The Project Gutenberg EBook of Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
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Title: Around the World in 80 Days
Author: Jules Verne
Posting Date: September 11, 2012 [EBook #2154]
Release Date: April, 2000
First Posted: September 12, 2003
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AROUND THE WORLD IN 80 DAYS ***
Produced by Bill Stoddard
AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS
By JULES VERNE
Junior Deluxe Edition
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
In Which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Accept Each Other,
the One as Master, the Other as Man
Chapter 2
In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has
at Last Found His Ideal
Chapter 3
In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems
Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly
Chapter 4
In Which Phileas Fogg Astounds Passepartout
Chapter 5
In Which a New Security Appears on the London Exchange
Chapter 6
In Which Fix, the Detective, Betrays a Very Natural Impatience
Chapter 7
Which Once More Demonstrates the Uselessness
of Passports as Aids to Detectives
Chapter 8
In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More,
Perhaps, than Is Prudent
Chapter 9
In Which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean Prove
Propitious to the Designs of Phileas Fogg
Chapter 10
In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad
to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes
Chapter 11
In Which Phileas Fogg Buys a Curious
Means of Conveyance at a Fabulous Price
Chapter 12
In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture
across the Indian Forests, and What Follows
Chapter 13
In Which Passepartout Receives a New Proof
That Fortune Favors the Brave
Chapter 14
In Which Phileas Fogg Descends the Whole Length of the
Beautiful Valley of the Ganges without Ever Thinking of Seeing It
Chapter 15
In Which the Bag of Banknotes Disgorges
Some Thousands of Pounds More
Chapter 16
In Which Fix Does Not Seem to Understand
in the Least What is Said to Him
Chapter 17
Showing What Happened on the Voyage from Singapore to Hong Kong
Chapter 18
In Which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout and Fix
Go Each about His Business
Chapter 19
In Which Passepartout Takes a Too Great Interest in His Master,
and What Comes of It
Chapter 20
In Which Fix Comes Face to Face with Phileas Fogg
Chapter 21
In Which the Master of the Tankadere Runs Great Risk
of Losing a Reward of Two Hundred Pounds
Chapter 22
In Which Passepartout Finds Out That, Even at the Antipodes,
It Is Convenient to Have Some Money in One's Pocket
Chapter 23
In Which Passepartout's Nose Becomes Outrageously Long
Chapter 24
During Which Mr. Fogg and Party Cross the Pacific Ocean
Chapter 25
In Which a Slight Glimpse Is Had of San Francisco
Chapter 26
In Which Phileas Fogg and Party Travel by the Pacific Railroad
Chapter 27
In Which Passepartout Undergoes, at a Speed of
Twenty Miles an Hour, a Course of Mormon History
Chapter 28
In Which Passepartout Does Not Succeed
in Making Anybody Listen to Reason
Chapter 29
In Which Certain Incidents Are Narrated Which
Are Only to Be Met with on American Railroads
Chapter 30
In Which Phileas Fogg Simply Does His Duty
Chapter 31
Fix the Detective Considerably Furthers
the Interests of Phileas Fogg
Chapter 32
In Which Phileas Fogg Engages in a
Direct Struggle with Bad Fortune
Chapter 33
In Which Phileas Fogg Shows Himself Equal to the Occasion
Chapter 34
In Which Phileas Fogg at Last Reaches London
Chapter 35
In Which Phileas Fogg Does Not Have to
Repeat His Orders to Passepartout Twice
Chapter 36
In Which Phileas Fogg's Name Is Once More
at a Premium on the Market
Chapter 37
In Which It Is Shown That Phileas Fogg Gained Nothing
by His Tour around the World Except Happiness
Chapter 1
In Which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Accept Each Other,
the One as Master, the Other as Man
Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No.7, Saville Row, Burlington
Gardens. He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform
Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention. This
Phileas Fogg was a puzzling gentleman, about whom little was
known, except that he was a polished man of the world. People
said that he resembled the poet Byron--at least that his head
was Byronic; but he was a bearded, peaceful Byron, who might live
on a thousand years without growing old.
Certainly Phileas Fogg was an Englishman, but it was more
doubtful whether he 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 he ever pleaded 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.
Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all. The
way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple
enough.
He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open
credit. His checks were regularly paid at sight from his account
current, which was always flush.
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 go 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.
Had he traveled? 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
travelers, 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 traveled everywhere, at least in
the spirit.
It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not been away from
London for many years. Those who were honored 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 quiet one, harmonized 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.
Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which
may happen to the most honest people; neither relatives nor near
friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his
house in Saville Row, where none ever entered. A single servant
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. He went home at exactly midnight, only to retire
at once to bed. He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform
provides for its favored 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 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 foods. He was served by the
gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles,
who presented 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.
If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed
that there is something good in eccentricity.
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 servant, 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 eleven.
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 go to the Reform.
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.
"The new servant," said he.
A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.
"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your
name is John?"
"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 left 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."
"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg. "You are well
recommended to me. I hear a good report of you. You know my
conditions?"
"Yes, monsieur.
"Good! What time is it?"
"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout,
drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.
"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.
"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--"
"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, the 2nd of October, you are in my
service."
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.
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.
Chapter 2
In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has
at Last Found His Ideal
"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen
people at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!"
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.
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 skillfully 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.
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.
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.
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
Moliere, 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 rosy, his figure full 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 way of fixing his own:
three strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.
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 annoyance, he found his masters invariably
whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country, or
on the lookout 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 remark on such conduct;
but when it was 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 traveled 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.
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
recognized 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. 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.
He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon
inspection, proved to be a program 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.
Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was completely 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. 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 idealized. There was no study, nor were there books, which
would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform Club
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 peaceful habits.
Having examined the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his
hands, a broad smile spread over 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."
Chapter 3
In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems
Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly
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
opened upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already
gilded with an autumn coloring; 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 walked towards the large
hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly framed
paintings. A porter handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded
to cut with a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate
operation. The reading of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until
a quarter before four, while the Standard, his next task,
occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner passed as breakfast had
done, and Mr. Fogg reappeared in the reading-room and sat down to
the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six.
Half an hour later several members of the Reform Club 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 persons,
even in a club which comprises the princes of English trade and
finance.
"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery?"
"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money."
"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands
on the robber. Skillful 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."
"But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart.
"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph,
positively.
"What! A fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no
robber?"
"No."
"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then."
"The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman."
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, while he was 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 has
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, scrutinized it, passed it to his neighbor, 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 promised 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.
There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph
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. The Reform Club was
especially agitated, several of its members being bank
officials.
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.
"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favor of the
thief, who must be a shrewd fellow."
"Well, but where can he fly to?" asked Ralph. "No country is safe
for him."
"Pshaw!"
"Where could he go, then?"
"Oh, I don't know that. The world is big enough."
"It was once," said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. "Cut, sir," he
added, handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.
The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up
its thread.
"What do you mean by 'once'? Has the world grown smaller?"
"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."
"And also why the thief can get away more easily."
"Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart," said Phileas Fogg.
But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand
was finished, he 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--"
"In eighty days," interrupted Phileas Fogg.
"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 Daily Telegraph:
From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and Brindisi by rail and
steamboats, 7 days
From Suez to Bombay, by steamer, 13 days
From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail, 3 days
From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer, 13 days
From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer, 6 days
From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer, 22 days
From San Francisco to New York, by rail, 7 days
From New York to London, by steamer and rail, 9 days
Total: 80 days"
"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."
"All included," returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite
the discussion.
"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!"
"All included," calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down
the cards, "Two trumps."
Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on:
"You are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically--"
"Practically also, Mr. Stuart."
"I'd like to see you do it in eighty days."
"It depends on you. Shall we go?"
"Heaven preserve me! But I would wager four thousand pounds that
such a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible."
"Quite possible, on the contrary," returned Mr. Fogg.
"Well, make it, then!"
"The journey round the world in eighty days?"
"Yes."
"I should like nothing better."
"When?"
"At once. Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense.
"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."
"Deal over again, then," said Phileas Fogg. "There's a false
deal."
Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand. Then he suddenly
put them down again.
"Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall be so. I will wager the
four thousand on it."
"Calm yourself, my dear Stuart," said Fallentin. "It's only a joke."
"When I say I'll wager," returned Stuart, "I mean it."
"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."
"Twenty thousand pounds!" cried Sullivan. "Twenty thousand
pounds, which you would lose by a single accidental delay!"
"The unforeseen does not exist," quietly replied Phileas Fogg.
"But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least
possible time in which the journey can be made."
"A well-used minimum suffices for everything."
"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."
"I will jump--mathematically."
"You are joking."
"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?"
"We accept," replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan,
Flanagan and Ralph, after consulting each other.
"Good," said Mr. Fogg. "The train leaves for Dover at a quarter
before nine. I will take it."
"This very evening?" asked Stuart.
"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 check for the amount."
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.
The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the game
so that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for departure.
"I am quite ready now," was his tranquil response. "Diamonds are
trumps. Be so good as to play, gentlemen."
Chapter 4
In Which Phileas Fogg Astounds Passepartout
Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his
friends, Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left
the Reform Club.
Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the program of his
duties, was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the
inexactness of appearing at this unaccustomed hour. According to
rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.
Mr. Fogg went to his bedroom, and called out, "Passepartout!"
Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called. It
was not the right hour.
"Passepartout!" repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.
Passepartout made his appearance.
"I've called you twice," observed his master.
"But it is not midnight," responded the other, showing his watch.
"I know it. I don't blame you. We start for Dover and Calais in
ten minutes."
A puzzled grin spread over Passepartout's round face. Clearly he
had not comprehended his master.
"Monsieur is going to leave home?"
"Yes," returned Phileas Fogg. "We are going round the world."
Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up
his hands, and seemed about to collapse, so overcome was he with
stupefied astonishment.
"Round the world!" he murmured.
"In eighty days?" responded Mr. Fogg. "So we haven't a moment to
lose."
"But the trunks?" gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his
head from right to left.
"We'll have no trunks. Only a carpetbag, 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!"
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!"
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 former
homebody.
By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpetbag,
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.
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 carpetbag, opened
it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes,
which would pass wherever he might go.
"You have forgotten nothing?" he asked.
"Nothing, monsieur."
"My mackintosh and cloak?"
"Here they are.
"Good! Take this carpetbag," handing it to Passepartout. "Take
good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it."
Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand
pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.
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, approached him. Her naked feet were smeared with mud, her
head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered
feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl. She
mournfully asked for alms.
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.
Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes. His master's
action touched his susceptible heart.
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 Club.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "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."
"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph
politely. "We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honor."
"You do not forget when you are due in London again?" asked
Stuart. "In eighty days. On Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872,
at a quarter before nine P.M. Good-by, gentlemen."
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.
The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas
Fogg, leaning back in his corner, did not open his lips.
Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung
mechanically to the carpetbag, with its enormous treasure.
Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout
suddenly uttered a cry of despair.
"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Alas! In my hurry--I--I forgot-"
"What?"
"To turn off the gas in my room!"
"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg, coolly,
"it will burn--at your expense."
Chapter 5
In Which a New Security Appears on the London Exchange
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 traveling. The Times, Standard, Morning Post and Daily
News, and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.
Fogg's project as madness. The Daily Telegraph 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.
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 Illustrated London News
came out with his portrait, copied from a photograph in the
Reform Club. A few readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to
say, "Why not, after all? Stranger things have come to pass."
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.
Everything, it said, was against the travelers, 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 traveling 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.
This article made a great deal of noise, and, being copied into
all the papers, seriously depressed the advocates of the rash
tourist.
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 the Exchange. "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!
Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only
advocate of Phileas Fogg left. This noble lord, who was confined
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."
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.
The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine
o'clock one evening, when the following telegraphic despatch was
put into his hands:
Suez to London
ROWAN, COMMISSIONER OF POLICE, SCOTLAND YARD:
I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send without delay
warrant of arrest to Bombay. FIX, Detective
The effect of this despatch 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
of 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.
Chapter 6
In Which Fix, the Detective, Betrays a Very Natural Impatience
The circumstances under which this telegraphic despatch about
Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:
The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental
Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons
burden, and five hundred horsepower, was due at eleven o'clock
A.M. on Wednesday, the 9th of October, at Suez. The Mongolia
plied regularly between Brindisi and Bombay via 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.
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
unfavorable 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 cut by at
least a half. The other was a small, slight-built person, 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 despatched 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.
"So you say, consul," he asked for the twentieth time, "that this
steamer is never behind time?"
"No, Mr. Fix," replied the consul. "She was signaled 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."
"Does she come directly from Brindisi?"
"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 recognize your man,
even if he is on board the Mongolia."
"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than
recognizes 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."
"I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery."
"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!"
"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?"
"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 offhand. The artistic thing is
to unmask honest countenances. It's no light task, I admit, but a
real art."
Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a tinge of self-conceit.
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.
As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit,
scrutinized the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.
It was now half-past ten.
"The steamer doesn't come!" he exclaimed, as the port clock
struck.
"She can't be far off now," returned his companion.
"How long will she stop at Suez?"
"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."
"And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?"
"Without putting in anywhere."
"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."
"Unless," objected the consul, "he is exceptionally shrewd. An
English criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London
than anywhere else."
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 via 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.
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 visaed. 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 hank robber which he had received from
Scotland Yard.
"Is this your passport?" he asked.
"No, it's my master's."
"And your master is--"
"He stayed on board."
"But he must go to the consul's in person, so as to establish his
identity."
"Oh, is that necessary?"
"Quite indispensable."
"And where is the consulate?"
"There, on the corner of the square," said Fix, pointing to a
house two hundred steps off.
"I'll go and fetch my master, who won't be much pleased, however,
to be disturbed."
The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.
Chapter 7
Which Once More Demonstrates the Uselessness
of Passports as Aids to Detectives
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.
"Consul," he said, 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.
"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."
"If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come."
"To have his passport visaed?"
"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 visa the passport."
"Why not? If the passport is genuine I have no right to refuse."
"Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to
arrest him from London."
"Ah, that's your look-out. But I cannot--"
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 favor to visa it. The consul took the document
and carefully read it, while Fix observed, or rather devoured,
the stranger with his eyes from a corner of the room.
"You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?" said the consul, after reading the
passport.
"I am."
"And this man is your servant?"
"He is, a Frenchman, named Passepartout."
"You are from London?"
"Yes."
"And you are going--"
"To Bombay."
"Very good, sir. You know that a visa is useless, and that no
passport is required?"
"I know it, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, "but I wish to prove, by
your visa, that I came by Suez."
"Very well, sir."
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.
"Well?" queried the detective.
"Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man," replied
the consul.
"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?"
"I concede that, but then, you know, all descriptions--"
"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."
Fix started off in search of Passepartout.
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 notebook,
which contained the following memoranda:
"Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8:45 P.M.
"Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7:20 A.M.
"Left Paris, Thursday, at 8:40 A.M.
"Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6:35 AM.
"Left Turin, Friday, at 7:20 A.M.
"Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 P.M.
"Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 P.M.
"Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 A.M.
"Total of hours spent, 158-1/2; or, in days, six days and a half."
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 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 servants.
Chapter 8
In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More,
Perhaps, than Is Prudent
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.
"Well, my friend," said the detective, coming up with him, "is
your passport visaed?"
"Ah, it's you, is it, monsieur?" responded Passepartout.
"Thanks, yes, the passport is all right."
"And you are looking about you?"
"Yes, but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a
dream. So this is Suez?"
"Yes."
"In Egypt?"
"Certainly, in Egypt."
"And in Africa?"
"In Africa."
"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 Pere la Chaise and the
circus in the Champs Elysees!"
"You are in a great hurry, then?"
"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 carpetbag."
"I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you
want."
"Really, monsieur, you are very kind."
And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as
they went along.
"Above all," he said; "don't let me lose the steamer."
"You have plenty of time. It's only twelve o'clock."
Passepartout pulled out his big watch. "Twelve!" he exclaimed.
"Why, it's only eight minutes before ten."
"Your watch is slow."
"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.
"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."
"I regulate my watch? Never!"
"Well, then, it will not agree with the sun."
"So much the worse for the sun, monsieur. The sun will be wrong,
then!"
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?"
"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."
"But where is your master going?"
"Always straight ahead. He is going round the world."
"Round the world?" cried Fix.
"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."
"Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?"
"I should say he was."
"Is he rich?"
"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."
"And you have known your master a long time?"
"Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London."
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 from
where his riches came, 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.
"Is Bombay far from here?" asked Passepartout.
"Pretty far. It is a ten days' voyage by sea."
"And in what country is Bombay?"
"India."
"In Asia?"
"Certainly."
"The deuce! I was going to tell you--there's one thing that
worries me--my burner!"
"What burner?"
"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--"
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.
"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."
"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."
"We'll see about that," replied Fix.
"But are you not mistaken?"
"I am not mistaken."
"Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa, that he
had passed through Suez?"
"Why? I have no idea; but listen to me."
He reported in a few words the most important parts of his
conversation with Passepartout.
"In short," said the consul, "appearances are wholly against this
man. And what are you going to do?"
"Send a despatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be
despatched 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."
Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the
detective took leave of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph
office, where he sent the despatch 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,
before many more moments, the noble steamer rode out at full
steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.
Chapter 9
In Which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean Prove
Propitious to the Designs of Phileas Fogg
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
there, 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.
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 attire
twice a day. The hours were whirled away, when the sea was
tranquil, with music, dancing and games.
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 change, 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.
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. He did not care to recognize 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.
As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped seasickness, 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.
"If I am not mistaken," he said, approaching this person, with
his most amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly
volunteered to guide me at Suez?"
"Ah! I quite recognize you. You are the servant of the strange
Englishman--"
"Just so, monsieur--"
"Fix."
"Monsieur Fix," resumed Passepartout. "I'm charmed to find you on
board. Where are you bound?"
"Like you, to Bombay."
"That's capital! Have you made this trip before?"
"Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsular
Company."
"Then you know India?"
"Why--yes," replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.
"A curious place, this India?"
"Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas,
tigers, snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see
the sights."
"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."
"And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?" asked Fix, in the most natural
tone in the world.
"Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre. It's the sea
air.
"But I never see your master on deck."
"Never. He hasn't the least curiosity."
"Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in
eighty days may conceal some secret errand--perhaps a
diplomatic mission?"
"Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor
would I give half a crown to find out."
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.
Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly. On the 13th,
Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls where date-trees were
growing, was sighted, and on the mountains beyond vast
coffee-fields were seen. 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, northwest of Aden
harbor, to take in coal. This matter of fueling 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.
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 program; 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.
Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the
passport again visaed. Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa
procured, Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits;
while Passepartout, according to custom, sauntered about among
the mixed population of Somanlis, Banyas, 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.
"Very curious, very 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
favorable, the wind being in the north-west, and all sails aiding
the engine. The steamer rolled but little; the ladies, in fresh
dresses, 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.
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.
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.
Chapter 10
In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad
to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes
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.
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.
Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old unwieldy
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.
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 northeast as far as Burhampoor, skirts the
nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to
Allahabad, turns towards the east, meeting the Ganges at Benares,
then departs from the river a little, and, descending
southeastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor,
ends at Calcutta.
The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half-past four P.M.
At exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.
Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-by 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 southeast from the docks, or
those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian
grottoes of the island of Salcette.
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.
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?"
"Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly replied, "rabbit from the
jungles."
"And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?"
"Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew! I swear to you--"
"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."
"For the cats, my lord?"
"Perhaps for the travelers as well."
After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.
Meanwhile 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 very disappointed, and tried to
obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police.
But the director refused, as the matter concerned the London
office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did
not insist, and resigned 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.
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!
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, civilized, 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-colored 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.
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 see
the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with an
irresistible desire to view 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.
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 suddenly he
found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up to
behold three enraged priests, who 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 vigorous kicks. Then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as
his legs could carry him, he escaped the third priest by mingling
with the crowd in the streets.
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.
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.
"I hope that this will not happen again," said Phileas Fogg
coldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite
crest-fallen, 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.
"No, I'll stay," muttered he. "An offence has been committed on
Indian soil. I've got my man."
Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train
passed out into the darkness of the night.
Chapter 11
In Which Phileas Fogg Buys a Curious
Means of Conveyance at a Fabulous Price
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
traveling, 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 traveling
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.
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.
An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts
and the Island of Salcette, and had traveled into the open
country. At Callyan they reached the junction of the branch line
which descends towards southeastern 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."
"How so, Sir Francis?"
"Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains, and
the passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on ponies
to Kandallah, on the other side."
"Such a delay would not have spoiled my plans in the least," said
Mr. Fogg. "I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of
certain obstacles."
"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
traveling blanket, was sound asleep and did not dream that
anybody was talking about him. "The Government is very severe
about that kind of offence. It takes particular care that the
religious customs of the Indians should be respected, and if your
servant were caught--"
"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."
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.
Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realize 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 (like abandoned monasteries) and
marvelous 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 travelers 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 honor of the goddess Death, without ever shedding blood. There
was a period when this part of the country could scarcely be
traveled 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.
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 travelers 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.
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
recognized 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.
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. But Passepartout 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.
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!"
Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation;
but the general did not know why a halt had been called in the
midst of this forest of dates and acacias.
Passepartout, not less surprised, rushed out and speedily
returned, crying: "Monsieur, no more railway!"
"What do you mean?" asked Sir Francis.
"I mean to say that the train isn't going on."
The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly
followed him, and they proceeded together to the conductor.
"Where are we?" asked Sir Francis.
"At the hamlet of Kholby."
"Do we stop here?"
"Certainly. The railway isn't finished."
"What! Not finished?"
"No. There's still a matter of fifty miles to be laid from here
to Allahabad, where the line begins again."
"But the papers announced the opening of the railway throughout."
"What would you have, officer? The papers were mistaken."
"Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta," retorted Sir
Francis, who was growing warm.
"No doubt," replied the conductor; "but the passengers know that
they must provide means of transportation for themselves from
Kholby to Allahabad."
Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout would willingly have
knocked the conductor down, and did not dare to look at his
master.
"Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg quietly, "we will, if you please,
look about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad."
"Mr. Fogg, this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage."
"No, Sir Francis; it was foreseen."
"What! You knew that the way--"
"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."
There was nothing to say to so confident a response.
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 running too fast, and had been premature in their announcement
of the completion of the line. The greater part of the travelers
were aware of this interruption, and, leaving the train, they
began to engage such vehicles as the village could
provide--four-wheeled palkigharis, wagons drawn by zebus, carriages
that looked like perambulating pagodas, palanquins, ponies, and what
not.
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, after searching the village
from end to end, came back without having found anything.
"I shall go afoot," said Phileas Fogg.
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."
"What?"
"An elephant! An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives but
a hundred steps from here."
"Let's go and see the elephant," replied Mr. Fogg.
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, without 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.
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.
Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr. Fogg aside, and begged him to
reflect before he went any further. Mr. Fogg 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 ruddy, was fairly white
with suspense.
At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.
"What a price, good heavens!" cried Passepartout, "for an
elephant!"
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 carpetbag, 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 traveler 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.
Chapter 12
In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture
across the Indian Forests, and What Follows
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.
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
skillful 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 walked 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.
After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an
hour for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at
a neighboring 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.
"Of forged iron," replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing
a hasty breakfast.
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 travelers,
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 retreats. The
travelers 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.
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. These thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long
time.
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.
The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a
few dry branches, and the warmth was much appreciated. Provisions
purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travelers 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.
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 northeast They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit
of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was
eaten and appreciated.
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.
It was then four o'clock.
"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.
"I don't know, officer," replied the Parsee, listening
attentively to a confused murmur which came through the thick
branches.
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: "A procession of Brahmins is coming this way.
We must prevent their seeing us, if possible."
The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at
the same time asking the travelers 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.
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 colored 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.
Sir Francis, recognizing the statue, whispered, "The goddess
Kali. The goddess of love and death."
"Of death, perhaps," muttered Passepartout, "but of love--that
ugly old hag? Never!"
The Parsee made a motion to keep silent.
A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round
the statue. They 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 an 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.
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 dress 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.
Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and,
turning to the guide, said, "A suttee."
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.
Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the
procession had disappeared, asked: "What is a suttee?"
"A suttee," returned the general, "is a human sacrifice, but a
voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned
tomorrow at the dawn of day."
"Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who could not repress
his indignation.
"And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Is that of the prince, her husband," said the guide. "An
independent rajah of Bundelcund."
"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?"
"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."
"The poor wretch!" exclaimed Passepartout. "To be burned alive!"
"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."
While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several
times, and now said: "The sacrifice which will take place
tomorrow at dawn is not a voluntary one."
"How do you know?"
"Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund."
"But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any
resistance," observed Sir Francis.
"That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and
opium."
"But where are they taking her?"
"To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here. She will pass the
night there."
"And the sacrifice will take place--"
"Tomorrow, at the first light of dawn."
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."
"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!"
"I have yet twelve hours to spare. I can devote them to that."
"Why, you are a man of heart!"
"Sometimes," replied Phileas Fogg, quietly, "when I have the
time."
Chapter 13
In Which Passepartout Receives a New Proof
That Fortune Favors the Brave
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.
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.
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. Sir Francis
frankly put the question to him.
"Officer," replied the guide, "I am a Parsee, and this woman is a
Parsee. Command me as you will."
"Excellent!" said Mr. Fogg.
"However," resumed the guide, "it is certain, not only that we
shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken."
"That is foreseen," replied Mr. Fogg. "I think we must wait till
night before acting."
"I think so," said the guide. 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.
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.
They then discussed the means of rescuing 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.
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.
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.
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.
"Come!" whispered the guide.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"It is only eight now," said the brigadier, "and these guards may
also go to sleep."
"It is not impossible," returned the Parsee.
They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"We have nothing to do but to go away," whispered Sir Francis.
"Nothing but to go away," echoed the guide.
"Stop," said Fogg. "I am only due at Allahabad tomorrow before
noon."
"But what can you hope to do?" asked Sir Francis. "In a few hours
it will be daylight, and--"
"The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last
moment."
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? 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.
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.
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.
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 saw 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, and,
in an abrupt tone, said, "Let us be off!"
It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the
midst of the smoke and, profiting by the still over-hanging
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.
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, told them that the trick had been
discovered.
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.
Chapter 14
In Which Phileas Fogg Descends the Whole Length of the
Beautiful Valley of the Ganges without Ever Thinking of Seeing It
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 traveling blanket, was
reposing in one of the howdahs.
The elephant, thanks to the skillful 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 country, and would,
despite the English police, recover their victim at Madras,
Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by quitting India
forever.
Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.
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.
The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the
station, while 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, it
was 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.
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.
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.
When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the
queen of Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus: "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 modeled in pure silver by the
godlike hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor."
It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to
Aouda, that she was a charming woman, in all the European
acceptance 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.
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. This 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.
"Parsee," he said 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."
The guide's eyes glistened.
"Your honor is giving me a fortune!" he cried.
"Take him, guide," returned Mr. Fogg, "and I shall still be your
debtor."
"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."
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. 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 clothes, and with travelers 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."
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.
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.
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. But the Benares of today, which the
Orientalists call the Athens of India, stands quite unpoetically
on 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.
Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination. The troops he was
rejoining were 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. As for Passepartout, he
received a hearty shake of the hand from the gallant general.
The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the
valley of the Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage the
travelers 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? Anglicized as it is
today, 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?
The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the
steam concealed it fitfully from the view. The travelers could
scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles southwestward
from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or
Ghazipur and its famous rose-waterfactories; 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, edge-tool factories and high
chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke heavenward.
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. 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.
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.
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 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.
Chapter 15
In Which the Bag of Banknotes Disgorges
Some Thousands of Pounds More
The train entered the station. Passepartout jumped out first,
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.
Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him,
and said, "Mr. Phileas Fogg?"
"I am he."
"Is this man your servant?" added the policeman, pointing to
Passepartout.
"Yes."
"Be so good, both of you, as to follow me."
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.
"May this young lady go with us?" he asked. "She may," replied the
policeman.
Mr. Fogg, Aouda and Passepartout were conducted to a palkighari,
a sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses. 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.
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."
He then retired, and closed the door.
"Why, we are prisoners!" exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a
chair.
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!"
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.
"But the steamer leaves at noon!" observed Passepartout,
nervously.
"We shall be on board by noon," replied his master, placidly. 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.
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 courtroom, and a crowd of Europeans and
natives already occupied the rear of the apartment.
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.
"The first case," he said. Then, putting his hand to his head, he
exclaimed, "Heh! This is not my wig!"
"No, your worship," returned the clerk, "it is mine."
"My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence in
a clerk's wig?"
The wigs were exchanged.
Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of
the big clock over the judge seemed to go around with terrible
rapidity.
"The first case," repeated Judge Obadiah.
"Phileas Fogg?" demanded Oysterpuff.
"I am here," replied Mr. Fogg.
"Passepartout?"
"Present," responded Passepartout.
"Good," said the judge. "You have been looked for, prisoners, for
two days on the trains from Bombay."
"But of what are we accused?" asked Passepartout, impatiently.
"You are about to be informed."
"I am an English subject, sir," said Mr. Fogg, "and I have the
right--"
"Have you been ill-treated?"
"Not at all."
"Very well. Let the complainants come in."
A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian
priests entered.
"That's it," muttered Passepartout. "These are the rogues who
were going to burn our young lady."
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.
"You hear the charge?" asked the judge.
"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, "and I admit
it."
"You admit it?"
"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."
The priests looked at each other. They did not seem to understand
what was said.
"Yes," cried Passepartout, warmly; "at the pagoda of Pillaji,
where they were on the point of burning their victim."
The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were
stupefied.
"What victim?" said Judge Obadiah. "Burn whom? In Bombay itself?"
"Bombay?" cried Passepartout.
"Certainly, we are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of
the pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay."
"And as a proof," added the clerk, "here are the desecrator's
very shoes, which he left behind him."
Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.
"My shoes!" cried Passepartout, in his surprise permitting this
imprudent exclamation to escape him.
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.
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 misdemeanor, 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 had been already warned by a despatch 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.
Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have
seen the detective settled in a corner of the courtroom, 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.
Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout's rash
exclamation, which the poor fellow would have given the world to
recall.
"The facts are admitted?" asked the judge.
"Admitted," replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.
"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."
"Three hundred pounds!" cried Passepartout, startled at the
largeness of the sum.
"Silence!" shouted the constable.
"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."
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!
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."
"You have that right," returned the judge. 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.
"I will pay it at once," said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank
bills from the carpetbag, which Passepartout had by him, and
placing them on the clerk's desk.
"This sum will be restored to you upon your release from
prison," said the judge. "Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail."
"Come!" said Phileas Fogg to his servant.
"But let them at least give me back my shoes!" cried Passepartout
angrily.
"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."
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.
The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbor. Its signal
of departure was hoisted at the masthead. 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.
"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."
The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture. Since
leaving London, what with traveling 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.
Chapter 16
In Which Fix Does Not Seem to Understand
in the Least What is Said to Him
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 horsepower. She was as fast, but
not as well fitted up, as the Mongolia, and Aouda was not as
comfortably provided for on board 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.
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.
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. 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 tried 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.
The first few days of the voyage passed happily, amid favorable
weather and propitious winds, and the ship 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.
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. Behind, the
graceful outlines of the mountains were traced against the sky;
and along the coasts swarmed thousands of 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 give access to the China
seas.
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.
All the detective's hopes and wishes were now centered 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 forever. 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 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.
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. 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 must
succeed! But how shall I prevent his departure, if that should
turn out to be my last resource?"
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.
Who was this woman? What combination of events had made her
Fogg's traveling 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. 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.
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 weigh again for
Yokohama.
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, where 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. As there was no time to lose, Fix prepared to
make himself known.
It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the
Rangoon was due at Singapore.
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?"
"What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?" returned the really
astonished Passepartout, recognizing 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?"
"No, no," replied Fix. "I shall stop at Hong Kong--at least for
some days."
"Hum!" said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed.
"But how is it I have not seen you on board since we left
Calcutta?"
"Oh, a trifle of seasickness--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?"
"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."
"A young lady?" replied the detective, not seeming to comprehend
what was said.
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 latter
was charmed to find so interested a listener.
"But does your master propose to carry this young woman to
Europe?"
"Not at all. We are simply going to place her under the
protection of one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong
Kong."
"Nothing to be done there," said Fix to himself, concealing his
disappointment. "A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?"
"Willingly, Monsieur Fix. We must at least have a friendly glass
on board the Rangoon."
Chapter 17
Showing What Happened on the Voyage from Singapore to Hong Kong
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.
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.
Passepartout might have cudgeled 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.
"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 on Mr. Fogg, who is so
honorable a man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you
dear!"
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.
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 travelers. 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.
Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg's every movement, followed them
cautiously, without being himself perceived; while Passepartout,
laughing in his sleeve at Fix's maneuvers, went about his usual
errands.
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 clover-trees, whereof the cloves form
the head 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.
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.
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. At ten o'clock they
re-embarked, closely followed by the detective, who had kept them
constantly in sight.
Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes--a
fruit as large as good-sized apples, of a dark brown color
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.
At eleven o'clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbor, 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.
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
travelers.
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
southwest, 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 coast
of Anam and Cochin China. Owing to the defective construction of
the Rangoon, however, unusual precautions became necessary in
unfavorable 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.
"You are in a great hurry, then," said Fix to him one day, "to
reach Hong Kong?"
"A very great hurry!"
"Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for
Yokohama?"
"Terribly anxious."
"You believe in this journey around the world, then?"
"Absolutely. Don't you, Mr. Fix?"
"I? I don't believe a word of it."
"You're a sly dog!" said Passepartout, winking at him.
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.
Passepartout went still further the next day. He could not hold
his tongue.
"Mr. Fix," said he, in a bantering tone, "shall we be so
unfortunate as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?"
"Why," responded Fix, a little embarrassed, "I don't know;
perhaps--"
"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."
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.
"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."
"Oh, I am quite sure of that!" cried Passepartout, laughing
heartily.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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!"
Chapter 18
In Which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout and Fix
Go Each about His Business
The weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The
wind, obstinately remaining in the northwest, 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.
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 program, and had been
foreseen. Aouda was amazed to find him as calm as he had been
from the first time she saw him.
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 seasick--he made nothing of this
inconvenience; and, while his body was writhing under their
effects, his spirit bounded with hopeful joy.
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.
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. 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 if to
change its mind.
On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm
lessened its violence. The wind veered southward, and was once
more favorable. 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 signaled until five o'clock on the morning of the 6th. The
steamer was due on the 5th. Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours
behind, and the Yokohama steamer would, of course, be missed.
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. This only put Passepartout in a passion.
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.
"At high tide tomorrow morning," answered the pilot.
"Ah!" said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.
Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have
embraced the pilot, while Fix would have been glad to twist his
neck.
"What is the steamer's name?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"The Carnatic."
"Ought she not to have gone yesterday?"
"Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her
departure was postponed till tomorrow."
"Thank you," returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the
saloon.
Passepartout clasped the pilot's hand and shook it heartily in
his delight, exclaiming, "Pilot, you are the best of good
fellows!"
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 crowded the harbor of Hong Kong.
At one o'clock the Rangoon was at the quay, and the passengers
were going ashore.
Chance had strangely favored Phileas Fogg, for if the Carnatic
had not been forced to lie over for repairing her boiler, she
would have left on the 6th of November, and the passengers for
Japan would have been obliged to wait a week for 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.
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. 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 time, thirty-five days after leaving London.
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.
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.
Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt,
everyone would know so wealthy and considerable a person 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, told her that Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong
Kong, but probably in Holland.
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?"
"It is very simple," responded the gentleman. "Co on to Europe."
"But I cannot intrude--"
"You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my
project. Passepartout!"
"Monsieur."
"Go to the Carnatic, and engage three cabins."
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.
Chapter 19
In Which Passepartout Takes a Too Great Interest in His Master,
and What Comes of It
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
colonizing 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, macadamized streets, give to Hong
Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey transferred by
some strange magic to the antipodes.
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 color. Passepartout, without
exactly knowing why, thought this very funny.
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.
"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. This being the last English territory on Mr. Fogg's
route, the robber would escape, unless he could manage to detain
him.
"Well, Monsieur Fix," said Passepartout, "have you decided to go
with us as far as America?"
"Yes," returned Fix, through his set teeth.
"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. "I knew you
could not persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and engage
your berth."
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.
"That will suit my master all the better," said Passepartout. "I
will go and let him know."
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
campbed 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.
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. 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.
They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did
ample justice, while 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.
Fix caught him by the arm, and said, "Wait a moment."
"What for, Mr. Fix?"
"I want to have a serious talk with you."
"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 tomorrow. I haven't time now."
"Stay! What I have to say concerns your master."
Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix's
face seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his seat.
"What is it that you have to say?"
Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout's arm, and, lowering his
voice, said, "You have guessed who I am?"
"Parbleu!" said Passepartout, smiling.
"Then I'm going to tell you everything--"
"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."
"Useless!" said Fix. "You speak confidently. It's clear that you
don't know how large the sum is."
"Of course I do," returned Passepartout. "Twenty thousand
pounds."
"Fifty-five thousand!" answered Fix, pressing his companion's
hand.
"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.
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."
"Help you?" cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide
open.
"Yes, help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days."
"Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied with
following my master and suspecting his honor, but they must try
to put obstacles in his way! I blush for them!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as
well waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!"
"That's just what we count on doing."
"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!"
Fix began to be puzzled.
"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!"
"But who do you think I am?" asked Fix, looking at him intently.
"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."
"He knows nothing, then?"
"Nothing," replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass. 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.
"Well," said the detective to himself, "as he is not an
accomplice, he will help me."
He had no time to lose. Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he
resolved to make a clean breast of it.
"Listen to me," said Fix abruptly. "I am not, as you think, an
agent of the members of the Reform Club--"
"Bah!" retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.
"I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office."
"You, a detective?"
"I will prove it. Here is my commission."
Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed
this document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.
"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."
"But why?"
"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 this
description. It answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg."
"What nonsense!" cried Passepartout, striking the table with his
fist. "My master is the most honorable of men!"
"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!"
"Yes, yes," repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.
"Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?"
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 tried to reject the suspicions which forced
themselves upon his mind. He did not wish to believe that his
master was guilty.
"Well, what do you want of me?" he said, at last, with an effort.
"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--"
"I! But I--"
"I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by
the Bank of England."
"Never!" replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,
exhausted in mind and body.
"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!"
"You refuse?"
"I refuse."
"Consider that I've said nothing," said Fix, "and let us drink."
"Yes, let us drink!"
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.
"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!"
And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern.
Chapter 20
In Which Fix Comes Face to Face with Phileas Fogg
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 carpetbag; a lady could not be expected
to travel comfortably under such conditions. He acquitted his
task with characteristic serenity, and invariably replied to the
objections of his fair companion, who was confused by his
patience and generosity. "It is in the interest of my journey--a
part of my program."
The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined
at a sumptuously served table-d'hote; 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 Times and Illustrated London News.
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 carpetbag, calling Aouda, and
sending for a palanquin.
It was then eight o'clock; at half-past nine, it being then high
tide, the Carnatic would leave the harbor. 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 where
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 servant, 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."
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 on the Rangoon, which arrived
yesterday?"
"I was, sir," replied Mr. Fogg coldly. "But I have not the honor
-"
"Pardon me. I thought I should find your servant here."
"Do you know where he is, sir?" asked Aouda anxiously.
"What!" responded Fix, feigning surprise. "Is he not with you?"
"No," said Aouda. "He has not made his appearance since
yesterday. Could he have gone on board the Carnatic without us?"
"Without you, madam?" answered the detective. "Excuse me, did you
intend to sail in the Carnatic?"
"Yes, sir."
"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. We
must now wait a week for another steamer."
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 favored 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 harbor of Hong Kong."
And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps towards 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.
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.
"Is your honor looking for a boat?"
"Have you a boat ready to sail?"
"Yes, your honor; a pilot boat--No. 43--the best in the
harbor."
"Does she go fast?"
"Between eight and nine knots the hour. Will you look at her?"
"Yes."
"Your honor will be satisfied with her. Is it for a sea
excursion?"
"No, for a voyage."
"A voyage?"
"Yes, will you agree to take me to Yokohama?"
The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said,
"Is your honor joking?"
"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.
"I am sorry," said the sailor, "but it is impossible."
"I offer you a hundred pounds per day, and an additional reward
of two hundred pounds if I reach Yokohama in time."
"Are you in earnest?"
"Very much so."
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.
Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, "You would not be afraid,
would you, madam?"
"Not with you, Mr. Fogg," was her answer. The pilot now returned,
shuffling his hat in his hands.
"Well, pilot?" said Mr. Fogg.
"Well, your honor," 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."
"Only sixteen hundred," said Mr. Fogg.
"It's the same thing."
Fix breathed more freely.
"But," added the pilot, "it might be arranged another way." Fix
ceased to breathe at all.
"How?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"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."
"Pilot," said Mr. Fogg, "I must take the American steamer at
Yokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki."
"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."
"You are sure of that?"
"Perfectly."
"And when does the boat leave Shanghai?"
"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 southwest wind, and the sea was calm, we
could make those eight hundred miles to Shanghai."
"And you could go--"
"In an hour. As soon as provisions could be got aboard and the
sails put up."
"It is a bargain. Are you the master of the boat?"
"Yes, John Bunsby, master of the Tankadere."
"Would you like some money?"
"If it would not put your honor out--"
"Here are two hundred pounds on account, sir," added Phileas
Fogg, turning to Fix, "if you would like to take advantage--"
"Thanks, sir; I was about to ask the favor."
"Very well. In half an hour we shall go on board."
"But poor Passepartout?" urged Aouda, who was much disturbed by
the servant's disappearance.
"I shall do all I can to find him," replied Phileas Fogg.
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.
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.
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 galvanized 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.
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 center was a table provided with a swinging lamp. The
accommodation was confined, but neat.
"I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you," said Mr. Fogg
to Fix, who bowed without responding.
The detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting by
the kindness of Mr. Fogg.
"It's certain," thought he, "though rascal he is, he is a polite
one!"
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 seeing 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 that case an explanation the reverse of
satisfactory to the detective would have been necessary. But the
Frenchman did not appear, and, without doubt, was still lying
under the stupefying influence of the opium. At length John
Bunsby, master, gave the order to start, and the Tankadere,
taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail and standing-jib,
bounded briskly forward over the waves.
Chapter 21
In Which the Master of the Tankadere Runs Great Risk
of Losing a Reward of Two Hundred Pounds
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,
especially during the equinoxes, and it was now early November.
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.
Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of
Hong Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favorable winds,
conducted herself admirably.
"I do not need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, when they got into the
open sea, "to advise you to use all possible speed."
"Trust me, your honor. 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."
"It's your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."
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.
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.
The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in
these seas crowded with vessels bound landward. Collisions are
not uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the
least shock would shatter the gallant little craft.
Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept
apart from his fellow-travelers, knowing Mr. Fogg's taciturn
tastes. Besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose
favors 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 traveled three quarters of the
globe, so as to gain the American continent more surely. 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 fulfill 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 favor.
During the day she kept along the coast, where the currents were
favorable. The coast, regular in profile, and visible sometimes
across the clearings, was at most five miles distant. The sea was
less violent, 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.
The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the
southwest. The pilot put up his poles, but took them down again
within two hours, as the wind freshened up anew.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the
sea, ate with a good appetite. Fix was invited to share their
repast, and 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.
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--"
"Let us not speak of that, sir," replied Mr. Fogg.
"But, if I insist--"
"No, sir," repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a
reply. "This enters into my general expenses."
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.
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.
By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had
been accomplished from Hong Kong. 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.
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, while
it became very difficult to stand on deck.
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 southeast, 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.
John Bunsby 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 honor?"
"Of course."
"Well, we are going to have a squall."
"Is the wind north or south?" asked Mr. Fogg quietly.
"South. Look! A typhoon is coming up."
"Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us
forward."
"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.
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.
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. 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.
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, 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 program.
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 northwest. 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 honor, that we should do well
to make for one of the ports on the coast."
"I think so too."
"Ah!" said the pilot. "But which one?"
"I know of but one," returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly.
"And that is--"
"Shanghai."
The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend. He could
scarcely realize so much determination and tenacity. Then he
cried, "Well--yes! Your honor is right. To Shanghai!"
So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.
The night was really terrible. It would be a miracle if the craft
did not founder. Twice it would 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.
Day reappeared. The tempest still raged with undiminished fury,
but the wind now returned to the southeast. It was a favorable
change, and the Tankadere again bounded forward on this
mountainous sea, though the waves crossed each other, and
imparted shocks and countershocks 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.
There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became more
distinct as the sun descended towards the horizon. The tempest
had been as brief as terrific. The passengers, thoroughly
exhausted, could now eat a little, and take some repose.
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 saw 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 cross 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.
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 current, 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, yet his
whole fortune was at this moment at stake.
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.
"Confound her!" cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder with a
desperate jerk.
"Signal her!" said Phileas Fogg quietly.
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!"
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 help the pilot boat.
"Fire!" said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little cannon
resounded in the air.
Chapter 22
In Which Passepartout Finds Out That, Even at the Antipodes,
It Is Convenient to Have Some Money in One's Pocket
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.
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.
It was Passepartout. 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!"
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.
"It is evident," he said 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."
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." 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 apologize for his singular behavior.
Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with the
rolling of the steamer, to the afterdeck. He saw no one who
resembled either his master or Aouda. "Good!" muttered he; "Aouda
has not gotten up yet, and Mr. Fogg has probably found some
partners at whist."
He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout
had only, however, to ask the purser the number of his master's
stateroom. The purser replied that he did not know any passenger
by the name of Fogg.
"I beg your pardon," said Passepartout persistently. "He is a
tall gentleman, quiet and not very talkative, and has with him a
young lady--"
"There is no young lady on board," interrupted the purser. "Here
is a list of the passengers. You may see for yourself."
Passepartout scanned the list, but his master's name was not upon
it. All at once an idea struck him.
"Ah! Am I on the Carnatic?"
"Yes."
"On the way to Yokohama?"
"Certainly."
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. 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!
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.
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 travelers 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 customhouse, in the midst of a crowd of ships
bearing the flags of all nations.
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.
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 favor him in
the European quarter, he penetrated that inhabited by the native
Japanese, determined, if necessary, to push on to Yeddo.
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. He
saw holy retreats where there 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, had been
gathered.
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 lace, 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-color 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, upon which 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.
Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this
motley crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious
shops, the jewelry establishments glittering with quaint Japanese
ornaments, the restaurants decked with streamers and banners, the
teahouses, 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 colors and perfumes, not on bushes, but on trees, and within
bambooenclosures, 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. On every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds and a
multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred, and
which to their minds symbolize long life and prosperity.
As he was strolling along, Passepartout saw some violets among
the shrubs.
"Good!" said he. "I'll have some supper."
But, on smelling them, he found that they were odorless.
"No chance there," thought he.
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
growing. He observed that the butchers' stalls contained neither
mutton, goat, nor pork. 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. 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-colored lanterns. He
looked on at the dancers, who were executing skillful steps and
boundings, and the astrologers who stood in the open air with
their telescopes. Then he came to the harbor, which was lit up by
the resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from their
boats.
The streets at last became quiet. The patrol, the officers, in
splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites, succeeded the
bustling crowd. Passepartout thought they seemed like
ambassadors. Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled,
and said to himself: "Good! Another Japanese embassy departing
for Europe!"
Chapter 23
In Which Passepartout's Nose Becomes Outrageously Long
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 forever pounding on their cymbals, tam-tams and
tambourines. They could not but appreciate European talent.
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.
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. In this manner he might also get a little money to
satisfy the immediate cravings of hunger. The resolution taken,
it remained to carry it out.
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 before long Passepartout
left his shop dressed in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of
one-sided turban, faded from long use. A few small pieces of
silver, moreover, jingled in his pocket.
"Good!" thought he. "I will imagine I am at the Carnival!"
His first care, after being thus "Japanesed," was to enter a
teahouse 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.
"Now," he thought, after 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."
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
travel the four thousand seven hundred miles of the Pacific which
lay between Japan and the New World.
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?
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:
ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE,
HONORABLE WILLIAM BATULCAR, PROPRIETOR,
LAST REPRESENTATIONS,
PRIOR TO THEIR DEPARTURE TO THE
UNITED STATES,
OF THE
LONG NOSES! LONG NOSES!
UNDER THE DIRECT PATRONAGE
OF THE GOD TINGOU!
GREAT ATTRACTION!
"The United States!" said Passepartout. "That's just what I
want!"
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
colors and without perspective, a company of jugglers.
This was the Honorable 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.
Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway
appeared in person.
"What do you want?" said he to Passepartout, whom he at first
took for a native.
"Would you like a servant, sir?" asked Passepartout.
"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.
"So I can be of no use to you?"
"None."
"The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!"
"Ah!" said the Honorable Mr. Batulcar. "You are no more a
Japanese than I am a monkey! Why are you dressed up in that way?"
"A man dresses as he can."
"That's true. You are a Frenchman, aren't you?"
"Yes. A Parisian of Paris."
"Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?"
"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."
"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."
"Ah!"
"You are pretty strong, eh?"
"Especially after a good meal."
"And you can sing?"
"Yes," returned Passepartout, who had formerly sung in street
concerts.
"But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on
your left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?"
"Humph! I think so," replied Passepartout, recalling the
exercises of his younger days.
"Well, that's enough," said the Honorable William Batulcar.
The engagement was concluded there and then.
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.
The performance, so noisily announced by the Honorable 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.
Before three o'clock the large shed was crowded with spectators,
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.
The performance was much like all acrobatic displays. But it must
be confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the
world.
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. 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.
It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the
acrobats and gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls,
barrels, etc., was executed with wonderful precision.
But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long
Noses, a show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.
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 skillful
leapings and somersaults.
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 left the troupe, and as, to fill this part, only
strength and adroitness were necessary, Passepartout had been
chosen to take his place.
The poor fellow really felt sad when--melancholy reminiscence of
his youth!--he donned his costume, adorned with vari-colored
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.
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 stood 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!
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!"
"You here?"
"Myself."
"Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!"
Mr. Fogg, Aouda and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the
theatre to the outside, where they encountered the Honorable 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.
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.
Chapter 24
During Which Mr. Fogg and Party Cross the Pacific Ocean
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, seeing 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 Bunsby, and rewarding that worthy with the additional sum of
five hundred and fifty pounds, boarded the steamer with Aouda and
Fix; and they started at once for Nagasaki and Yokohama.
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.
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 Honorable Mr. Batulcar's theatre. He certainly would not have
recognized 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.
All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who told him what had
taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the
Tankadere, in company with one Mr. Fix.
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. In
the account he gave of his absence, he simply excused himself for
having become drunk smoking opium at a tavern in Hong Kong.
Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word. Then he
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.
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. 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.
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 a 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.
She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive
the state of the lady's heart. Being the most faithful of
servants, 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 civilized 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.
On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had
traveled 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 halfway 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 travel 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!
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!
"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!"
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, it would have
shown 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 it,
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.
Where was Fix at that moment?
He was actually on board the General Grant.
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!
"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 traveling, rewards, trials, bail,
elephants and all sorts of charges, more than five thousand
pounds. Yet, after all, the bank is rich!"
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 recognized 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.
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.
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?"
"For this time--yes."
"Then let me have a word with you."
"But I--"
"In your master's interests."
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.
"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."
"Aha!" cried Passepartout. "You are convinced he is an honest
man?"
"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."
Passepartout listened, with closed fists.
"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 in my interest to change it. Your interest is the
same as mine, for it is only in England that you will know
whether you are in the service of a criminal or an honest man."
Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced
that he spoke with entire good faith.
"Are we friends?" asked the detective.
"Friends? No," replied Passepartout. "But allies, perhaps. At the
least sign of treason, however, I'll twist your neck for you.
"Agreed," said the detective quietly.
Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the General Grant
entered the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San Francisco.
Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day.
Chapter 25
In Which a Slight Glimpse Is Had of San Francisco
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.
Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American
continent, thought he would show 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. This
so frightened the innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are
always perched upon these movable quays, that they flew noisily
away.
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 city. Taking a carriage for three dollars, he and
Aouda entered it, while Passepartout mounted the box beside the
driver, and they set out for the International Hotel.
From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much
curiosity the wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the
Anglo-Saxon Gothic churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden
and brick warehouses, the numerous conveyances, omnibuses,
horse-cars, and upon the side-walks, not only Americans and
Europeans, but Chinese and Indians. Passepartout was surprised at
all he saw. San Francisco was no longer the legendary city of
1849--a city of banditti, assassins and incendiaries, who had
flocked here in crowds in pursuit of plunder. Formerly a paradise
of outlaws, where they gambled with gold-dust, a revolver in one
hand and a bowie-knife in the other, it was now a great
commercial emporium.
The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama of
the streets and avenues, which cut each other at right-angles,
and in the midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares.
Beyond appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly imported from the
Celestial Empire in a toy-box. Sombreros and red shirts and
plumed Indians were rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats
and black coats everywhere worn by a multitude of nervously
active, gentlemanly-looking men. Some of the streets--especially
Montgomery Street, which is to San Francisco what Regent Street
is to London, the Boulevard des Italiens to Paris and Broadway to
New York--were lined with splendid and spacious stores, which
exposed in their windows the products of the entire world.
When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not
seem to him as if he had left England at all.
The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar, a sort
of restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might partake of
dried beef, oyster soup, biscuits and cheese, without taking out
their purses. Payment was made only for the ale, porter, or
sherry which was drunk. This seemed "very American" to
Passepartout. The hotel refreshment-rooms were comfortable, and
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing themselves at a table, were
abundantly served on diminutive plates by Negroes of darkest hue.
After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for the
English consulate to have his passport visaed. As he was going
out, he met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not be well,
before taking the train, to purchase some dozens of Enfield
rifles and Colt's revolvers. He had been listening to stories of
attacks upon the trains by the Sioux and Pawnees. Mr. Fogg
thought it a useless precaution, but told him to do as he thought
best, and went on to the consulate.
He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, "by the
greatest chance in the world," he met Fix. The detective seemed
wholly taken by surprise. What! Had Mr. Fogg and himself crossed
the Pacific together, and not met on the steamer! At least Fix
felt honored to behold once more the gentleman to whom he owed so
much, and, as his business recalled him to Europe, he should be
delighted to continue the journey in such pleasant company.
Mr. Fogg replied that the honor would be his; and the detective--who
was determined not to lose sight of him--begged permission
to accompany them in their walk about San Francisco--a request
which Mr. Fogg readily granted.
They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great
crowd was collected. The side-walks, street, horse-car rails, the
shop-doors, the windows of the houses and even the roofs, were
full of people. Men were going about carrying large posters, and
flags and streamers were floating in the wind, while loud cries
were heard on every hand.
"Hurrah for Camerfield!"
"Hurrah for Mandiboy!"
It was a political meeting; at least so Fix guessed. He said to
Mr. Fogg, "Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd. There
may be danger in it."
"Yes," returned Mr. Fogg, "and blows, even if they are political
are still blows."
Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see
without being jostled about, the party took up a position on the
top of a flight of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery
Street. Opposite them, on the other side of the street, between a
coal wharf and a petroleum warehouse, a large platform had been
erected in the open air, towards which the current of the crowd
seemed to be directed.
For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of this
excited assemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was it to
nominate some high official--a governor or member of Congress?
It was not improbable, so agitated was the multitude before them.
Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass.
All the hands were raised in the air. Some, tightly closed,
seemed to disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries-an
energetic way, no doubt, of casting a vote. The crowd swayed
back, the banners and flags wavered, disappeared an instant, then
reappeared in tatters. The undulations of the human surge reached
the steps, while all the heads floundered on the surface like a
sea agitated by a squall. Many of the black hats disappeared, and
the greater part of the crowd seemed to have diminished in
height.
"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."
"Perhaps," replied Mr. Fogg, simply.
"At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the
Honorable Mr. Camerfield and the Honorable Mr. Mandiboy."
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
onlookers could not tell whether Mandiboy or Camerfield had
gained the upper hand.
"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 recognized, I fear it would go hard with
us."
"An English subject--" began Mr. Fogg.
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!"
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.
"Yankee!" exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at the
ruffian.
"Englishman!" returned the other. "We will meet again!"
"When you please."
"What is your name?"
"Phileas Fogg. And yours?"
"Colonel Stamp Proctor."
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 traveling 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.
"Thanks," said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were
out of the crowd.
"No thanks are necessary," replied Fix, "but let us go."
"Where?"
"To a tailor's."
Such a visit was, indeed, necessary. 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.
Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen
six-barreled 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 faith-fully keeping his
word.
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?"
"No."
"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."
The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr.
Fogg was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate
dueling at home, fight abroad when their honor is attacked.
At a quarter before six the travelers 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 today in San Francisco?"
"It was a political meeting, sir," replied the porter.
"But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in the
streets."
"It was only a meeting assembled for an election."
"The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"No, sir; of a justice of the peace."
Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.
Chapter 26
In Which Phileas Fogg and Party Travel by the Pacific Railroad
"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.
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 colonize.
The journey from New York to San Francisco took, formerly, under
the most favorable conditions, at least six months. It is now
accomplished in seven days. In 1862, 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 started at once and pursued with
true American energy. The rapidity with which it went on did not
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
the next day, and advanced upon them as fast as they were put in
position.
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 Rivet 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, via Sacramento, to
the Pacific--its grade, even on the Rocky Mountains, never
exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the mile.
Such was the road to be traveled in seven days. It would enable
Phileas Fogg--at least, so he hoped--to take the Atlantic
steamer at New York on the 11th for Liverpool.
The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight
wheels, 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 led 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 missing,
and they will have these some day.
Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, beverages and cigars,
who seemed to have plenty of customers, were continually
circulating in the aisles.
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 stops, 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.
There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of
the passengers were asleep. 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.
Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow,
however, which happily did not deter 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.
At eight o'clock a steward entered the car and announced that
bedtime had arrived. 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 traveler soon
had 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.
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 northeasterly
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. Towards midnight, while fast asleep,
the travelers 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.
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
travelers 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 mountainsides,
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 cowcatcher 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.
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.
The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley
about nine o'clock, going always northeasterly. At midday it
reached Reno where there was a delay of twenty minutes for
breakfast.
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.
After breakfast, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places
in the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded 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 movable dam. These innumerable
multitudes of beasts often form an insurmountable obstacle to the
passage of the trains. Thousands of them have been seen passing
over the track for hours in compact ranks. The locomotive is then
forced to stop and wait till the road is once more clear.
This happened to the train in which Mr. Fogg was traveling. About
twelve o'clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffalo
covered the track. The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to
clear the way with its cowcatcher; 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.
The travelers 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.
Passepartout was furious at the delay, and longed to discharge
his arsenal of revolvers upon them.
"What a country!" he cried. "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 this mishap in
his program! And here's an engineer who doesn't dare to run the
locomotive into this herd of beasts!"
The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was
wise. He would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with
the cowcatcher; 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.
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.
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.
Chapter 27
In Which Passepartout Undergoes, at a Speed of
Twenty Miles an Hour, a Course of Mormon History
During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran
south-easterly for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance
in a northeasterly direction, towards the Great Salt Lake.
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 person who made
his appearance on the platform.
This person, 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.
Passepartout approached and read one of these notices. It 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.
"I'll go," said Passepartout to himself. He knew nothing of
Mormonism except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation.
The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about
one hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the
notice, seated themselves in car No.117. Passepartout took one of
the front seats. Neither Mr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend.
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?"
No one ventured to contradict the missionary, whose excited tone
contrasted curiously with his naturally calm expression. 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 railway trains.
Then, emphasizing his words with his loud voice and frequent
gestures, he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical
times. He told how in Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of
Joseph published the annals of the new religion, and bequeathed
them to his Mormon son; how, many centuries later, a translation
of this precious book, which was written in Egyptian, was made by
Joseph Smith, Jr., 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.
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, Jr., 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.
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 honorable and honored
than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the chief of a flourishing
colony of three thousand disciples, and his pursuit thence by
outraged Gentiles, and retirement in the Far West.
Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout,
who was listening with all 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 ambush at Carthage, he was thrown into
prison, and assassinated by a band of men disguised in masks.
Passepartout was now the only person left in the car. 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.
"And this," added Elder William Hitch, "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 hearer, "will you not plant
yours there, too, under the shadow of our flag?"
"No!" replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring
from the car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.
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. Here 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
lake, framed in lofty crags in large strata, encrusted with white
salt--a superb sheet of water, which was formerly of larger
space than now, its shores having encroached with the lapse of
time, and thus at once reduced its breadth and increased its
depth.
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.
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.
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. 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.
The travelers, 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 courthouse, 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. 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 clothed in Indian fashion.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"One, sir," replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward--"one,
and that is enough!"
Chapter 28
In Which Passepartout Does Not Succeed
in Making Anybody Listen to Reason
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.
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.
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.
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,
December 7th, they stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green
River station. Snow had fallen heavily 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.
"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?"
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.
Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking
up and down the platforms. Among these Aouda recognized Colonel
Stamp Proctor, the same man who had so grossly insulted Phileas
Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognized,
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 recognized 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.
Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and
Passepartout whom she had seen.
"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."
"And, besides," added Passepartout, "I'll take charge of him,
colonel as he is."
"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."
"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--"
"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."
The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just awakened, 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?"
"I would do anything," replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed
determined will, "to get him back living to Europe!"
Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his
frame, but his confidence in his master remained unbroken.
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."
"Yes," replied Mr. Fogg, "but they pass."
"You were in the habit of playing whist," resumed Fix, "on the
steamers."
"Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither
cards nor partners."
"Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all
the American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays--"
"Certainly, sir," Aouda quickly replied, "I understand whist. It
is part of an English education."
"I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well,
here are three of us, and a dummy--"
"As you please, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to
resume his favorite pastime--even on the railway.
Passepartout was despatched in search of the steward, and soon
returned with two packs of cards, some pins, counters and a shelf
covered with cloth.
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 adept, and worthy of being matched
against his present opponent.
"Now," thought Passepartout, "we've got him. He won't budge."
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 travelers 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.
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.
At half-past twelve the travelers caught sight for an instant of
Fort Halleck, which commands that section. 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.
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.
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."
Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers
had already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.
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.
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."
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.
Passepartout, not daring to tell his master what he heard,
listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.
"Hum!" cried Colonel Proctor, "but we are not going to stay here,
I imagine, and take root in the Snow?"
"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."
"Six hours!" cried Passepartout.
"Certainly," returned the conductor, "besides, it will take us as
long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot."
"But it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers.
"Yes, but it's on the other side of the river."
"And can't we cross that in a boat?" asked the colonel.
"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."
The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway
company and the conductor. Passepartout, who was furious, could
not help but agree with him. Here was an obstacle, indeed, which
all his master's banknotes could not remove.
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.
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."
"On the bridge?" asked a passenger.
"On the bridge."
"With our train?"
"With our train."
Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.
"But the bridge is unsafe," urged the conductor.
"No matter," replied Forster; "I think that by putting on the
very highest speed we might have a chance of getting over."
"The devil!" muttered Passepartout.
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.
"We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over," said
one.
"Eighty! ninety!"
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--"
"Eighty chances!" replied the passenger, turning his back on him.
"I know it," said Passepartout, turning to another passenger,
"but a simple idea--"
"Ideas are no use," returned the American, shrugging his
shoulders, "as the engineer assures us that we can pass."
"Doubtless," urged Passepartout, "we can pass, but perhaps it
would be more prudent--"
"What! Prudent!" cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to
excite prodigiously. "At full speed, don't you see, at full
speed!"
"I know--I see," repeated Passepartout; "but it would be, if not
more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more
natural--"
"Who! What! What's the matter with this fellow?" cried several.
The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.
"Are you afraid?" asked Colonel Proctor.
"I afraid! Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman
can be as American as they!"
"All aboard!" cried the conductor.
"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!"
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.
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.
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.
Chapter 29
In Which Certain Incidents Are Narrated Which
Are Only to Be Met with on American Railroads
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 travelers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by
limitless plains, leveled 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.
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 time.
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.
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 ears 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 Rail-way Pioneer was printed by a press
brought on the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of
this great railroad, a mighty instrument of progress and
civilization, 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.
Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three
hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be covered 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.
The one hundred and first meridian was passed.
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 favored that
gentleman. Trumps and honors were showered upon his hands.
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."
Mr. Fogg, Aouda and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel
Proctor.
Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognized each other at once.
"Ah! It's you, is it, Englishman?" cried the colonel. "It's you
who are going to play a spade!"
"And who plays it," replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down
the ten of spades.
"Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds," replied Colonel
Proctor, in an insolent tone.
He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been
played, adding, "You don't understand anything about whist."
"Perhaps I do, as well as another," said Phileas Fogg, rising.
"You have only to try, son of John Bull," replied the colonel.
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!"
"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."
"When and where you will," replied the American, "and with
whatever weapon you choose."
Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg. As vainly did the
detective endeavor to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished
to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his
master cheeked 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."
"Well, what's that to me?" replied Colonel Proctor.
"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."
"Really!"
"Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?"
"Why not ten years hence?"
"I say six months," returned Phileas Fogg, "and I shall be at the
place of meeting promptly."
"All this is an evasion," cried Stamp Proctor. "Now or never!"
"Very good. You are going to New York?"
"No."
"To Chicago?"
"No."
"To Omaha?"
"What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?"
"No," replied Mr. Fogg.
"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."
"Very well," said Mr. Fogg. "I will stop at Plum Creek."
"And I guess you'll stay there too," added the American
insolently.
"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.
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.
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!"
"Why not?" asked the colonel.
"We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop."
"But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman."
"I am sorry," said the conductor; "but we shall be off at once.
There's the bell ringing now."
The train started.
"I'm really very sorry,--" 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?"
"That wouldn't be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman," said
the colonel, in a jeering tone.
"It would be perfectly so," replied Phileas Fogg.
"Well, we are really in America," thought Passepartout, "and the
conductor is a gentleman of the first order!"
So muttering, he followed his master.
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 honor to settle. The
passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway
disappeared on the platform.
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-barreled 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.
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
duelists were. The reports continued in front and the whole
length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded from the interior
of the cars.
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.
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.
The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to
which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by
revolver shots.
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.
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 travelers 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.
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.
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.
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!"
"It shall be stopped," said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from
the car.
"Stay, monsieur," cried Passepartout. "I will go."
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
marvelous skill, and thus gaining the forward end of the train.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Chapter 30
In Which Phileas Fogg Simply Does His Duty
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.
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 help.
Aouda was safe. 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.
All the passengers had gotten out of the train, the wheels of
which were stained with blood. From the tires 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.
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," he said quietly to
Aouda.
"Ah, Mr.--Mr. Fogg!" cried she, clasping his hands and covering
them with tears.
"Living," added Mr. Fogg, "if we do not lose a moment."
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.
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.
"Sir," said Mr. Fogg to the captain, "three passengers have
disappeared."
"Dead?" asked the captain.
"Dead or prisoners. That is the uncertainty which must be solved.
Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?"
"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."
"The lives of three men are in question, sir," said Phileas
Fogg.
"Doubtless, but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save
three?"
"I don't know whether you can, sir, but you ought to do so.
"Nobody here," returned the other, "has a right to teach me my
duty."
"Very well," said Mr. Fogg, coldly. "I will go alone."
"You, sir!" cried Fix, coming up. "You go alone in pursuit of the
Indians?"
"Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish--him to whom
everyone present owes his life? I shall go."
"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.
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.
"Thanks, captain," said Mr. Fogg.
"Will you let me go with you?" asked Fix.
"Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favor, you
will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me--"
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.
"I will stay," he said.
A few moments later, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman's hand,
and, having confided to her his precious carpetbag, 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."
It was then a little past noon.
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.
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.
"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, who have in
my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by
him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!"
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.
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.
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 help 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.
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. It had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty
miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker
was dead. After remaining for some time in their swoon, they 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.
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.
The travelers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at
the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so
terribly interrupted.
Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the
station, and asked the conductor, "Are you going to start?"
"At once, madam."
"But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travelers--"
"I cannot interrupt the trip," replied the conductor. "We are
already three hours behind time."
"And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?"
"Tomorrow evening, madam."
"Tomorrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait--"
"It is impossible," responded the conductor. "If you wish to go,
please get in."
"I will not go," said Aouda.
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.
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 overheated 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.
The detective had remained behind.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disc of the
sun rose above a misty horizon; but it was now possible to
recognize objects two miles off. Phileas Fogg and the squad had
gone southward. In the south there was not a sign of them. It was
then seven o'clock.
The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course to
take.
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.
Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were
Passepartout and the other two travelers, rescued from the
Sioux.
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.
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!"
Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have
been difficult to analyze 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.
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.
"The train! The train!" cried he.
"Gone," replied Fix.
"And when does the next train pass here?" said Phileas Fogg.
"Not till this evening."
"Ah!" returned the impassible gentleman quietly.
Chapter 31
Fix the Detective Considerably Furthers
the Interests of Phileas Fogg
Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time.
Passepartout, the involuntary cause of this delay, was desperate.
He had ruined his master!
At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and, looking
him intently in the face, said: "Seriously, sir, are you in great
haste?"
"Quite seriously."
"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?"
"It is absolutely necessary."
"And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians,
you would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?"
"Yes, with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left."
"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?"
"On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"No; on a sledge," replied Fix. "On a sledge with sails. A man
has proposed such a method to me."
It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose
offer he had refused.
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.
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.
Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this
land-craft. The wind was favorable, 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.
Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of traveling 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 favorable 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.
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.
At eight o'clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers
took their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in
their traveling-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.
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 covered in five hours. If no accident happened the
sledge might reach Omaha by one o'clock.
What a journey! The travelers, 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.
"If nothing breaks," said Mudge, "we shall get there!"
Mr. Fogg had made it Mudge's interest to reach Omaha within the
time agreed on by the offer of a handsome reward.
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
southwest to the northwest 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.
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.
"Those chords give the fifth and the octave," said Mr. Fog.
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 was still some chance that it would be before the
steamer sailed for Liverpool.
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!
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 steams
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 b the sledge, the travelers, attacked by
these beasts, would have been in the most terrible danger. But
the sledge held on its even course, soon gained on the wolves,
and before long left the howling band at a safe distance behind.
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, while the sledge,
carried forward by the great impetus the wind had given it, went
on half a mile further with its sails unspread.
It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white
with snow, said: "We are there!"
Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication,
by numerous trains, with the Atlantic seaboard!
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.
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.
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 traveling to
see the sights.
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.
Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York, but trains
run frequently from 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 raced over 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.
The China, for Liverpool, had started three-quarters of an hour
before!
Chapter 32
In Which Phileas Fogg Engages in a
Direct Struggle with Bad Fortune
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.
Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his Bradshaw, which gave
him the daily movements of the trans-Atlantic steamers.
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 tomorrow. Come."
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.
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.
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.
He seemed about to give up all hope, when he sighted, anchored at
the Battery, a cable's length off at most, a trading vessel, with
a well-shaped screw, whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke,
indicated that she was getting ready for departure.
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 presented
himself. He was a man of fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big
eyes, a complexion of oxidized copper, red hair and thick neck,
and a growling voice.
"The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"I am the captain."
"I am Phileas Fogg of London."
"And I am Andrew Speedy of Cardiff."
"You are going to put to sea?"
"In an hour."
"You are bound for--"
"Bordeaux."
"And your cargo?"
"No freight. Going in ballast."
"Have you any passengers?"
"No passengers. Never have passengers. Too much in the way."
"Is your vessel a swift one?"
"Between eleven and twelve knots. The Henrietta is well known."
"Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?"
"To Liverpool? Why not to China?"
"I said Liverpool."
"No!"
"No?"
"No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux."
"Money is no object?"
"None."
The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply. "But
the owners of the Henrietta--" resumed Phileas Fogg.
"The owners are myself," replied the captain. "The vessel belongs
to me."
"I will freight it for you."
"No."
"I will buy it of you."
"No."
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.
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?"
"No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars."
"I offer you two thousand."
"Apiece?"
"Apiece."
"And there are four of you?"
"Four."
Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There was 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?"
"We will be on board at nine o'clock," replied Mr. Fogg.
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.
When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to cost,
he uttered a prolonged "Oh!" which extended throughout his vocal
gamut.
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!
Chapter 33
In Which Phileas Fogg Shows Himself Equal to the Occasion
An hour later, 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.
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.
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.
How the adventure ended will be seen soon. Aouda was anxious,
though she said nothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr.
Fogg's maneuver simply glorious. The captain had said "between
eleven and twelve knots," and the Henrietta confirmed his
prediction.
If, then--for there were "ifs" still--the sea did not become
too violent, 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.
During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea
was not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the
northeast, the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed
across the waves like a real trans-Atlantic steamer.
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-humor
infected everyone. He had forgotten the past, its vexations and
delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished.
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.
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.
As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his
cabin. 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.
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. During the night the
temperature varied, the cold became sharper, and the wind veered
to the southeast.
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.
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.
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.
The wind, however, did not grow as violent 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 southeast, rendering
the sails useless.
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.
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?"
"Certain, sir," replied the engineer. "You must remember that,
since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces.
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.
Passepartout understood it all. He was seized with mortal
anxiety. The coal was giving out! "Ah, if my master can get over
that," he muttered, "he'll be a famous man!" He could not help
imparting to Fix what he had overheard.
"Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?"
"Of course."
"Ass!" replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning
on his heel.
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 he said nothing.
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."
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.
"Do not let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg. "Keep them up
to the last. Let the valves be filled."
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!"
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
apoplectic, he could never have recovered from his paroxysm of
wrath.
"Where are we?" he repeated, with purple face.
"Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool," replied Mr. Fogg,
with imperturbable calmness.
"Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy.
"I have sent for you, sir--"
"Pickaroon!"
"--sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel."
"No! By all the devils, no!"
"But I shall be obliged to burn her."
"Burn the Henrietta!"
"Yes, at least the upper part of her. The coal has given
out."
"Burn my vessel!" cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely
pronounce the words. "A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!"
"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.
"And I shall still have the iron hull," said the captain in a
softer tone.
"The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?"
"Agreed."
And Andrew Speedy, seizing the banknotes, counted them and
consigned them to his pocket.
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.
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 of the evening of the 21st of December. I
missed the steamer at New York, and as you refused to take me to
Liverpool--"
"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--"
"Fogg."
"Captain Fogg, you've got something of the Yankee about you."
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?"
"Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts--all the
wood, that is."
"Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled
down, and burn them."
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.
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!
"Sir," said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in Mr.
Fogg's project, "I really pity you. Everything is against you. We
are only opposite Queenstown."
"Ah," said Mr. Fogg, "is that place where we see the lights
Queenstown?"
"Yes."
"Can we enter the harbor?"
"Not under three hours. Only at high tide."
"Wait," 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.
Queenstown is the Irish port at which the trans-Atlantic 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.
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.
The Henrietta entered Queenstown Harbor at one o'clock in the
morning, it then being high tide. Phileas Fogg, after being
grasped heartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that
gentleman on the leveled hulk of his craft, which was still worth
half what he had sold it for.
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 on 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.
Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at twenty
minutes before twelve, the 21st of December. He was only six
hours distant from London.
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?"
"I am."
"I arrest you in the Queen's name!"
Chapter 34
In Which Phileas Fogg at Last Reaches London
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.
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.
As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty,
whether Mr. Fogg was guilty or not.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
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.
The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his
watch was two hours too fast.
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.
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.
The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who
hurried towards him.
Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not
speak. "Sir," he stammered, "sir--forgive me--a most--unfortunate
resemblance--robber arrested three days ago--you--are free!"
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.
"Well hit!" cried Passepartout. "Parbleu! That's what you might
call a good application of English fists!"
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.
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.
There were several rapid locomotives on hand, but the railway
arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until
three o'clock.
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.
It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half.
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.1
Having made the tour of the world, he was behind time by five
minutes. He had lost the wager!
1 A somewhat remarkable eccentricity on the part of the London
clocks? Translator.
Chapter 35
In Which Phileas Fogg Does Not Have to
Repeat His Orders to Passepartout Twice
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.
After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout
instructions to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his
home.
He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined!
And by the blundering of the detective! After having steadily
traveled 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 honor's sake than for the stake
proposed. But this wager totally ruined him.
Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon. He knew what
remained for him to do.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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--
Passepartout could hold in no longer.
"My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried. "Why do you not curse me? It was
my fault that--"
"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness.
"Go!"
Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he
delivered his master's message.
"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself--nothing! I have no
influence over my master; but you, perhaps--"
"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?"
"Yes, madam, probably to arrange for your protection and comfort
in England."
"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.
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.
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 check 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.
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 to do so, 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.
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.
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.
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.
He sat several minutes without speaking, then, bending his eyes
on Aouda, "Madam," he said, "will you pardon me for bringing you
to England?"
"I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her
heart.
"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."
"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?"
"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."
"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?"
"Yes, madam, but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg
to place the little I have left at your service."
"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"
"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need
of nothing."
"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?"
"As I am in the habit of doing."
"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you.
Your friends--"
"I have no friends, madam."
"Your relatives--"
"I have no longer any relatives."
"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."
"They say so, madam."
"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?"
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!"
"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.
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.
Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend
Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.
Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, "Never too
late."
It was five minutes past eight.
"Will it be for tomorrow, Monday?"
"For tomorrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.
"Yes, for tomorrow, Monday," she replied.
Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
Chapter 36
In Which Phileas Fogg's Name Is Once More
at a Premium on the Market
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 honorable gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric
journey round the world.
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.
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?
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 despatched 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 favor.
A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighboring
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.
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.
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."
"What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?" asked
Thomas Flanagan.
"At twenty-three minutes past seven," replied Gauthier Ralph.
"The next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve."
"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."
"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."
"Why," said Andrew Stuart nervously, "if I should see him, I
should not believe it was he."
"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."
"Observe, too," added John Sullivan, "that we have received no
intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all
along his route."
"He has lost, gentlemen," 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
favored 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."
"It is clear," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and we have nothing to do
but to present Mr. Fogg's cheque at Barings tomorrow."
At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty
minutes to nine.
"Five minutes more," said Andrew Stuart.
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.
"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."
The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.
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!
"Seventeen minutes to nine," said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the
cards which Ralph handed to him.
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.
"Sixteen minutes to nine!" said John Sullivan, in a voice which
betrayed his emotion.
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.
At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.
At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed
by applause, hurrahs and some fierce growls.
The players rose from their seats.
At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened. 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. In his calm voice, Phileas Fogg said,
"Here I am, gentlemen!"
Chapter 37
In Which It Is Shown That Phileas Fogg Gained Nothing
by His Tour around the World Except Happiness
Yes, Phileas Fogg in person.
The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the
evening--about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the
travelers 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.
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 passersby, rushing over the sidewalk like a
waterspout.
In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered back
into Mr. Fogg's room.
He could not speak.
"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"My master!" gasped Passepartout. "Marriage--impossible--"
"Impossible?"
"Impossible--for tomorrow."
"Why so?"
"Because tomorrow--is Sunday!"
"Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.
"No--today--is Saturday."
"Saturday? Impossible!"
"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!"
Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was
dragging him along with irresistible force.
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.
The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the
great saloon.
Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in
eighty days!
Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!
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?
The cause of the error is very simple.
Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his
journey, and this merely because he had traveled constantly
eastward. He would, on the contrary, have lost a day had he gone
in the opposite direction, that is, westward.
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 eighty times, his friends in London
only saw it pass the meridian seventy-nine times. This is why
they awaited him at the Reform Club on Saturday, and not Sunday.
as Mr. Fogg thought.
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!
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.
That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said
to Aouda: "Is our marriage still agreeable to you?"
"Mr. Fogg," replied she, "it is for me to ask that question. You
were ruined, but now you are rich again."
"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 informed of my
error, and--"
"Dear Mr. Fogg!" said the young woman.
"Dear Aouda!" replied Phileas Fogg.
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 honor?
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?"
"What is it, sir? Why, I've just this instant found out--"
"What?"
"That we might have made the tour of the world in only
seventy-eight days."
"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--"
Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.
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 marvelous qualifies 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?
Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who,
strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!
Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?
End of Project Gutenberg's Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
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