?”
</p>
<p>
“Like you, to Bombay.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s capital! Have you made this trip before?”
</p>
<p>
“Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company.”
</p>
<p>
“Then you know India?”
</p>
<p>
“Why yes,” replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.
</p>
<p>
“A curious place, this India?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas, tigers,
snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see the sights.”
</p>
<p>
“I hope so, Monsieur Fix. You see, a man of sound sense ought not to
spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train, and from a railway
train upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour of the world in eighty
days! No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure, will cease at Bombay.”
</p>
<p>
“And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?” asked Fix, in the most natural
tone in the world.
</p>
<p>
“Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre; it’s the sea
air.”
</p>
<p>
“But I never see your master on deck.”
</p>
<p>
“Never; he hasn’t the least curiosity.”
</p>
<p>
“Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty days
may conceal some secret errand—perhaps a diplomatic mission?”
</p>
<p>
“Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor would I
give half a crown to find out.”
</p>
<p>
After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of chatting
together, the latter making it a point to gain the worthy man’s
confidence. He frequently offered him a glass of whiskey or pale ale in the
steamer bar-room, which Passepartout never failed to accept with graceful
alacrity, mentally pronouncing Fix the best of good fellows.
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile the “Mongolia” was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th,
Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing, was
sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.
Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought that,
with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an immense
coffee-cup and saucer. The following night they passed through the Strait of
Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic “The Bridge of Tears,” and the
next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of Aden harbour, to take in
coal. This matter of fuelling steamers is a serious one at such distances from
the coal-mines; it costs the Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousand
pounds a year. In these distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds
sterling a ton.
</p>
<p>
The “Mongolia” had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to
traverse before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at
Steamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was foreseen, did not affect
Phileas Fogg’s programme; besides, the “Mongolia,” instead of
reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due, arrived there on
the evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport again
<i>visaed;</i> Fix, unobserved, followed them. The <i>visa</i> procured, Mr.
Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits; while Passepartout,
according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed population of Somalis,
Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who comprise the twenty-five
thousand inhabitants of Aden. He gazed with wonder upon the fortifications
which make this place the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns
where the English engineers were still at work, two thousand years after the
engineers of Solomon.
</p>
<p>
“Very curious, <i>very</i> curious,” said Passepartout to himself,
on returning to the steamer. “I see that it is by no means useless to
travel, if a man wants to see something new.” At six p.m. the
“Mongolia” slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon once
more on the Indian Ocean. She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours in which to
reach Bombay, and the sea was favourable, the wind being in the north-west, and
all sails aiding the engine. The steamer rolled but little, the ladies, in
fresh toilets, reappeared on deck, and the singing and dancing were resumed.
The trip was being accomplished most successfully, and Passepartout was
enchanted with the congenial companion which chance had secured him in the
person of the delightful Fix. On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they came
in sight of the Indian coast: two hours later the pilot came on board. A range
of hills lay against the sky in the horizon, and soon the rows of palms which
adorn Bombay came distinctly into view. The steamer entered the road formed by
the islands in the bay, and at half-past four she hauled up at the quays of
Bombay.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber of the voyage,
and his partner and himself having, by a bold stroke, captured all thirteen of
the tricks, concluded this fine campaign with a brilliant victory.
</p>
<p>
The “Mongolia” was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the
20th. This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his departure from
London, and he calmly entered the fact in the itinerary, in the column of
gains.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET OFF WITH THE LOSS OF HIS
SHOES</h2>
<p>
Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in the
north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen
hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population of
one hundred and eighty millions of souls. The British Crown exercises a real
and despotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country, and has a
governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in
Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.
</p>
<p>
But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousand
square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten
millions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free from
British authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who
are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company was all-powerful
from 1756, when the English first gained a foothold on the spot where now
stands the city of Madras, down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It
gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the native
chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and his
subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has now passed
away, leaving the British possessions in India directly under the control of
the Crown. The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctions
of race, is daily changing.
</p>
<p>
Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods of
going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches; now fast
steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great railway, with branch
lines joining the main line at many points on its route, traverses the
peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in a
direct line across India. The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird
flies, is only from one thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections
of the road increase this distance by more than a third.
</p>
<p>
The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows: Leaving
Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent opposite Tannah,
goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts, runs thence north-east as far as
Burhampoor, skirts the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to
Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs
from the river a little, and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and the
French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.
</p>
<p>
The passengers of the “Mongolia” went ashore at half-past four
p.m.; at exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gave
his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the station
promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which beat to the second, like
an astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for the
wonders of Bombay—its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts
and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the
noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two polygonal towers—he cared not
a straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of
Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, or
those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the
island of Salcette.
</p>
<p>
Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repaired
quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner. Among the dishes
served up to him, the landlord especially recommended a certain giblet of
“native rabbit,” on which he prided himself.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce, found it
far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and, on his appearance, said,
fixing his clear eyes upon him, “Is this rabbit, sir?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, my lord,” the rogue boldly replied, “rabbit from the
jungles.”
</p>
<p>
“And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?”
</p>
<p>
“Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew! I swear to you—”
</p>
<p>
“Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats were
formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time.”
</p>
<p>
“For the cats, my lord?”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps for the travellers as well!”
</p>
<p>
After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. Fix had gone on shore
shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the headquarters of the
Bombay police. He made himself known as a London detective, told his business
at Bombay, and the position of affairs relative to the supposed robber, and
nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London. It had not reached the
office; indeed, there had not yet been time for it to arrive. Fix was sorely
disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director of the
Bombay police. This the director refused, as the matter concerned the London
office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did not insist, and
was fain to resign himself to await the arrival of the important document; but
he was determined not to lose sight of the mysterious rogue as long as he
stayed in Bombay. He did not doubt for a moment, any more than Passepartout,
that Phileas Fogg would remain there, at least until it was time for the
warrant to arrive.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master’s orders on leaving
the “Mongolia” than he saw at once that they were to leave Bombay
as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey would be extended at
least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond that place. He began to ask
himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg talked about was not really in good earnest,
and whether his fate was not in truth forcing him, despite his love of repose,
around the world in eighty days!
</p>
<p>
Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a leisurely
promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of many
nationalities—Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas with round
turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres, and long-robed
Armenians—were collected. It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival.
These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster—the most thrifty, civilised,
intelligent, and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted the
richest native merchants of Bombay—were celebrating a sort of religious
carnival, with processions and shows, in the midst of which Indian
dancing-girls, clothed in rose-coloured gauze, looped up with gold and silver,
danced airily, but with perfect modesty, to the sound of viols and the clanging
of tambourines. It is needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious
ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance was
that of the greenest booby imaginable.
</p>
<p>
Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him
unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last, having seen the
Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning his steps towards the
station, when he happened to espy the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was
seized with an irresistible desire to see its interior. He was quite ignorant
that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples, and that
even the faithful must not go in without first leaving their shoes outside the
door. It may be said here that the wise policy of the British Government
severely punishes a disregard of the practices of the native religions.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist, and was
soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation which everywhere
met his eyes, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacred
flagging. He looked up to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell upon
him; tore off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations.
The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in knocking
down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorous
application of his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legs
could carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by mingling with the crowd in
the streets.
</p>
<p>
At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and having in
the squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed breathlessly into the
station.
</p>
<p>
Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really going
to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform. He had resolved to follow the
supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not
observe the detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him relate
his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“I hope that this will not happen again,” said Phileas Fogg coldly,
as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite crestfallen, followed his
master without a word. Fix was on the point of entering another carriage, when
an idea struck him which induced him to alter his plan.
</p>
<p>
“No, I’ll stay,” muttered he. “An offence has been
committed on Indian soil. I’ve got my man.”
</p>
<p>
Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out into
the darkness of the night.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SECURES A CURIOUS MEANS OF CONVEYANCE AT A FABULOUS
PRICE</h2>
<p>
The train had started punctually. Among the passengers were a number of
officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo merchants, whose business
called them to the eastern coast. Passepartout rode in the same carriage with
his master, and a third passenger occupied a seat opposite to them. This was
Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr. Fogg’s whist partners on the
“Mongolia,” now on his way to join his corps at Benares. Sir
Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty, who had greatly distinguished himself in
the last Sepoy revolt. He made India his home, only paying brief visits to
England at rare intervals; and was almost as familiar as a native with the
customs, history, and character of India and its people. But Phileas Fogg, who
was not travelling, but only describing a circumference, took no pains to
inquire into these subjects; he was a solid body, traversing an orbit around
the terrestrial globe, according to the laws of rational mechanics. He was at
this moment calculating in his mind the number of hours spent since his
departure from London, and, had it been in his nature to make a useless
demonstration, would have rubbed his hands for satisfaction. Sir Francis
Cromarty had observed the oddity of his travelling companion—although the
only opportunity he had for studying him had been while he was dealing the
cards, and between two rubbers—and questioned himself whether a human
heart really beat beneath this cold exterior, and whether Phileas Fogg had any
sense of the beauties of nature. The brigadier-general was free to mentally
confess that, of all the eccentric persons he had ever met, none was comparable
to this product of the exact sciences.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his design of going round the
world, nor the circumstances under which he set out; and the general only saw
in the wager a useless eccentricity and a lack of sound common sense. In the
way this strange gentleman was going on, he would leave the world without
having done any good to himself or anybody else.
</p>
<p>
An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts and the Island
of Salcette, and had got into the open country. At Callyan they reached the
junction of the branch line which descends towards south-eastern India by
Kandallah and Pounah; and, passing Pauwell, they entered the defiles of the
mountains, with their basalt bases, and their summits crowned with thick and
verdant forests. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty exchanged a few words
from time to time, and now Sir Francis, reviving the conversation, observed,
“Some years ago, Mr. Fogg, you would have met with a delay at this point
which would probably have lost you your wager.”
</p>
<p>
“How so, Sir Francis?”
</p>
<p>
“Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains, which the
passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on ponies to Kandallah, on
the other side.”
</p>
<p>
“Such a delay would not have deranged my plans in the least,” said
Mr. Fogg. “I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of certain
obstacles.”
</p>
<p>
“But, Mr. Fogg,” pursued Sir Francis, “you run the risk of
having some difficulty about this worthy fellow’s adventure at the
pagoda.” Passepartout, his feet comfortably wrapped in his
travelling-blanket, was sound asleep and did not dream that anybody was talking
about him. “The Government is very severe upon that kind of offence. It
takes particular care that the religious customs of the Indians should be
respected, and if your servant were caught—”
</p>
<p>
“Very well, Sir Francis,” replied Mr. Fogg; “if he had been
caught he would have been condemned and punished, and then would have quietly
returned to Europe. I don’t see how this affair could have delayed his
master.”
</p>
<p>
The conversation fell again. During the night the train left the mountains
behind, and passed Nassik, and the next day proceeded over the flat,
well-cultivated country of the Khandeish, with its straggling villages, above
which rose the minarets of the pagodas. This fertile territory is watered by
numerous small rivers and limpid streams, mostly tributaries of the Godavery.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realise that he was actually
crossing India in a railway train. The locomotive, guided by an English
engineer and fed with English coal, threw out its smoke upon cotton, coffee,
nutmeg, clove, and pepper plantations, while the steam curled in spirals around
groups of palm-trees, in the midst of which were seen picturesque bungalows,
viharis (sort of abandoned monasteries), and marvellous temples enriched by the
exhaustless ornamentation of Indian architecture. Then they came upon vast
tracts extending to the horizon, with jungles inhabited by snakes and tigers,
which fled at the noise of the train; succeeded by forests penetrated by the
railway, and still haunted by elephants which, with pensive eyes, gazed at the
train as it passed. The travellers crossed, beyond Milligaum, the fatal country
so often stained with blood by the sectaries of the goddess Kali. Not far off
rose Ellora, with its graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad, capital of
the ferocious Aureng-Zeb, now the chief town of one of the detached provinces
of the kingdom of the Nizam. It was thereabouts that Feringhea, the Thuggee
chief, king of the stranglers, held his sway. These ruffians, united by a
secret bond, strangled victims of every age in honour of the goddess Death,
without ever shedding blood; there was a period when this part of the country
could scarcely be travelled over without corpses being found in every
direction. The English Government has succeeded in greatly diminishing these
murders, though the Thuggees still exist, and pursue the exercise of their
horrible rites.
</p>
<p>
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor where Passepartout was able
to purchase some Indian slippers, ornamented with false pearls, in which, with
evident vanity, he proceeded to encase his feet. The travellers made a hasty
breakfast and started off for Assurghur, after skirting for a little the banks
of the small river Tapty, which empties into the Gulf of Cambray, near Surat.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie. Up to his arrival at
Bombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey would end there; but, now
that they were plainly whirling across India at full speed, a sudden change had
come over the spirit of his dreams. His old vagabond nature returned to him;
the fantastic ideas of his youth once more took possession of him. He came to
regard his master’s project as intended in good earnest, believed in the
reality of the bet, and therefore in the tour of the world and the necessity of
making it without fail within the designated period. Already he began to worry
about possible delays, and accidents which might happen on the way. He
recognised himself as being personally interested in the wager, and trembled at
the thought that he might have been the means of losing it by his unpardonable
folly of the night before. Being much less cool-headed than Mr. Fogg, he was
much more restless, counting and recounting the days passed over, uttering
maledictions when the train stopped, and accusing it of sluggishness, and
mentally blaming Mr. Fogg for not having bribed the engineer. The worthy fellow
was ignorant that, while it was possible by such means to hasten the rate of a
steamer, it could not be done on the railway.
</p>
<p>
The train entered the defiles of the Sutpour Mountains, which separate the
Khandeish from Bundelcund, towards evening. The next day Sir Francis Cromarty
asked Passepartout what time it was; to which, on consulting his watch, he
replied that it was three in the morning. This famous timepiece, always
regulated on the Greenwich meridian, which was now some seventy-seven degrees
westward, was at least four hours slow. Sir Francis corrected
Passepartout’s time, whereupon the latter made the same remark that he
had done to Fix; and upon the general insisting that the watch should be
regulated in each new meridian, since he was constantly going eastward, that is
in the face of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter by four minutes for
each degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately refused to alter his watch,
which he kept at London time. It was an innocent delusion which could harm no
one.
</p>
<p>
The train stopped, at eight o’clock, in the midst of a glade some fifteen
miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows, and workmen’s
cabins. The conductor, passing along the carriages, shouted, “Passengers
will get out here!”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation; but the general
could not tell what meant a halt in the midst of this forest of dates and
acacias.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, not less surprised, rushed out and speedily returned, crying:
“Monsieur, no more railway!”
</p>
<p>
“What do you mean?” asked Sir Francis.
</p>
<p>
“I mean to say that the train isn’t going on.”
</p>
<p>
The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly followed him, and
they proceeded together to the conductor.
</p>
<p>
“Where are we?” asked Sir Francis.
</p>
<p>
“At the hamlet of Kholby.”
</p>
<p>
“Do we stop here?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly. The railway isn’t finished.”
</p>
<p>
“What! not finished?”
</p>
<p>
“No. There’s still a matter of fifty miles to be laid from here to
Allahabad, where the line begins again.”
</p>
<p>
“But the papers announced the opening of the railway throughout.”
</p>
<p>
“What would you have, officer? The papers were mistaken.”
</p>
<p>
“Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta,” retorted Sir
Francis, who was growing warm.
</p>
<p>
“No doubt,” replied the conductor; “but the passengers know
that they must provide means of transportation for themselves from Kholby to
Allahabad.”
</p>
<p>
Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout would willingly have knocked the
conductor down, and did not dare to look at his master.
</p>
<p>
“Sir Francis,” said Mr. Fogg quietly, “we will, if you
please, look about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad.”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fogg, this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage.”
</p>
<p>
“No, Sir Francis; it was foreseen.”
</p>
<p>
“What! You knew that the way—”
</p>
<p>
“Not at all; but I knew that some obstacle or other would sooner or later
arise on my route. Nothing, therefore, is lost. I have two days, which I have
already gained, to sacrifice. A steamer leaves Calcutta for Hong Kong at noon,
on the 25th. This is the 22nd, and we shall reach Calcutta in time.”
</p>
<p>
There was nothing to say to so confident a response.
</p>
<p>
It was but too true that the railway came to a termination at this point. The
papers were like some watches, which have a way of getting too fast, and had
been premature in their announcement of the completion of the line. The greater
part of the travellers were aware of this interruption, and, leaving the train,
they began to engage such vehicles as the village could provide four-wheeled
palkigharis, waggons drawn by zebus, carriages that looked like perambulating
pagodas, palanquins, ponies, and what not.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, after searching the village from end to end,
came back without having found anything.
</p>
<p>
“I shall go afoot,” said Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, who had now rejoined his master, made a wry grimace, as he
thought of his magnificent, but too frail Indian shoes. Happily he too had been
looking about him, and, after a moment’s hesitation, said,
“Monsieur, I think I have found a means of conveyance.”
</p>
<p>
“What?”
</p>
<p>
“An elephant! An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives but a
hundred steps from here.”
</p>
<p>
“Let’s go and see the elephant,” replied Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
They soon reached a small hut, near which, enclosed within some high palings,
was the animal in question. An Indian came out of the hut, and, at their
request, conducted them within the enclosure. The elephant, which its owner had
reared, not for a beast of burden, but for warlike purposes, was half
domesticated. The Indian had begun already, by often irritating him, and
feeding him every three months on sugar and butter, to impart to him a ferocity
not in his nature, this method being often employed by those who train the
Indian elephants for battle. Happily, however, for Mr. Fogg, the animal’s
instruction in this direction had not gone far, and the elephant still
preserved his natural gentleness. Kiouni—this was the name of the
beast—could doubtless travel rapidly for a long time, and, in default of
any other means of conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him. But elephants are
far from cheap in India, where they are becoming scarce, the males, which alone
are suitable for circus shows, are much sought, especially as but few of them
are domesticated. When therefore Mr. Fogg proposed to the Indian to hire
Kiouni, he refused point-blank. Mr. Fogg persisted, offering the excessive sum
of ten pounds an hour for the loan of the beast to Allahabad. Refused. Twenty
pounds? Refused also. Forty pounds? Still refused. Passepartout jumped at each
advance; but the Indian declined to be tempted. Yet the offer was an alluring
one, for, supposing it took the elephant fifteen hours to reach Allahabad, his
owner would receive no less than six hundred pounds sterling.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg, without getting in the least flurried, then proposed to purchase
the animal outright, and at first offered a thousand pounds for him. The
Indian, perhaps thinking he was going to make a great bargain, still refused.
</p>
<p>
Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr. Fogg aside, and begged him to reflect before he
went any further; to which that gentleman replied that he was not in the habit
of acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand pounds was at stake, that the
elephant was absolutely necessary to him, and that he would secure him if he
had to pay twenty times his value. Returning to the Indian, whose small, sharp
eyes, glistening with avarice, betrayed that with him it was only a question of
how great a price he could obtain. Mr. Fogg offered first twelve hundred, then
fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds. Passepartout, usually
so rubicund, was fairly white with suspense.
</p>
<p>
At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.
</p>
<p>
“What a price, good heavens!” cried Passepartout, “for an
elephant.”
</p>
<p>
It only remained now to find a guide, which was comparatively easy. A young
Parsee, with an intelligent face, offered his services, which Mr. Fogg
accepted, promising so generous a reward as to materially stimulate his zeal.
The elephant was led out and equipped. The Parsee, who was an accomplished
elephant driver, covered his back with a sort of saddle-cloth, and attached to
each of his flanks some curiously uncomfortable howdahs. Phileas Fogg paid the
Indian with some banknotes which he extracted from the famous carpet-bag, a
proceeding that seemed to deprive poor Passepartout of his vitals. Then he
offered to carry Sir Francis to Allahabad, which the brigadier gratefully
accepted, as one traveller the more would not be likely to fatigue the gigantic
beast. Provisions were purchased at Kholby, and, while Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg
took the howdahs on either side, Passepartout got astride the saddle-cloth
between them. The Parsee perched himself on the elephant’s neck, and at
nine o’clock they set out from the village, the animal marching off
through the dense forest of palms by the shortest cut.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS VENTURE ACROSS THE INDIAN FORESTS, AND
WHAT ENSUED</h2>
<p>
In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of the line where
the railway was still in process of being built. This line, owing to the
capricious turnings of the Vindhia Mountains, did not pursue a straight course.
The Parsee, who was quite familiar with the roads and paths in the district,
declared that they would gain twenty miles by striking directly through the
forest.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the peculiar
howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the swift trotting of the
elephant, spurred on as he was by the skilful Parsee; but they endured the
discomfort with true British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catch
a glimpse of each other. As for Passepartout, who was mounted on the
beast’s back, and received the direct force of each concussion as he trod
along, he was very careful, in accordance with his master’s advice, to
keep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise have been bitten
off short. The worthy fellow bounced from the elephant’s neck to his
rump, and vaulted like a clown on a spring-board; yet he laughed in the midst
of his bouncing, and from time to time took a piece of sugar out of his pocket,
and inserted it in Kiouni’s trunk, who received it without in the least
slackening his regular trot.
</p>
<p>
After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an hour for rest,
during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at a neighbouring spring, set
to devouring the branches and shrubs round about him. Neither Sir Francis nor
Mr. Fogg regretted the delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief.
“Why, he’s made of iron!” exclaimed the general, gazing
admiringly on Kiouni.
</p>
<p>
“Of forged iron,” replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing a
hasty breakfast.
</p>
<p>
At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country soon presented a
very savage aspect. Copses of dates and dwarf-palms succeeded the dense
forests; then vast, dry plains, dotted with scanty shrubs, and sown with great
blocks of syenite. All this portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented
by travellers, is inhabited by a fanatical population, hardened in the most
horrible practices of the Hindoo faith. The English have not been able to
secure complete dominion over this territory, which is subjected to the
influence of rajahs, whom it is almost impossible to reach in their
inaccessible mountain fastnesses. The travellers several times saw bands of
ferocious Indians, who, when they perceived the elephant striding
across-country, made angry and threatening motions. The Parsee avoided them as
much as possible. Few animals were observed on the route; even the monkeys
hurried from their path with contortions and grimaces which convulsed
Passepartout with laughter.
</p>
<p>
In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the worthy servant.
What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he got to Allahabad? Would he
carry him on with him? Impossible! The cost of transporting him would make him
ruinously expensive. Would he sell him, or set him free? The estimable beast
certainly deserved some consideration. Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him,
Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much embarrassed; and these
thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time.
</p>
<p>
The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the evening, and
another halt was made on the northern slope, in a ruined bungalow. They had
gone nearly twenty-five miles that day, and an equal distance still separated
them from the station of Allahabad.
</p>
<p>
The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a few dry
branches, and the warmth was very grateful, provisions purchased at Kholby
sufficed for supper, and the travellers ate ravenously. The conversation,
beginning with a few disconnected phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady
snores. The guide watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself
against the trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to disturb
the slumberers, although occasional growls from panthers and chatterings of
monkeys broke the silence; the more formidable beasts made no cries or hostile
demonstration against the occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily,
like an honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in
uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg, he slumbered
as peacefully as if he had been in his serene mansion in Saville Row.
</p>
<p>
The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped to reach
Allahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would only lose a part of the
forty-eight hours saved since the beginning of the tour. Kiouni, resuming his
rapid gait, soon descended the lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noon
they passed by the village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches of
the Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep the
open country, which lies along the first depressions of the basin of the great
river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north-east. They stopped
under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and as
succulent as cream, was amply partaken of and appreciated.
</p>
<p>
At two o’clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended several
miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods. They had not as yet had
any unpleasant encounters, and the journey seemed on the point of being
successfully accomplished, when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenly
stopped.
</p>
<p>
It was then four o’clock.
</p>
<p>
“What’s the matter?” asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know, officer,” replied the Parsee, listening
attentively to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches.
</p>
<p>
The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a distant concert of
human voices accompanied by brass instruments. Passepartout was all eyes and
ears. Mr. Fogg patiently waited without a word. The Parsee jumped to the
ground, fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket. He soon
returned, saying:
</p>
<p>
“A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must prevent their
seeing us, if possible.”
</p>
<p>
The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at the same time
asking the travellers not to stir. He held himself ready to bestride the animal
at a moment’s notice, should flight become necessary; but he evidently
thought that the procession of the faithful would pass without perceiving them
amid the thick foliage, in which they were wholly concealed.
</p>
<p>
The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer, and now droning
songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals. The head of the
procession soon appeared beneath the trees, a hundred paces away; and the
strange figures who performed the religious ceremony were easily distinguished
through the branches. First came the priests, with mitres on their heads, and
clothed in long lace robes. They were surrounded by men, women, and children,
who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals by the
tambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn a car with large wheels,
the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each other. Upon the
car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus, stood a hideous statue
with four arms, the body coloured a dull red, with haggard eyes, dishevelled
hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted with betel. It stood upright upon the
figure of a prostrate and headless giant.
</p>
<p>
Sir Francis, recognising the statue, whispered, “The goddess Kali; the
goddess of love and death.”
</p>
<p>
“Of death, perhaps,” muttered back Passepartout, “but of
love—that ugly old hag? Never!”
</p>
<p>
The Parsee made a motion to keep silence.
</p>
<p>
A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round the statue;
these were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts whence their blood issued
drop by drop—stupid fanatics, who, in the great Indian ceremonies, still
throw themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut. Some Brahmins, clad in all the
sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman who faltered at every
step, followed. This woman was young, and as fair as a European. Her head and
neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and
gems with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold, and
covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her form.
</p>
<p>
The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast to her,
armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists, and long damascened
pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man,
gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban
embroidered with pearls, a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere
sewed with diamonds, and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince. Next came
the musicians and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned
the noise of the instruments; these closed the procession.
</p>
<p>
Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and, turning to the
guide, said, “A suttee.”
</p>
<p>
The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession slowly wound
under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in the depths of the wood.
The songs gradually died away; occasionally cries were heard in the distance,
until at last all was silence again.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the procession
had disappeared, asked: “What is a suttee?”
</p>
<p>
“A suttee,” returned the general, “is a human sacrifice, but
a voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow at the
dawn of day.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, the scoundrels!” cried Passepartout, who could not repress his
indignation.
</p>
<p>
“And the corpse?” asked Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Is that of the prince, her husband,” said the guide; “an
independent rajah of Bundelcund.”
</p>
<p>
“Is it possible,” resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not the
least emotion, “that these barbarous customs still exist in India, and
that the English have been unable to put a stop to them?”
</p>
<p>
“These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India,”
replied Sir Francis; “but we have no power over these savage territories,
and especially here in Bundelcund. The whole district north of the Vindhias is
the theatre of incessant murders and pillage.”
</p>
<p>
“The poor wretch!” exclaimed Passepartout, “to be burned
alive!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” returned Sir Francis, “burned alive. And, if she were
not, you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit to from
her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her on a scanty allowance of
rice, treat her with contempt; she would be looked upon as an unclean creature,
and would die in some corner, like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful
an existence drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice much more than love
or religious fanaticism. Sometimes, however, the sacrifice is really voluntary,
and it requires the active interference of the Government to prevent it.
Several years ago, when I was living at Bombay, a young widow asked permission
of the governor to be burned along with her husband’s body; but, as you
may imagine, he refused. The woman left the town, took refuge with an
independent rajah, and there carried out her self-devoted purpose.”
</p>
<p>
While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several times, and now
said: “The sacrifice which will take place to-morrow at dawn is not a
voluntary one.”
</p>
<p>
“How do you know?”
</p>
<p>
“Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund.”
</p>
<p>
“But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any
resistance,” observed Sir Francis.
</p>
<p>
“That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and
opium.”
</p>
<p>
“But where are they taking her?”
</p>
<p>
“To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the night
there.”
</p>
<p>
“And the sacrifice will take place—”
</p>
<p>
“To-morrow, at the first light of dawn.”
</p>
<p>
The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped upon his neck.
Just at the moment that he was about to urge Kiouni forward with a peculiar
whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said,
“Suppose we save this woman.”
</p>
<p>
“Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!”
</p>
<p>
“I have yet twelve hours to spare; I can devote them to that.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, you are a man of heart!”
</p>
<p>
“Sometimes,” replied Phileas Fogg, quietly; “when I have the
time.”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT RECEIVES A NEW PROOF THAT FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE </h2>
<p>
The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable. Mr. Fogg
was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore the success of his
tour. But he did not hesitate, and he found in Sir Francis Cromarty an
enthusiastic ally.
</p>
<p>
As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be proposed. His
master’s idea charmed him; he perceived a heart, a soul, under that icy
exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
There remained the guide: what course would he adopt? Would he not take part
with the Indians? In default of his assistance, it was necessary to be assured
of his neutrality.
</p>
<p>
Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.
</p>
<p>
“Officers,” replied the guide, “I am a Parsee, and this woman
is a Parsee. Command me as you will.”
</p>
<p>
“Excellent!” said Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“However,” resumed the guide, “it is certain, not only that
we shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken.”
</p>
<p>
“That is foreseen,” replied Mr. Fogg. “I think we must wait
till night before acting.”
</p>
<p>
“I think so,” said the guide.
</p>
<p>
The worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who, he said, was a
celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the daughter of a wealthy Bombay
merchant. She had received a thoroughly English education in that city, and,
from her manners and intelligence, would be thought an European. Her name was
Aouda. Left an orphan, she was married against her will to the old rajah of
Bundelcund; and, knowing the fate that awaited her, she escaped, was retaken,
and devoted by the rajah’s relatives, who had an interest in her death,
to the sacrifice from which it seemed she could not escape.
</p>
<p>
The Parsee’s narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions in
their generous design. It was decided that the guide should direct the elephant
towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly approached as quickly as
possible. They halted, half an hour afterwards, in a copse, some five hundred
feet from the pagoda, where they were well concealed; but they could hear the
groans and cries of the fakirs distinctly.
</p>
<p>
They then discussed the means of getting at the victim. The guide was familiar
with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared, the young woman was
imprisoned. Could they enter any of its doors while the whole party of Indians
was plunged in a drunken sleep, or was it safer to attempt to make a hole in
the walls? This could only be determined at the moment and the place
themselves; but it was certain that the abduction must be made that night, and
not when, at break of day, the victim was led to her funeral pyre. Then no
human intervention could save her.
</p>
<p>
As soon as night fell, about six o’clock, they decided to make a
reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were just ceasing;
the Indians were in the act of plunging themselves into the drunkenness caused
by liquid opium mingled with hemp, and it might be possible to slip between
them to the temple itself.
</p>
<p>
The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the wood, and in ten
minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream, whence, by the
light of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre of wood, on the top of which
lay the embalmed body of the rajah, which was to be burned with his wife. The
pagoda, whose minarets loomed above the trees in the deepening dusk, stood a
hundred steps away.
</p>
<p>
“Come!” whispered the guide.
</p>
<p>
He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush, followed by his
companions; the silence around was only broken by the low murmuring of the wind
among the branches.
</p>
<p>
Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up by the
torches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians, motionless in their
drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn with the dead. Men, women, and
children lay together.
</p>
<p>
In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji loomed distinctly.
Much to the guide’s disappointment, the guards of the rajah, lighted by
torches, were watching at the doors and marching to and fro with naked sabres;
probably the priests, too, were watching within.
</p>
<p>
The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force an entrance to the
temple, advanced no farther, but led his companions back again. Phileas Fogg
and Sir Francis Cromarty also saw that nothing could be attempted in that
direction. They stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy.
</p>
<p>
“It is only eight now,” said the brigadier, “and these guards
may also go to sleep.”
</p>
<p>
“It is not impossible,” returned the Parsee.
</p>
<p>
They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.
</p>
<p>
The time seemed long; the guide ever and anon left them to take an observation
on the edge of the wood, but the guards watched steadily by the glare of the
torches, and a dim light crept through the windows of the pagoda.
</p>
<p>
They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards, and it
became apparent that their yielding to sleep could not be counted on. The other
plan must be carried out; an opening in the walls of the pagoda must be made.
It remained to ascertain whether the priests were watching by the side of their
victim as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door.
</p>
<p>
After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was ready for the
attempt, and advanced, followed by the others. They took a roundabout way, so
as to get at the pagoda on the rear. They reached the walls about half-past
twelve, without having met anyone; here there was no guard, nor were there
either windows or doors.
</p>
<p>
The night was dark. The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the horizon, and was
covered with heavy clouds; the height of the trees deepened the darkness.
</p>
<p>
It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must be accomplished,
and to attain this purpose the party only had their pocket-knives. Happily the
temple walls were built of brick and wood, which could be penetrated with
little difficulty; after one brick had been taken out, the rest would yield
easily.
</p>
<p>
They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side and Passepartout on
the other began to loosen the bricks so as to make an aperture two feet wide.
They were getting on rapidly, when suddenly a cry was heard in the interior of
the temple, followed almost instantly by other cries replying from the outside.
Passepartout and the guide stopped. Had they been heard? Was the alarm being
given? Common prudence urged them to retire, and they did so, followed by
Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis. They again hid themselves in the wood, and waited
till the disturbance, whatever it might be, ceased, holding themselves ready to
resume their attempt without delay. But, awkwardly enough, the guards now
appeared at the rear of the temple, and there installed themselves, in
readiness to prevent a surprise.
</p>
<p>
It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the party, thus
interrupted in their work. They could not now reach the victim; how, then,
could they save her? Sir Francis shook his fists, Passepartout was beside
himself, and the guide gnashed his teeth with rage. The tranquil Fogg waited,
without betraying any emotion.
</p>
<p>
“We have nothing to do but to go away,” whispered Sir Francis.
</p>
<p>
“Nothing but to go away,” echoed the guide.
</p>
<p>
“Stop,” said Fogg. “I am only due at Allahabad tomorrow
before noon.”
</p>
<p>
“But what can you hope to do?” asked Sir Francis. “In a few
hours it will be daylight, and—”
</p>
<p>
“The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last
moment.”
</p>
<p>
Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg’s eyes. What was this
cool Englishman thinking of? Was he planning to make a rush for the young woman
at the very moment of the sacrifice, and boldly snatch her from her
executioners?
</p>
<p>
This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg was such a fool.
Sir Francis consented, however, to remain to the end of this terrible drama.
The guide led them to the rear of the glade, where they were able to observe
the sleeping groups.
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower branches of a
tree, was resolving an idea which had at first struck him like a flash, and
which was now firmly lodged in his brain.
</p>
<p>
He had commenced by saying to himself, “What folly!” and then he
repeated, “Why not, after all? It’s a chance,—perhaps the
only one; and with such sots!” Thinking thus, he slipped, with the
suppleness of a serpent, to the lowest branches, the ends of which bent almost
to the ground.
</p>
<p>
The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the approach of day,
though it was not yet light. This was the moment. The slumbering multitude
became animated, the tambourines sounded, songs and cries arose; the hour of
the sacrifice had come. The doors of the pagoda swung open, and a bright light
escaped from its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis
espied the victim. She seemed, having shaken off the stupor of intoxication, to
be striving to escape from her executioner. Sir Francis’s heart throbbed;
and, convulsively seizing Mr. Fogg’s hand, found in it an open knife.
Just at this moment the crowd began to move. The young woman had again fallen
into a stupor caused by the fumes of hemp, and passed among the fakirs, who
escorted her with their wild, religious cries.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of the crowd,
followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of the stream, and stopped
fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the rajah’s corpse. In
the semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out beside
her husband’s body. Then a torch was brought, and the wood, heavily
soaked with oil, instantly took fire.
</p>
<p>
At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who, in an
instant of mad generosity, was about to rush upon the pyre. But he had quickly
pushed them aside, when the whole scene suddenly changed. A cry of terror
arose. The whole multitude prostrated themselves, terror-stricken, on the
ground.
</p>
<p>
The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden, like a spectre,
took up his wife in his arms, and descended from the pyre in the midst of the
clouds of smoke, which only heightened his ghostly appearance.
</p>
<p>
Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay there, with
their faces on the ground, not daring to lift their eyes and behold such a
prodigy.
</p>
<p>
The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which supported her,
and which she did not seem in the least to burden. Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis
stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head, and Passepartout was, no doubt,
scarcely less stupefied.
</p>
<p>
The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, and, in an abrupt
tone, said, “Let us be off!”
</p>
<p>
It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the midst of the
smoke and, profiting by the still overhanging darkness, had delivered the young
woman from death! It was Passepartout who, playing his part with a happy
audacity, had passed through the crowd amid the general terror.
</p>
<p>
A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the woods, and the
elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. But the cries and noise, and a
ball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg’s hat, apprised them that the
trick had been discovered.
</p>
<p>
The old rajah’s body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre; and the
priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an abduction had taken
place. They hastened into the forest, followed by the soldiers, who fired a
volley after the fugitives; but the latter rapidly increased the distance
between them, and ere long found themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and
arrows.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL VALLEY OF THE
GANGES WITHOUT EVER THINKING OF SEEING IT</h2>
<p>
The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour Passepartout laughed
gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow’s hand, and
his master said, “Well done!” which, from him, was high
commendation; to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of the affair
belonged to Mr. Fogg. As for him, he had only been struck with a
“queer” idea; and he laughed to think that for a few moments he,
Passepartout, the ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse of a
charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the young Indian woman, she
had been unconscious throughout of what was passing, and now, wrapped up in a
travelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the howdahs.
</p>
<p>
The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was advancing
rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour after leaving the
pagoda, had crossed a vast plain. They made a halt at seven o’clock, the
young woman being still in a state of complete prostration. The guide made her
drink a little brandy and water, but the drowsiness which stupefied her could
not yet be shaken off. Sir Francis, who was familiar with the effects of the
intoxication produced by the fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on her
account. But he was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate. He told
Phileas Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall
again into the hands of her executioners. These fanatics were scattered
throughout the county, and would, despite the English police, recover their
victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by quitting India
for ever.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.
</p>
<p>
The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o’clock, and, the
interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to reach Calcutta
in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg would thus be able to arrive in
time to take the steamer which left Calcutta the next day, October 25th, at
noon, for Hong Kong.
</p>
<p>
The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station, whilst
Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various articles of toilet, a
dress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master gave him unlimited credit.
Passepartout started off forthwith, and found himself in the streets of
Allahabad, that is, the City of God, one of the most venerated in India, being
built at the junction of the two sacred rivers, Ganges and Jumna, the waters of
which attract pilgrims from every part of the peninsula. The Ganges, according
to the legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing to
Brahma’s agency, it descends to the earth.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a good look at
the city. It was formerly defended by a noble fort, which has since become a
state prison; its commerce has dwindled away, and Passepartout in vain looked
about him for such a bazaar as he used to frequent in Regent Street. At last he
came upon an elderly, crusty Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom
he purchased a dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin
pelisse, for which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds. He then
returned triumphantly to the station.
</p>
<p>
The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda began
gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that her fine eyes resumed
all their soft Indian expression.
</p>
<p>
When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the queen of
Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus:
</p>
<p>
“Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious
contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow and
freshness. Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama, the god
of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest reflections and a
celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of Himalaya, in the black pupils
of her great clear eyes. Her teeth, fine, equal, and white, glitter between her
smiling lips like dewdrops in a passion-flower’s half-enveloped breast.
Her delicately formed ears, her vermilion hands, her little feet, curved and
tender as the lotus-bud, glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls of
Ceylon, the most dazzling diamonds of Golconda. Her narrow and supple waist,
which a hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline of her rounded figure and
the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower displays the wealth of its
treasures; and beneath the silken folds of her tunic she seems to have been
modelled in pure silver by the godlike hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal
sculptor.”
</p>
<p>
It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to Aouda, that she
was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the phrase. She spoke
English with great purity, and the guide had not exaggerated in saying that the
young Parsee had been transformed by her bringing up.
</p>
<p>
The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to pay the
guide the price agreed upon for his service, and not a farthing more; which
astonished Passepartout, who remembered all that his master owed to the
guide’s devotion. He had, indeed, risked his life in the adventure at
Pillaji, and, if he should be caught afterwards by the Indians, he would with
difficulty escape their vengeance. Kiouni, also, must be disposed of. What
should be done with the elephant, which had been so dearly purchased? Phileas
Fogg had already determined this question.
</p>
<p>
“Parsee,” said he to the guide, “you have been serviceable
and devoted. I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion. Would you
like to have this elephant? He is yours.”
</p>
<p>
The guide’s eyes glistened.
</p>
<p>
“Your honour is giving me a fortune!” cried he.
</p>
<p>
“Take him, guide,” returned Mr. Fogg, “and I shall still be
your debtor.”
</p>
<p>
“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout. “Take him, friend. Kiouni is
a brave and faithful beast.” And, going up to the elephant, he gave him
several lumps of sugar, saying, “Here, Kiouni, here, here.”
</p>
<p>
The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout around
the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head. Passepartout, not in
the least alarmed, caressed the animal, which replaced him gently on the
ground.
</p>
<p>
Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout, installed in
a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were whirling at full speed
towards Benares. It was a run of eighty miles, and was accomplished in two
hours. During the journey, the young woman fully recovered her senses. What was
her astonishment to find herself in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in
European habiliments, and with travellers who were quite strangers to her! Her
companions first set about fully reviving her with a little liquor, and then
Sir Francis narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with
which Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and
recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of Passepartout’s
rash idea. Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout, abashed, kept repeating
that “it wasn’t worth telling.”
</p>
<p>
Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than words; her
fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips. Then, as her thoughts
strayed back to the scene of the sacrifice, and recalled the dangers which
still menaced her, she shuddered with terror.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda’s mind, and offered, in
order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might remain
safely until the affair was hushed up—an offer which she eagerly and
gratefully accepted. She had, it seems, a Parsee relation, who was one of the
principal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly an English city, though on an
island on the Chinese coast.
</p>
<p>
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin legends assert
that this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi, which, like
Mahomet’s tomb, was once suspended between heaven and earth; though the
Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of India, stands
quite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout caught glimpses of its
brick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of desolation to the place, as the
train entered it.
</p>
<p>
Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty’s destination, the troops he was
rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city. He bade adieu to
Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing the hope that he would
come that way again in a less original but more profitable fashion. Mr. Fogg
lightly pressed him by the hand. The parting of Aouda, who did not forget what
she owed to Sir Francis, betrayed more warmth; and, as for Passepartout, he
received a hearty shake of the hand from the gallant general.
</p>
<p>
The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the valley of the
Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage the travellers had glimpses of
the diversified landscape of Behar, with its mountains clothed in verdure, its
fields of barley, wheat, and corn, its jungles peopled with green alligators,
its neat villages, and its still thickly-leaved forests. Elephants were bathing
in the waters of the sacred river, and groups of Indians, despite the advanced
season and chilly air, were performing solemnly their pious ablutions. These
were fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities being
Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural forces, and
Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators. What would these
divinities think of India, anglicised as it is to-day, with steamers whistling
and scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls which float upon its
surface, the turtles swarming along its banks, and the faithful dwelling upon
its borders?
</p>
<p>
The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the steam
concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could scarcely discern the
fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward from Benares, the ancient
stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or Ghazipur and its famous rose-water
factories; or the tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of the
Ganges; the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing and
trading-place, where is held the principal opium market of India; or Monghir, a
more than European town, for it is as English as Manchester or Birmingham, with
its iron foundries, edgetool factories, and high chimneys puffing clouds of
black smoke heavenward.
</p>
<p>
Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst of the roaring
of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before the locomotive; and the
marvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour, Murshedabad, the ancient capital,
Burdwan, Hugly, and the French town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would
have been proud to see his country’s flag flying, were hidden from their
view in the darkness.
</p>
<p>
Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and the packet left for Hong Kong
at noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him.
</p>
<p>
According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of October, and
that was the exact date of his actual arrival. He was therefore neither
behind-hand nor ahead of time. The two days gained between London and Bombay
had been lost, as has been seen, in the journey across India. But it is not to
be supposed that Phileas Fogg regretted them.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/>
IN WHICH THE BAG OF BANKNOTES DISGORGES SOME THOUSANDS OF POUNDS MORE </h2>
<p>
The train entered the station, and Passepartout jumping out first, was followed
by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend. Phileas Fogg intended
to proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer, in order to get Aouda comfortably
settled for the voyage. He was unwilling to leave her while they were still on
dangerous ground.
</p>
<p>
Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him, and said,
“Mr. Phileas Fogg?”
</p>
<p>
“I am he.”
</p>
<p>
“Is this man your servant?” added the policeman, pointing to
Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“Be so good, both of you, as to follow me.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg betrayed no surprise whatever. The policeman was a representative of
the law, and law is sacred to an Englishman. Passepartout tried to reason about
the matter, but the policeman tapped him with his stick, and Mr. Fogg made him
a signal to obey.
</p>
<p>
“May this young lady go with us?” asked he.
</p>
<p>
“She may,” replied the policeman.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palkigahri, a sort of
four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in which they took their places and
were driven away. No one spoke during the twenty minutes which elapsed before
they reached their destination. They first passed through the “black
town,” with its narrow streets, its miserable, dirty huts, and squalid
population; then through the “European town,” which presented a
relief in its bright brick mansions, shaded by coconut-trees and bristling with
masts, where, although it was early morning, elegantly dressed horsemen and
handsome equipages were passing back and forth.
</p>
<p>
The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which, however, did not
have the appearance of a private mansion. The policeman having requested his
prisoners—for so, truly, they might be called—to descend, conducted
them into a room with barred windows, and said: “You will appear before
Judge Obadiah at half-past eight.”
</p>
<p>
He then retired, and closed the door.
</p>
<p>
“Why, we are prisoners!” exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a
chair.
</p>
<p>
Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg: “Sir, you
must leave me to my fate! It is on my account that you receive this treatment,
it is for having saved me!”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg contented himself with saying that it was impossible. It was quite
unlikely that he should be arrested for preventing a suttee. The complainants
would not dare present themselves with such a charge. There was some mistake.
Moreover, he would not, in any event, abandon Aouda, but would escort her to
Hong Kong.
</p>
<p>
“But the steamer leaves at noon!” observed Passepartout, nervously.
</p>
<p>
“We shall be on board by noon,” replied his master, placidly.
</p>
<p>
It was said so positively that Passepartout could not help muttering to
himself, “Parbleu that’s certain! Before noon we shall be on
board.” But he was by no means reassured.
</p>
<p>
At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and, requesting
them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall. It was evidently a
court-room, and a crowd of Europeans and natives already occupied the rear of
the apartment.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a bench opposite the desks
of the magistrate and his clerk. Immediately after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, round
man, followed by the clerk, entered. He proceeded to take down a wig which was
hanging on a nail, and put it hurriedly on his head.
</p>
<p>
“The first case,” said he. Then, putting his hand to his head, he
exclaimed, “Heh! This is not my wig!”
</p>
<p>
“No, your worship,” returned the clerk, “it is mine.”
</p>
<p>
“My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence in a
clerk’s wig?”
</p>
<p>
The wigs were exchanged.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the big clock
over the judge seemed to go around with terrible rapidity.
</p>
<p>
“The first case,” repeated Judge Obadiah.
</p>
<p>
“Phileas Fogg?” demanded Oysterpuff.
</p>
<p>
“I am here,” replied Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Passepartout?”
</p>
<p>
“Present,” responded Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
“Good,” said the judge. “You have been looked for, prisoners,
for two days on the trains from Bombay.”
</p>
<p>
“But of what are we accused?” asked Passepartout, impatiently.
</p>
<p>
“You are about to be informed.”
</p>
<p>
“I am an English subject, sir,” said Mr. Fogg, “and I have
the right—”
</p>
<p>
“Have you been ill-treated?”
</p>
<p>
“Not at all.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well; let the complainants come in.”
</p>
<p>
A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian priests entered.
</p>
<p>
“That’s it,” muttered Passepartout; “these are the
rogues who were going to burn our young lady.”
</p>
<p>
The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk proceeded to
read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege against Phileas Fogg and his
servant, who were accused of having violated a place held consecrated by the
Brahmin religion.
</p>
<p>
“You hear the charge?” asked the judge.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, “and I
admit it.”
</p>
<p>
“You admit it?”
</p>
<p>
“I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn, what
they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji.”
</p>
<p>
The priests looked at each other; they did not seem to understand what was
said.
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” cried Passepartout, warmly; “at the pagoda of Pillaji,
where they were on the point of burning their victim.”
</p>
<p>
The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were stupefied.
</p>
<p>
“What victim?” said Judge Obadiah. “Burn whom? In Bombay
itself?”
</p>
<p>
“Bombay?” cried Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
“Certainly. We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of the
pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay.”
</p>
<p>
“And as a proof,” added the clerk, “here are the
desecrator’s very shoes, which he left behind him.”
</p>
<p>
Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.
</p>
<p>
“My shoes!” cried Passepartout, in his surprise permitting this
imprudent exclamation to escape him.
</p>
<p>
The confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the affair at Bombay,
for which they were now detained at Calcutta, may be imagined.
</p>
<p>
Fix the detective, had foreseen the advantage which Passepartout’s
escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for twelve hours, had consulted
the priests of Malabar Hill. Knowing that the English authorities dealt very
severely with this kind of misdemeanour, he promised them a goodly sum in
damages, and sent them forward to Calcutta by the next train. Owing to the
delay caused by the rescue of the young widow, Fix and the priests reached the
Indian capital before Mr. Fogg and his servant, the magistrates having been
already warned by a dispatch to arrest them should they arrive. Fix’s
disappointment when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his appearance in
Calcutta may be imagined. He made up his mind that the robber had stopped
somewhere on the route and taken refuge in the southern provinces. For
twenty-four hours Fix watched the station with feverish anxiety; at last he was
rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and Passepartout arrive, accompanied by a young
woman, whose presence he was wholly at a loss to explain. He hastened for a
policeman; and this was how the party came to be arrested and brought before
Judge Obadiah.
</p>
<p>
Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have espied the
detective ensconced in a corner of the court-room, watching the proceedings
with an interest easily understood; for the warrant had failed to reach him at
Calcutta, as it had done at Bombay and Suez.
</p>
<p>
Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout’s rash exclamation,
which the poor fellow would have given the world to recall.
</p>
<p>
“The facts are admitted?” asked the judge.
</p>
<p>
“Admitted,” replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.
</p>
<p>
“Inasmuch,” resumed the judge, “as the English law protects
equally and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as the man
Passepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred pagoda of Malabar Hill,
at Bombay, on the 20th of October, I condemn the said Passepartout to
imprisonment for fifteen days and a fine of three hundred pounds.”
</p>
<p>
“Three hundred pounds!” cried Passepartout, startled at the
largeness of the sum.
</p>
<p>
“Silence!” shouted the constable.
</p>
<p>
“And inasmuch,” continued the judge, “as it is not proved
that the act was not done by the connivance of the master with the servant, and
as the master in any case must be held responsible for the acts of his paid
servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a week’s imprisonment and a fine of
one hundred and fifty pounds.”
</p>
<p>
Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction; if Phileas Fogg could be
detained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than time for the warrant to
arrive. Passepartout was stupefied. This sentence ruined his master. A wager of
twenty thousand pounds lost, because he, like a precious fool, had gone into
that abominable pagoda!
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not in the least concern
him, did not even lift his eyebrows while it was being pronounced. Just as the
clerk was calling the next case, he rose, and said, “I offer bail.”
</p>
<p>
“You have that right,” returned the judge.
</p>
<p>
Fix’s blood ran cold, but he resumed his composure when he heard the
judge announce that the bail required for each prisoner would be one thousand
pounds.
</p>
<p>
“I will pay it at once,” said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank-bills
from the carpet-bag, which Passepartout had by him, and placing them on the
clerk’s desk.
</p>
<p>
“This sum will be restored to you upon your release from prison,”
said the judge. “Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail.”
</p>
<p>
“Come!” said Phileas Fogg to his servant.
</p>
<p>
“But let them at least give me back my shoes!” cried Passepartout
angrily.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!” he muttered, as they were handed
to him. “More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides, they pinch my
feet.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed by the crestfallen
Passepartout. Fix still nourished hopes that the robber would not, after all,
leave the two thousand pounds behind him, but would decide to serve out his
week in jail, and issued forth on Mr. Fogg’s traces. That gentleman took
a carriage, and the party were soon landed on one of the quays.
</p>
<p>
The “Rangoon” was moored half a mile off in the harbour, its signal
of departure hoisted at the mast-head. Eleven o’clock was striking; Mr.
Fogg was an hour in advance of time. Fix saw them leave the carriage and push
off in a boat for the steamer, and stamped his feet with disappointment.
</p>
<p>
“The rascal is off, after all!” he exclaimed. “Two thousand
pounds sacrificed! He’s as prodigal as a thief! I’ll follow him to
the end of the world if necessary; but, at the rate he is going on, the stolen
money will soon be exhausted.”
</p>
<p>
The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture. Since leaving
London, what with travelling expenses, bribes, the purchase of the elephant,
bails, and fines, Mr. Fogg had already spent more than five thousand pounds on
the way, and the percentage of the sum recovered from the bank robber promised
to the detectives, was rapidly diminishing.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/>
IN WHICH FIX DOES NOT SEEM TO UNDERSTAND IN THE LEAST WHAT IS SAID TO HIM </h2>
<p>
The “Rangoon”—one of the Peninsular and Oriental
Company’s boats plying in the Chinese and Japanese seas—was a screw
steamer, built of iron, weighing about seventeen hundred and seventy tons, and
with engines of four hundred horse-power. She was as fast, but not as well
fitted up, as the “Mongolia,” and Aouda was not as comfortably
provided for on board of her as Phileas Fogg could have wished. However, the
trip from Calcutta to Hong Kong only comprised some three thousand five hundred
miles, occupying from ten to twelve days, and the young woman was not difficult
to please.
</p>
<p>
During the first days of the journey Aouda became better acquainted with her
protector, and constantly gave evidence of her deep gratitude for what he had
done. The phlegmatic gentleman listened to her, apparently at least, with
coldness, neither his voice nor his manner betraying the slightest emotion; but
he seemed to be always on the watch that nothing should be wanting to
Aouda’s comfort. He visited her regularly each day at certain hours, not
so much to talk himself, as to sit and hear her talk. He treated her with the
strictest politeness, but with the precision of an automaton, the movements of
which had been arranged for this purpose. Aouda did not quite know what to make
of him, though Passepartout had given her some hints of his master’s
eccentricity, and made her smile by telling her of the wager which was sending
him round the world. After all, she owed Phileas Fogg her life, and she always
regarded him through the exalting medium of her gratitude.
</p>
<p>
Aouda confirmed the Parsee guide’s narrative of her touching history. She
did, indeed, belong to the highest of the native races of India. Many of the
Parsee merchants have made great fortunes there by dealing in cotton; and one
of them, Sir Jametsee Jeejeebhoy, was made a baronet by the English government.
Aouda was a relative of this great man, and it was his cousin, Jeejeeh, whom
she hoped to join at Hong Kong. Whether she would find a protector in him she
could not tell; but Mr. Fogg essayed to calm her anxieties, and to assure her
that everything would be mathematically—he used the very
word—arranged. Aouda fastened her great eyes, “clear as the sacred
lakes of the Himalaya,” upon him; but the intractable Fogg, as reserved
as ever, did not seem at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.
</p>
<p>
The first few days of the voyage passed prosperously, amid favourable weather
and propitious winds, and they soon came in sight of the great Andaman, the
principal of the islands in the Bay of Bengal, with its picturesque Saddle
Peak, two thousand four hundred feet high, looming above the waters. The
steamer passed along near the shores, but the savage Papuans, who are in the
lowest scale of humanity, but are not, as has been asserted, cannibals, did not
make their appearance.
</p>
<p>
The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was superb. Vast forests
of palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic mimosa, and tree-like ferns
covered the foreground, while behind, the graceful outlines of the mountains
were traced against the sky; and along the coasts swarmed by thousands the
precious swallows whose nests furnish a luxurious dish to the tables of the
Celestial Empire. The varied landscape afforded by the Andaman Islands was soon
passed, however, and the “Rangoon” rapidly approached the Straits
of Malacca, which gave access to the China seas.
</p>
<p>
What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to country, doing
all this while? He had managed to embark on the “Rangoon” at
Calcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after leaving orders that, if the
warrant should arrive, it should be forwarded to him at Hong Kong; and he hoped
to conceal his presence to the end of the voyage. It would have been difficult
to explain why he was on board without awakening Passepartout’s
suspicions, who thought him still at Bombay. But necessity impelled him,
nevertheless, to renew his acquaintance with the worthy servant, as will be
seen.
</p>
<p>
All the detective’s hopes and wishes were now centred on Hong Kong; for
the steamer’s stay at Singapore would be too brief to enable him to take
any steps there. The arrest must be made at Hong Kong, or the robber would
probably escape him for ever. Hong Kong was the last English ground on which he
would set foot; beyond, China, Japan, America offered to Fogg an almost certain
refuge. If the warrant should at last make its appearance at Hong Kong, Fix
could arrest him and give him into the hands of the local police, and there
would be no further trouble. But beyond Hong Kong, a simple warrant would be of
no avail; an extradition warrant would be necessary, and that would result in
delays and obstacles, of which the rascal would take advantage to elude
justice.
</p>
<p>
Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours which he spent in
his cabin, and kept repeating to himself, “Now, either the warrant will
be at Hong Kong, in which case I shall arrest my man, or it will not be there;
and this time it is absolutely necessary that I should delay his departure. I
have failed at Bombay, and I have failed at Calcutta; if I fail at Hong Kong,
my reputation is lost: Cost what it may, I <i>must</i> succeed! But how shall I
prevent his departure, if that should turn out to be my last resource?”
</p>
<p>
Fix made up his mind that, if worst came to worst, he would make a confidant of
Passepartout, and tell him what kind of a fellow his master really was. That
Passepartout was not Fogg’s accomplice, he was very certain. The servant,
enlightened by his disclosure, and afraid of being himself implicated in the
crime, would doubtless become an ally of the detective. But this method was a
dangerous one, only to be employed when everything else had failed. A word from
Passepartout to his master would ruin all. The detective was therefore in a
sore strait. But suddenly a new idea struck him. The presence of Aouda on the
“Rangoon,” in company with Phileas Fogg, gave him new material for
reflection.
</p>
<p>
Who was this woman? What combination of events had made her Fogg’s
travelling companion? They had evidently met somewhere between Bombay and
Calcutta; but where? Had they met accidentally, or had Fogg gone into the
interior purposely in quest of this charming damsel? Fix was fairly puzzled. He
asked himself whether there had not been a wicked elopement; and this idea so
impressed itself upon his mind that he determined to make use of the supposed
intrigue. Whether the young woman were married or not, he would be able to
create such difficulties for Mr. Fogg at Hong Kong that he could not escape by
paying any amount of money.
</p>
<p>
But could he even wait till they reached Hong Kong? Fogg had an abominable way
of jumping from one boat to another, and, before anything could be effected,
might get full under way again for Yokohama.
</p>
<p>
Fix decided that he must warn the English authorities, and signal the
“Rangoon” before her arrival. This was easy to do, since the
steamer stopped at Singapore, whence there is a telegraphic wire to Hong Kong.
He finally resolved, moreover, before acting more positively, to question
Passepartout. It would not be difficult to make him talk; and, as there was no
time to lose, Fix prepared to make himself known.
</p>
<p>
It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the
“Rangoon” was due at Singapore.
</p>
<p>
Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck. Passepartout was promenading up
and down in the forward part of the steamer. The detective rushed forward with
every appearance of extreme surprise, and exclaimed, “You here, on the
‘Rangoon’?”
</p>
<p>
“What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?” returned the really
astonished Passepartout, recognising his crony of the “Mongolia.”
“Why, I left you at Bombay, and here you are, on the way to Hong Kong!
Are you going round the world too?”
</p>
<p>
“No, no,” replied Fix; “I shall stop at Hong Kong—at
least for some days.”
</p>
<p>
“Hum!” said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed.
“But how is it I have not seen you on board since we left
Calcutta?”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, a trifle of sea-sickness—I’ve been staying in my berth.
The Gulf of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian Ocean. And how
is Mr. Fogg?”
</p>
<p>
“As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time! But, Monsieur
Fix, you don’t know that we have a young lady with us.”
</p>
<p>
“A young lady?” replied the detective, not seeming to comprehend
what was said.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda’s history, the affair at the
Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two thousand pounds, the
rescue, the arrest, and sentence of the Calcutta court, and the restoration of
Mr. Fogg and himself to liberty on bail. Fix, who was familiar with the last
events, seemed to be equally ignorant of all that Passepartout related; and the
later was charmed to find so interested a listener.
</p>
<p>
“But does your master propose to carry this young woman to Europe?”
</p>
<p>
“Not at all. We are simply going to place her under the protection of one
of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong Kong.”
</p>
<p>
“Nothing to be done there,” said Fix to himself, concealing his
disappointment. “A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?”
</p>
<p>
“Willingly, Monsieur Fix. We must at least have a friendly glass on board
the ‘Rangoon.’”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/>
SHOWING WHAT HAPPENED ON THE VOYAGE FROM SINGAPORE TO HONG KONG</h2>
<p>
The detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this interview, though
Fix was reserved, and did not attempt to induce his companion to divulge any
more facts concerning Mr. Fogg. He caught a glimpse of that mysterious
gentleman once or twice; but Mr. Fogg usually confined himself to the cabin,
where he kept Aouda company, or, according to his inveterate habit, took a hand
at whist.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange chance kept Fix
still on the route that his master was pursuing. It was really worth
considering why this certainly very amiable and complacent person, whom he had
first met at Suez, had then encountered on board the “Mongolia,”
who disembarked at Bombay, which he announced as his destination, and now
turned up so unexpectedly on the “Rangoon,” was following Mr.
Fogg’s tracks step by step. What was Fix’s object? Passepartout was
ready to wager his Indian shoes—which he religiously preserved—that
Fix would also leave Hong Kong at the same time with them, and probably on the
same steamer.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout might have cudgelled his brain for a century without hitting upon
the real object which the detective had in view. He never could have imagined
that Phileas Fogg was being tracked as a robber around the globe. But, as it is
in human nature to attempt the solution of every mystery, Passepartout suddenly
discovered an explanation of Fix’s movements, which was in truth far from
unreasonable. Fix, he thought, could only be an agent of Mr. Fogg’s
friends at the Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and to ascertain that he
really went round the world as had been agreed upon.
</p>
<p>
“It’s clear!” repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud
of his shrewdness. “He’s a spy sent to keep us in view! That
isn’t quite the thing, either, to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is so
honourable a man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you dear!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say nothing to his
master, lest he should be justly offended at this mistrust on the part of his
adversaries. But he determined to chaff Fix, when he had the chance, with
mysterious allusions, which, however, need not betray his real suspicions.
</p>
<p>
During the afternoon of Wednesday, 30th October, the “Rangoon”
entered the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula of that name from
Sumatra. The mountainous and craggy islets intercepted the beauties of this
noble island from the view of the travellers. The “Rangoon” weighed
anchor at Singapore the next day at four a.m., to receive coal, having gained
half a day on the prescribed time of her arrival. Phileas Fogg noted this gain
in his journal, and then, accompanied by Aouda, who betrayed a desire for a
walk on shore, disembarked.
</p>
<p>
Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg’s every movement, followed them cautiously,
without being himself perceived; while Passepartout, laughing in his sleeve at
Fix’s manœuvres, went about his usual errands.
</p>
<p>
The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are no mountains;
yet its appearance is not without attractions. It is a park checkered by
pleasant highways and avenues. A handsome carriage, drawn by a sleek pair of
New Holland horses, carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda into the midst of rows of
palms with brilliant foliage, and of clove-trees, whereof the cloves form the
heart of a half-open flower. Pepper plants replaced the prickly hedges of
European fields; sago-bushes, large ferns with gorgeous branches, varied the
aspect of this tropical clime; while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the
air with a penetrating perfume. Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skipped
about in the trees, nor were tigers wanting in the jungles.
</p>
<p>
After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr. Fogg returned to
the town, which is a vast collection of heavy-looking, irregular houses,
surrounded by charming gardens rich in tropical fruits and plants; and at ten
o’clock they re-embarked, closely followed by the detective, who had kept
them constantly in sight.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes—a fruit as
large as good-sized apples, of a dark-brown colour outside and a bright red
within, and whose white pulp, melting in the mouth, affords gourmands a
delicious sensation—was waiting for them on deck. He was only too glad to
offer some mangoes to Aouda, who thanked him very gracefully for them.
</p>
<p>
At eleven o’clock the “Rangoon” rode out of Singapore
harbour, and in a few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their forests,
inhabited by the most beautifully-furred tigers in the world, were lost to
view. Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred miles from the island of Hong
Kong, which is a little English colony near the Chinese coast. Phileas Fogg
hoped to accomplish the journey in six days, so as to be in time for the
steamer which would leave on the 6th of November for Yokohama, the principal
Japanese port.
</p>
<p>
The “Rangoon” had a large quota of passengers, many of whom
disembarked at Singapore, among them a number of Indians, Ceylonese, Chinamen,
Malays, and Portuguese, mostly second-class travellers.
</p>
<p>
The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the last quarter of the
moon. The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at intervals rose almost to a storm,
but happily blew from the south-west, and thus aided the steamer’s
progress. The captain as often as possible put up his sails, and under the
double action of steam and sail the vessel made rapid progress along the coasts
of Anam and Cochin China. Owing to the defective construction of the
“Rangoon,” however, unusual precautions became necessary in
unfavourable weather; but the loss of time which resulted from this cause,
while it nearly drove Passepartout out of his senses, did not seem to affect
his master in the least. Passepartout blamed the captain, the engineer, and the
crew, and consigned all who were connected with the ship to the land where the
pepper grows. Perhaps the thought of the gas, which was remorselessly burning
at his expense in Saville Row, had something to do with his hot impatience.
</p>
<p>
“You are in a great hurry, then,” said Fix to him one day,
“to reach Hong Kong?”
</p>
<p>
“A very great hurry!”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for
Yokohama?”
</p>
<p>
“Terribly anxious.”
</p>
<p>
“You believe in this journey around the world, then?”
</p>
<p>
“Absolutely. Don’t you, Mr. Fix?”
</p>
<p>
“I? I don’t believe a word of it.”
</p>
<p>
“You’re a sly dog!” said Passepartout, winking at him.
</p>
<p>
This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why. Had the
Frenchman guessed his real purpose? He knew not what to think. But how could
Passepartout have discovered that he was a detective? Yet, in speaking as he
did, the man evidently meant more than he expressed.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout went still further the next day; he could not hold his tongue.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fix,” said he, in a bantering tone, “shall we be so
unfortunate as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?”
</p>
<p>
“Why,” responded Fix, a little embarrassed, “I don’t
know; perhaps—”
</p>
<p>
“Ah, if you would only go on with us! An agent of the Peninsular Company,
you know, can’t stop on the way! You were only going to Bombay, and here
you are in China. America is not far off, and from America to Europe is only a
step.”
</p>
<p>
Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was as serene as
possible, and laughed with him. But Passepartout persisted in chaffing him by
asking him if he made much by his present occupation.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, and no,” returned Fix; “there is good and bad luck in
such things. But you must understand that I don’t travel at my own
expense.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, I am quite sure of that!” cried Passepartout, laughing
heartily.
</p>
<p>
Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself up to his
reflections. He was evidently suspected; somehow or other the Frenchman had
found out that he was a detective. But had he told his master? What part was he
playing in all this: was he an accomplice or not? Was the game, then, up? Fix
spent several hours turning these things over in his mind, sometimes thinking
that all was lost, then persuading himself that Fogg was ignorant of his
presence, and then undecided what course it was best to take.
</p>
<p>
Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last resolved to deal
plainly with Passepartout. If he did not find it practicable to arrest Fogg at
Hong Kong, and if Fogg made preparations to leave that last foothold of English
territory, he, Fix, would tell Passepartout all. Either the servant was the
accomplice of his master, and in this case the master knew of his operations,
and he should fail; or else the servant knew nothing about the robbery, and
then his interest would be to abandon the robber.
</p>
<p>
Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout. Meanwhile Phileas Fogg
moved about above them in the most majestic and unconscious indifference. He
was passing methodically in his orbit around the world, regardless of the
lesser stars which gravitated around him. Yet there was near by what the
astronomers would call a disturbing star, which might have produced an
agitation in this gentleman’s heart. But no! the charms of Aouda failed
to act, to Passepartout’s great surprise; and the disturbances, if they
existed, would have been more difficult to calculate than those of Uranus which
led to the discovery of Neptune.
</p>
<p>
It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read in
Aouda’s eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master. Phileas Fogg,
though brave and gallant, must be, he thought, quite heartless. As to the
sentiment which this journey might have awakened in him, there was clearly no
trace of such a thing; while poor Passepartout existed in perpetual reveries.
</p>
<p>
One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine-room, and was observing the
engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer threw the screw out of the water.
The steam came hissing out of the valves; and this made Passepartout indignant.
</p>
<p>
“The valves are not sufficiently charged!” he exclaimed. “We
are not going. Oh, these English! If this was an American craft, we should blow
up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG, PASSEPARTOUT, AND FIX GO EACH ABOUT HIS BUSINESS </h2>
<p>
The weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The wind, obstinately
remaining in the north-west, blew a gale, and retarded the steamer. The
“Rangoon” rolled heavily and the passengers became impatient of the
long, monstrous waves which the wind raised before their path. A sort of
tempest arose on the 3rd of November, the squall knocking the vessel about with
fury, and the waves running high. The “Rangoon” reefed all her
sails, and even the rigging proved too much, whistling and shaking amid the
squall. The steamer was forced to proceed slowly, and the captain estimated
that she would reach Hong Kong twenty hours behind time, and more if the storm
lasted.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be struggling
especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity. He never changed
countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty hours, by making him too
late for the Yokohama boat, would almost inevitably cause the loss of the
wager. But this man of nerve manifested neither impatience nor annoyance; it
seemed as if the storm were a part of his programme, and had been foreseen.
Aouda was amazed to find him as calm as he had been from the first time she saw
him.
</p>
<p>
Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light. The storm greatly
pleased him. His satisfaction would have been complete had the
“Rangoon” been forced to retreat before the violence of wind and
waves. Each delay filled him with hope, for it became more and more probable
that Fogg would be obliged to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now the
heavens themselves became his allies, with the gusts and squalls. It mattered
not that they made him sea-sick—he made no account of this inconvenience;
and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects, his spirit bounded with
hopeful exultation.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious weather.
Everything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had seemed to be at his
master’s service; steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and steam united
to speed his journey. Had the hour of adversity come? Passepartout was as much
excited as if the twenty thousand pounds were to come from his own pocket. The
storm exasperated him, the gale made him furious, and he longed to lash the
obstinate sea into obedience. Poor fellow! Fix carefully concealed from him his
own satisfaction, for, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely have
restrained himself from personal violence.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted, being unable to
remain quiet below, and taking it into his head to aid the progress of the ship
by lending a hand with the crew. He overwhelmed the captain, officers, and
sailors, who could not help laughing at his impatience, with all sorts of
questions. He wanted to know exactly how long the storm was going to last;
whereupon he was referred to the barometer, which seemed to have no intention
of rising. Passepartout shook it, but with no perceptible effect; for neither
shaking nor maledictions could prevail upon it to change its mind.
</p>
<p>
On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm lessened its
violence; the wind veered southward, and was once more favourable. Passepartout
cleared up with the weather. Some of the sails were unfurled, and the
“Rangoon” resumed its most rapid speed. The time lost could not,
however, be regained. Land was not signalled until five o’clock on the
morning of the 6th; the steamer was due on the 5th. Phileas Fogg was
twenty-four hours behind-hand, and the Yokohama steamer would, of course, be
missed.
</p>
<p>
The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge, to guide the
“Rangoon” through the channels to the port of Hong Kong.
Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for Yokohama; but he
dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark of hope, which still remained
till the last moment. He had confided his anxiety to Fix who—the sly
rascal!—tried to console him by saying that Mr. Fogg would be in time if
he took the next boat; but this only put Passepartout in a passion.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach the pilot, and
tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would leave Hong Kong for
Yokohama.
</p>
<p>
“At high tide to-morrow morning,” answered the pilot.
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have embraced the pilot,
while Fix would have been glad to twist his neck.
</p>
<p>
“What is the steamer’s name?” asked Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“The ‘Carnatic.’”
</p>
<p>
“Ought she not to have gone yesterday?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her
departure was postponed till to-morrow.”
</p>
<p>
“Thank you,” returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the
saloon.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout clasped the pilot’s hand and shook it heartily in his
delight, exclaiming, “Pilot, you are the best of good fellows!”
</p>
<p>
The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses won him this
enthusiastic greeting. He remounted the bridge, and guided the steamer through
the flotilla of junks, tankas, and fishing boats which crowd the harbour of
Hong Kong.
</p>
<p>
At one o’clock the “Rangoon” was at the quay, and the
passengers were going ashore.
</p>
<p>
Chance had strangely favoured Phileas Fogg, for had not the
“Carnatic” been forced to lie over for repairing her boilers, she
would have left on the 6th of November, and the passengers for Japan would have
been obliged to await for a week the sailing of the next steamer. Mr. Fogg was,
it is true, twenty-four hours behind his time; but this could not seriously
imperil the remainder of his tour.
</p>
<p>
The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco made a
direct connection with that from Hong Kong, and it could not sail until the
latter reached Yokohama; and if Mr. Fogg was twenty-four hours late on reaching
Yokohama, this time would no doubt be easily regained in the voyage of
twenty-two days across the Pacific. He found himself, then, about twenty-four
hours behind-hand, thirty-five days after leaving London.
</p>
<p>
The “Carnatic” was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the next
morning. Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to his business there,
which was to deposit Aouda safely with her wealthy relative.
</p>
<p>
On landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they repaired to the Club
Hotel. A room was engaged for the young woman, and Mr. Fogg, after seeing that
she wanted for nothing, set out in search of her cousin Jeejeeh. He instructed
Passepartout to remain at the hotel until his return, that Aouda might not be
left entirely alone.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt, every one would
know so wealthy and considerable a personage as the Parsee merchant. Meeting a
broker, he made the inquiry, to learn that Jeejeeh had left China two years
before, and, retiring from business with an immense fortune, had taken up his
residence in Europe—in Holland the broker thought, with the merchants of
which country he had principally traded. Phileas Fogg returned to the hotel,
begged a moment’s conversation with Aouda, and without more ado, apprised
her that Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong Kong, but probably in Holland.
</p>
<p>
Aouda at first said nothing. She passed her hand across her forehead, and
reflected a few moments. Then, in her sweet, soft voice, she said: “What
ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?”
</p>
<p>
“It is very simple,” responded the gentleman. “Go on to
Europe.”
</p>
<p>
“But I cannot intrude—”
</p>
<p>
“You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my project.
Passepartout!”
</p>
<p>
“Monsieur.”
</p>
<p>
“Go to the ‘Carnatic,’ and engage three cabins.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very gracious to him, was
going to continue the journey with them, went off at a brisk gait to obey his
master’s order.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TAKES A TOO GREAT INTEREST IN HIS MASTER, AND WHAT COMES
OF IT</h2>
<p>
Hong Kong is an island which came into the possession of the English by the
Treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the colonising genius of the
English has created upon it an important city and an excellent port. The island
is situated at the mouth of the Canton River, and is separated by about sixty
miles from the Portuguese town of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong has
beaten Macao in the struggle for the Chinese trade, and now the greater part of
the transportation of Chinese goods finds its depot at the former place. Docks,
hospitals, wharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamised
streets, give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey
transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the Victoria
port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other modes of
conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and Europeans who passed to
and fro in the streets. Hong Kong seemed to him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta,
and Singapore, since, like them, it betrayed everywhere the evidence of English
supremacy. At the Victoria port he found a confused mass of ships of all
nations: English, French, American, and Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels,
Japanese and Chinese junks, sempas, tankas, and flower-boats, which formed so
many floating parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the
natives who seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into a
barber’s to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all at
least eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to wear yellow, which
is the Imperial colour. Passepartout, without exactly knowing why, thought this
very funny.
</p>
<p>
On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the “Carnatic,”
he was not astonished to find Fix walking up and down. The detective seemed
very much disturbed and disappointed.
</p>
<p>
“This is bad,” muttered Passepartout, “for the gentlemen of
the Reform Club!” He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had not
perceived that gentleman’s chagrin. The detective had, indeed, good
reasons to inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him. The warrant had not
come! It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could not now reach Hong
Kong for several days; and, this being the last English territory on Mr.
Fogg’s route, the robber would escape, unless he could manage to detain
him.
</p>
<p>
“Well, Monsieur Fix,” said Passepartout, “have you decided to
go with us so far as America?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” returned Fix, through his set teeth.
</p>
<p>
“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. “I knew
you could not persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and engage your
berth.”
</p>
<p>
They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons. The clerk,
as he gave them the tickets, informed them that, the repairs on the
“Carnatic” having been completed, the steamer would leave that very
evening, and not next morning, as had been announced.
</p>
<p>
“That will suit my master all the better,” said Passepartout.
“I will go and let him know.”
</p>
<p>
Fix now decided to make a bold move; he resolved to tell Passepartout all. It
seemed to be the only possible means of keeping Phileas Fogg several days
longer at Hong Kong. He accordingly invited his companion into a tavern which
caught his eye on the quay. On entering, they found themselves in a large room
handsomely decorated, at the end of which was a large camp-bed furnished with
cushions. Several persons lay upon this bed in a deep sleep. At the small
tables which were arranged about the room some thirty customers were drinking
English beer, porter, gin, and brandy; smoking, the while, long red clay pipes
stuffed with little balls of opium mingled with essence of rose. From time to
time one of the smokers, overcome with the narcotic, would slip under the
table, whereupon the waiters, taking him by the head and feet, carried and laid
him upon the bed. The bed already supported twenty of these stupefied sots.
</p>
<p>
Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking-house haunted by those
wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures to whom the English merchants sell
every year the miserable drug called opium, to the amount of one million four
hundred thousand pounds—thousands devoted to one of the most despicable
vices which afflict humanity! The Chinese government has in vain attempted to
deal with the evil by stringent laws. It passed gradually from the rich, to
whom it was at first exclusively reserved, to the lower classes, and then its
ravages could not be arrested. Opium is smoked everywhere, at all times, by men
and women, in the Celestial Empire; and, once accustomed to it, the victims
cannot dispense with it, except by suffering horrible bodily contortions and
agonies. A great smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a day; but he dies in
five years. It was in one of these dens that Fix and Passepartout, in search of
a friendly glass, found themselves. Passepartout had no money, but willingly
accepted Fix’s invitation in the hope of returning the obligation at some
future time.
</p>
<p>
They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did ample justice,
whilst Fix observed him with close attention. They chatted about the journey,
and Passepartout was especially merry at the idea that Fix was going to
continue it with them. When the bottles were empty, however, he rose to go and
tell his master of the change in the time of the sailing of the
“Carnatic.”
</p>
<p>
Fix caught him by the arm, and said, “Wait a moment.”
</p>
<p>
“What for, Mr. Fix?”
</p>
<p>
“I want to have a serious talk with you.”
</p>
<p>
“A serious talk!” cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine
that was left in the bottom of his glass. “Well, we’ll talk about
it to-morrow; I haven’t time now.”
</p>
<p>
“Stay! What I have to say concerns your master.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix’s face
seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his seat.
</p>
<p>
“What is it that you have to say?”
</p>
<p>
Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout’s arm, and, lowering his voice,
said, “You have guessed who I am?”
</p>
<p>
“Parbleu!” said Passepartout, smiling.
</p>
<p>
“Then I’m going to tell you everything—”
</p>
<p>
“Now that I know everything, my friend! Ah! that’s very good. But
go on, go on. First, though, let me tell you that those gentlemen have put
themselves to a useless expense.”
</p>
<p>
“Useless!” said Fix. “You speak confidently. It’s clear
that you don’t know how large the sum is.”
</p>
<p>
“Of course I do,” returned Passepartout. “Twenty thousand
pounds.”
</p>
<p>
“Fifty-five thousand!” answered Fix, pressing his companion’s
hand.
</p>
<p>
“What!” cried the Frenchman. “Has Monsieur Fogg
dared—fifty-five thousand pounds! Well, there’s all the more reason
for not losing an instant,” he continued, getting up hastily.
</p>
<p>
Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed: “Fifty-five
thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds. If you’ll
help me, I’ll let you have five hundred of them.”
</p>
<p>
“Help you?” cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days.”
</p>
<p>
“Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied with
following my master and suspecting his honour, but they must try to put
obstacles in his way! I blush for them!”
</p>
<p>
“What do you mean?”
</p>
<p>
“I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as well
waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!”
</p>
<p>
“That’s just what we count on doing.”
</p>
<p>
“It’s a conspiracy, then,” cried Passepartout, who became
more and more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank without
perceiving it. “A real conspiracy! And gentlemen, too. Bah!”
</p>
<p>
Fix began to be puzzled.
</p>
<p>
“Members of the Reform Club!” continued Passepartout. “You
must know, Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that, when he
makes a wager, he tries to win it fairly!”
</p>
<p>
“But who do you think I am?” asked Fix, looking at him intently.
</p>
<p>
“Parbleu! An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out here to
interrupt my master’s journey. But, though I found you out some time ago,
I’ve taken good care to say nothing about it to Mr. Fogg.”
</p>
<p>
“He knows nothing, then?”
</p>
<p>
“Nothing,” replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass.
</p>
<p>
The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before he spoke
again. What should he do? Passepartout’s mistake seemed sincere, but it
made his design more difficult. It was evident that the servant was not the
master’s accomplice, as Fix had been inclined to suspect.
</p>
<p>
“Well,” said the detective to himself, “as he is not an
accomplice, he will help me.”
</p>
<p>
He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he resolved to
make a clean breast of it.
</p>
<p>
“Listen to me,” said Fix abruptly. “I am not, as you think,
an agent of the members of the Reform Club—”
</p>
<p>
“Bah!” retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.
</p>
<p>
“I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office.”
</p>
<p>
“You, a detective?”
</p>
<p>
“I will prove it. Here is my commission.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed this document,
the genuineness of which could not be doubted.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fogg’s wager,” resumed Fix, “is only a pretext, of
which you and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive for
securing your innocent complicity.”
</p>
<p>
“But why?”
</p>
<p>
“Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five thousand
pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose description was
fortunately secured. Here is his description; it answers exactly to that of Mr.
Phileas Fogg.”
</p>
<p>
“What nonsense!” cried Passepartout, striking the table with his
fist. “My master is the most honourable of men!”
</p>
<p>
“How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went into
his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish pretext,
without trunks, and carrying a large amount in banknotes. And yet you are bold
enough to assert that he is an honest man!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes,” repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.
</p>
<p>
“Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head between his hands,
and did not dare to look at the detective. Phileas Fogg, the saviour of Aouda,
that brave and generous man, a robber! And yet how many presumptions there were
against him! Passepartout essayed to reject the suspicions which forced
themselves upon his mind; he did not wish to believe that his master was
guilty.
</p>
<p>
“Well, what do you want of me?” said he, at last, with an effort.
</p>
<p>
“See here,” replied Fix; “I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this
place, but as yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which I
sent to London. You must help me to keep him here in Hong Kong—”
</p>
<p>
“I! But I—”
</p>
<p>
“I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by the Bank
of England.”
</p>
<p>
“Never!” replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,
exhausted in mind and body.
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fix,” he stammered, “even should what you say be
true—if my master is really the robber you are seeking for—which I
deny—I have been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity and
goodness; and I will never betray him—not for all the gold in the world.
I come from a village where they don’t eat that kind of bread!”
</p>
<p>
“You refuse?”
</p>
<p>
“I refuse.”
</p>
<p>
“Consider that I’ve said nothing,” said Fix; “and let
us drink.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; let us drink!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects of the liquor.
Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated from his master, wished
to entirely overcome him. Some pipes full of opium lay upon the table. Fix
slipped one into Passepartout’s hand. He took it, put it between his
lips, lit it, drew several puffs, and his head, becoming heavy under the
influence of the narcotic, fell upon the table.
</p>
<p>
“At last!” said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. “Mr.
Fogg will not be informed of the ‘Carnatic’s’ departure; and,
if he is, he will have to go without this cursed Frenchman!”
</p>
<p>
And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/>
IN WHICH FIX COMES FACE TO FACE WITH PHILEAS FOGG</h2>
<p>
While these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg, unconscious of
the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was quietly escorting Aouda about
the streets of the English quarter, making the necessary purchases for the long
voyage before them. It was all very well for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to
make the tour of the world with a carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to
travel comfortably under such conditions. He acquitted his task with
characteristic serenity, and invariably replied to the remonstrances of his
fair companion, who was confused by his patience and generosity:
</p>
<p>
“It is in the interest of my journey—a part of my programme.”
</p>
<p>
The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at a
sumptuously served <i>table-d’hôte;</i> after which Aouda, shaking hands
with her protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for rest. Mr.
Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal of the <i>Times</i>
and <i>Illustrated London News</i>.
</p>
<p>
Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been not to
see his servant return at bedtime. But, knowing that the steamer was not to
leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did not disturb himself about the
matter. When Passepartout did not appear the next morning to answer his
master’s bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying the least vexation, contented
himself with taking his carpet-bag, calling Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.
</p>
<p>
It was then eight o’clock; at half-past nine, it being then high tide,
the “Carnatic” would leave the harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into
the palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and half an
hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark. Mr. Fogg then
learned that the “Carnatic” had sailed the evening before. He had
expected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was forced to give
up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his face, and he merely
remarked to Aouda, “It is an accident, madam; nothing more.”
</p>
<p>
At this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached. It was
Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: “Were you not, like me, sir, a
passenger by the ‘Rangoon,’ which arrived yesterday?”
</p>
<p>
“I was, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg coldly. “But I have not the
honour—”
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here.”
</p>
<p>
“Do you know where he is, sir?” asked Aouda anxiously.
</p>
<p>
“What!” responded Fix, feigning surprise. “Is he not with
you?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” said Aouda. “He has not made his appearance since
yesterday. Could he have gone on board the ‘Carnatic’ without
us?”
</p>
<p>
“Without you, madam?” answered the detective. “Excuse me, did
you intend to sail in the ‘Carnatic’?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, sir.”
</p>
<p>
“So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed. The
‘Carnatic’, its repairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve
hours before the stated time, without any notice being given; and we must now
wait a week for another steamer.”
</p>
<p>
As he said “a week” Fix felt his heart leap for joy. Fogg detained
at Hong Kong for a week! There would be time for the warrant to arrive, and
fortune at last favoured the representative of the law. His horror may be
imagined when he heard Mr. Fogg say, in his placid voice, “But there are
other vessels besides the ‘Carnatic,’ it seems to me, in the
harbour of Hong Kong.”
</p>
<p>
And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps toward the docks in
search of some craft about to start. Fix, stupefied, followed; it seemed as if
he were attached to Mr. Fogg by an invisible thread. Chance, however, appeared
really to have abandoned the man it had hitherto served so well. For three
hours Phileas Fogg wandered about the docks, with the determination, if
necessary, to charter a vessel to carry him to Yokohama; but he could only find
vessels which were loading or unloading, and which could not therefore set
sail. Fix began to hope again.
</p>
<p>
But Mr. Fogg, far from being discouraged, was continuing his search, resolved
not to stop if he had to resort to Macao, when he was accosted by a sailor on
one of the wharves.
</p>
<p>
“Is your honour looking for a boat?”
</p>
<p>
“Have you a boat ready to sail?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, your honour; a pilot-boat—No. 43—the best in the
harbour.”
</p>
<p>
“Does she go fast?”
</p>
<p>
“Between eight and nine knots the hour. Will you look at her?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“Your honour will be satisfied with her. Is it for a sea
excursion?”
</p>
<p>
“No; for a voyage.”
</p>
<p>
“A voyage?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, will you agree to take me to Yokohama?”
</p>
<p>
The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said, “Is
your honour joking?”
</p>
<p>
“No. I have missed the ‘Carnatic,’ and I must get to Yokohama
by the 14th at the latest, to take the boat for San Francisco.”
</p>
<p>
“I am sorry,” said the sailor; “but it is impossible.”
</p>
<p>
“I offer you a hundred pounds per day, and an additional reward of two
hundred pounds if I reach Yokohama in time.”
</p>
<p>
“Are you in earnest?”
</p>
<p>
“Very much so.”
</p>
<p>
The pilot walked away a little distance, and gazed out to sea, evidently
struggling between the anxiety to gain a large sum and the fear of venturing so
far. Fix was in mortal suspense.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, “You would not be afraid, would
you, madam?”
</p>
<p>
“Not with you, Mr. Fogg,” was her answer.
</p>
<p>
The pilot now returned, shuffling his hat in his hands.
</p>
<p>
“Well, pilot?” said Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Well, your honour,” replied he, “I could not risk myself, my
men, or my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage at this time
of year. Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in time, for it is sixteen
hundred and sixty miles from Hong Kong.”
</p>
<p>
“Only sixteen hundred,” said Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“It’s the same thing.”
</p>
<p>
Fix breathed more freely.
</p>
<p>
“But,” added the pilot, “it might be arranged another
way.”
</p>
<p>
Fix ceased to breathe at all.
</p>
<p>
“How?” asked Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“By going to Nagasaki, at the extreme south of Japan, or even to
Shanghai, which is only eight hundred miles from here. In going to Shanghai we
should not be forced to sail wide of the Chinese coast, which would be a great
advantage, as the currents run northward, and would aid us.”
</p>
<p>
“Pilot,” said Mr. Fogg, “I must take the American steamer at
Yokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki.”
</p>
<p>
“Why not?” returned the pilot. “The San Francisco steamer
does not start from Yokohama. It puts in at Yokohama and Nagasaki, but it
starts from Shanghai.”
</p>
<p>
“You are sure of that?”
</p>
<p>
“Perfectly.”
</p>
<p>
“And when does the boat leave Shanghai?”
</p>
<p>
“On the 11th, at seven in the evening. We have, therefore, four days
before us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time, if we had good luck and
a south-west wind, and the sea was calm, we could make those eight hundred
miles to Shanghai.”
</p>
<p>
“And you could go—”
</p>
<p>
“In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard and the sails put
up.”
</p>
<p>
“It is a bargain. Are you the master of the boat?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; John Bunsby, master of the ‘Tankadere.’”
</p>
<p>
“Would you like some earnest-money?”
</p>
<p>
“If it would not put your honour out—”
</p>
<p>
“Here are two hundred pounds on account sir,” added Phileas Fogg,
turning to Fix, “if you would like to take advantage—”
</p>
<p>
“Thanks, sir; I was about to ask the favour.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well. In half an hour we shall go on board.”
</p>
<p>
“But poor Passepartout?” urged Aouda, who was much disturbed by the
servant’s disappearance.
</p>
<p>
“I shall do all I can to find him,” replied Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
While Fix, in a feverish, nervous state, repaired to the pilot-boat, the others
directed their course to the police-station at Hong Kong. Phileas Fogg there
gave Passepartout’s description, and left a sum of money to be spent in
the search for him. The same formalities having been gone through at the French
consulate, and the palanquin having stopped at the hotel for the luggage, which
had been sent back there, they returned to the wharf.
</p>
<p>
It was now three o’clock; and pilot-boat No. 43, with its crew on board,
and its provisions stored away, was ready for departure.
</p>
<p>
The “Tankadere” was a neat little craft of twenty tons, as
gracefully built as if she were a racing yacht. Her shining copper sheathing,
her galvanised iron-work, her deck, white as ivory, betrayed the pride taken by
John Bunsby in making her presentable. Her two masts leaned a trifle backward;
she carried brigantine, foresail, storm-jib, and standing-jib, and was well
rigged for running before the wind; and she seemed capable of brisk speed,
which, indeed, she had already proved by gaining several prizes in pilot-boat
races. The crew of the “Tankadere” was composed of John Bunsby, the
master, and four hardy mariners, who were familiar with the Chinese seas. John
Bunsby, himself, a man of forty-five or thereabouts, vigorous, sunburnt, with a
sprightly expression of the eye, and energetic and self-reliant countenance,
would have inspired confidence in the most timid.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix already installed.
Below deck was a square cabin, of which the walls bulged out in the form of
cots, above a circular divan; in the centre was a table provided with a
swinging lamp. The accommodation was confined, but neat.
</p>
<p>
“I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you,” said Mr. Fogg to
Fix, who bowed without responding.
</p>
<p>
The detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting by the kindness of
Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“It’s certain,” thought he, “though rascal as he is, he
is a polite one!”
</p>
<p>
The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past three. Mr. Fogg
and Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a last glance at the quay, in the hope
of espying Passepartout. Fix was not without his fears lest chance should
direct the steps of the unfortunate servant, whom he had so badly treated, in
this direction; in which case an explanation the reverse of satisfactory to the
detective must have ensued. But the Frenchman did not appear, and, without
doubt, was still lying under the stupefying influence of the opium.
</p>
<p>
John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start, and the
“Tankadere,” taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail, and
standing-jib, bounded briskly forward over the waves.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/>
IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE “TANKADERE” RUNS GREAT RISK OF LOSING A
REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS</h2>
<p>
This voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture on a craft of twenty
tons, and at that season of the year. The Chinese seas are usually boisterous,
subject to terrible gales of wind, and especially during the equinoxes; and it
was now early November.
</p>
<p>
It would clearly have been to the master’s advantage to carry his
passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day; but he would
have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudent even to attempt
to reach Shanghai. But John Bunsby believed in the “Tankadere,”
which rode on the waves like a seagull; and perhaps he was not wrong.
</p>
<p>
Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of Hong Kong, and
the “Tankadere,” impelled by favourable winds, conducted herself
admirably.
</p>
<p>
“I do not need, pilot,” said Phileas Fogg, when they got into the
open sea, “to advise you to use all possible speed.”
</p>
<p>
“Trust me, your honour. We are carrying all the sail the wind will let
us. The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we are going into
port.”
</p>
<p>
“It’s your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you.”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing like a sailor,
gazed without staggering at the swelling waters. The young woman, who was
seated aft, was profoundly affected as she looked out upon the ocean, darkening
now with the twilight, on which she had ventured in so frail a vessel. Above
her head rustled the white sails, which seemed like great white wings. The
boat, carried forward by the wind, seemed to be flying in the air.
</p>
<p>
Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter, and her insufficient light
would soon die out in the mist on the horizon. Clouds were rising from the
east, and already overcast a part of the heavens.
</p>
<p>
The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in these seas
crowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions are not uncommon
occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the least shock would shatter the
gallant little craft.
</p>
<p>
Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept apart from his
fellow-travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg’s taciturn tastes; besides, he did
not quite like to talk to the man whose favours he had accepted. He was
thinking, too, of the future. It seemed certain that Fogg would not stop at
Yokohama, but would at once take the boat for San Francisco; and the vast
extent of America would ensure him impunity and safety. Fogg’s plan
appeared to him the simplest in the world. Instead of sailing directly from
England to the United States, like a common villain, he had traversed three
quarters of the globe, so as to gain the American continent more surely; and
there, after throwing the police off his track, he would quietly enjoy himself
with the fortune stolen from the bank. But, once in the United States, what
should he, Fix, do? Should he abandon this man? No, a hundred times no! Until
he had secured his extradition, he would not lose sight of him for an hour. It
was his duty, and he would fulfil it to the end. At all events, there was one
thing to be thankful for; Passepartout was not with his master; and it was
above all important, after the confidences Fix had imparted to him, that the
servant should never have speech with his master.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so strangely
disappeared. Looking at the matter from every point of view, it did not seem to
him impossible that, by some mistake, the man might have embarked on the
“Carnatic” at the last moment; and this was also Aouda’s
opinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy fellow to whom she owed
so much. They might then find him at Yokohama; for, if the
“Carnatic” was carrying him thither, it would be easy to ascertain
if he had been on board.
</p>
<p>
A brisk breeze arose about ten o’clock; but, though it might have been
prudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after carefully examining the heavens,
let the craft remain rigged as before. The “Tankadere” bore sail
admirably, as she drew a great deal of water, and everything was prepared for
high speed in case of a gale.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight, having been already
preceded by Fix, who had lain down on one of the cots. The pilot and crew
remained on deck all night.
</p>
<p>
At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had made more than
one hundred miles. The log indicated a mean speed of between eight and nine
miles. The “Tankadere” still carried all sail, and was
accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind held as it was, the
chances would be in her favour. During the day she kept along the coast, where
the currents were favourable; the coast, irregular in profile, and visible
sometimes across the clearings, was at most five miles distant. The sea was
less boisterous, since the wind came off land—a fortunate circumstance
for the boat, which would suffer, owing to its small tonnage, by a heavy surge
on the sea.
</p>
<p>
The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the south-west. The
pilot put up his poles, but took them down again within two hours, as the wind
freshened up anew.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the sea, ate with a
good appetite, Fix being invited to share their repast, which he accepted with
secret chagrin. To travel at this man’s expense and live upon his
provisions was not palatable to him. Still, he was obliged to eat, and so he
ate.
</p>
<p>
When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said,
“sir”—this “sir” scorched his lips, and he had to
control himself to avoid collaring this
“gentleman”—“sir, you have been very kind to give me a
passage on this boat. But, though my means will not admit of my expending them
as freely as you, I must ask to pay my share—”
</p>
<p>
“Let us not speak of that, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“But, if I insist—”
</p>
<p>
“No, sir,” repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a
reply. “This enters into my general expenses.”
</p>
<p>
Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward, where he ensconced
himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was in high hope. He
several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would reach Shanghai in time; to which
that gentleman responded that he counted upon it. The crew set to work in good
earnest, inspired by the reward to be gained. There was not a sheet which was
not tightened, not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted; not a lurch could
be charged to the man at the helm. They worked as desperately as if they were
contesting in a Royal yacht regatta.
</p>
<p>
By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had been
accomplished from Hong Kong, and Mr. Fogg might hope that he would be able to
reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal; in which case, the
many misadventures which had overtaken him since he left London would not
seriously affect his journey.
</p>
<p>
The “Tankadere” entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate the
island of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours of the night, and
crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very rough in the straits, full of
eddies formed by the counter-currents, and the chopping waves broke her course,
whilst it became very difficult to stand on deck.
</p>
<p>
At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens seemed to
predict a gale. The barometer announced a speedy change, the mercury rising and
falling capriciously; the sea also, in the south-east, raised long surges which
indicated a tempest. The sun had set the evening before in a red mist, in the
midst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.
</p>
<p>
John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the heavens, muttering
indistinctly between his teeth. At last he said in a low voice to Mr. Fogg,
“Shall I speak out to your honour?”
</p>
<p>
“Of course.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, we are going to have a squall.”
</p>
<p>
“Is the wind north or south?” asked Mr. Fogg quietly.
</p>
<p>
“South. Look! a typhoon is coming up.”
</p>
<p>
“Glad it’s a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us
forward.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, if you take it that way,” said John Bunsby, “I’ve
nothing more to say.” John Bunsby’s suspicions were confirmed. At a
less advanced season of the year the typhoon, according to a famous
meteorologist, would have passed away like a luminous cascade of electric
flame; but in the winter equinox it was to be feared that it would burst upon
them with great violence.
</p>
<p>
The pilot took his precautions in advance. He reefed all sail, the pole-masts
were dispensed with; all hands went forward to the bows. A single triangular
sail, of strong canvas, was hoisted as a storm-jib, so as to hold the wind from
behind. Then they waited.
</p>
<p>
John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but this imprisonment in
so narrow a space, with little air, and the boat bouncing in the gale, was far
from pleasant. Neither Mr. Fogg, Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the deck.
</p>
<p>
The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o’clock.
With but its bit of sail, the “Tankadere” was lifted like a feather
by a wind, an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To compare her
speed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam would be below the
truth.
</p>
<p>
The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on by monstrous
waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal to theirs. Twenty times
she seemed almost to be submerged by these mountains of water which rose behind
her; but the adroit management of the pilot saved her. The passengers were
often bathed in spray, but they submitted to it philosophically. Fix cursed it,
no doubt; but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector, whose coolness
amazed her, showed herself worthy of him, and bravely weathered the storm. As
for Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of his
programme.
</p>
<p>
Up to this time the “Tankadere” had always held her course to the
north; but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore down from the
north-west. The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves, shook and rolled
terribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence. At night the tempest
increased in violence. John Bunsby saw the approach of darkness and the rising
of the storm with dark misgivings. He thought awhile, and then asked his crew
if it was not time to slacken speed. After a consultation he approached Mr.
Fogg, and said, “I think, your honour, that we should do well to make for
one of the ports on the coast.”
</p>
<p>
“I think so too.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” said the pilot. “But which one?”
</p>
<p>
“I know of but one,” returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly.
</p>
<p>
“And that is—”
</p>
<p>
“Shanghai.”
</p>
<p>
The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend; he could scarcely realise so
much determination and tenacity. Then he cried, “Well—yes! Your
honour is right. To Shanghai!”
</p>
<p>
So the “Tankadere” kept steadily on her northward track.
</p>
<p>
The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft did not
founder. Twice it could have been all over with her if the crew had not been
constantly on the watch. Aouda was exhausted, but did not utter a complaint.
More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect her from the violence of the waves.
</p>
<p>
Day reappeared. The tempest still raged with undiminished fury; but the wind
now returned to the south-east. It was a favourable change, and the
“Tankadere” again bounded forward on this mountainous sea, though
the waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and counter-shocks which
would have crushed a craft less solidly built. From time to time the coast was
visible through the broken mist, but no vessel was in sight. The
“Tankadere” was alone upon the sea.
</p>
<p>
There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became more distinct as the
sun descended toward the horizon. The tempest had been as brief as terrific.
The passengers, thoroughly exhausted, could now eat a little, and take some
repose.
</p>
<p>
The night was comparatively quiet. Some of the sails were again hoisted, and
the speed of the boat was very good. The next morning at dawn they espied the
coast, and John Bunsby was able to assert that they were not one hundred miles
from Shanghai. A hundred miles, and only one day to traverse them! That very
evening Mr. Fogg was due at Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss the steamer to
Yokohama. Had there been no storm, during which several hours were lost, they
would be at this moment within thirty miles of their destination.
</p>
<p>
The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it. All sails
were now hoisted, and at noon the “Tankadere” was within forty-five
miles of Shanghai. There remained yet six hours in which to accomplish that
distance. All on board feared that it could not be done, and every
one—Phileas Fogg, no doubt, excepted—felt his heart beat with
impatience. The boat must keep up an average of nine miles an hour, and the
wind was becoming calmer every moment! It was a capricious breeze, coming from
the coast, and after it passed the sea became smooth. Still, the
“Tankadere” was so light, and her fine sails caught the fickle
zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the currents John Bunsby found himself
at six o’clock not more than ten miles from the mouth of Shanghai River.
Shanghai itself is situated at least twelve miles up the stream. At seven they
were still three miles from Shanghai. The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward
of two hundred pounds was evidently on the point of escaping him. He looked at
Mr. Fogg. Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil; and yet his whole fortune was at
this moment at stake.
</p>
<p>
At this moment, also, a long black funnel, crowned with wreaths of smoke,
appeared on the edge of the waters. It was the American steamer, leaving for
Yokohama at the appointed time.
</p>
<p>
“Confound her!” cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder with a
desperate jerk.
</p>
<p>
“Signal her!” said Phileas Fogg quietly.
</p>
<p>
A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the “Tankadere,”
for making signals in the fogs. It was loaded to the muzzle; but just as the
pilot was about to apply a red-hot coal to the touchhole, Mr. Fogg said,
“Hoist your flag!”
</p>
<p>
The flag was run up at half-mast, and, this being the signal of distress, it
was hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it, would change her course a
little, so as to succour the pilot-boat.
</p>
<p>
“Fire!” said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little cannon
resounded in the air.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENT
TO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE’S POCKET</h2>
<p>
The “Carnatic,” setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the
7th of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan. She carried a
large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers. Two state-rooms in the rear
were, however, unoccupied—those which had been engaged by Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait, and
disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to totter to a
seat on deck.
</p>
<p>
It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows: Shortly after
Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the unconscious Passepartout,
and had carried him to the bed reserved for the smokers. Three hours later,
pursued even in his dreams by a fixed idea, the poor fellow awoke, and
struggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic. The thought of a
duty unfulfilled shook off his torpor, and he hurried from the abode of
drunkenness. Staggering and holding himself up by keeping against the walls,
falling down and creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of
instinct, he kept crying out, “The ‘Carnatic!’ the
‘Carnatic!’”
</p>
<p>
The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting.
Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the plank, he crossed
it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the “Carnatic” was
moving off. Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this sort of
scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin, and Passepartout
did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles away from China. Thus
he found himself the next morning on the deck of the “Carnatic,”
and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze. The pure air sobered him. He
began to collect his sense, which he found a difficult task; but at last he
recalled the events of the evening before, Fix’s revelation, and the
opium-house.
</p>
<p>
“It is evident,” said he to himself, “that I have been
abominably drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I have not missed the
steamer, which is the most important thing.”
</p>
<p>
Then, as Fix occurred to him: “As for that rascal, I hope we are well rid
of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow us on board the
“Carnatic.” A detective on the track of Mr. Fogg, accused of
robbing the Bank of England! Pshaw! Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am a
murderer.”
</p>
<p>
Should he divulge Fix’s real errand to his master? Would it do to tell
the part the detective was playing? Would it not be better to wait until Mr.
Fogg reached London again, and then impart to him that an agent of the
metropolitan police had been following him round the world, and have a good
laugh over it? No doubt; at least, it was worth considering. The first thing to
do was to find Mr. Fogg, and apologise for his singular behaviour.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with the rolling of the
steamer, to the after-deck. He saw no one who resembled either his master or
Aouda. “Good!” muttered he; “Aouda has not got up yet, and
Mr. Fogg has probably found some partners at whist.”
</p>
<p>
He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout had only,
however, to ask the purser the number of his master’s state-room. The
purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“I beg your pardon,” said Passepartout persistently. “He is a
tall gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young
lady—”
</p>
<p>
“There is no young lady on board,” interrupted the purser.
“Here is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout scanned the list, but his master’s name was not upon it. All
at once an idea struck him.
</p>
<p>
“Ah! am I on the ‘Carnatic?’”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“On the way to Yokohama?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong boat; but,
though he was really on the “Carnatic,” his master was not there.
</p>
<p>
He fell thunderstruck on a seat. He saw it all now. He remembered that the time
of sailing had been changed, that he should have informed his master of that
fact, and that he had not done so. It was his fault, then, that Mr. Fogg and
Aouda had missed the steamer. Yes, but it was still more the fault of the
traitor who, in order to separate him from his master, and detain the latter at
Hong Kong, had inveigled him into getting drunk! He now saw the
detective’s trick; and at this moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his
bet was lost, and he himself perhaps arrested and imprisoned! At this thought
Passepartout tore his hair. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a
settling of accounts there would be!
</p>
<p>
After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to study his
situation. It was certainly not an enviable one. He found himself on the way to
Japan, and what should he do when he got there? His pocket was empty; he had
not a solitary shilling, not so much as a penny. His passage had fortunately
been paid for in advance; and he had five or six days in which to decide upon
his future course. He fell to at meals with an appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg,
Aouda, and himself. He helped himself as generously as if Japan were a desert,
where nothing to eat was to be looked for.
</p>
<p>
At dawn on the 13th the “Carnatic” entered the port of Yokohama.
This is an important port of call in the Pacific, where all the mail-steamers,
and those carrying travellers between North America, China, Japan, and the
Oriental islands put in. It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at but a short
distance from that second capital of the Japanese Empire, and the residence of
the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor,
absorbed his office in his own. The “Carnatic” anchored at the quay
near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd of ships bearing the flags of
all nations.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of the Sons of
the Sun. He had nothing better to do than, taking chance for his guide, to
wander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama. He found himself at first in
a thoroughly European quarter, the houses having low fronts, and being adorned
with verandas, beneath which he caught glimpses of neat peristyles. This
quarter occupied, with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, all the
space between the “promontory of the Treaty” and the river. Here,
as at Hong Kong and Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races, Americans and
English, Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell anything.
The Frenchman felt himself as much alone among them as if he had dropped down
in the midst of Hottentots.
</p>
<p>
He had, at least, one resource,—to call on the French and English consuls
at Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank from telling the story of his
adventures, intimately connected as it was with that of his master; and, before
doing so, he determined to exhaust all other means of aid. As chance did not
favour him in the European quarter, he penetrated that inhabited by the native
Japanese, determined, if necessary, to push on to Yeddo.
</p>
<p>
The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess of the
sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There Passepartout beheld
beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of a singular architecture,
bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by immense
cedar-trees, holy retreats where were sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries
of Confucius, and interminable streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tinted
and red-cheeked children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese
screens, and who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles and
yellowish cats, might have been gathered.
</p>
<p>
The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in processions,
beating their dreary tambourines; police and custom-house officers with pointed
hats encrusted with lac and carrying two sabres hung to their waists; soldiers,
clad in blue cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns; the Mikado’s
guards, enveloped in silken doubles, hauberks and coats of mail; and numbers of
military folk of all ranks—for the military profession is as much
respected in Japan as it is despised in China—went hither and thither in
groups and pairs. Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims,
and simple civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads, long
busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying from copper-colour
to a dead white, but never yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the Japanese
widely differ. He did not fail to observe the curious equipages—carriages
and palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and litters made of bamboo; nor
the women—whom he thought not especially handsome—who took little
steps with their little feet, whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals,
and clogs of worked wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests,
teeth fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in an
enormous knot behind an ornament which the modern Parisian ladies seem to have
borrowed from the dames of Japan.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley crowd,
looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the jewellery
establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the restaurants
decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses, where the odorous beverage
was being drunk with “saki,” a liquor concocted from the
fermentation of rice, and the comfortable smoking-houses, where they were
puffing, not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a very fine, stringy
tobacco. He went on till he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vast
rice plantations. There he saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves, with
flowers which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes, not on bushes,
but on trees, and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum, and apple trees,
which the Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit, and
which queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows protected from the sparrows,
pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds. On the branches of the cedars were
perched large eagles; amid the foliage of the weeping willows were herons,
solemnly standing on one leg; and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild
birds, and a multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred, and which
to their minds symbolise long life and prosperity.
</p>
<p>
As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among the shrubs.
</p>
<p>
“Good!” said he; “I’ll have some supper.”
</p>
<p>
But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless.
</p>
<p>
“No chance there,” thought he.
</p>
<p>
The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as hearty a breakfast as
possible before leaving the “Carnatic;” but, as he had been walking
about all day, the demands of hunger were becoming importunate. He observed
that the butchers stalls contained neither mutton, goat, nor pork; and, knowing
also that it is a sacrilege to kill cattle, which are preserved solely for
farming, he made up his mind that meat was far from plentiful in
Yokohama—nor was he mistaken; and, in default of butcher’s meat, he
could have wished for a quarter of wild boar or deer, a partridge, or some
quails, some game or fish, which, with rice, the Japanese eat almost
exclusively. But he found it necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to
postpone the meal he craved till the following morning. Night came, and
Passepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered through the
streets, lit by vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers, who were
executing skilful steps and boundings, and the astrologers who stood in the
open air with their telescopes. Then he came to the harbour, which was lit up
by the resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from their boats.
</p>
<p>
The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of which, in
their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites, Passepartout thought
seemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling crowd. Each time a company
passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to himself: “Good! another
Japanese embassy departing for Europe!”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT’S NOSE BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG</h2>
<p>
The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself that he
must get something to eat at all hazards, and the sooner he did so the better.
He might, indeed, sell his watch; but he would have starved first. Now or never
he must use the strong, if not melodious voice which nature had bestowed upon
him. He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to try them upon
the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since they were for ever pounding on
their cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate European
talent.
</p>
<p>
It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert, and the
audience prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not possibly pay their
entertainer with coin bearing the Mikado’s features. Passepartout
therefore decided to wait several hours; and, as he was sauntering along, it
occurred to him that he would seem rather too well dressed for a wandering
artist. The idea struck him to change his garments for clothes more in harmony
with his project; by which he might also get a little money to satisfy the
immediate cravings of hunger. The resolution taken, it remained to carry it
out.
</p>
<p>
It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a native dealer in
old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange. The man liked the European
costume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his shop accoutred in an old
Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban, faded with long use. A few small
pieces of silver, moreover, jingled in his pocket.
</p>
<p>
“Good!” thought he. “I will imagine I am at the
Carnival!”
</p>
<p>
His first care, after being thus “Japanesed,” was to enter a
tea-house of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, to
breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved.
</p>
<p>
“Now,” thought he, when he had eaten heartily, “I
mustn’t lose my head. I can’t sell this costume again for one still
more Japanese. I must consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I
shall not retain the most delightful of memories, as quickly as
possible.”
</p>
<p>
It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave for America.
He would offer himself as a cook or servant, in payment of his passage and
meals. Once at San Francisco, he would find some means of going on. The
difficulty was, how to traverse the four thousand seven hundred miles of the
Pacific which lay between Japan and the New World.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed his steps
towards the docks. But, as he approached them, his project, which at first had
seemed so simple, began to grow more and more formidable to his mind. What need
would they have of a cook or servant on an American steamer, and what
confidence would they put in him, dressed as he was? What references could he
give?
</p>
<p>
As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense placard which
a sort of clown was carrying through the streets. This placard, which was in
English, read as follows:
</p>
<p class="center">
ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE,<br/>
HONOURABLE WILLIAM BATULCAR, PROPRIETOR,<br/>
LAST REPRESENTATIONS,<br/>
PRIOR TO THEIR DEPARTURE TO THE UNITED STATES,<br/>
OF THE<br/>
LONG NOSES! LONG NOSES!<br/>
UNDER THE DIRECT PATRONAGE OF THE GOD TINGOU!<br/>
GREAT ATTRACTION!
</p>
<p>
“The United States!” said Passepartout; “that’s just
what I want!”
</p>
<p>
He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the Japanese
quarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a large cabin, adorned
with several clusters of streamers, the exterior walls of which were designed
to represent, in violent colours and without perspective, a company of
jugglers.
</p>
<p>
This was the Honourable William Batulcar’s establishment. That gentleman
was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe of mountebanks, jugglers,
clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and gymnasts, who, according to the placard,
was giving his last performances before leaving the Empire of the Sun for the
States of the Union.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway appeared in
person.
</p>
<p>
“What do you want?” said he to Passepartout, whom he at first took
for a native.
</p>
<p>
“Would you like a servant, sir?” asked Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
“A servant!” cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beard
which hung from his chin. “I already have two who are obedient and
faithful, have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment and here they
are,” added he, holding out his two robust arms, furrowed with veins as
large as the strings of a bass-viol.
</p>
<p>
“So I can be of no use to you?”
</p>
<p>
“None.”
</p>
<p>
“The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. “You are no more a
Japanese than I am a monkey! Who are you dressed up in that way?”
</p>
<p>
“A man dresses as he can.”
</p>
<p>
“That’s true. You are a Frenchman, aren’t you?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; a Parisian of Paris.”
</p>
<p>
“Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?”
</p>
<p>
“Why,” replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his nationality
should cause this question, “we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces, it
is true but not any better than the Americans do.”
</p>
<p>
“True. Well, if I can’t take you as a servant, I can as a clown.
You see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in foreign parts
French clowns.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!”
</p>
<p>
“You are pretty strong, eh?”
</p>
<p>
“Especially after a good meal.”
</p>
<p>
“And you can sing?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to sing in
the streets.
</p>
<p>
“But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on your left
foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?”
</p>
<p>
“Humph! I think so,” replied Passepartout, recalling the exercises
of his younger days.
</p>
<p>
“Well, that’s enough,” said the Honourable William Batulcar.
</p>
<p>
The engagement was concluded there and then.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout had at last found something to do. He was engaged to act in the
celebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a very dignified position, but within a
week he would be on his way to San Francisco.
</p>
<p>
The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, was to
commence at three o’clock, and soon the deafening instruments of a
Japanese orchestra resounded at the door. Passepartout, though he had not been
able to study or rehearse a part, was designated to lend the aid of his sturdy
shoulders in the great exhibition of the “human pyramid,” executed
by the Long Noses of the god Tingou. This “great attraction” was to
close the performance.
</p>
<p>
Before three o’clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators,
comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women and
children, who precipitated themselves upon the narrow benches and into the
boxes opposite the stage. The musicians took up a position inside, and were
vigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams, flutes, bones, tambourines, and
immense drums.
</p>
<p>
The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be confessed
that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world.
</p>
<p>
One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful trick of the
butterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air, with the odorous smoke
of his pipe, a series of blue words, which composed a compliment to the
audience; while a third juggled with some lighted candles, which he
extinguished successively as they passed his lips, and relit again without
interrupting for an instant his juggling. Another reproduced the most singular
combinations with a spinning-top; in his hands the revolving tops seemed to be
animated with a life of their own in their interminable whirling; they ran over
pipe-stems, the edges of sabres, wires and even hairs stretched across the
stage; they turned around on the edges of large glasses, crossed bamboo
ladders, dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange musical effects
by the combination of their various pitches of tone. The jugglers tossed them
in the air, threw them like shuttlecocks with wooden battledores, and yet they
kept on spinning; they put them into their pockets, and took them out still
whirling as before.
</p>
<p>
It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats and
gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, &c., was executed
with wonderful precision.
</p>
<p>
But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a show to
which Europe is as yet a stranger.
</p>
<p>
The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage of the god
Tingou. Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages, they bore upon their
shoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what especially distinguished them was
the long noses which were fastened to their faces, and the uses which they made
of them. These noses were made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet
long, some straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation
warts upon them. It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their real
noses, that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen of these
sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others, dressed to
represent lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their noses, jumping from one
to another, and performing the most skilful leapings and somersaults.
</p>
<p>
As a last scene, a “human pyramid” had been announced, in which
fifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But, instead of
forming a pyramid by mounting each other’s shoulders, the artists were to
group themselves on top of the noses. It happened that the performer who had
hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the troupe, and as, to fill
this part, only strength and adroitness were necessary, Passepartout had been
chosen to take his place.
</p>
<p>
The poor fellow really felt sad when—melancholy reminiscence of his
youth!—he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, and
fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he cheered up
when he thought that this nose was winning him something to eat.
</p>
<p>
He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who were to compose
the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all stretched themselves on the floor,
their noses pointing to the ceiling. A second group of artists disposed
themselves on these long appendages, then a third above these, then a fourth,
until a human monument reaching to the very cornices of the theatre soon arose
on top of the noses. This elicited loud applause, in the midst of which the
orchestra was just striking up a deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, the
balance was lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the
human monument was shattered like a castle built of cards!
</p>
<p>
It was Passepartout’s fault. Abandoning his position, clearing the
footlights without the aid of his wings, and, clambering up to the right-hand
gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators, crying, “Ah, my
master! my master!”
</p>
<p>
“You here?”
</p>
<p>
“Myself.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the theatre to
the outside, where they encountered the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, furious with
rage. He demanded damages for the “breakage” of the pyramid; and
Phileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful of banknotes.
</p>
<p>
At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda, followed by
Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings, and nose six feet long,
stepped upon the American steamer.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/>
DURING WHICH MR. FOGG AND PARTY CROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN</h2>
<p>
What happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai will be easily
guessed. The signals made by the “Tankadere” had been seen by the
captain of the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag at half-mast, had
directed his course towards the little craft. Phileas Fogg, after paying the
stipulated price of his passage to John Busby, and rewarding that worthy with
the additional sum of five hundred and fifty pounds, ascended the steamer with
Aouda and Fix; and they started at once for Nagasaki and Yokohama.
</p>
<p>
They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of November. Phileas
Fogg lost no time in going on board the “Carnatic,” where he
learned, to Aouda’s great delight—and perhaps to his own, though he
betrayed no emotion—that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived on
her the day before.
</p>
<p>
The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening, and it
became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay. Mr. Fogg
applied in vain to the French and English consuls, and, after wandering through
the streets a long time, began to despair of finding his missing servant.
Chance, or perhaps a kind of presentiment, at last led him into the Honourable
Mr. Batulcar’s theatre. He certainly would not have recognised
Passepartout in the eccentric mountebank’s costume; but the latter, lying
on his back, perceived his master in the gallery. He could not help starting,
which so changed the position of his nose as to bring the “pyramid”
pell-mell upon the stage.
</p>
<p>
All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him what had taken
place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the “Tankadere,”
in company with one Mr. Fix.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout did not change countenance on hearing this name. He thought that
the time had not yet arrived to divulge to his master what had taken place
between the detective and himself; and, in the account he gave of his absence,
he simply excused himself for having been overtaken by drunkenness, in smoking
opium at a tavern in Hong Kong.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then furnished his
man with funds necessary to obtain clothing more in harmony with his position.
Within an hour the Frenchman had cut off his nose and parted with his wings,
and retained nothing about him which recalled the sectary of the god Tingou.
</p>
<p>
The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San Francisco belonged
to the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was named the “General
Grant.” She was a large paddle-wheel steamer of two thousand five hundred
tons; well equipped and very fast. The massive walking-beam rose and fell above
the deck; at one end a piston-rod worked up and down; and at the other was a
connecting-rod which, in changing the rectilinear motion to a circular one, was
directly connected with the shaft of the paddles. The “General
Grant” was rigged with three masts, giving a large capacity for sails,
and thus materially aiding the steam power. By making twelve miles an hour, she
would cross the ocean in twenty-one days. Phileas Fogg was therefore justified
in hoping that he would reach San Francisco by the 2nd of December, New York by
the 11th, and London on the 20th—thus gaining several hours on the fatal
date of the 21st of December.
</p>
<p>
There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them English, many
Americans, a large number of coolies on their way to California, and several
East Indian officers, who were spending their vacation in making the tour of
the world. Nothing of moment happened on the voyage; the steamer, sustained on
its large paddles, rolled but little, and the “Pacific” almost
justified its name. Mr. Fogg was as calm and taciturn as ever. His young
companion felt herself more and more attached to him by other ties than
gratitude; his silent but generous nature impressed her more than she thought;
and it was almost unconsciously that she yielded to emotions which did not seem
to have the least effect upon her protector. Aouda took the keenest interest in
his plans, and became impatient at any incident which seemed likely to retard
his journey.
</p>
<p>
She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive the state of
the lady’s heart; and, being the most faithful of domestics, he never
exhausted his eulogies of Phileas Fogg’s honesty, generosity, and
devotion. He took pains to calm Aouda’s doubts of a successful
termination of the journey, telling her that the most difficult part of it had
passed, that now they were beyond the fantastic countries of Japan and China,
and were fairly on their way to civilised places again. A railway train from
San Francisco to New York, and a transatlantic steamer from New York to
Liverpool, would doubtless bring them to the end of this impossible journey
round the world within the period agreed upon.
</p>
<p>
On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed exactly one
half of the terrestrial globe. The “General Grant” passed, on the
23rd of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and was at the very
antipodes of London. Mr. Fogg had, it is true, exhausted fifty-two of the
eighty days in which he was to complete the tour, and there were only
twenty-eight left. But, though he was only half-way by the difference of
meridians, he had really gone over two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had
been obliged to make long circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay,
from Calcutta to Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama. Could he have
followed without deviation the fiftieth parallel, which is that of London, the
whole distance would only have been about twelve thousand miles; whereas he
would be forced, by the irregular methods of locomotion, to traverse twenty-six
thousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of November, accomplished seventeen
thousand five hundred. And now the course was a straight one, and Fix was no
longer there to put obstacles in their way!
</p>
<p>
It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout made a joyful
discovery. It will be remembered that the obstinate fellow had insisted on
keeping his famous family watch at London time, and on regarding that of the
countries he had passed through as quite false and unreliable. Now, on this
day, though he had not changed the hands, he found that his watch exactly
agreed with the ship’s chronometers. His triumph was hilarious. He would
have liked to know what Fix would say if he were aboard!
</p>
<p>
“The rogue told me a lot of stories,” repeated Passepartout,
“about the meridians, the sun, and the moon! Moon, indeed! moonshine more
likely! If one listened to that sort of people, a pretty sort of time one would
keep! I was sure that the sun would some day regulate itself by my
watch!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had been divided into
twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, he would have no reason for
exultation; for the hands of his watch would then, instead of as now indicating
nine o’clock in the morning, indicate nine o’clock in the evening,
that is, the twenty-first hour after midnight precisely the difference between
London time and that of the one hundred and eightieth meridian. But if Fix had
been able to explain this purely physical effect, Passepartout would not have
admitted, even if he had comprehended it. Moreover, if the detective had been
on board at that moment, Passepartout would have joined issue with him on a
quite different subject, and in an entirely different manner.
</p>
<p>
Where was Fix at that moment?
</p>
<p>
He was actually on board the “General Grant.”
</p>
<p>
On reaching Yokohama, the detective, leaving Mr. Fogg, whom he expected to meet
again during the day, had repaired at once to the English consulate, where he
at last found the warrant of arrest. It had followed him from Bombay, and had
come by the “Carnatic,” on which steamer he himself was supposed to
be. Fix’s disappointment may be imagined when he reflected that the
warrant was now useless. Mr. Fogg had left English ground, and it was now
necessary to procure his extradition!
</p>
<p>
“Well,” thought Fix, after a moment of anger, “my warrant is
not good here, but it will be in England. The rogue evidently intends to return
to his own country, thinking he has thrown the police off his track. Good! I
will follow him across the Atlantic. As for the money, heaven grant there may
be some left! But the fellow has already spent in travelling, rewards, trials,
bail, elephants, and all sorts of charges, more than five thousand pounds. Yet,
after all, the Bank is rich!”
</p>
<p>
His course decided on, he went on board the “General Grant,” and
was there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived. To his utter amazement, he
recognised Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise. He quickly concealed
himself in his cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation, and hoped—thanks
to the number of passengers—to remain unperceived by Mr. Fogg’s
servant.
</p>
<p>
On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on the forward
deck. The latter, without a word, made a rush for him, grasped him by the
throat, and, much to the amusement of a group of Americans, who immediately
began to bet on him, administered to the detective a perfect volley of blows,
which proved the great superiority of French over English pugilistic skill.
</p>
<p>
When Passepartout had finished, he found himself relieved and comforted. Fix
got up in a somewhat rumpled condition, and, looking at his adversary, coldly
said, “Have you done?”
</p>
<p>
“For this time—yes.”
</p>
<p>
“Then let me have a word with you.”
</p>
<p>
“But I—”
</p>
<p>
“In your master’s interests.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout seemed to be vanquished by Fix’s coolness, for he quietly
followed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of the passengers.
</p>
<p>
“You have given me a thrashing,” said Fix. “Good, I expected
it. Now, listen to me. Up to this time I have been Mr. Fogg’s adversary.
I am now in his game.”
</p>
<p>
“Aha!” cried Passepartout; “you are convinced he is an honest
man?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” replied Fix coldly, “I think him a rascal. Sh!
don’t budge, and let me speak. As long as Mr. Fogg was on English ground,
it was for my interest to detain him there until my warrant of arrest arrived.
I did everything I could to keep him back. I sent the Bombay priests after him,
I got you intoxicated at Hong Kong, I separated you from him, and I made him
miss the Yokohama steamer.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout listened, with closed fists.
</p>
<p>
“Now,” resumed Fix, “Mr. Fogg seems to be going back to
England. Well, I will follow him there. But hereafter I will do as much to keep
obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time to put them in his
path. I’ve changed my game, you see, and simply because it was for my
interest to change it. Your interest is the same as mine; for it is only in
England that you will ascertain whether you are in the service of a criminal or
an honest man.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced that he spoke
with entire good faith.
</p>
<p>
“Are we friends?” asked the detective.
</p>
<p>
“Friends?—no,” replied Passepartout; “but allies,
perhaps. At the least sign of treason, however, I’ll twist your neck for
you.”
</p>
<p>
“Agreed,” said the detective quietly.
</p>
<p>
Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the “General Grant”
entered the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San Francisco.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/>
IN WHICH A SLIGHT GLIMPSE IS HAD OF SAN FRANCISCO</h2>
<p>
It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout set foot
upon the American continent, if this name can be given to the floating quay
upon which they disembarked. These quays, rising and falling with the tide,
thus facilitate the loading and unloading of vessels. Alongside them were
clippers of all sizes, steamers of all nationalities, and the steamboats, with
several decks rising one above the other, which ply on the Sacramento and its
tributaries. There were also heaped up the products of a commerce which extends
to Mexico, Chili, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific islands.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent, thought he
would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine style; but, tumbling
upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them. Put out of countenance by
the manner in which he thus “set foot” upon the New World, he
uttered a loud cry, which so frightened the innumerable cormorants and pelicans
that are always perched upon these movable quays, that they flew noisily away.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the first train
left for New York, and learned that this was at six o’clock p.m.; he had,
therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian capital. Taking a carriage
at a charge of three dollars, he and Aouda entered it, while Passepartout
mounted the box beside the driver, and they set out for the International
Hotel.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not seem to him as if
he had left England at all.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for the English
consulate to have his passport <i>visaed</i>. 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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“Hurrah for Camerfield!”
</p>
<p>
“Hurrah for Mandiboy!”
</p>
<p>
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.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” returned Mr. Fogg; “and blows, even if they are
political, are still blows.”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
“It is evidently a meeting,” said Fix, “and its object must
be an exciting one. I should not wonder if it were about the
‘Alabama,’ despite the fact that that question is settled.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps,” replied Mr. Fogg, simply.
</p>
<p>
“At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the
Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy.”
</p>
<p>
Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg’s arm, observed the tumultuous scene with
surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all was. Before
the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and excited shouts were
heard; the staffs of the banners began to be used as offensive weapons; and
fists flew about in every direction. Thumps were exchanged from the tops of the
carriages and omnibuses which had been blocked up in the crowd. Boots and shoes
went whirling through the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack of
revolvers mingling in the din, the rout approached the stairway, and flowed
over the lower step. One of the parties had evidently been repulsed; but the
mere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or Camerfield had gained the
upper hand.
</p>
<p>
“It would be prudent for us to retire,” said Fix, who was anxious
that Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until they got back to
London. “If there is any question about England in all this, and we were
recognised, I fear it would go hard with us.”
</p>
<p>
“An English subject—” began Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
He did not finish his sentence; for a terrific hubbub now arose on the terrace
behind the flight of steps where they stood, and there were frantic shouts of,
“Hurrah for Mandiboy! Hip, hip, hurrah!”
</p>
<p>
It was a band of voters coming to the rescue of their allies, and taking the
Camerfield forces in flank. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix found themselves between
two fires; it was too late to escape. The torrent of men, armed with loaded
canes and sticks, was irresistible. Phileas Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled
in their attempts to protect their fair companion; the former, as cool as ever,
tried to defend himself with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of
every Englishman’s arm, but in vain. A big brawny fellow with a red
beard, flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief of the
band, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, whom he would have given a
crushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received it in his stead. An enormous
bruise immediately made its appearance under the detective’s silk hat,
which was completely smashed in.
</p>
<p>
“Yankee!” exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at the
ruffian.
</p>
<p>
“Englishman!” returned the other. “We will meet again!”
</p>
<p>
“When you please.”
</p>
<p>
“What is your name?”
</p>
<p>
“Phileas Fogg. And yours?”
</p>
<p>
“Colonel Stamp Proctor.”
</p>
<p>
The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who speedily got upon his
feet again, though with tattered clothes. Happily, he was not seriously hurt.
His travelling overcoat was divided into two unequal parts, and his trousers
resembled those of certain Indians, which fit less compactly than they are easy
to put on. Aouda had escaped unharmed, and Fix alone bore marks of the fray in
his black and blue bruise.
</p>
<p>
“Thanks,” said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were out
of the crowd.
</p>
<p>
“No thanks are necessary,” replied Fix; “but let us
go.”
</p>
<p>
“Where?”
</p>
<p>
“To a tailor’s.”
</p>
<p>
Such a visit was, indeed, opportune. The clothing of both Mr. Fogg and Fix was
in rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged in the contest between
Camerfield and Mandiboy. An hour after, they were once more suitably attired,
and with Aouda returned to the International Hotel.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen six-barrelled
revolvers. When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows; but Aouda having, in a few
words, told him of their adventure, his countenance resumed its placid
expression. Fix evidently was no longer an enemy, but an ally; he was
faithfully keeping his word.
</p>
<p>
Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and their luggage to
the station drew up to the door. As he was getting in, Mr. Fogg said to Fix,
“You have not seen this Colonel Proctor again?”
</p>
<p>
“No.”
</p>
<p>
“I will come back to America to find him,” said Phileas Fogg
calmly. “It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself to be
treated in that way, without retaliating.”
</p>
<p>
The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr. Fogg was one of
those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate duelling at home, fight abroad
when their honour is attacked.
</p>
<p>
At a quarter before six the travellers reached the station, and found the train
ready to depart. As he was about to enter it, Mr. Fogg called a porter, and
said to him: “My friend, was there not some trouble to-day in San
Francisco?”
</p>
<p>
“It was a political meeting, sir,” replied the porter.
</p>
<p>
“But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in the
streets.”
</p>
<p>
“It was only a meeting assembled for an election.”
</p>
<p>
“The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?” asked Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“No, sir; of a justice of the peace.”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PARTY TRAVEL BY THE PACIFIC RAILROAD</h2>
<p>
“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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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, <i>viâ</i> Sacramento, to the Pacific—its grade,
even on the Rocky Mountains, never exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the
mile.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and cigars, who seemed
to have plenty of customers, were continually circulating in the aisles.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and longed to discharge
his arsenal of revolvers upon them.
</p>
<p>
“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 <i>this</i> mishap in his programme!
And here’s an engineer who doesn’t dare to run the locomotive into
this herd of beasts!”
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
<p>
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.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT UNDERGOES, AT A SPEED OF TWENTY MILES AN HOUR, A COURSE
OF MORMON HISTORY</h2>
<p>
During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-easterly for about
fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a north-easterly direction, towards
the Great Salt Lake.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, about nine o’clock, went out upon the platform to take the
air. The weather was cold, the heavens grey, but it was not snowing. The
sun’s disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring of gold, and
Passepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value in pounds sterling,
when he was diverted from this interesting study by a strange-looking personage
who made his appearance on the platform.
</p>
<p>
This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark, with black
moustache, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black waistcoat, black
trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves. He might have been taken for a
clergyman. He went from one end of the train to the other, and affixed to the
door of each car a notice written in manuscript.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated that Elder
William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking advantage of his presence on train No.
48, would deliver a lecture on Mormonism in car No. 117, from eleven to twelve
o’clock; and that he invited all who were desirous of being instructed
concerning the mysteries of the religion of the “Latter Day Saints”
to attend.
</p>
<p>
“I’ll go,” said Passepartout to himself. He knew nothing of
Mormonism except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation.
</p>
<p>
The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about one hundred
passengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the notice, ensconced
themselves in car No. 117. Passepartout took one of the front seats. Neither
Mr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend.
</p>
<p>
At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated voice, as
if he had already been contradicted, said, “I tell you that Joe Smith is
a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that the persecutions of the
United States Government against the prophets will also make a martyr of
Brigham Young. Who dares to say the contrary?”
</p>
<p>
No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone contrasted
curiously with his naturally calm visage. No doubt his anger arose from the
hardships to which the Mormons were actually subjected. The government had just
succeeded, with some difficulty, in reducing these independent fanatics to its
rule. It had made itself master of Utah, and subjected that territory to the
laws of the Union, after imprisoning Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion and
polygamy. The disciples of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and
resisted, by words at least, the authority of Congress. Elder Hitch, as is
seen, was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains.
</p>
<p>
Then, emphasising his words with his loud voice and frequent gestures, he
related the history of the Mormons from Biblical times: how that, in Israel, a
Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals of the new religion,
and bequeathed them to his son Mormon; how, many centuries later, a translation
of this precious book, which was written in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith,
junior, a Vermont farmer, who revealed himself as a mystical prophet in 1825;
and how, in short, the celestial messenger appeared to him in an illuminated
forest, and gave him the annals of the Lord.
</p>
<p>
Several of the audience, not being much interested in the missionary’s
narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch, continuing his lecture, related
how Smith, junior, with his father, two brothers, and a few disciples, founded
the church of the “Latter Day Saints,” which, adopted not only in
America, but in England, Norway and Sweden, and Germany, counts many artisans,
as well as men engaged in the liberal professions, among its members; how a
colony was established in Ohio, a temple erected there at a cost of two hundred
thousand dollars, and a town built at Kirkland; how Smith became an
enterprising banker, and received from a simple mummy showman a papyrus scroll
written by Abraham and several famous Egyptians.
</p>
<p>
The Elder’s story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience grew
gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers. But this did not
disconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with the story of Joseph Smith’s
bankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined creditors gave him a coat of tar and
feathers; his reappearance some years afterwards, more honourable and honoured
than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the chief of a flourishing colony of
three thousand disciples, and his pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and
retirement into the Far West.
</p>
<p>
Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout, who was
listening with all his ears. Thus he learned that, after long persecutions,
Smith reappeared in Illinois, and in 1839 founded a community at Nauvoo, on the
Mississippi, numbering twenty-five thousand souls, of which he became mayor,
chief justice, and general-in-chief; that he announced himself, in 1843, as a
candidate for the Presidency of the United States; and that finally, being
drawn into ambuscade at Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and assassinated
by a band of men disguised in masks.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder, looking
him full in the face, reminded him that, two years after the assassination of
Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young, his successor, left Nauvoo
for the banks of the Great Salt Lake, where, in the midst of that fertile
region, directly on the route of the emigrants who crossed Utah on their way to
California, the new colony, thanks to the polygamy practised by the Mormons,
had flourished beyond expectations.
</p>
<p>
“And this,” added Elder William Hitch, “this is why the
jealousy of Congress has been aroused against us! Why have the soldiers of the
Union invaded the soil of Utah? Why has Brigham Young, our chief, been
imprisoned, in contempt of all justice? Shall we yield to force? Never! Driven
from Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from Ohio, driven from Missouri,
driven from Utah, we shall yet find some independent territory on which to
plant our tents. And you, my brother,” continued the Elder, fixing his
angry eyes upon his single auditor, “will you not plant yours there, too,
under the shadow of our flag?”
</p>
<p>
“No!” replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring from
the car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.
</p>
<p>
During the lecture the train had been making good progress, and towards
half-past twelve it reached the northwest border of the Great Salt Lake. Thence
the passengers could observe the vast extent of this interior sea, which is
also called the Dead Sea, and into which flows an American Jordan. It is a
picturesque expanse, framed in lofty crags in large strata, encrusted with
white salt—a superb sheet of water, which was formerly of larger extent
than now, its shores having encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once
reduced its breadth and increased its depth.
</p>
<p>
The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is situated three miles
eight hundred feet above the sea. Quite different from Lake Asphaltite, whose
depression is twelve hundred feet below the sea, it contains considerable salt,
and one quarter of the weight of its water is solid matter, its specific weight
being 1,170, and, after being distilled, 1,000. Fishes are, of course, unable
to live in it, and those which descend through the Jordan, the Weber, and other
streams soon perish.
</p>
<p>
The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons are mostly
farmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals, fields of wheat,
corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies, hedges of wild rose, clumps of
acacias and milk-wort, would have been seen six months later. Now the ground
was covered with a thin powdering of snow.
</p>
<p>
The train reached Ogden at two o’clock, where it rested for six hours,
Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt Lake City, connected
with Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours in this strikingly
American town, built on the pattern of other cities of the Union, like a
checker-board, “with the sombre sadness of right-angles,” as Victor
Hugo expresses it. The founder of the City of the Saints could not escape from
the taste for symmetry which distinguishes the Anglo-Saxons. In this strange
country, where the people are certainly not up to the level of their
institutions, everything is done “squarely”—cities, houses,
and follies.
</p>
<p>
The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o’clock, about the
streets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan and the spurs of the
Wahsatch Range. They saw few or no churches, but the prophet’s mansion,
the court-house, and the arsenal, blue-brick houses with verandas and porches,
surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias, palms, and locusts. A clay and
pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded the town; and in the principal street
were the market and several hotels adorned with pavilions. The place did not
seem thickly populated. The streets were almost deserted, except in the
vicinity of the temple, which they only reached after having traversed several
quarters surrounded by palisades. There were many women, which was easily
accounted for by the “peculiar institution” of the Mormons; but it
must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists. They are free to
marry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting that it is mainly the
female citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as, according to the Mormon
religion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the possession of its highest joys.
These poor creatures seemed to be neither well off nor happy. Some—the
more well-to-do, no doubt—wore short, open, black silk dresses, under a
hood or modest shawl; others were habited in Indian fashion.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women, charged, in
groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon. His common sense pitied,
above all, the husband. It seemed to him a terrible thing to have to guide so
many wives at once across the vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it
were, in a body to the Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them in the
company of the glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that
delightful place, to all eternity. He felt decidedly repelled from such a
vocation, and he imagined—perhaps he was mistaken—that the fair
ones of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his person. Happily, his
stay there was but brief. At four the party found themselves again at the
station, took their places in the train, and the whistle sounded for starting.
Just at the moment, however, that the locomotive wheels began to move, cries of
“Stop! stop!” were heard.
</p>
<p>
Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one. The gentleman who uttered the
cries was evidently a belated Mormon. He was breathless with running. Happily
for him, the station had neither gates nor barriers. He rushed along the track,
jumped on the rear platform of the train, and fell, exhausted, into one of the
seats.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast, approached
him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken flight after an
unpleasant domestic scene.
</p>
<p>
When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to ask him
politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner in which he had decamped,
it might be thought that he had twenty at least.
</p>
<p>
“One, sir,” replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward
—“one, and that was enough!”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap28"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/>
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT DOES NOT SUCCEED IN MAKING ANYBODY LISTEN TO REASON </h2>
<p>
The train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for an hour as
far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles from San
Francisco. From this point it took an easterly direction towards the jagged
Wahsatch Mountains. It was in the section included between this range and the
Rocky Mountains that the American engineers found the most formidable
difficulties in laying the road, and that the government granted a subsidy of
forty-eight thousand dollars per mile, instead of sixteen thousand allowed for
the work done on the plains. But the engineers, instead of violating nature,
avoided its difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks.
One tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to
arrive at the great basin.
</p>
<p>
The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the Great Salt
Lake. From this point it described a long curve, descending towards Bitter
Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the waters between the
Atlantic and the Pacific. There were many creeks in this mountainous region,
and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek, Green Creek, and others, upon
culverts.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix longed to
get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than Phileas Fogg
himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents, and set foot on
English soil.
</p>
<p>
At ten o’clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, and
twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of Bitter
Creek throughout. The next day, 7th December, they stopped for a quarter of an
hour at Green River station. Snow had fallen abundantly during the night, but,
being mixed with rain, it had half melted, and did not interrupt their
progress. The bad weather, however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation
of snow, by blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal to
Mr. Fogg’s tour.
</p>
<p>
“What an idea!” he said to himself. “Why did my master make
this journey in winter? Couldn’t he have waited for the good season to
increase his chances?”
</p>
<p>
While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and the
depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a totally
different cause.
</p>
<p>
Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and down the
platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp Proctor, the same who
had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing
to be recognised, the young woman drew back from the window, feeling much alarm
at her discovery. She was attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her
daily evidences of the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend, perhaps,
the depth of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which she
called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was really more
than that. Her heart sank within her when she recognised the man whom Mr. Fogg
desired, sooner or later, to call to account for his conduct. Chance alone, it
was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor on this train; but there he was, and it
was necessary, at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his
adversary.
</p>
<p>
Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and Passepartout
whom she had seen.
</p>
<p>
“That Proctor on this train!” cried Fix. “Well, reassure
yourself, madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg; he has got to deal with me!
It seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two.”
</p>
<p>
“And, besides,” added Passepartout, “I’ll take charge
of him, colonel as he is.”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fix,” resumed Aouda, “Mr. Fogg will allow no one to
avenge him. He said that he would come back to America to find this man. Should
he perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might have
terrible results. He must not see him.”
</p>
<p>
“You are right, madam,” replied Fix; “a meeting between them
might ruin all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be
delayed, and—”
</p>
<p>
“And,” added Passepartout, “that would play the game of the
gentlemen of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York. Well, if my
master does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that chance
will not bring him face to face with this confounded American. We must, if
possible, prevent his stirring out of it.”
</p>
<p>
The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking out of the
window. Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by his master or Aouda,
whispered to the detective, “Would you really fight for him?”
</p>
<p>
“I would do anything,” replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed
determined will, “to get him back living to Europe!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but his
confidence in his master remained unbroken.
</p>
<p>
Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a meeting
between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult task, since that
gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious. The detective, at least,
seemed to have found a way; for, after a few moments, he said to Mr. Fogg,
“These are long and slow hours, sir, that we are passing on the
railway.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes,” replied Mr. Fogg; “but they pass.”
</p>
<p>
“You were in the habit of playing whist,” resumed Fix, “on
the steamers.”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards nor
partners.”
</p>
<p>
“Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the
American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays—”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly, sir,” Aouda quickly replied; “I understand whist.
It is part of an English education.”
</p>
<p>
“I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well, here are
three of us, and a dummy—”
</p>
<p>
“As you please, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resume
his favourite pastime even on the railway.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned with
two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with cloth.
</p>
<p>
The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even received
some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg. As for the detective, he was
simply an adept, and worthy of being matched against his present opponent.
</p>
<p>
“Now,” thought Passepartout, “we’ve got him. He
won’t budge.”
</p>
<p>
At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of the waters
at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four feet above the
level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by the track in crossing
the Rocky Mountains. After going about two hundred miles, the travellers at
last found themselves on one of those vast plains which extend to the Atlantic,
and which nature has made so propitious for laying the iron road.
</p>
<p>
On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches of the North
Platte River, already appeared. The whole northern and eastern horizon was
bounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which is formed by the southern
portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest being Laramie Peak. Between this
and the railway extended vast plains, plentifully irrigated. On the right rose
the lower spurs of the mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources
of the Arkansas River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.
</p>
<p>
At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort Halleck,
which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky Mountains were
crossed. There was reason to hope, then, that no accident would mark the
journey through this difficult country. The snow had ceased falling, and the
air became crisp and cold. Large birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and
flew off in the distance. No wild beast appeared on the plain. It was a desert
in its vast nakedness.
</p>
<p>
After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his partners had
just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard, and the train stopped.
Passepartout put his head out of the door, but saw nothing to cause the delay;
no station was in view.
</p>
<p>
Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get out; but
that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant, “See what is
the matter.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers had already
descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.
</p>
<p>
The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way. The engineer
and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom the station-master
at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent on before. The passengers
drew around and took part in the discussion, in which Colonel Proctor, with his
insolent manner, was conspicuous.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, “No! you
can’t pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear the
weight of the train.”
</p>
<p>
This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile from the
place where they now were. According to the signal-man, it was in a ruinous
condition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it was impossible to
risk the passage. He did not in any way exaggerate the condition of the bridge.
It may be taken for granted that, rash as the Americans usually are, when they
are prudent there is good reason for it.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard, listened with
set teeth, immovable as a statue.
</p>
<p>
“Hum!” cried Colonel Proctor; “but we are not going to stay
here, I imagine, and take root in the snow?”
</p>
<p>
“Colonel,” replied the conductor, “we have telegraphed to
Omaha for a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow in less
than six hours.”
</p>
<p>
“Six hours!” cried Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
“Certainly,” returned the conductor, “besides, it will take
us as long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot.”
</p>
<p>
“But it is only a mile from here,” said one of the passengers.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, but it’s on the other side of the river.”
</p>
<p>
“And can’t we cross that in a boat?” asked the colonel.
</p>
<p>
“That’s impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a
rapid, and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a
ford.”
</p>
<p>
The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company and the
conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not disinclined to make
common cause with him. Here was an obstacle, indeed, which all his
master’s banknotes could not remove.
</p>
<p>
There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without reckoning
the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles over a plain
covered with snow. They grumbled and protested, and would certainly have thus
attracted Phileas Fogg’s attention if he had not been completely absorbed
in his game.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what had
occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car, when the
engineer, a true Yankee, named Forster called out, “Gentlemen, perhaps
there is a way, after all, to get over.”
</p>
<p>
“On the bridge?” asked a passenger.
</p>
<p>
“On the bridge.”
</p>
<p>
“With our train?”
</p>
<p>
“With our train.”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.
</p>
<p>
“But the bridge is unsafe,” urged the conductor.
</p>
<p>
“No matter,” replied Forster; “I think that by putting on the
very highest speed we might have a chance of getting over.”
</p>
<p>
“The devil!” muttered Passepartout.
</p>
<p>
But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the engineer’s
proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted, and found the plan a
very feasible one. He told stories about engineers leaping their trains over
rivers without bridges, by putting on full steam; and many of those present
avowed themselves of the engineer’s mind.
</p>
<p>
“We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over,” said one.
</p>
<p>
“Eighty! ninety!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to get over
Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too American.
“Besides,” thought he, “there’s a still more simple
way, and it does not even occur to any of these people! Sir,” said he
aloud to one of the passengers, “the engineer’s plan seems to me a
little dangerous, but—”
</p>
<p>
“Eighty chances!” replied the passenger, turning his back on him.
</p>
<p>
“I know it,” said Passepartout, turning to another passenger,
“but a simple idea—”
</p>
<p>
“Ideas are no use,” returned the American, shrugging his shoulders,
“as the engineer assures us that we can pass.”
</p>
<p>
“Doubtless,” urged Passepartout, “we can pass, but perhaps it
would be more prudent—”
</p>
<p>
“What! Prudent!” cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to
excite prodigiously. “At full speed, don’t you see, at full
speed!”
</p>
<p>
“I know—I see,” repeated Passepartout; “but it would
be, if not more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more
natural—”
</p>
<p>
“Who! What! What’s the matter with this fellow?” cried
several.
</p>
<p>
The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.
</p>
<p>
“Are you afraid?” asked Colonel Proctor.
</p>
<p>
“I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can be as
American as they!”
</p>
<p>
“All aboard!” cried the conductor.
</p>
<p>
“Yes, all aboard!” repeated Passepartout, and immediately.
“But they can’t prevent me from thinking that it would be more
natural for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come
after!”
</p>
<p>
But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have acknowledged its
justice. The passengers resumed their places in the cars. Passepartout took his
seat without telling what had passed. The whist-players were quite absorbed in
their game.
</p>
<p>
The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam, backed
the train for nearly a mile—retiring, like a jumper, in order to take a
longer leap. Then, with another whistle, he began to move forward; the train
increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became frightful; a prolonged
screech issued from the locomotive; the piston worked up and down twenty
strokes to the second. They perceived that the whole train, rushing on at the
rate of a hundred miles an hour, hardly bore upon the rails at all.
</p>
<p>
And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the bridge. The train
leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the engineer could not
stop it until it had gone five miles beyond the station. But scarcely had the
train passed the river, when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash
into the rapids of Medicine Bow.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap29"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br/>
IN WHICH CERTAIN INCIDENTS ARE NARRATED WHICH ARE ONLY TO BE MET WITH ON
AMERICAN RAILROADS</h2>
<p>
The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption, passing Fort
Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass. The road here attained
the highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-two feet above
the level of the sea. The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by
limitless plains, levelled by nature. A branch of the “grand trunk”
led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round about
is rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are
already settled there.
</p>
<p>
Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San Francisco,
in three days and three nights; four days and nights more would probably bring
them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand.
</p>
<p>
During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek ran
parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories of Wyoming
and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, and
touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.
</p>
<p>
It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd of
October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful locomotives,
carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant,
vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux
and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, and
the first number of the <i>Railway Pioneer</i> was printed by a press brought
on the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a
mighty instrument of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and
destined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistle
of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bid
them rise from American soil.
</p>
<p>
Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three hundred and
fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching Omaha. The road
followed the capricious windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, on
its left bank. At nine the train stopped at the important town of North Platte,
built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and
form a single artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a
little above Omaha.
</p>
<p>
The one hundred and first meridian was passed.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even the
dummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winning
several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a not
less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctly
favoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours were showered upon his hands.
</p>
<p>
Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing a spade,
when a voice behind him said, “I should play a diamond.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.
</p>
<p>
Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.
</p>
<p>
“Ah! it’s you, is it, Englishman?” cried the colonel;
“it’s you who are going to play a spade!”
</p>
<p>
“And who plays it,” replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the
ten of spades.
</p>
<p>
“Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,” replied Colonel Proctor,
in an insolent tone.
</p>
<p>
He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played, adding,
“You don’t understand anything about whist.”
</p>
<p>
“Perhaps I do, as well as another,” said Phileas Fogg, rising.
</p>
<p>
“You have only to try, son of John Bull,” replied the colonel.
</p>
<p>
Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg’s arm and
gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the American, who
was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel
Proctor said, “You forget that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir;
for it was I whom you not only insulted, but struck!”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fix,” said Mr. Fogg, “pardon me, but this affair is
mine, and mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I
should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it.”
</p>
<p>
“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and with
whatever weapon you choose.”
</p>
<p>
Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective
endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the colonel out
of the window, but a sign from his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left the
car, and the American followed him upon the platform. “Sir,” said
Mr. Fogg to his adversary, “I am in a great hurry to get back to Europe,
and any delay whatever will be greatly to my disadvantage.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, what’s that to me?” replied Colonel Proctor.
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg, very politely, “after our meeting at
San Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I had
completed the business which called me to England.”
</p>
<p>
“Really!”
</p>
<p>
“Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?”
</p>
<p>
“Why not ten years hence?”
</p>
<p>
“I say six months,” returned Phileas Fogg; “and I shall be at
the place of meeting promptly.”
</p>
<p>
“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now or
never!”
</p>
<p>
“Very good. You are going to New York?”
</p>
<p>
“No.”
</p>
<p>
“To Chicago?”
</p>
<p>
“No.”
</p>
<p>
“To Omaha?”
</p>
<p>
“What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?”
</p>
<p>
“No,” replied Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“It’s the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and
will stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be
exchanged.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at Plum
Creek.”
</p>
<p>
“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the American
insolently.
</p>
<p>
“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as
usual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to be
feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a request
which the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted game
with perfect calmness.
</p>
<p>
At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they were
approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix, went out
upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a pair of revolvers.
Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.
</p>
<p>
The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the platform,
attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But just as the combatants
were about to step from the train, the conductor hurried up, and shouted,
“You can’t get off, gentlemen!”
</p>
<p>
“Why not?” asked the colonel.
</p>
<p>
“We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop.”
</p>
<p>
“But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman.”
</p>
<p>
“I am sorry,” said the conductor; “but we shall be off at
once. There’s the bell ringing now.”
</p>
<p>
The train started.
</p>
<p>
“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor.
“Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you.
But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go
along?”
</p>
<p>
“That wouldn’t be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,”
said the colonel, in a jeering tone.
</p>
<p>
“It would be perfectly so,” replied Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Well, we are really in America,” thought Passepartout, “and
the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!”
</p>
<p>
So muttering, he followed his master.
</p>
<p>
The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the cars to
the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by a dozen passengers,
whom the conductor politely asked if they would not be so kind as to leave it
vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen had an affair of honour to settle.
The passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared
on the platform.
</p>
<p>
The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their purpose.
The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and fire at their ease.
Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each
provided with two six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds,
remaining outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first whistle
of the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the two
gentlemen would be taken from the car.
</p>
<p>
Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix and
Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack. They were
listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage cries resounded in
the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did not issue from the car
where the duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole length
of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior of the cars.
</p>
<p>
Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their prison,
and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous. They then perceived that
the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.
</p>
<p>
This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than once they
had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had, according to their
habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the train, with the ease of a
clown mounting a horse at full gallop.
</p>
<p>
The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which the
passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.
</p>
<p>
The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer and
stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief, wishing to stop the train,
but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of closing
the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward with terrific
velocity.
</p>
<p>
The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged monkeys
over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to hand with the
passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks
out of the train. The cries and shots were constant. The travellers defended
themselves bravely; some of the cars were barricaded, and sustained a siege,
like moving forts, carried along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.
</p>
<p>
Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself like a true
heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows whenever a
savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to the
ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they had
been worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats.
</p>
<p>
It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for ten
minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the train was
not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a garrison, was only two
miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the train
between Fort Kearney and the station beyond.
</p>
<p>
The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell. At the
same moment he cried, “Unless the train is stopped in five minutes, we
are lost!”
</p>
<p>
“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from
the car.
</p>
<p>
“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door unperceived
by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and while the struggle
continued and the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use of
his old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility worked his way under the
cars, holding on to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the
sashes, creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus
gaining the forward end of the train.
</p>
<p>
There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender, with the
other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the traction, he would never
have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussion
jolted this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained a little
behind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.
</p>
<p>
Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for several
minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped, less than a
hundred feet from Kearney station.
</p>
<p>
The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux had not
expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely stopped.
</p>
<p>
But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform several were
found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just
saved them.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap30"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SIMPLY DOES HIS DUTY</h2>
<p>
Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had they been killed
in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It was impossible to
tell.
</p>
<p>
There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one of the most
seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered his groin. He was
carried into the station with the other wounded passengers, to receive such
attention as could be of avail.
</p>
<p>
Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the fight,
had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the arm. But
Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down Aouda’s cheeks.
</p>
<p>
All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were stained
with blood. From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far as
the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red trails were visible. The
last Sioux were disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious decision to
make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without speaking, and he
understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner, ought he not to risk
everything to rescue him from the Indians? “I will find him, living or
dead,” said he quietly to Aouda.
</p>
<p>
“Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!” cried she, clasping his hands and
covering them with tears.
</p>
<p>
“Living,” added Mr. Fogg, “if we do not lose a moment.”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he pronounced
his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him lose the steamer at New
York, and his bet would be certainly lost. But as he thought, “It is my
duty,” he did not hesitate.
</p>
<p>
The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his soldiers had
placed themselves in a position to defend the station, should the Sioux attack
it.
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to the captain, “three passengers have
disappeared.”
</p>
<p>
“Dead?” asked the captain.
</p>
<p>
“Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do you
propose to pursue the Sioux?”
</p>
<p>
“That’s a serious thing to do, sir,” returned the captain.
“These Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the
fort unprotected.”
</p>
<p>
“The lives of three men are in question, sir,” said Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?”
</p>
<p>
“I don’t know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so.”
</p>
<p>
“Nobody here,” returned the other, “has a right to teach me
my duty.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg, coldly. “I will go alone.”
</p>
<p>
“You, sir!” cried Fix, coming up; “you go alone in pursuit of
the Indians?”
</p>
<p>
“Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish—him to whom
every one present owes his life? I shall go.”
</p>
<p>
“No, sir, you shall not go alone,” cried the captain, touched in
spite of himself. “No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!” he
added, turning to the soldiers.
</p>
<p>
The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to pick his
men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their head.
</p>
<p>
“Thanks, captain,” said Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Will you let me go with you?” asked Fix.
</p>
<p>
“Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you will
remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—”
</p>
<p>
A sudden pallor overspread the detective’s face. Separate himself from
the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step! Leave him to wander
about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his
suspicions and of the struggle which was going on within him, he lowered his
eyes before that calm and frank look.
</p>
<p>
“I will stay,” said he.
</p>
<p>
A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman’s hand, and, having
confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the sergeant and his
little squad. But, before going, he had said to the soldiers, “My
friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you, if we save the
prisoners.”
</p>
<p>
It was then a little past noon.
</p>
<p>
Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking of the
simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas Fogg. He had
sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his life, all without hesitation,
from duty, in silence.
</p>
<p>
Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his agitation.
He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon resumed his outward
composure. He now saw the folly of which he had been guilty in letting Fogg go
alone. What! This man, whom he had just followed around the world, was
permitted now to separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abuse
himself, and, as if he were director of police, administered to himself a sound
lecture for his greenness.
</p>
<p>
“I have been an idiot!” he thought, “and this man will see
it. He has gone, and won’t come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who have
in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him?
Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!”
</p>
<p>
So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly. He did not
know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all; but he could not
doubt how the young woman would receive his confidences. What course should he
take? He thought of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains; it did not seem
impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the
snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.
</p>
<p>
Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to abandon the
game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station, and pursue his
journey homeward in peace.
</p>
<p>
Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, long
whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow, preceded by a
wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger through the mist, which
gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was expected from the east, neither had
there been time for the succour asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train
from Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon
explained.
</p>
<p>
The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles, was that
which, having been detached from the train, had continued its route with such
terrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run
several miles, when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had
slackened; and it had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond
Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after
remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train had
then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and the
locomotive without cars, understood what had happened. He could not imagine how
the locomotive had become separated from the train; but he did not doubt that
the train left behind was in distress.
</p>
<p>
He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on to Omaha,
for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the Indians might still
be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in the
furnace; the pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, running
backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist.
</p>
<p>
The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the head of
the train. They could now continue the journey so terribly interrupted.
</p>
<p>
Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station, and asked
the conductor, “Are you going to start?”
</p>
<p>
“At once, madam.”
</p>
<p>
“But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers—”
</p>
<p>
“I cannot interrupt the trip,” replied the conductor. “We are
already three hours behind time.”
</p>
<p>
“And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?”
</p>
<p>
“To-morrow evening, madam.”
</p>
<p>
“To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must
wait—”
</p>
<p>
“It is impossible,” responded the conductor. “If you wish to
go, please get in.”
</p>
<p>
“I will not go,” said Aouda.
</p>
<p>
Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there was no
prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to leave Fort
Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start, and he had only to
take his seat in the car, an irresistible influence held him back. The station
platform burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind again
began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to struggle on to the end.
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel Proctor,
whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the train. The buzzing
of the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam was escaping from the
valves. The engineer whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared,
mingling its white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling snow.
</p>
<p>
The detective had remained behind.
</p>
<p>
Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very cold. Fix sat
motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been thought asleep. Aouda,
despite the storm, kept coming out of the waiting-room, going to the end of the
platform, and peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist
which narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome
sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, to
issue out again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain.
</p>
<p>
Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they be? Had
they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with them, or were they
still wandering amid the mist? The commander of the fort was anxious, though he
tried to conceal his apprehensions. As night approached, the snow fell less
plentifully, but it became intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the
plains. Neither flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.
</p>
<p>
Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart stifled with
anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains. Her imagination carried her
far off, and showed her innumerable dangers. What she suffered through the long
hours it would be impossible to describe.
</p>
<p>
Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep. Once a man
approached and spoke to him, and the detective merely replied by shaking his
head.
</p>
<p>
Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disc of the sun rose
above a misty horizon; but it was now possible to recognise objects two miles
off. Phileas Fogg and the squad had gone southward; in the south all was still
vacancy. It was then seven o’clock.
</p>
<p>
The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course to take.
</p>
<p>
Should he send another detachment to the rescue of the first? Should he
sacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those already sacrificed? His
hesitation did not last long, however. Calling one of his lieutenants, he was
on the point of ordering a reconnaissance, when gunshots were heard. Was it a
signal? The soldiers rushed out of the fort, and half a mile off they perceived
a little band returning in good order.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were Passepartout and
the other two travellers, rescued from the Sioux.
</p>
<p>
They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort Kearney. Shortly
before the detachment arrived, Passepartout and his companions had begun to
struggle with their captors, three of whom the Frenchman had felled with his
fists, when his master and the soldiers hastened up to their relief.
</p>
<p>
All were welcomed with joyful cries. Phileas Fogg distributed the reward he had
promised to the soldiers, while Passepartout, not without reason, muttered to
himself, “It must certainly be confessed that I cost my master
dear!”
</p>
<p>
Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have been
difficult to analyse the thoughts which struggled within him. As for Aouda, she
took her protector’s hand and pressed it in her own, too much moved to
speak.
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he thought he should
find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and he hoped that the time lost might
be regained.
</p>
<p>
“The train! the train!” cried he.
</p>
<p>
“Gone,” replied Fix.
</p>
<p>
“And when does the next train pass here?” said Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“Not till this evening.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” returned the impassible gentleman quietly.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap31"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br/>
IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, CONSIDERABLY FURTHERS THE INTERESTS OF PHILEAS
FOGG</h2>
<p>
Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time. Passepartout, the
involuntary cause of this delay, was desperate. He had ruined his master!
</p>
<p>
At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and, looking him intently in
the face, said:
</p>
<p>
“Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?”
</p>
<p>
“Quite seriously.”
</p>
<p>
“I have a purpose in asking,” resumed Fix. “Is it absolutely
necessary that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o’clock
in the evening, the time that the steamer leaves for Liverpool?”
</p>
<p>
“It is absolutely necessary.”
</p>
<p>
“And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians, you
would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left.”
</p>
<p>
“Good! you are therefore twenty hours behind. Twelve from twenty leaves
eight. You must regain eight hours. Do you wish to try to do so?”
</p>
<p>
“On foot?” asked Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“No; on a sledge,” replied Fix. “On a sledge with sails. A
man has proposed such a method to me.”
</p>
<p>
It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose offer he had
refused.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix, having pointed out the man, who
was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg went up to him. An
instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose name was Mudge, entered a hut
built just below the fort.
</p>
<p>
There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long beams, a
little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon which there was
room for five or six persons. A high mast was fixed on the frame, held firmly
by metallic lashings, to which was attached a large brigantine sail. This mast
held an iron stay upon which to hoist a jib-sail. Behind, a sort of rudder
served to guide the vehicle. It was, in short, a sledge rigged like a sloop.
During the winter, when the trains are blocked up by the snow, these sledges
make extremely rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one station to
another. Provided with more sails than a cutter, and with the wind behind them,
they slip over the surface of the prairies with a speed equal if not superior
to that of the express trains.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this land-craft. The wind was
favourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west. The snow had hardened, and
Mudge was very confident of being able to transport Mr. Fogg in a few hours to
Omaha. Thence the trains eastward run frequently to Chicago and New York. It
was not impossible that the lost time might yet be recovered; and such an
opportunity was not to be rejected.
</p>
<p>
Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling in the open air,
Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout at Fort Kearney, the servant
taking upon himself to escort her to Europe by a better route and under more
favourable conditions. But Aouda refused to separate from Mr. Fogg, and
Passepartout was delighted with her decision; for nothing could induce him to
leave his master while Fix was with him.
</p>
<p>
It would be difficult to guess the detective’s thoughts. Was this
conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg’s return, or did he still regard him as
an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world completed, would
think himself absolutely safe in England? Perhaps Fix’s opinion of
Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was nevertheless resolved to do his
duty, and to hasten the return of the whole party to England as much as
possible.
</p>
<p>
At eight o’clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers took their
places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in their travelling-cloaks. The
two great sails were hoisted, and under the pressure of the wind the sledge
slid over the hardened snow with a velocity of forty miles an hour.
</p>
<p>
The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly, is at most two
hundred miles. If the wind held good, the distance might be traversed in five
hours; if no accident happened the sledge might reach Omaha by one
o’clock.
</p>
<p>
What a journey! The travellers, huddled close together, could not speak for the
cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were going. The sledge sped on
as lightly as a boat over the waves. When the breeze came skimming the earth
the sledge seemed to be lifted off the ground by its sails. Mudge, who was at
the rudder, kept in a straight line, and by a turn of his hand checked the
lurches which the vehicle had a tendency to make. All the sails were up, and
the jib was so arranged as not to screen the brigantine. A top-mast was
hoisted, and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other
sails. Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge could not
be going at less than forty miles an hour.
</p>
<p>
“If nothing breaks,” said Mudge, “we shall get there!”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg had made it for Mudge’s interest to reach Omaha within the time
agreed on, by the offer of a handsome reward.
</p>
<p>
The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight line, was as flat
as a sea. It seemed like a vast frozen lake. The railroad which ran through
this section ascended from the south-west to the north-west by Great Island,
Columbus, an important Nebraska town, Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha. It
followed throughout the right bank of the Platte River. The sledge, shortening
this route, took a chord of the arc described by the railway. Mudge was not
afraid of being stopped by the Platte River, because it was frozen. The road,
then, was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to
fear—an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind.
</p>
<p>
But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to bend the mast,
which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly. These lashings, like the
chords of a stringed instrument, resounded as if vibrated by a violin bow. The
sledge slid along in the midst of a plaintively intense melody.
</p>
<p>
“Those chords give the fifth and the octave,” said Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
These were the only words he uttered during the journey. Aouda, cosily packed
in furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as possible from the attacks of the
freezing wind. As for Passepartout, his face was as red as the sun’s disc
when it sets in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled the biting air. With his
natural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope again. They would reach New York
on the evening, if not on the morning, of the 11th, and there were still some
chances that it would be before the steamer sailed for Liverpool.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by the hand. He
remembered that it was the detective who procured the sledge, the only means of
reaching Omaha in time; but, checked by some presentiment, he kept his usual
reserve. One thing, however, Passepartout would never forget, and that was the
sacrifice which Mr. Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the
Sioux. Mr. Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No! His servant would
never forget that!
</p>
<p>
While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different, the sledge
flew past over the vast carpet of snow. The creeks it passed over were not
perceived. Fields and streams disappeared under the uniform whiteness. The
plain was absolutely deserted. Between the Union Pacific road and the branch
which unites Kearney with Saint Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island.
Neither village, station, nor fort appeared. From time to time they sped by
some phantom-like tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the wind.
Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt, famished, ferocious
prairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge. Passepartout, revolver in hand,
held himself ready to fire on those which came too near. Had an accident then
happened to the sledge, the travellers, attacked by these beasts, would have
been in the most terrible danger; but it held on its even course, soon gained
on the wolves, and ere long left the howling band at a safe distance behind.
</p>
<p>
About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was crossing the Platte
River. He said nothing, but he felt certain that he was now within twenty miles
of Omaha. In less than an hour he left the rudder and furled his sails, whilst
the sledge, carried forward by the great impetus the wind had given it, went on
half a mile further with its sails unspread.
</p>
<p>
It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white with snow,
said: “We have got there!”
</p>
<p>
Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication, by numerous
trains, with the Atlantic seaboard!
</p>
<p>
Passepartout and Fix jumped off, stretched their stiffened limbs, and aided Mr.
Fogg and the young woman to descend from the sledge. Phileas Fogg generously
rewarded Mudge, whose hand Passepartout warmly grasped, and the party directed
their steps to the Omaha railway station.
</p>
<p>
The Pacific Railroad proper finds its terminus at this important Nebraska town.
Omaha is connected with Chicago by the Chicago and Rock Island Railroad, which
runs directly east, and passes fifty stations.
</p>
<p>
A train was ready to start when Mr. Fogg and his party reached the station, and
they only had time to get into the cars. They had seen nothing of Omaha; but
Passepartout confessed to himself that this was not to be regretted, as they
were not travelling to see the sights.
</p>
<p>
The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council Bluffs, Des
Moines, and Iowa City. During the night it crossed the Mississippi at
Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois. The next day, which was the
10th, at four o’clock in the evening, it reached Chicago, already risen
from its ruins, and more proudly seated than ever on the borders of its
beautiful Lake Michigan.
</p>
<p>
Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains are not wanting
at Chicago. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one to the other, and the locomotive
of the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, and Chicago Railway left at full speed, as if it
fully comprehended that that gentleman had no time to lose. It traversed
Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey like a flash, rushing through towns
with antique names, some of which had streets and car-tracks, but as yet no
houses. At last the Hudson came into view; and, at a quarter-past eleven in the
evening of the 11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of the
river, before the very pier of the Cunard line.
</p>
<p>
The “China,” for Liverpool, had started three-quarters of an hour
before!
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap32"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ENGAGES IN A DIRECT STRUGGLE WITH BAD FORTUNE</h2>
<p>
The “China,” in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas
Fogg’s last hope. None of the other steamers were able to serve his
projects. The “Pereire,” of the French Transatlantic Company, whose
admirable steamers are equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave until
the 14th; the Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or London, but to
Havre; and the additional trip from Havre to Southampton would render Phileas
Fogg’s last efforts of no avail. The Inman steamer did not depart till
the next day, and could not cross the Atlantic in time to save the wager.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his “Bradshaw,” which gave
him the daily movements of the transatlantic steamers.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat by three-quarters
of an hour. It was his fault, for, instead of helping his master, he had not
ceased putting obstacles in his path! And when he recalled all the incidents of
the tour, when he counted up the sums expended in pure loss and on his own
account, when he thought that the immense stake, added to the heavy charges of
this useless journey, would completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himself
with bitter self-accusations. Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him; and, on
leaving the Cunard pier, only said: “We will consult about what is best
to-morrow. Come.”
</p>
<p>
The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat, and drove in a
carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were engaged, and the
night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg, who slept profoundly, but very long to
Aouda and the others, whose agitation did not permit them to rest.
</p>
<p>
The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning of the 12th to
a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st there were nine days, thirteen
hours, and forty-five minutes. If Phileas Fogg had left in the
“China,” one of the fastest steamers on the Atlantic, he would have
reached Liverpool, and then London, within the period agreed upon.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions to await
his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant’s notice. He
proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about among the vessels moored
or anchored in the river, for any that were about to depart. Several had
departure signals, and were preparing to put to sea at morning tide; for in
this immense and admirable port there is not one day in a hundred that vessels
do not set out for every quarter of the globe. But they were mostly sailing
vessels, of which, of course, Phileas Fogg could make no use.
</p>
<p>
He seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored at the Battery, a
cable’s length off at most, a trading vessel, with a screw, well-shaped,
whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke, indicated that she was getting ready
for departure.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg hailed a boat, got into it, and soon found himself on board the
“Henrietta,” iron-hulled, wood-built above. He ascended to the
deck, and asked for the captain, who forthwith presented himself. He was a man
of fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big eyes, a complexion of oxidised copper,
red hair and thick neck, and a growling voice.
</p>
<p>
“The captain?” asked Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“I am the captain.”
</p>
<p>
“I am Phileas Fogg, of London.”
</p>
<p>
“And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff.”
</p>
<p>
“You are going to put to sea?”
</p>
<p>
“In an hour.”
</p>
<p>
“You are bound for—”
</p>
<p>
“Bordeaux.”
</p>
<p>
“And your cargo?”
</p>
<p>
“No freight. Going in ballast.”
</p>
<p>
“Have you any passengers?”
</p>
<p>
“No passengers. Never have passengers. Too much in the way.”
</p>
<p>
“Is your vessel a swift one?”
</p>
<p>
“Between eleven and twelve knots. The “Henrietta,” well
known.”
</p>
<p>
“Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?”
</p>
<p>
“To Liverpool? Why not to China?”
</p>
<p>
“I said Liverpool.”
</p>
<p>
“No!”
</p>
<p>
“No?”
</p>
<p>
“No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux.”
</p>
<p>
“Money is no object?”
</p>
<p>
“None.”
</p>
<p>
The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply.
</p>
<p>
“But the owners of the ‘Henrietta’—” resumed
Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“The owners are myself,” replied the captain. “The vessel
belongs to me.”
</p>
<p>
“I will freight it for you.”
</p>
<p>
“No.”
</p>
<p>
“I will buy it of you.”
</p>
<p>
“No.”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the situation was a
grave one. It was not at New York as at Hong Kong, nor with the captain of the
“Henrietta” as with the captain of the “Tankadere.” Up
to this time money had smoothed away every obstacle. Now money failed.
</p>
<p>
Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat, unless by
balloon—which would have been venturesome, besides not being capable of
being put in practice. It seemed that Phileas Fogg had an idea, for he said to
the captain, “Well, will you carry me to Bordeaux?”
</p>
<p>
“No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars.”
</p>
<p>
“I offer you two thousand.”
</p>
<p>
“Apiece?”
</p>
<p>
“Apiece.”
</p>
<p>
“And there are four of you?”
</p>
<p>
“Four.”
</p>
<p>
Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There were eight thousand dollars to
gain, without changing his route; for which it was well worth conquering the
repugnance he had for all kinds of passengers. Besides, passengers at two
thousand dollars are no longer passengers, but valuable merchandise. “I
start at nine o’clock,” said Captain Speedy, simply. “Are you
and your party ready?”
</p>
<p>
“We will be on board at nine o’clock,” replied, no less
simply, Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
It was half-past eight. To disembark from the “Henrietta,” jump
into a hack, hurry to the St. Nicholas, and return with Aouda, Passepartout,
and even the inseparable Fix was the work of a brief time, and was performed by
Mr. Fogg with the coolness which never abandoned him. They were on board when
the “Henrietta” made ready to weigh anchor.
</p>
<p>
When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to cost, he uttered a
prolonged “Oh!” which extended throughout his vocal gamut.
</p>
<p>
As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would certainly not
come out of this affair well indemnified. When they reached England, even if
Mr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls of bank-bills into the sea, more than
seven thousand pounds would have been spent!
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap33"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SHOWS HIMSELF EQUAL TO THE OCCASION</h2>
<p>
An hour after, the “Henrietta” passed the lighthouse which marks
the entrance of the Hudson, turned the point of Sandy Hook, and put to sea.
During the day she skirted Long Island, passed Fire Island, and directed her
course rapidly eastward.
</p>
<p>
At noon the next day, a man mounted the bridge to ascertain the vessel’s
position. It might be thought that this was Captain Speedy. Not the least in
the world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire. As for Captain Speedy, he was shut up
in his cabin under lock and key, and was uttering loud cries, which signified
an anger at once pardonable and excessive.
</p>
<p>
What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished to go to Liverpool, but
the captain would not carry him there. Then Phileas Fogg had taken passage for
Bordeaux, and, during the thirty hours he had been on board, had so shrewdly
managed with his banknotes that the sailors and stokers, who were only an
occasional crew, and were not on the best terms with the captain, went over to
him in a body. This was why Phileas Fogg was in command instead of Captain
Speedy; why the captain was a prisoner in his cabin; and why, in short, the
“Henrietta” was directing her course towards Liverpool. It was very
clear, to see Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had been a sailor.
</p>
<p>
How the adventure ended will be seen anon. Aouda was anxious, though she said
nothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr. Fogg’s manœuvre simply
glorious. The captain had said “between eleven and twelve knots,”
and the “Henrietta” confirmed his prediction.
</p>
<p>
If, then—for there were “ifs” still—the sea did not
become too boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east, if no
accident happened to the boat or its machinery, the “Henrietta”
might cross the three thousand miles from New York to Liverpool in the nine
days, between the 12th and the 21st of December. It is true that, once arrived,
the affair on board the “Henrietta,” added to that of the Bank of
England, might create more difficulties for Mr. Fogg than he imagined or could
desire.
</p>
<p>
During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea was not very
unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the north-east, the sails were
hoisted, and the “Henrietta” ploughed across the waves like a real
transatlantic steamer.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was delighted. His master’s last exploit, the consequences
of which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had the crew seen so jolly and
dexterous a fellow. He formed warm friendships with the sailors, and amazed
them with his acrobatic feats. He thought they managed the vessel like
gentlemen, and that the stokers fired up like heroes. His loquacious
good-humour infected everyone. He had forgotten the past, its vexations and
delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished; and sometimes he
boiled over with impatience, as if heated by the furnaces of the
“Henrietta.” Often, also, the worthy fellow revolved around Fix,
looking at him with a keen, distrustful eye; but he did not speak to him, for
their old intimacy no longer existed.
</p>
<p>
Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going on. The
conquest of the “Henrietta,” the bribery of the crew, Fogg managing
the boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him. He did not know what
to think. For, after all, a man who began by stealing fifty-five thousand
pounds might end by stealing a vessel; and Fix was not unnaturally inclined to
conclude that the “Henrietta” under Fogg’s command, was not
going to Liverpool at all, but to some part of the world where the robber,
turned into a pirate, would quietly put himself in safety. The conjecture was
at least a plausible one, and the detective began to seriously regret that he
had embarked on the affair.
</p>
<p>
As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his cabin; and
Passepartout, whose duty it was to carry him his meals, courageous as he was,
took the greatest precautions. Mr. Fogg did not seem even to know that there
was a captain on board.
</p>
<p>
On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland, a dangerous
locality; during the winter, especially, there are frequent fogs and heavy
gales of wind. Ever since the evening before the barometer, suddenly falling,
had indicated an approaching change in the atmosphere; and during the night the
temperature varied, the cold became sharper, and the wind veered to the
south-east.
</p>
<p>
This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his course,
furled his sails and increased the force of the steam; but the vessel’s
speed slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long waves of which broke
against the stern. She pitched violently, and this retarded her progress. The
breeze little by little swelled into a tempest, and it was to be feared that
the “Henrietta” might not be able to maintain herself upright on
the waves.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout’s visage darkened with the skies, and for two days the poor
fellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg was a bold mariner, and
knew how to maintain headway against the sea; and he kept on his course,
without even decreasing his steam. The “Henrietta,” when she could
not rise upon the waves, crossed them, swamping her deck, but passing safely.
Sometimes the screw rose out of the water, beating its protruding end, when a
mountain of water raised the stern above the waves; but the craft always kept
straight ahead.
</p>
<p>
The wind, however, did not grow as boisterous as might have been feared; it was
not one of those tempests which burst, and rush on with a speed of ninety miles
an hour. It continued fresh, but, unhappily, it remained obstinately in the
south-east, rendering the sails useless.
</p>
<p>
The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg’s
departure from London, and the “Henrietta” had not yet been
seriously delayed. Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worst
localities had been passed. In summer, success would have been well-nigh
certain. In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad season. Passepartout said
nothing; but he cherished hope in secret, and comforted himself with the
reflection that, if the wind failed them, they might still count on the steam.
</p>
<p>
On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and began to speak
earnestly with him. Without knowing why it was a presentiment, perhaps
Passepartout became vaguely uneasy. He would have given one of his ears to hear
with the other what the engineer was saying. He finally managed to catch a few
words, and was sure he heard his master say, “You are certain of what you
tell me?”
</p>
<p>
“Certain, sir,” replied the engineer. “You must remember
that, since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces, and,
though we had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to Bordeaux, we
haven’t enough to go with all steam from New York to Liverpool.”
“I will consider,” replied Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout understood it all; he was seized with mortal anxiety. The coal was
giving out! “Ah, if my master can get over that,” muttered he,
“he’ll be a famous man!” He could not help imparting to Fix
what he had overheard.
</p>
<p>
“Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?”
</p>
<p>
“Of course.”
</p>
<p>
“Ass!” replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning
on his heel.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the epithet, the reason
of which he could not for the life of him comprehend; but he reflected that the
unfortunate Fix was probably very much disappointed and humiliated in his
self-esteem, after having so awkwardly followed a false scent around the world,
and refrained.
</p>
<p>
And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt? It was difficult to imagine.
Nevertheless he seemed to have decided upon one, for that evening he sent for
the engineer, and said to him, “Feed all the fires until the coal is
exhausted.”
</p>
<p>
A few moments after, the funnel of the “Henrietta” vomited forth
torrents of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam on; but on
the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced that the coal would give
out in the course of the day.
</p>
<p>
“Do not let the fires go down,” replied Mr. Fogg. “Keep them
up to the last. Let the valves be filled.”
</p>
<p>
Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position, called
Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy. It was as if the honest
fellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger. He went to the poop, saying to
himself, “He will be like a madman!”
</p>
<p>
In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the poop-deck. The
bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that he was on the point of bursting.
“Where are we?” were the first words his anger permitted him to
utter. Had the poor man been an apoplectic, he could never have recovered from
his paroxysm of wrath.
</p>
<p>
“Where are we?” he repeated, with purple face.
</p>
<p>
“Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool,” replied Mr. Fogg,
with imperturbable calmness.
</p>
<p>
“Pirate!” cried Captain Speedy.
</p>
<p>
“I have sent for you, sir—”
</p>
<p>
“Pickaroon!”
</p>
<p>
“—sir,” continued Mr. Fogg, “to ask you to sell me your
vessel.”
</p>
<p>
“No! By all the devils, no!”
</p>
<p>
“But I shall be obliged to burn her.”
</p>
<p>
“Burn the ‘Henrietta’!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes; at least the upper part of her. The coal has given out.”
</p>
<p>
“Burn my vessel!” cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely
pronounce the words. “A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!”
</p>
<p>
“Here are sixty thousand,” replied Phileas Fogg, handing the
captain a roll of bank-bills. This had a prodigious effect on Andrew Speedy. An
American can scarcely remain unmoved at the sight of sixty thousand dollars.
The captain forgot in an instant his anger, his imprisonment, and all his
grudges against his passenger. The “Henrietta” was twenty years
old; it was a great bargain. The bomb would not go off after all. Mr. Fogg had
taken away the match.
</p>
<p>
“And I shall still have the iron hull,” said the captain in a
softer tone.
</p>
<p>
“The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?”
</p>
<p>
“Agreed.”
</p>
<p>
And Andrew Speedy, seizing the banknotes, counted them and consigned them to
his pocket.
</p>
<p>
During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and Fix seemed on
the point of having an apoplectic fit. Nearly twenty thousand pounds had been
expended, and Fogg left the hull and engine to the captain, that is, near the
whole value of the craft! It was true, however, that fifty-five thousand pounds
had been stolen from the Bank.
</p>
<p>
When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him,
“Don’t let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I shall lose
twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a quarter before nine on
the evening of the 21st of December. I missed the steamer at New York, and as
you refused to take me to Liverpool—”
</p>
<p>
“And I did well!” cried Andrew Speedy; “for I have gained at
least forty thousand dollars by it!” He added, more sedately, “Do
you know one thing, Captain—”
</p>
<p>
“Fogg.”
</p>
<p>
“Captain Fogg, you’ve got something of the Yankee about you.”
</p>
<p>
And, having paid his passenger what he considered a high compliment, he was
going away, when Mr. Fogg said, “The vessel now belongs to me?”
</p>
<p>
“Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts—all the wood,
that is.”
</p>
<p>
“Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled down, and
burn them.”
</p>
<p>
It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the adequate
pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks, and the spare deck were
sacrificed. On the next day, the 19th of December, the masts, rafts, and spars
were burned; the crew worked lustily, keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed,
cut, and sawed away with all his might. There was a perfect rage for
demolition.
</p>
<p>
The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides disappeared
on the 20th, and the “Henrietta” was now only a flat hulk. But on
this day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light. By ten in the evening
they were passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had only twenty-four hours more in
which to get to London; that length of time was necessary to reach Liverpool,
with all steam on. And the steam was about to give out altogether!
</p>
<p>
“Sir,” said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in Mr.
Fogg’s project, “I really commiserate you. Everything is against
you. We are only opposite Queenstown.”
</p>
<p>
“Ah,” said Mr. Fogg, “is that place where we see the lights
Queenstown?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes.”
</p>
<p>
“Can we enter the harbour?”
</p>
<p>
“Not under three hours. Only at high tide.”
</p>
<p>
“Stay,” replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his features
that by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt once more to conquer
ill-fortune.
</p>
<p>
Queenstown is the Irish port at which the transatlantic steamers stop to put
off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin by express trains always held
in readiness to start; from Dublin they are sent on to Liverpool by the most
rapid boats, and thus gain twelve hours on the Atlantic steamers.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way. Instead of
arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the “Henrietta,” he would
be there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach London before a
quarter before nine in the evening.
</p>
<p>
The “Henrietta” entered Queenstown Harbour at one o’clock in
the morning, it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being grasped
heartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on the levelled
hulk of his craft, which was still worth half what he had sold it for.
</p>
<p>
The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted to arrest Mr. Fogg on
the spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle was going on within him? Had he
changed his mind about “his man”? Did he understand that he had
made a grave mistake? He did not, however, abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got upon
the train, which was just ready to start, at half-past one; at dawn of day they
were in Dublin; and they lost no time in embarking on a steamer which,
disdaining to rise upon the waves, invariably cut through them.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at twenty minutes
before twelve, 21st December. He was only six hours distant from London.
</p>
<p>
But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg’s shoulder,
and, showing his warrant, said, “You are really Phileas Fogg?”
</p>
<p>
“I am.”
</p>
<p>
“I arrest you in the Queen’s name!”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap34"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AT LAST REACHES LONDON</h2>
<p>
Phileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House, and he was
to be transferred to London the next day.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon Fix had
he not been held back by some policemen. Aouda was thunderstruck at the
suddenness of an event which she could not understand. Passepartout explained
to her how it was that the honest and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber.
The young woman’s heart revolted against so heinous a charge, and when
she saw that she could attempt to do nothing to save her protector, she wept
bitterly.
</p>
<p>
As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether Mr. Fogg
were guilty or not.
</p>
<p>
The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this new
misfortune! Had he not concealed Fix’s errand from his master? When Fix
revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr. Fogg? If the
latter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix proof of his
innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix would not have
continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of his master, only to
arrest him the moment he set foot on English soil. Passepartout wept till he
was blind, and felt like blowing his brains out.
</p>
<p>
Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the Custom
House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to see Mr. Fogg
again.
</p>
<p>
That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was about to
attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at Liverpool at twenty
minutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he had till a quarter before
nine that evening to reach the Reform Club, that is, nine hours and a quarter;
the journey from Liverpool to London was six hours.
</p>
<p>
If anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would have found
Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger, upon a wooden
bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last blow failed to force him
into an outward betrayal of any emotion. Was he being devoured by one of those
secret rages, all the more terrible because contained, and which only burst
forth, with an irresistible force, at the last moment? No one could tell. There
he sat, calmly waiting—for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still
believe, now that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he would
succeed?
</p>
<p>
However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon the table,
and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his lips, but his look was
singularly set and stern. The situation, in any event, was a terrible one, and
might be thus stated: if Phileas Fogg was honest he was ruined; if he was a
knave, he was caught.
</p>
<p>
Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were any practicable
outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping from it? Possibly; for once he
walked slowly around the room. But the door was locked, and the window heavily
barred with iron rods. He sat down again, and drew his journal from his pocket.
On the line where these words were written, “21st December, Saturday,
Liverpool,” he added, “80th day, 11.40 a.m.,” and waited.
</p>
<p>
The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his watch was two
hours too fast.
</p>
<p>
Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express train, he
could reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter before nine, p.m. His
forehead slightly wrinkled.
</p>
<p>
At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise outside, then a
hasty opening of doors. Passepartout’s voice was audible, and immediately
after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg’s eyes brightened for an instant.
</p>
<p>
The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who hurried
towards him.
</p>
<p>
Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not speak.
“Sir,” he stammered, “sir—forgive
me—most—unfortunate resemblance—robber arrested three days
ago—you are free!”
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him steadily in the
face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever made in his life, or which he
ever would make, drew back his arms, and with the precision of a machine
knocked Fix down.
</p>
<p>
“Well hit!” cried Passepartout, “Parbleu! that’s what
you might call a good application of English fists!”
</p>
<p>
Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word. He had only received
his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout left the Custom House without
delay, got into a cab, and in a few moments descended at the station.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave for London. It
was forty minutes past two. The express train had left thirty-five minutes
before. Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.
</p>
<p>
There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway arrangements did
not permit the special train to leave until three o’clock.
</p>
<p>
At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by the offer of a
generous reward, at last set out towards London with Aouda and his faithful
servant.
</p>
<p>
It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half; and this would
have been easy on a clear road throughout. But there were forced delays, and
when Mr. Fogg stepped from the train at the terminus, all the clocks in London
were striking ten minutes before nine.<a href="#fn1" name="fnref1" id="fnref1"><sup>[1]</sup></a>
</p>
<p>
Having made the tour of the world, he was behind-hand five minutes. He had lost
the wager!
</p>
<p class="footnote">
<a name="fn1" id="fn1"></a> <a href="#fnref1">[1]</a>
A somewhat remarkable eccentricity on the part of the London
clocks!—T<small>RANSLATOR</small>.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap35"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT
TWICE</h2>
<p>
The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if they had
been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors and windows were still
closed, no appearance of change was visible.
</p>
<p>
After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to purchase
some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.
</p>
<p>
He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And by the
blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed that long journey,
overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and still found time to do
some good on his way, to fail near the goal by a sudden event which he could
not have foreseen, and against which he was unarmed; it was terrible! But a few
pounds were left of the large sum he had carried with him. There only remained
of his fortune the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount
he owed to his friends of the Reform Club. So great had been the expense of his
tour that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is probable
that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who rather laid wagers
for honour’s sake than for the stake proposed. But this wager totally
ruined him.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg’s course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what remained
for him to do.
</p>
<p>
A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was overwhelmed
with grief at her protector’s misfortune. From the words which Mr. Fogg
dropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious project.
</p>
<p>
Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to the
desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch upon his
master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so doing.
</p>
<p>
First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had extinguished
the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days. He had found in the
letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he thought it more than time to put
a stop to this expense, which he had been doomed to bear.
</p>
<p>
The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did not once
close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a faithful dog, at his
master’s door.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda’s
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda to excuse
him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed all day in putting
his affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask permission to have a few
moment’s conversation with the young lady.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey them. He
looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring his mind to leave
him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured by remorse; for he accused
himself more bitterly than ever of being the cause of the irretrievable
disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg, and had betrayed Fix’s projects
to him, his master would certainly not have given the detective passage to
Liverpool, and then—
</p>
<p>
Passepartout could hold in no longer.
</p>
<p>
“My master! Mr. Fogg!” he cried, “why do you not curse me? It
was my fault that—”
</p>
<p>
“I blame no one,” returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness.
“Go!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he delivered his
master’s message.
</p>
<p>
“Madam,” he added, “I can do nothing myself—nothing! I
have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps—”
</p>
<p>
“What influence could I have?” replied Aouda. “Mr. Fogg is
influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him is
overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must not be left alone an
instant! You say he is going to speak with me this evening?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in
England.”
</p>
<p>
“We shall see,” replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.
</p>
<p>
Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if uninhabited,
and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in that house, did not
set out for his club when Westminster clock struck half-past eleven.
</p>
<p>
Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer expected him
there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on the evening before
(Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine), he had lost his
wager. It was not even necessary that he should go to his bankers for the
twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists already had his cheque in their
hands, and they had only to fill it out and send it to the Barings to have the
amount transferred to their credit.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained at home.
He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting his affairs in
order. Passepartout continually ascended and descended the stairs. The hours
were long for him. He listened at his master’s door, and looked through
the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do, and as if he feared that
something terrible might happen at any moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but
no longer in anger. Fix, like all the world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg,
and had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him; while he,
Passepartout. . . . This thought haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his
miserable folly.
</p>
<p>
Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda’s door,
went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a corner, and looked
ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive.
</p>
<p>
About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda would
receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with her.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite Aouda. No
emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly the Fogg who had
gone away; there was the same calm, the same impassibility.
</p>
<p>
He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on Aouda,
“Madam,” said he, “will you pardon me for bringing you to
England?”
</p>
<p>
“I, Mr. Fogg!” replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.
</p>
<p>
“Please let me finish,” returned Mr. Fogg. “When I decided to
bring you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was rich,
and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal; then your
existence would have been free and happy. But now I am ruined.”
</p>
<p>
“I know it, Mr. Fogg,” replied Aouda; “and I ask you in my
turn, will you forgive me for having followed you, and—who
knows?—for having, perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your
ruin?”
</p>
<p>
“Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be
assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could not take
you.”
</p>
<p>
“So, Mr. Fogg,” resumed Aouda, “not content with rescuing me
from a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a
foreign land?”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg to
place the little I have left at your service.”
</p>
<p>
“But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?”
</p>
<p>
“As for me, madam,” replied the gentleman, coldly, “I have
need of nothing.”
</p>
<p>
“But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?”
</p>
<p>
“As I am in the habit of doing.”
</p>
<p>
“At least,” said Aouda, “want should not overtake a man like
you. Your friends—”
</p>
<p>
“I have no friends, madam.”
</p>
<p>
“Your relatives—”
</p>
<p>
“I have no longer any relatives.”
</p>
<p>
“I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no heart
to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that misery itself, shared
by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience.”
</p>
<p>
“They say so, madam.”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fogg,” said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, “do you
wish at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light in his eyes,
and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his face. The sincerity,
rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft glance of a noble woman, who
could dare all to save him to whom she owed all, at first astonished, then
penetrated him. He shut his eyes for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When
he opened them again, “I love you!” he said, simply. “Yes, by
all that is holiest, I love you, and I am entirely yours!”
</p>
<p>
“Ah!” cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg still held
Aouda’s hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big, round face
became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel Wilson,
of Marylebone parish, that evening.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, “Never too
late.”
</p>
<p>
It was five minutes past eight.
</p>
<p>
“Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?”
</p>
<p>
“For to-morrow, Monday,” said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.
</p>
<p>
“Yes; for to-morrow, Monday,” she replied.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap36"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/>
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG’S NAME IS ONCE MORE AT A PREMIUM ON
’CHANGE</h2>
<p>
It is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion when it
transpired that the real bankrobber, a certain James Strand, had been arrested,
on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh. Three days before, Phileas Fogg had
been a criminal, who was being desperately followed up by the police; now he
was an honourable gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey
round the world.
</p>
<p>
The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had laid
bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic; the
“Phileas Fogg bonds” again became negotiable, and many new wagers
were made. Phileas Fogg’s name was once more at a premium on
’Change.
</p>
<p>
His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a state of
feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten, reappear before
their eyes! Where was he at this moment? The 17th of December, the day of James
Strand’s arrest, was the seventy-sixth since Phileas Fogg’s
departure, and no news of him had been received. Was he dead? Had he abandoned
the effort, or was he continuing his journey along the route agreed upon? And
would he appear on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine in
the evening, on the threshold of the Reform Club saloon?
</p>
<p>
The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot be
described. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas Fogg.
Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning and evening. No
news. The police were ignorant what had become of the detective, Fix, who had
so unfortunately followed up a false scent. Bets increased, nevertheless, in
number and value. Phileas Fogg, like a racehorse, was drawing near his last
turning-point. The bonds were quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at
twenty, at ten, and at five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his
favour.
</p>
<p>
A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets on
Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently established
around the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and everywhere disputes,
discussions, and financial transactions were going on. The police had great
difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as the hour when Phileas Fogg was due
approached, the excitement rose to its highest pitch.
</p>
<p>
The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the club.
John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart, the engineer,
Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and Thomas Flanagan, the
brewer, one and all waited anxiously.
</p>
<p>
When the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart got up,
saying, “Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon between Mr.
Fogg and ourselves will have expired.”
</p>
<p>
“What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?” asked Thomas
Flanagan.
</p>
<p>
“At twenty-three minutes past seven,” replied Gauthier Ralph;
“and the next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve.”
</p>
<p>
“Well, gentlemen,” resumed Andrew Stuart, “if Phileas Fogg
had come in the 7:23 train, he would have got here by this time. We can,
therefore, regard the bet as won.”
</p>
<p>
“Wait; don’t let us be too hasty,” replied Samuel Fallentin.
“You know that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well known;
he never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not be surprised if he
appeared before us at the last minute.”
</p>
<p>
“Why,” said Andrew Stuart nervously, “if I should see him, I
should not believe it was he.”
</p>
<p>
“The fact is,” resumed Thomas Flanagan, “Mr. Fogg’s
project was absurdly foolish. Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent
the delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three days
would be fatal to his tour.”
</p>
<p>
“Observe, too,” added John Sullivan, “that we have received
no intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along his
route.”
</p>
<p>
“He has lost, gentleman,” said Andrew Stuart, “he has a
hundred times lost! You know, besides, that the ‘China’—the
only steamer he could have taken from New York to get here in time arrived
yesterday. I have seen a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Fogg
is not among them. Even if we admit that fortune has favoured him, he can
scarcely have reached America. I think he will be at least twenty days
behind-hand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand.”
</p>
<p>
“It is clear,” replied Gauthier Ralph; “and we have nothing
to do but to present Mr. Fogg’s cheque at Barings to-morrow.”
</p>
<p>
At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty minutes to nine.
</p>
<p>
“Five minutes more,” said Andrew Stuart.
</p>
<p>
The five gentlemen looked at each other. Their anxiety was becoming intense;
but, not wishing to betray it, they readily assented to Mr. Fallentin’s
proposal of a rubber.
</p>
<p>
“I wouldn’t give up my four thousand of the bet,” said Andrew
Stuart, as he took his seat, “for three thousand nine hundred and
ninety-nine.”
</p>
<p>
The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.
</p>
<p>
The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off the clock.
Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never seemed so long to them!
</p>
<p>
“Seventeen minutes to nine,” said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the
cards which Ralph handed to him.
</p>
<p>
Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly quiet; but
the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and then a shrill cry.
The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player eagerly counted, as he
listened, with mathematical regularity.
</p>
<p>
“Sixteen minutes to nine!” said John Sullivan, in a voice which
betrayed his emotion.
</p>
<p>
One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his partners
suspended their game. They left their cards, and counted the seconds.
</p>
<p>
At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.
</p>
<p>
At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by applause,
hurrahs, and some fierce growls.
</p>
<p>
The players rose from their seats.
</p>
<p>
At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the pendulum had
not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared, followed by an excited
crowd who had forced their way through the club doors, and in his calm voice,
said, “Here I am, gentlemen!”
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div class="chapter">
<h2><a name="chap37"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/>
IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT PHILEAS FOGG GAINED NOTHING BY HIS TOUR AROUND THE
WORLD, UNLESS IT WERE HAPPINESS</h2>
<p>
Yes; Phileas Fogg in person.
</p>
<p>
The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the
evening—about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the travellers
in London—Passepartout had been sent by his master to engage the services
of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage ceremony, which was to take
place the next day.
</p>
<p>
Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached the
clergyman’s house, but found him not at home. Passepartout waited a good
twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman, it was thirty-five
minutes past eight. But in what a state he was! With his hair in disorder, and
without his hat, he ran along the street as never man was seen to run before,
overturning passers-by, rushing over the sidewalk like a waterspout.
</p>
<p>
In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered back into Mr.
Fogg’s room.
</p>
<p>
He could not speak.
</p>
<p>
“What is the matter?” asked Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“My master!” gasped
Passepartout—“marriage—impossible—”
</p>
<p>
“Impossible?”
</p>
<p>
“Impossible—for to-morrow.”
</p>
<p>
“Why so?”
</p>
<p>
“Because to-morrow—is Sunday!”
</p>
<p>
“Monday,” replied Mr. Fogg.
</p>
<p>
“No—to-day is Saturday.”
</p>
<p>
“Saturday? Impossible!”
</p>
<p>
“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” cried Passepartout. “You have made a
mistake of one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time; but there are
only ten minutes left!”
</p>
<p>
Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging him along
with irresistible force.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left his house,
jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the cabman, and, having run
over two dogs and overturned five carriages, reached the Reform Club.
</p>
<p>
The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the great saloon.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in eighty days!
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!
</p>
<p>
How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made this error of a
day? How came he to think that he had arrived in London on Saturday, the
twenty-first day of December, when it was really Friday, the twentieth, the
seventy-ninth day only from his departure?
</p>
<p>
The cause of the error is very simple.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his journey, and
this merely because he had travelled constantly <i>eastward;</i> he would, on
the contrary, have lost a day had he gone in the opposite direction, that is,
<i>westward</i>.
</p>
<p>
In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days therefore
diminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed degrees in this
direction. There are three hundred and sixty degrees on the circumference of
the earth; and these three hundred and sixty degrees, multiplied by four
minutes, gives precisely twenty-four hours—that is, the day unconsciously
gained. In other words, while Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun pass
the meridian <i>eighty</i> times, his friends in London only saw it pass the
meridian <i>seventy-nine</i> times. This is why they awaited him at the Reform
Club on Saturday, and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.
</p>
<p>
And Passepartout’s famous family watch, which had always kept London
time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as well as the
hours and the minutes!
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but, as he had spent
nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary gain was small. His object
was, however, to be victorious, and not to win money. He divided the one
thousand pounds that remained between Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix,
against whom he cherished no grudge. He deducted, however, from
Passepartout’s share the cost of the gas which had burned in his room for
nineteen hundred and twenty hours, for the sake of regularity.
</p>
<p>
That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said to Aouda:
“Is our marriage still agreeable to you?”
</p>
<p>
“Mr. Fogg,” replied she, “it is for me to ask that question.
You were ruined, but now you are rich again.”
</p>
<p>
“Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you. If you had not suggested
our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the Reverend Samuel
Wilson’s, I should not have been apprised of my error, and—”
</p>
<p>
“Dear Mr. Fogg!” said the young woman.
</p>
<p>
“Dear Aouda!” replied Phileas Fogg.
</p>
<p>
It need not be said that the marriage took place forty-eight hours after, and
that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave the bride away. Had he not saved
her, and was he not entitled to this honour?
</p>
<p>
The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped vigorously at his
master’s door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked, “What’s the
matter, Passepartout?”
</p>
<p>
“What is it, sir? Why, I’ve just this instant found
out—”
</p>
<p>
“What?”
</p>
<p>
“That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eight
days.”
</p>
<p>
“No doubt,” returned Mr. Fogg, “by not crossing India. But if
I had not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she would not have been
my wife, and—”
</p>
<p>
Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.
</p>
<p>
Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around the world in
eighty days. To do this he had employed every means of
conveyance—steamers, railways, carriages, yachts, trading-vessels,
sledges, elephants. The eccentric gentleman had throughout displayed all his
marvellous qualities of coolness and exactitude. But what then? What had he
really gained by all this trouble? What had he brought back from this long and
weary journey?
</p>
<p>
Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who, strange as it
may appear, made him the happiest of men!
</p>
<p>
Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?
</p>
</div><!--end chapter-->
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 103 ***</div>
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