The Project Gutenberg eBook of Around the World in Eighty Days, by Jules Verne (2024)

CHAPTER I.
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, thehouse in which Sheridan died in 1814. He was one of the most noticeable membersof the Reform Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention; anenigmatical personage, about whom little was known, except that he was apolished man of the world. People said that he resembled Byron—at leastthat his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might liveon a thousand years without growing old.

Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg was aLondoner. He was never seen on ’Change, nor at the Bank, nor in thecounting-rooms of the “City”; no ships ever came into London docksof which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never beenentered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln’sInn, or Gray’s Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court ofChancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen’s Bench, or theEcclesiastical Courts. He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he amerchant or a gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the scientific andlearned societies, and he never was known to take part in the sagedeliberations of the Royal Institution or the London Institution, theArtisan’s Association, or the Institution of Arts and Sciences. Hebelonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the Englishcapital, from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly for thepurpose of abolishing pernicious insects.

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 chequeswere regularly paid at sight from his account current, which was always flush.

Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best could notimagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last person to whomto apply for the information. He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary,avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was needed for a noble, useful, orbenevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously. He was,in short, the least communicative of men. He talked very little, and seemed allthe more mysterious for his taciturn manner. His daily habits were quite opento observation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing that he hadalways done before, that the wits of the curious were fairly puzzled.

Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world morefamiliarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to have anintimate acquaintance with it. He often corrected, with a few clear words, thethousand conjectures advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-oftravellers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted witha sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions. He musthave travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit.

It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself from Londonfor many years. Those who were honoured by a better acquaintance with him thanthe rest, declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhereelse. His sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist. He often wonat this game, which, as a silent one, harmonised with his nature; but hiswinnings 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 hiseyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless, unwearyingstruggle, congenial to his tastes.

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which may happen tothe most honest people; either relatives or near friends, which is certainlymore unusual. He lived alone in his house in Saville Row, whither nonepenetrated. A single domestic sufficed to serve him. He breakfasted and dinedat the club, at hours mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the sametable, never taking his meals with other members, much less bringing a guestwith him; and went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed. Henever used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favouredmembers. He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row, either insleeping or making his toilet. When he chose to take a walk it was with aregular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic flooring, or in the circulargallery with its dome supported by twenty red porphyry Ionic columns, andillumined by blue painted windows. When he breakfasted or dined all theresources of the club—its kitchens and pantries, its buttery anddairy—aided to crowd his table with their most succulent stores; he wasserved by the gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles,who proffered the viands in special porcelain, and on the finest linen; clubdecanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his port, and hiscinnamon-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 issomething 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 soledomestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be almost superhumanly prompt andregular. On this very 2nd of October he had dismissed James Forster, becausethat luckless youth had brought him shaving-water at eighty-four degreesFahrenheit instead of eighty-six; and he was awaiting his successor, who wasdue at the house between eleven and half-past.

Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close together likethose of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his knees, his bodystraight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a complicated clock whichindicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the days, the months, and theyears. At exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would, according to his dailyhabit, quit Saville Row, and repair to the Reform.

A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where PhileasFogg 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, “andyour name is John?”

“Jean, if monsieur pleases,” replied the newcomer, “JeanPassepartout, a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptnessfor going out of one business into another. I believe I’m honest,monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I’ve had several trades. I’ve beenan itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard, anddance on a rope like Blondin. Then I got to be a professor of gymnastics, so asto make better use of my talents; and then I was a sergeant fireman at Paris,and assisted at many a big fire. But I quitted France five years ago, and,wishing to taste the sweets of domestic life, took service as a valet here inEngland. Finding myself out of place, and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Foggwas the most exact and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come tomonsieur in the hope of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting eventhe name of Passepartout.”

“Passepartout suits me,” responded Mr. Fogg. “You are wellrecommended 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, drawingan 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 mentionthe error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m., thisWednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service.”

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head with anautomatic 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 histurn. Passepartout remained alone in the house in Saville Row.

CHAPTER II.
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 newmaster!”

Madame Tussaud’s “people,” let it be said, are of wax, andare much visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been carefullyobserving 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 werelight, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teethmagnificent. His countenance possessed in the highest degree whatphysiognomists call “repose in action,” a quality of those who actrather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed aperfect type of that English composure which Angelica Kauffmann has soskilfully 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 aLeroy chronometer. Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and thiswas betrayed even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, aswell 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 waseconomical 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 superfluousgestures, and was never seen to be moved or agitated. He was the mostdeliberate person in the world, yet always reached his destination at the exactmoment.

He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation; and as heknew that in this world account must be taken of friction, and that frictionretards, he never rubbed against anybody.

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he had abandonedhis own country for England, taking service as a valet, he had in vain searchedfor a master after his own heart. Passepartout was by no means one of thosepert dunces depicted by Molière with a bold gaze and a nose held high in theair; 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 seeon the shoulders of a friend. His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund, hisfigure almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his physical powersfully developed by the exercises of his younger days. His brown hair wassomewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors are said to have knowneighteen methods of arranging Minerva’s tresses, Passepartout wasfamiliar with but one of dressing his own: three strokes of a large-tooth combcompleted his toilet.

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout’s lively nature would agreewith Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the new servant would turn outas absolutely methodical as his master required; experience alone could solvethe question. Passepartout had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, andnow yearned for repose; but so far he had failed to find it, though he hadalready served in ten English houses. But he could not take root in any ofthese; with chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular,constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure. Hislast master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after passing hisnights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home in the morning onpolicemen’s shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of respecting the gentlemanwhom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance on such conduct; which, beingill-received, he took his leave. Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking fora servant, and that his life was one of unbroken regularity, that he neithertravelled nor stayed from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be theplace 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 inSaville Row. He began its inspection without delay, scouring it from cellar togarret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to himlike a snail’s shell, lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for boththese purposes. When Passepartout reached the second story he recognised atonce the room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it.Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lowerstories; while on the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that inMr. Fogg’s bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant.“That’s good, that’ll do,” said Passepartout tohimself.

He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon inspection,proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house. It comprised allthat was required of the servant, from eight in the morning, exactly at whichhour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past eleven, when he left the house for theReform Club—all the details of service, the tea and toast at twenty-threeminutes past eight, the shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, andthe toilet at twenty minutes before ten. Everything was regulated and foreseenthat was to be done from half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour at whichthe methodical gentleman retired.

Mr. Fogg’s wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste. Each pairof trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of year andseason at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing; and the samesystem was applied to the master’s shoes. In short, the house in SavilleRow, which must have been a very temple of disorder and unrest under theillustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness, comfort, and methodidealised. There was no study, nor were there books, which would have beenquite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform two libraries, one of generalliterature and the other of law and politics, were at his service. Amoderate-sized safe stood in his bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire aswell as burglars; but Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weaponsanywhere; everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.

Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a broadsmile overspread his features, and he said joyfully, “This is just what Iwanted! Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I! What a domestic andregular gentleman! A real machine; well, I don’t mind serving amachine.”

CHAPTER III.
IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST PHILEAS FOGGDEAR

Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven, and havingput his right foot before his left five hundred and seventy-five times, and hisleft foot before his right five hundred and seventy-six times, reached theReform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall Mall, which could not have cost lessthan three millions. He repaired at once to the dining-room, the nine windowsof which open upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded withan autumn colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover ofwhich had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted of a side-dish, abroiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef garnished withmushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel of Cheshire cheese, thewhole being washed down with several cups of tea, for which the Reform isfamous. He rose at thirteen minutes to one, and directed his steps towards thelarge hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings. Aflunkey handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with askill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation. The perusal ofthis paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst theStandard, his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinnerpassed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the reading-room andsat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six. Half an hourlater several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the fireplace, wherea coal fire was steadily burning. They were Mr. Fogg’s usual partners atwhist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers;Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bankof England—all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a clubwhich comprises the princes of English trade and finance.

“Well, Ralph,” said Thomas Flanagan, “what about thatrobbery?”

“Oh,” replied Stuart, “the Bank will lose the money.”

“On the contrary,” broke in Ralph, “I hope we may put ourhands on the robber. Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principalports of America and the Continent, and he’ll be a clever fellow if heslips 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, norobber?”

“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, whomade this remark. He bowed to his friends, and entered into the conversation.The affair which formed its subject, and which was town talk, had occurredthree days before at the Bank of England. A package of banknotes, to the valueof fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the principalcashier’s table, that functionary being at the moment engaged inregistering the receipt of three shillings and sixpence. Of course, he couldnot have his eyes everywhere. Let it be observed that the Bank of Englandreposes a touching confidence in the honesty of the public. There are neitherguards nor gratings to protect its treasures; gold, silver, banknotes arefreely exposed, at the mercy of the first comer. A keen observer of Englishcustoms relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had thecuriosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds. He tookit up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the next man, and soon until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was transferred to the end of adark entry; nor did it return to its place for half an hour. Meanwhile, thecashier had not so much as raised his head. But in the present instance thingshad not gone so smoothly. The package of notes not being found when fiveo’clock sounded from the ponderous clock in the “drawingoffice,” the amount was passed to the account of profit and loss. As soonas the robbery was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool,Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by theproffered reward of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum thatmight be recovered. Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching thosewho arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination was at onceentered upon.

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said, thatthe thief did not belong to a professional band. On the day of the robbery awell-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and with a well-to-do air, had beenobserved going to and fro in the paying room where the crime was committed. Adescription of him was easily procured and sent to the detectives; and somehopeful spirits, of whom Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension.The papers and clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people werediscussing the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club wasespecially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.

Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely to be invain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly stimulate their zealand activity. But Stuart was far from sharing this confidence; and, as theyplaced themselves at the whist-table, they continued to argue the matter.Stuart and Flanagan played together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for hispartner. As the game proceeded the conversation ceased, excepting between therubbers, when it revived again.

“I maintain,” said Stuart, “that the chances are in favour ofthe thief, who must be a shrewd fellow.”

“Well, but where can he fly to?” asked Ralph. “No country issafe 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 grownsmaller?”

“Certainly,” returned Ralph. “I agree with Mr. Fogg. Theworld has grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quicklythan a hundred years ago. And that is why the search for this thief will bemore 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,said eagerly: “You have a strange way, Ralph, of proving that the worldhas grown smaller. So, because you can go round it in threemonths—”

“In eighty days,” interrupted Phileas Fogg.

“That is true, gentlemen,” added John Sullivan. “Only eightydays, now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the Great IndianPeninsula Railway, has been opened. Here is the estimate made by the DailyTelegraph:—

From London to Suez viâ Mont Cenis and Brindisi, by rail and steamboats................. 7 days
From Suez to Bombay, by steamer .................... 13 ”
From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail ................... 3 ”
From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer ............. 13 ”
From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer ..... 6 ”
From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer ......... 22 ”
From San Francisco to New York, by rail ............. 7 ”
From New York to London, by steamer and rail ........ 9 ”
-------
Total ............................................ 80 days.”

“Yes, in eighty days!” exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement madea 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 despitethe discussion.

“But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails,” repliedStuart; “suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage-vans, andscalp the passengers!”

“All included,” calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down thecards, “Two trumps.”

Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on: “Youare 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 ajourney, 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 annoyedat the persistency of his friend. “Come, let’s go on with thegame.”

“Deal over again, then,” said Phileas Fogg. “There’s afalse deal.”

Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly put them downagain.

“Well, Mr. Fogg,” said he, “it shall be so: I will wager thefour thousand on it.”

“Calm yourself, my dear Stuart,” said Fallentin. “It’sonly a joke.”

“When I say I’ll wager,” returned Stuart, “I meanit.”

“All right,” said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, hecontinued: “I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring’s which Iwill willingly risk upon it.”

“Twenty thousand pounds!” cried Sullivan. “Twenty thousandpounds, 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 possibletime 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 thetrains 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 seriousa thing as a wager,” replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly. “I will bettwenty thousand pounds against anyone who wishes that I will make the tour ofthe world in eighty days or less; in nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or ahundred 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 aquarter before nine. I will take it.”

“This very evening?” asked Stuart.

“This very evening,” returned Phileas Fogg. He took out andconsulted a pocket almanac, and added, “As today is Wednesday, the 2nd ofOctober, I shall be due in London in this very room of the Reform Club, onSaturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine p.m.; or else thetwenty thousand pounds, now deposited in my name at Baring’s, will belongto you, in fact and in right, gentlemen. Here is a cheque for theamount.”

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 notbet to win, and had only staked the twenty thousand pounds, half of hisfortune, because he foresaw that he might have to expend the other half tocarry out this difficult, not to say unattainable, project. As for hisantagonists, they seemed much agitated; not so much by the value of theirstake, as because they had some scruples about betting under conditions sodifficult 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. “Diamondsare trumps: be so good as to play, gentlemen.”

CHAPTER IV.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT

Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends, PhileasFogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his duties, wasmore than surprised to see his master guilty of the inexactness of appearing atthis unaccustomed hour; for, according to rule, he was not due in Saville Rowuntil precisely midnight.

Mr. Fogg repaired to his bedroom, and called out, “Passepartout!”

Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called; it was not theright 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 tenminutes.”

A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout’s round face; clearly he had notcomprehended his master.

“Monsieur is going to leave home?”

“Yes,” returned Phileas Fogg. “We are going round theworld.”

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up his hands, andseemed 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 amoment to lose.”

“But the trunks?” gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying hishead from right to left.

“We’ll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and threepairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We’ll buy our clothes onthe 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 ownroom, fell into a chair, and muttered: “That’s good, that is! AndI, who wanted to remain quiet!”

He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure. Around theworld in eighty days! Was his master a fool? No. Was this a joke, then? Theywere going to Dover; good! To Calais; good again! After all, Passepartout, whohad been away from France five years, would not be sorry to set foot on hisnative soil again. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would do hiseyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a gentleman so chary of his stepswould stop there; no doubt—but, then, it was none the less true that hewas going away, this so domestic person hitherto!

By eight o’clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag,containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still troubled inmind, 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-boundcopy of Bradshaw’s Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide,with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of steamers and railways.He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank ofEngland notes, which would pass wherever he might go.

“You have forgotten nothing?” asked he.

“Nothing, monsieur.”

“My mackintosh and cloak?”

“Here they are.”

“Good! Take this carpet-bag,” 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 ingold, and weighed him down.

Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked, and at theend of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to Charing Cross. The cabstopped before the railway station at twenty minutes past eight. Passepartoutjumped off the box and followed his master, who, after paying the cabman, wasabout to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in her arms,her naked feet smeared with mud, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, fromwhich hung a tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl,approached, and mournfully asked for alms.

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist, and handed themto the beggar, saying, “Here, my good woman. I’m glad that I metyou;” and passed on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master’s actiontouched his susceptible heart.

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased, Mr. Fogg wascrossing the station to the train, when he perceived his five friends of theReform.

“Well, gentlemen,” said he, “I’m off, you see; and, ifyou will examine my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge whetherI have accomplished the journey agreed upon.”

“Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,” said Ralphpolitely. “We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour.”

“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 quarterbefore nine p.m. Good-bye, gentlemen.”

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage attwenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed, and thetrain slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas Fogg, snuglyensconced in his corner, did not open his lips. Passepartout, not yet recoveredfrom his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormoustreasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly uttereda 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 willburn—at your expense.”

CHAPTER V.
IN WHICH A NEW SPECIES OF FUNDS, UNKNOWN TO THE MONEYED MEN, APPEARS ON’CHANGE

Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London would create alively sensation at the West End. The news of the bet spread through the ReformClub, and afforded an exciting topic of conversation to its members. From theclub it soon got into the papers throughout England. The boasted “tour ofthe world” was talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as ifthe subject were another Alabama claim. Some took sides with Phileas Fogg, butthe large majority shook their heads and declared against him; it was absurd,impossible, they declared, that the tour of the world could be made, excepttheoretically and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the existingmeans of travelling. The Times, Standard, Morning Post, and DailyNews, and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.Fogg’s project as madness; the Daily Telegraph alone hesitatinglysupported him. People in general thought him a lunatic, and blamed his ReformClub friends for having accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberrationof its proposer.

Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question, forgeography is one of the pet subjects of the English; and the columns devoted toPhileas Fogg’s venture were eagerly devoured by all classes of readers.At first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler sex, espoused hiscause, which became still more popular when the Illustrated London Newscame out with his portrait, copied from a photograph in the Reform Club. A fewreaders of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say, “Why not, afterall? Stranger things have come to pass.”

At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin of theRoyal Geographical Society, which treated the question from every point ofview, and demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.

Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed alikeby man and by nature. A miraculous agreement of the times of departure andarrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary to his success. Hemight, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at the designated hours, inEurope, where the distances were relatively moderate; but when he calculatedupon crossing India in three days, and the United States in seven, could herely beyond misgiving upon accomplishing his task? There were accidents tomachinery, the liability of trains to run off the line, collisions, badweather, the blocking up by snow—were not all these against Phileas Fogg?Would he not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the mercyof the winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be two orthree days behind time? But a single delay would suffice to fatally break thechain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once miss, even by an hour; asteamer, he would have to wait for the next, and that would irrevocably renderhis 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 higherclass than mere gamblers; to bet is in the English temperament. Not only themembers of the Reform, but the general public, made heavy wagers for or againstPhileas Fogg, who was set down in the betting books as if he were a race-horse.Bonds were issued, and made their appearance on ’Change; “PhileasFogg bonds” were offered at par or at a premium, and a great business wasdone in them. But five days after the article in the bulletin of theGeographical Society appeared, the demand began to subside: “PhileasFogg” declined. They were offered by packages, at first of five, then often, until at last nobody would take less than twenty, fifty, a hundred!

Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only advocate ofPhileas Fogg left. This noble lord, who was fastened to his chair, would havegiven his fortune to be able to make the tour of the world, if it took tenyears; and he bet five thousand pounds on Phileas Fogg. When the folly as wellas the uselessness of the adventure was pointed out to him, he contentedhimself with replying, “If the thing is feasible, the first to do itought to be an Englishman.”

The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against him, and thebets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one; and a week after hisdeparture an incident occurred which deprived him of backers at any price.

The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o’clock oneevening, when the following telegraphic dispatch 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 warrantof arrest to Bombay.

FIX, Detective.

The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous. The polished gentlemandisappeared to give place to the bank robber. His photograph, which was hungwith those of the rest of the members at the Reform Club, was minutelyexamined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the description of the robberwhich had been provided to the police. The mysterious habits of Phileas Foggwere recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden departure; and it seemed clearthat, in undertaking a tour round the world on the pretext of a wager, he hadhad no other end in view than to elude the detectives, and throw them off histrack.

CHAPTER VI.
IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, BETRAYS A VERY NATURAL IMPATIENCE

The circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about Phileas Fogg wassent were as follows:

The steamer “Mongolia,” belonging to the Peninsular and OrientalCompany, built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and fivehundred horse-power, was due at eleven o’clock a.m. on Wednesday, the 9thof October, at Suez. The “Mongolia” plied regularly betweenBrindisi and Bombay viâ the Suez Canal, and was one of the fasteststeamers belonging to the company, always making more than ten knots an hourbetween 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 nativesand strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling village—now,thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing town. One was theBritish consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies of the English Government,and the unfavourable predictions of Stephenson, was in the habit of seeing,from his office window, English ships daily passing to and fro on the greatcanal, by which the old roundabout route from England to India by the Cape ofGood Hope was abridged by at least a half. The other was a small, slight-builtpersonage, with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering out fromunder eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching. He was just now manifestingunmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing up and down, and unable tostand still for a moment. This was Fix, one of the detectives who had beendispatched from England in search of the bank robber; it was his task tonarrowly watch every passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all whoseemed to be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the description ofthe criminal, which he had received two days before from the policeheadquarters at London. The detective was evidently inspired by the hope ofobtaining the splendid reward which would be the prize of success, and awaitedwith a feverish impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the steamer“Mongolia.”

“So you say, consul,” asked he for the twentieth time, “thatthis steamer is never behind time?”

“No, Mr. Fix,” replied the consul. “She was bespokenyesterday at Port Said, and the rest of the way is of no account to such acraft. I repeat that the ‘Mongolia’ has been in advance of the timerequired by the company’s regulations, and gained the prize awarded forexcess of speed.”

“Does she come directly from Brindisi?”

“Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there, and sheleft 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 beable to recognise your man, even if he is on board the‘Mongolia.’”

“A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, thanrecognises them. You must have a scent for them, and a scent is like a sixthsense which combines hearing, seeing, and smelling. I’ve arrested morethan 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! Wedon’t often have such windfalls. Burglars are getting to be socontemptible nowadays! A fellow gets hung for a handful of shillings!”

“Mr. Fix,” said the consul, “I like your way of talking, andhope 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 singularresemblance to an honest man?”

“Consul,” remarked the detective, dogmatically, “greatrobbers always resemble honest folks. Fellows who have rascally faces have onlyone course to take, and that is to remain honest; otherwise they would bearrested off-hand. 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 variousnations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters, fellahs, bustled to and fro as ifthe steamer were immediately expected. The weather was clear, and slightlychilly. The minarets of the town loomed above the houses in the pale rays ofthe sun. A jetty pier, some two thousand yards along, extended into theroadstead. A number of fishing-smacks and coasting boats, some retaining thefantastic fashion of ancient galleys, were discernible on the Red Sea.

As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit, scrutinised thepassers-by with a keen, rapid glance.

It was now half-past ten.

“The steamer doesn’t come!” he exclaimed, as the port clockstruck.

“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 andten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the Red Sea, and she has totake 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 doubtget off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies in Asia by someother route. He ought to know that he would not be safe an hour in India, whichis English soil.”

“Unless,” objected the consul, “he is exceptionally shrewd.An English criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London thananywhere else.”

This observation furnished the detective food for thought, and meanwhile theconsul 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 wouldnaturally take the route viâ India, which was less watched and moredifficult to watch than that of the Atlantic. But Fix’s reflections weresoon interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which announced the arrivalof 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. Soonher gigantic hull appeared passing along between the banks, and eleveno’clock struck as she anchored in the road. She brought an unusual numberof passengers, some of whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque panoramaof the town, while the greater part disembarked in the boats, and landed on thequay.

Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face and figure which madeits appearance. Presently one of the passengers, after vigorously pushing hisway through the importunate crowd of porters, came up to him and politely askedif he could point out the English consulate, at the same time showing apassport which he wished to have visaed. Fix instinctively took thepassport, and with a rapid glance read the description of its bearer. Aninvoluntary motion of surprise nearly escaped him, for the description in thepassport was identical with that of the bank robber which he had received fromScotland Yard.

“Is this your passport?” asked he.

“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 hisidentity.”

“Oh, is that necessary?”

“Quite indispensable.”

“And where is the consulate?”

“There, on the corner of the square,” said Fix, pointing to a housetwo 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 VII.
WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS AS AIDS TODETECTIVES

The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to theconsul’s office, where he was at once admitted to the presence of thatofficial.

“Consul,” said he, without preamble, “I have strong reasonsfor 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 tosee the rascal’s face; but perhaps he won’t come here—thatis, if he is the person you suppose him to be. A robber doesn’t quitelike to leave traces of his flight behind him; and, besides, he is not obligedto 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 inthe 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 himfrom 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 atthe door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was the servant whom Fix hadmet on the quay. The other, who was his master, held out his passport with therequest that the consul would do him the favour to visa it. The consultook the document and carefully read it, whilst Fix observed, or ratherdevoured, the stranger with his eyes from a corner of the room.

“You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?” said the consul, after reading thepassport.

“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 nopassport 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 hisofficial 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 theconsul.

“Possibly; but that is not the question. Do you think, consul, that thisphlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature, the robber whosedescription I have received?”

“I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—”

“I’ll make certain of it,” interrupted Fix. “Theservant seems to me less mysterious than the master; besides, he’s aFrenchman, 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, gavesome orders to Passepartout, went off to the “Mongolia” in a boat,and descended to his cabin. He took up his note-book, which contained thefollowing 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 a.m.

“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, 158½; or, in days, six days and a half.”

These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns, indicating themonth, the day of the month, and the day for the stipulated and actual arrivalsat each principal point Paris, Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore,Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco, New York, and London—from the 2nd ofOctober to the 21st of December; and giving a space for setting down the gainmade or the loss suffered on arrival at each locality. This methodical recordthus contained an account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg always knewwhether he was behind-hand or in advance of his time. On this Friday, October9th, he noted his arrival at Suez, and observed that he had as yet neithergained nor lost. He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never oncethinking of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who are wont tosee foreign countries through the eyes of their domestics.

CHAPTER VIII.
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. Sothis is Suez?”

“Yes.”

“In Egypt?”

“Certainly, in Egypt.”

“And in Africa?”

“In Africa.”

“In Africa!” repeated Passepartout. “Just think, monsieur, Ihad no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw of Pariswas between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes before nine in themorning, between the Northern and the Lyons stations, through the windows of acar, and in a driving rain! How I regret not having seen once more Père laChaise and the circus in the Champs Elysées!”

“You are in a great hurry, then?”

“I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes andshirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag.”

“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,” said he; “don’t let me lose thesteamer.”

“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 mygreat-grandfather! It doesn’t vary five minutes in the year. It’s aperfect 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 atnoon 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 afterwardswe 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, Idon’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 withhim. And he doesn’t spare the money on the way, either: he has offered alarge reward to the engineer of the ‘Mongolia’ if he gets us toBombay 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 detectivemay be imagined. The hasty departure from London soon after the robbery; thelarge sum carried by Mr. Fogg; his eagerness to reach distant countries; thepretext of an eccentric and foolhardy bet—all confirmed Fix in histheory. He continued to pump poor Passepartout, and learned that he really knewlittle or nothing of his master, who lived a solitary existence in London, wassaid to be rich, though no one knew whence came his riches, and was mysteriousand impenetrable in his affairs and habits. Fix felt sure that Phileas Foggwould 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 worriesme—my burner!”

“What burner?”

“My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this momentburning at my expense. I have calculated, monsieur, that I lose two shillingsevery four and twenty hours, exactly sixpence more than I earn; and you willunderstand that the longer our journey—”

Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout’s trouble about the gas? It isnot probable. He was not listening, but was cogitating a project. Passepartoutand he had now reached the shop, where Fix left his companion to make hispurchases, after recommending him not to miss the steamer, and hurried back tothe consulate. Now that he was fully convinced, Fix had quite recovered hisequanimity.

“Consul,” said he, “I have no longer any doubt. I havespotted my man. He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round theworld in eighty days.”

“Then he’s a sharp fellow,” returned the consul, “andcounts on returning to London after putting the police of the two countries offhis 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 hadpassed through Suez?”

“Why? I have no idea; but listen to me.”

He reported in a few words the most important parts of his conversation withPassepartout.

“In short,” said the consul, “appearances are wholly againstthis man. And what are you going to do?”

“Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatchedinstantly to Bombay, take passage on board the ‘Mongolia,’ followmy rogue to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely, with mywarrant in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder.”

Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective took leaveof the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office, whence he sent thedispatch which we have seen to the London police office. A quarter of an hourlater found Fix, with a small bag in his hand, proceeding on board the“Mongolia;” and, ere many moments longer, the noble steamer rodeout at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.

CHAPTER IX.
IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS TO THE DESIGNS OFPHILEAS 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 andthirty-eight hours in which to traverse it. The “Mongolia,” thanksto the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so rapid was herspeed, to reach her destination considerably within that time. The greater partof the passengers from Brindisi were bound for India some for Bombay, othersfor Calcutta by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that a railwaycrosses the Indian peninsula. Among the passengers was a number of officialsand military officers of various grades, the latter being either attached tothe regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops, and receiving highsalaries ever since the central government has assumed the powers of the EastIndia Company: for the sub-lieutenants get £280, brigadiers, £2,400, andgenerals of divisions, £4,000. What with the military men, a number of richyoung Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable efforts of the purser,the time passed quickly on the “Mongolia.” The best of fare wasspread upon the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the eighto’clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously changed their toilets twice aday; and 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 andnarrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African or Asian coast the“Mongolia,” with her long hull, rolled fearfully. Then the ladiesspeedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancingsuddenly ceased. Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind orwave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. What was Phileas Fogg doing allthis time? It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would be constantlywatching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging of thebillows—every chance, in short, which might force the“Mongolia” to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey.But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by anyoutward sign.

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no incident couldsurprise, as unvarying as the ship’s chronometers, and seldom having thecuriosity even to go upon the deck, he passed through the memorable scenes ofthe Red Sea with cold indifference; did not care to recognise the historictowns and villages which, along its borders, raised their picturesque outlinesagainst the sky; and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, whichthe old historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancientnavigators 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 persistentrolling and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whistindefatigably, for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game ashimself. A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. DecimusSmith, returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-general of theEnglish army, who was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up theparty, and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbingsilence.

As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his mealsconscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed the voyage, for he waswell fed and well lodged, took a great interest in the scenes through whichthey were passing, and consoled himself with the delusion that hismaster’s whim would end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day afterleaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging person with whom he had walked andchatted on the quays.

“If I am not mistaken,” said he, approaching this person, with hismost amiable smile, “you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered toguide me at Suez?”

“Ah! I quite recognise you. You are the servant of the strangeEnglishman—”

“Just so, monsieur—”

“Fix.”

“Monsieur Fix,” resumed Passepartout, “I’m charmed tofind 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 tospend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train, and from a railwaytrain upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour of the world in eightydays! No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure, will cease at Bombay.”

“And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?” asked Fix, in the most naturaltone in the world.

“Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre; it’s the seaair.”

“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 daysmay conceal some secret errand—perhaps a diplomatic mission?”

“Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor would Igive half a crown to find out.”

After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of chattingtogether, the latter making it a point to gain the worthy man’sconfidence. He frequently offered him a glass of whiskey or pale ale in thesteamer bar-room, which Passepartout never failed to accept with gracefulalacrity, mentally pronouncing Fix the best of good fellows.

Meanwhile the “Mongolia” was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th,Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing, wassighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought that,with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an immensecoffee-cup and saucer. The following night they passed through the Strait ofBab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic “The Bridge of Tears,” and thenext day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of Aden harbour, to take incoal. This matter of fuelling steamers is a serious one at such distances fromthe coal-mines; it costs the Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousandpounds a year. In these distant seas, coal is worth three or four poundssterling a ton.

The “Mongolia” had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles totraverse before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours atSteamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was foreseen, did not affectPhileas Fogg’s programme; besides, the “Mongolia,” instead ofreaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due, arrived there onthe evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport againvisaed; 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 Somalis,Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who comprise the twenty-fivethousand inhabitants of Aden. He gazed with wonder upon the fortificationswhich make this place the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisternswhere the English engineers were still at work, two thousand years after theengineers of Solomon.

“Very curious, very curious,” said Passepartout to himself,on returning to the steamer. “I see that it is by no means useless totravel, if a man wants to see something new.” At six p.m. the“Mongolia” slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon oncemore on the Indian Ocean. She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours in which toreach Bombay, and the sea was favourable, the wind being in the north-west, andall sails aiding the engine. The steamer rolled but little, the ladies, infresh toilets, reappeared on deck, and the singing and dancing were resumed.The trip was being accomplished most successfully, and Passepartout wasenchanted with the congenial companion which chance had secured him in theperson of the delightful Fix. On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they camein sight of the Indian coast: two hours later the pilot came on board. A rangeof hills lay against the sky in the horizon, and soon the rows of palms whichadorn Bombay came distinctly into view. The steamer entered the road formed bythe islands in the bay, and at half-past four she hauled up at the quays ofBombay.

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 ofthe tricks, concluded this fine campaign with a brilliant victory.

The “Mongolia” was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the20th. This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his departure fromLondon, and he calmly entered the fact in the itinerary, in the column ofgains.

CHAPTER X.
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET OFF WITH THE LOSS OF HISSHOES

Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in thenorth and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteenhundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population ofone hundred and eighty millions of souls. The British Crown exercises a realand despotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country, and has agovernor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and inBengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.

But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousandsquare miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and tenmillions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free fromBritish authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior whoare absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company was all-powerfulfrom 1756, when the English first gained a foothold on the spot where nowstands the city of Madras, down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. Itgradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the nativechiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and hissubordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has now passedaway, leaving the British possessions in India directly under the control ofthe Crown. The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctionsof race, is daily changing.

Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods ofgoing on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches; now faststeamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great railway, with branchlines joining the main line at many points on its route, traverses thepeninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in adirect line across India. The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the birdflies, is only from one thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflectionsof the road increase this distance by more than a third.

The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows: LeavingBombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent opposite Tannah,goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts, runs thence north-east as far asBurhampoor, skirts the nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends toAllahabad, turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departsfrom the river a little, and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and theFrench town of Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.

The passengers of the “Mongolia” went ashore at half-past fourp.m.; at exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.

Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gavehis servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the stationpromptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which beat to the second, likean astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for thewonders of Bombay—its famous city hall, its splendid library, its fortsand docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and thenoble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two polygonal towers—he cared nota straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces ofElephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, orthose fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of theisland of Salcette.

Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repairedquietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner. Among the dishesserved 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 itfar 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 thejungles.”

“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 wereformerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time.”

“For the cats, my lord?”

“Perhaps for the travellers as well!”

After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. Fix had gone on shoreshortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the headquarters of theBombay police. He made himself known as a London detective, told his businessat Bombay, and the position of affairs relative to the supposed robber, andnervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London. It had not reached theoffice; indeed, there had not yet been time for it to arrive. Fix was sorelydisappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director of theBombay police. This the director refused, as the matter concerned the Londonoffice, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did not insist, andwas fain to resign himself to await the arrival of the important document; buthe was determined not to lose sight of the mysterious rogue as long as hestayed 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 thewarrant to arrive.

Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master’s orders on leavingthe “Mongolia” than he saw at once that they were to leave Bombayas they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey would be extended atleast as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond that place. He began to askhimself 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 leisurelypromenade about the streets, where crowds of people of manynationalities—Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas with roundturbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres, and long-robedArmenians—were collected. It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival.These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster—the most thrifty, civilised,intelligent, and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted therichest native merchants of Bombay—were celebrating a sort of religiouscarnival, with processions and shows, in the midst of which Indiandancing-girls, clothed in rose-coloured gauze, looped up with gold and silver,danced airily, but with perfect modesty, to the sound of viols and the clangingof tambourines. It is needless to say that Passepartout watched these curiousceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance wasthat of the greenest booby imaginable.

Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew himunconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last, having seen theParsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning his steps towards thestation, when he happened to espy the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and wasseized with an irresistible desire to see its interior. He was quite ignorantthat it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples, and thateven the faithful must not go in without first leaving their shoes outside thedoor. It may be said here that the wise policy of the British Governmentseverely punishes a disregard of the practices of the native religions.

Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist, and wassoon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation which everywheremet his eyes, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacredflagging. He looked up to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell uponhim; 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 knockingdown two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorousapplication of his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legscould carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by mingling with the crowd inthe streets.

At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and having inthe squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed breathlessly into thestation.

Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really goingto leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform. He had resolved to follow thesupposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if necessary. Passepartout did notobserve the detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him relatehis 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 crestfallen, followed hismaster without a word. Fix was on the point of entering another carriage, whenan idea struck him which induced him to alter his plan.

“No, I’ll stay,” muttered he. “An offence has beencommitted on Indian soil. I’ve got my man.”

Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out intothe darkness of the night.

CHAPTER XI.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SECURES A CURIOUS MEANS OF CONVEYANCE AT A FABULOUSPRICE

The train had started punctually. Among the passengers were a number ofofficers, Government officials, and opium and indigo merchants, whose businesscalled them to the eastern coast. Passepartout rode in the same carriage withhis master, and a third passenger occupied a seat opposite to them. This wasSir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr. Fogg’s whist partners on the“Mongolia,” now on his way to join his corps at Benares. SirFrancis was a tall, fair man of fifty, who had greatly distinguished himself inthe last Sepoy revolt. He made India his home, only paying brief visits toEngland at rare intervals; and was almost as familiar as a native with thecustoms, history, and character of India and its people. But Phileas Fogg, whowas not travelling, but only describing a circumference, took no pains toinquire into these subjects; he was a solid body, traversing an orbit aroundthe terrestrial globe, according to the laws of rational mechanics. He was atthis moment calculating in his mind the number of hours spent since hisdeparture from London, and, had it been in his nature to make a uselessdemonstration, would have rubbed his hands for satisfaction. Sir FrancisCromarty had observed the oddity of his travelling companion—although theonly opportunity he had for studying him had been while he was dealing thecards, and between two rubbers—and questioned himself whether a humanheart really beat beneath this cold exterior, and whether Phileas Fogg had anysense of the beauties of nature. The brigadier-general was free to mentallyconfess that, of all the eccentric persons he had ever met, none was comparableto this product of the exact sciences.

Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his design of going round theworld, nor the circumstances under which he set out; and the general only sawin the wager a useless eccentricity and a lack of sound common sense. In theway this strange gentleman was going on, he would leave the world withouthaving done any good to himself or anybody else.

An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts and the Islandof Salcette, and had got into the open country. At Callyan they reached thejunction of the branch line which descends towards south-eastern India byKandallah and Pounah; and, passing Pauwell, they entered the defiles of themountains, with their basalt bases, and their summits crowned with thick andverdant forests. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty exchanged a few wordsfrom 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 pointwhich would probably have lost you your wager.”

“How so, Sir Francis?”

“Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains, which thepassengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on ponies to Kandallah, onthe other side.”

“Such a delay would not have deranged my plans in the least,” saidMr. Fogg. “I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of certainobstacles.”

“But, Mr. Fogg,” pursued Sir Francis, “you run the risk ofhaving some difficulty about this worthy fellow’s adventure at thepagoda.” Passepartout, his feet comfortably wrapped in histravelling-blanket, was sound asleep and did not dream that anybody was talkingabout him. “The Government is very severe upon that kind of offence. Ittakes particular care that the religious customs of the Indians should berespected, and if your servant were caught—”

“Very well, Sir Francis,” replied Mr. Fogg; “if he had beencaught he would have been condemned and punished, and then would have quietlyreturned to Europe. I don’t see how this affair could have delayed hismaster.”

The conversation fell again. During the night the train left the mountainsbehind, and passed Nassik, and the next day proceeded over the flat,well-cultivated country of the Khandeish, with its straggling villages, abovewhich rose the minarets of the pagodas. This fertile territory is watered bynumerous small rivers and limpid streams, mostly tributaries of the Godavery.

Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realise that he was actuallycrossing India in a railway train. The locomotive, guided by an Englishengineer and fed with English coal, threw out its smoke upon cotton, coffee,nutmeg, clove, and pepper plantations, while the steam curled in spirals aroundgroups of palm-trees, in the midst of which were seen picturesque bungalows,viharis (sort of abandoned monasteries), and marvellous temples enriched by theexhaustless ornamentation of Indian architecture. Then they came upon vasttracts extending to the horizon, with jungles inhabited by snakes and tigers,which fled at the noise of the train; succeeded by forests penetrated by therailway, and still haunted by elephants which, with pensive eyes, gazed at thetrain as it passed. The travellers crossed, beyond Milligaum, the fatal countryso often stained with blood by the sectaries of the goddess Kali. Not far offrose Ellora, with its graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad, capital ofthe ferocious Aureng-Zeb, now the chief town of one of the detached provincesof the kingdom of the Nizam. It was thereabouts that Feringhea, the Thuggeechief, king of the stranglers, held his sway. These ruffians, united by asecret bond, strangled victims of every age in honour of the goddess Death,without ever shedding blood; there was a period when this part of the countrycould scarcely be travelled over without corpses being found in everydirection. The English Government has succeeded in greatly diminishing thesemurders, though the Thuggees still exist, and pursue the exercise of theirhorrible rites.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor where Passepartout was ableto purchase some Indian slippers, ornamented with false pearls, in which, withevident vanity, he proceeded to encase his feet. The travellers made a hastybreakfast and started off for Assurghur, after skirting for a little the banksof the small river Tapty, which empties into the Gulf of Cambray, near Surat.

Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie. Up to his arrival atBombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey would end there; but, nowthat they were plainly whirling across India at full speed, a sudden change hadcome 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 toregard his master’s project as intended in good earnest, believed in thereality of the bet, and therefore in the tour of the world and the necessity ofmaking it without fail within the designated period. Already he began to worryabout possible delays, and accidents which might happen on the way. Herecognised himself as being personally interested in the wager, and trembled atthe thought that he might have been the means of losing it by his unpardonablefolly of the night before. Being much less cool-headed than Mr. Fogg, he wasmuch more restless, counting and recounting the days passed over, utteringmaledictions when the train stopped, and accusing it of sluggishness, andmentally blaming Mr. Fogg for not having bribed the engineer. The worthy fellowwas ignorant that, while it was possible by such means to hasten the rate of asteamer, it could not be done on the railway.

The train entered the defiles of the Sutpour Mountains, which separate theKhandeish from Bundelcund, towards evening. The next day Sir Francis Cromartyasked Passepartout what time it was; to which, on consulting his watch, hereplied that it was three in the morning. This famous timepiece, alwaysregulated on the Greenwich meridian, which was now some seventy-seven degreeswestward, was at least four hours slow. Sir Francis correctedPassepartout’s time, whereupon the latter made the same remark that hehad done to Fix; and upon the general insisting that the watch should beregulated in each new meridian, since he was constantly going eastward, that isin the face of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter by four minutes foreach degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately refused to alter his watch,which he kept at London time. It was an innocent delusion which could harm noone.

The train stopped, at eight o’clock, in the midst of a glade some fifteenmiles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows, and workmen’scabins. The conductor, passing along the carriages, shouted, “Passengerswill get out here!”

Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation; but the generalcould not tell what meant a halt in the midst of this forest of dates andacacias.

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, andthey 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 toAllahabad, 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 SirFrancis, who was growing warm.

“No doubt,” replied the conductor; “but the passengers knowthat they must provide means of transportation for themselves from Kholby toAllahabad.”

Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout would willingly have knocked theconductor down, and did not dare to look at his master.

“Sir Francis,” said Mr. Fogg quietly, “we will, if youplease, 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 laterarise on my route. Nothing, therefore, is lost. I have two days, which I havealready 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. Thepapers were like some watches, which have a way of getting too fast, and hadbeen premature in their announcement of the completion of the line. The greaterpart of the travellers were aware of this interruption, and, leaving the train,they began to engage such vehicles as the village could provide four-wheeledpalkigharis, waggons drawn by zebus, carriages that looked like perambulatingpagodas, 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 hethought of his magnificent, but too frail Indian shoes. Happily he too had beenlooking 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 ahundred 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 theirrequest, conducted them within the enclosure. The elephant, which its owner hadreared, not for a beast of burden, but for warlike purposes, was halfdomesticated. The Indian had begun already, by often irritating him, andfeeding him every three months on sugar and butter, to impart to him a ferocitynot in his nature, this method being often employed by those who train theIndian elephants for battle. Happily, however, for Mr. Fogg, the animal’sinstruction in this direction had not gone far, and the elephant stillpreserved his natural gentleness. Kiouni—this was the name of thebeast—could doubtless travel rapidly for a long time, and, in default ofany other means of conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him. But elephants arefar from cheap in India, where they are becoming scarce, the males, which aloneare suitable for circus shows, are much sought, especially as but few of themare domesticated. When therefore Mr. Fogg proposed to the Indian to hireKiouni, he refused point-blank. Mr. Fogg persisted, offering the excessive sumof ten pounds an hour for the loan of the beast to Allahabad. Refused. Twentypounds? Refused also. Forty pounds? Still refused. Passepartout jumped at eachadvance; but the Indian declined to be tempted. Yet the offer was an alluringone, for, supposing it took the elephant fifteen hours to reach Allahabad, hisowner would receive no less than six hundred pounds sterling.

Phileas Fogg, without getting in the least flurried, then proposed to purchasethe animal outright, and at first offered a thousand pounds for him. TheIndian, 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 hewent any further; to which that gentleman replied that he was not in the habitof acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand pounds was at stake, that theelephant was absolutely necessary to him, and that he would secure him if hehad to pay twenty times his value. Returning to the Indian, whose small, sharpeyes, glistening with avarice, betrayed that with him it was only a question ofhow great a price he could obtain. Mr. Fogg offered first twelve hundred, thenfifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds. Passepartout, usuallyso rubicund, was fairly white with suspense.

At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.

“What a price, good heavens!” cried Passepartout, “for anelephant.”

It only remained now to find a guide, which was comparatively easy. A youngParsee, with an intelligent face, offered his services, which Mr. Foggaccepted, promising so generous a reward as to materially stimulate his zeal.The elephant was led out and equipped. The Parsee, who was an accomplishedelephant driver, covered his back with a sort of saddle-cloth, and attached toeach of his flanks some curiously uncomfortable howdahs. Phileas Fogg paid theIndian with some banknotes which he extracted from the famous carpet-bag, aproceeding that seemed to deprive poor Passepartout of his vitals. Then heoffered to carry Sir Francis to Allahabad, which the brigadier gratefullyaccepted, as one traveller the more would not be likely to fatigue the giganticbeast. Provisions were purchased at Kholby, and, while Sir Francis and Mr. Foggtook the howdahs on either side, Passepartout got astride the saddle-clothbetween them. The Parsee perched himself on the elephant’s neck, and atnine o’clock they set out from the village, the animal marching offthrough the dense forest of palms by the shortest cut.

CHAPTER XII.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS VENTURE ACROSS THE INDIAN FORESTS, ANDWHAT ENSUED

In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of the line wherethe railway was still in process of being built. This line, owing to thecapricious 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 theforest.

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the peculiarhowdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the swift trotting of theelephant, spurred on as he was by the skilful Parsee; but they endured thediscomfort with true British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catcha glimpse of each other. As for Passepartout, who was mounted on thebeast’s back, and received the direct force of each concussion as he trodalong, he was very careful, in accordance with his master’s advice, tokeep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise have been bittenoff short. The worthy fellow bounced from the elephant’s neck to hisrump, and vaulted like a clown on a spring-board; yet he laughed in the midstof 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 leastslackening 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 neighbouring spring, setto devouring the branches and shrubs round about him. Neither Sir Francis norMr. Fogg regretted the delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief.“Why, he’s made of iron!” exclaimed the general, gazingadmiringly on Kiouni.

“Of forged iron,” replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing ahasty breakfast.

At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country soon presented avery savage aspect. Copses of dates and dwarf-palms succeeded the denseforests; then vast, dry plains, dotted with scanty shrubs, and sown with greatblocks of syenite. All this portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequentedby travellers, is inhabited by a fanatical population, hardened in the mosthorrible practices of the Hindoo faith. The English have not been able tosecure complete dominion over this territory, which is subjected to theinfluence of rajahs, whom it is almost impossible to reach in theirinaccessible mountain fastnesses. The travellers several times saw bands offerocious Indians, who, when they perceived the elephant stridingacross-country, made angry and threatening motions. The Parsee avoided them asmuch as possible. Few animals were observed on the route; even the monkeyshurried from their path with contortions and grimaces which convulsedPassepartout 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 hecarry him on with him? Impossible! The cost of transporting him would make himruinously expensive. Would he sell him, or set him free? The estimable beastcertainly deserved some consideration. Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him,Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much embarrassed; and thesethoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time.

The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the evening, andanother halt was made on the northern slope, in a ruined bungalow. They hadgone nearly twenty-five miles that day, and an equal distance still separatedthem from the station of Allahabad.

The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a few drybranches, and the warmth was very grateful, provisions purchased at Kholbysufficed for supper, and the travellers ate ravenously. The conversation,beginning with a few disconnected phrases, soon gave place to loud and steadysnores. The guide watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himselfagainst the trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to disturbthe slumberers, although occasional growls from panthers and chatterings ofmonkeys broke the silence; the more formidable beasts made no cries or hostiledemonstration against the occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily,like an honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped inuneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg, he slumberedas 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 reachAllahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would only lose a part of theforty-eight hours saved since the beginning of the tour. Kiouni, resuming hisrapid gait, soon descended the lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noonthey passed by the village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches ofthe Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep theopen country, which lies along the first depressions of the basin of the greatriver. Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north-east. They stoppedunder a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and assucculent as cream, was amply partaken of and appreciated.

At two o’clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended severalmiles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods. They had not as yet hadany unpleasant encounters, and the journey seemed on the point of beingsuccessfully accomplished, when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenlystopped.

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, listeningattentively to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches.

The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a distant concert ofhuman voices accompanied by brass instruments. Passepartout was all eyes andears. Mr. Fogg patiently waited without a word. The Parsee jumped to theground, fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket. He soonreturned, saying:

“A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must prevent theirseeing us, if possible.”

The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at the same timeasking the travellers not to stir. He held himself ready to bestride the animalat a moment’s notice, should flight become necessary; but he evidentlythought that the procession of the faithful would pass without perceiving themamid the thick foliage, in which they were wholly concealed.

The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer, and now droningsongs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals. The head of theprocession soon appeared beneath the trees, a hundred paces away; and thestrange figures who performed the religious ceremony were easily distinguishedthrough the branches. First came the priests, with mitres on their heads, andclothed in long lace robes. They were surrounded by men, women, and children,who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals by thetambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn a car with large wheels,the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each other. Upon thecar, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus, stood a hideous statuewith four arms, the body coloured a dull red, with haggard eyes, dishevelledhair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted with betel. It stood upright upon thefigure of a prostrate and headless giant.

Sir Francis, recognising the statue, whispered, “The goddess Kali; thegoddess of love and death.”

“Of death, perhaps,” muttered back Passepartout, “but oflove—that ugly old hag? Never!”

The Parsee made a motion to keep silence.

A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round the statue;these were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts whence their blood issueddrop by drop—stupid fanatics, who, in the great Indian ceremonies, stillthrow themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut. Some Brahmins, clad in all thesumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman who faltered at everystep, followed. This woman was young, and as fair as a European. Her head andneck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels andgems with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold, andcovered 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 damascenedpistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man,gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turbanembroidered with pearls, a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmeresewed with diamonds, and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince. Next camethe musicians and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drownedthe noise of the instruments; these closed the procession.

Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and, turning to theguide, said, “A suttee.”

The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession slowly woundunder 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 processionhad disappeared, asked: “What is a suttee?”

“A suttee,” returned the general, “is a human sacrifice, buta voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow at thedawn of day.”

“Oh, the scoundrels!” cried Passepartout, who could not repress hisindignation.

“And the corpse?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“Is that of the prince, her husband,” said the guide; “anindependent rajah of Bundelcund.”

“Is it possible,” resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not theleast emotion, “that these barbarous customs still exist in India, andthat 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 isthe theatre of incessant murders and pillage.”

“The poor wretch!” exclaimed Passepartout, “to be burnedalive!”

“Yes,” returned Sir Francis, “burned alive. And, if she werenot, you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit to fromher relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her on a scanty allowance ofrice, 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 frightfulan existence drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice much more than loveor 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 permissionof the governor to be burned along with her husband’s body; but, as youmay imagine, he refused. The woman left the town, took refuge with anindependent rajah, and there carried out her self-devoted purpose.”

While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several times, and nowsaid: “The sacrifice which will take place to-morrow at dawn is not avoluntary one.”

“How do you know?”

“Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund.”

“But the wretched creature did not seem to be making anyresistance,” observed Sir Francis.

“That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp andopium.”

“But where are they taking her?”

“To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the nightthere.”

“And the sacrifice will take place—”

“To-morrow, 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 peculiarwhistle, 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 thetime.”

CHAPTER XIII.
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT RECEIVES A NEW PROOF THAT FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE

The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable. Mr. Foggwas going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore the success of histour. But he did not hesitate, and he found in Sir Francis Cromarty anenthusiastic ally.

As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be proposed. Hismaster’s idea charmed him; he perceived a heart, a soul, under that icyexterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.

There remained the guide: what course would he adopt? Would he not take partwith the Indians? In default of his assistance, it was necessary to be assuredof his neutrality.

Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.

“Officers,” replied the guide, “I am a Parsee, and this womanis a Parsee. Command me as you will.”

“Excellent!” said Mr. Fogg.

“However,” resumed the guide, “it is certain, not only thatwe shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken.”

“That is foreseen,” replied Mr. Fogg. “I think we must waittill night before acting.”

“I think so,” said the guide.

The worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who, he said, was acelebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the daughter of a wealthy Bombaymerchant. She had received a thoroughly English education in that city, and,from her manners and intelligence, would be thought an European. Her name wasAouda. Left an orphan, she was married against her will to the old rajah ofBundelcund; 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 intheir generous design. It was decided that the guide should direct the elephanttowards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly approached as quickly aspossible. They halted, half an hour afterwards, in a copse, some five hundredfeet from the pagoda, where they were well concealed; but they could hear thegroans and cries of the fakirs distinctly.

They then discussed the means of getting at the victim. The guide was familiarwith the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared, the young woman wasimprisoned. Could they enter any of its doors while the whole party of Indianswas plunged in a drunken sleep, or was it safer to attempt to make a hole inthe walls? This could only be determined at the moment and the placethemselves; but it was certain that the abduction must be made that night, andnot when, at break of day, the victim was led to her funeral pyre. Then nohuman intervention could save her.

As soon as night fell, about six o’clock, they decided to make areconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were just ceasing;the Indians were in the act of plunging themselves into the drunkenness causedby liquid opium mingled with hemp, and it might be possible to slip betweenthem to the temple itself.

The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the wood, and in tenminutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream, whence, by thelight of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre of wood, on the top of whichlay the embalmed body of the rajah, which was to be burned with his wife. Thepagoda, whose minarets loomed above the trees in the deepening dusk, stood ahundred steps away.

“Come!” whispered the guide.

He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush, followed by hiscompanions; the silence around was only broken by the low murmuring of the windamong the branches.

Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up by thetorches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians, motionless in theirdrunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn with the dead. Men, women, andchildren 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 bytorches, 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 thetemple, advanced no farther, but led his companions back again. Phileas Foggand Sir Francis Cromarty also saw that nothing could be attempted in thatdirection. They stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy.

“It is only eight now,” said the brigadier, “and these guardsmay 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 observationon the edge of the wood, but the guards watched steadily by the glare of thetorches, and a dim light crept through the windows of the pagoda.

They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards, and itbecame apparent that their yielding to sleep could not be counted on. The otherplan 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 theirvictim as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door.

After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was ready for theattempt, and advanced, followed by the others. They took a roundabout way, soas to get at the pagoda on the rear. They reached the walls about half-pasttwelve, without having met anyone; here there was no guard, nor were thereeither windows or doors.

The night was dark. The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the horizon, and wascovered 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 thetemple walls were built of brick and wood, which could be penetrated withlittle difficulty; after one brick had been taken out, the rest would yieldeasily.

They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side and Passepartout onthe 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 ofthe temple, followed almost instantly by other cries replying from the outside.Passepartout and the guide stopped. Had they been heard? Was the alarm beinggiven? Common prudence urged them to retire, and they did so, followed byPhileas Fogg and Sir Francis. They again hid themselves in the wood, and waitedtill the disturbance, whatever it might be, ceased, holding themselves ready toresume their attempt without delay. But, awkwardly enough, the guards nowappeared at the rear of the temple, and there installed themselves, inreadiness to prevent a surprise.

It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the party, thusinterrupted in their work. They could not now reach the victim; how, then,could they save her? Sir Francis shook his fists, Passepartout was besidehimself, 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 tomorrowbefore noon.”

“But what can you hope to do?” asked Sir Francis. “In a fewhours it will be daylight, and—”

“The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the lastmoment.”

Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg’s eyes. What was thiscool Englishman thinking of? Was he planning to make a rush for the young womanat the very moment of the sacrifice, and boldly snatch her from herexecutioners?

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 observethe sleeping groups.

Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower branches of atree, was resolving an idea which had at first struck him like a flash, andwhich was now firmly lodged in his brain.

He had commenced by saying to himself, “What folly!” and then herepeated, “Why not, after all? It’s a chance,—perhaps theonly one; and with such sots!” Thinking thus, he slipped, with thesuppleness of a serpent, to the lowest branches, the ends of which bent almostto 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 multitudebecame animated, the tambourines sounded, songs and cries arose; the hour ofthe sacrifice had come. The doors of the pagoda swung open, and a bright lightescaped from its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francisespied the victim. She seemed, having shaken off the stupor of intoxication, tobe 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 falleninto a stupor caused by the fumes of hemp, and passed among the fakirs, whoescorted 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 stoppedfifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the rajah’s corpse. Inthe semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out besideher husband’s body. Then a torch was brought, and the wood, heavilysoaked with oil, instantly took fire.

At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who, in aninstant of mad generosity, was about to rush upon the pyre. But he had quicklypushed them aside, when the whole scene suddenly changed. A cry of terrorarose. The whole multitude prostrated themselves, terror-stricken, on theground.

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 theclouds of smoke, which only heightened his ghostly appearance.

Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay there, withtheir faces on the ground, not daring to lift their eyes and behold such aprodigy.

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 Francisstood 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 abrupttone, said, “Let us be off!”

It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the midst of thesmoke and, profiting by the still overhanging darkness, had delivered the youngwoman from death! It was Passepartout who, playing his part with a happyaudacity, had passed through the crowd amid the general terror.

A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the woods, and theelephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. But the cries and noise, and aball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg’s hat, apprised them that thetrick had been discovered.

The old rajah’s body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre; and thepriests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an abduction had takenplace. They hastened into the forest, followed by the soldiers, who fired avolley after the fugitives; but the latter rapidly increased the distancebetween them, and ere long found themselves beyond the reach of the bullets andarrows.

CHAPTER XIV.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL VALLEY OF THEGANGES WITHOUT EVER THINKING OF SEEING IT

The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour Passepartout laughedgaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow’s hand, andhis master said, “Well done!” which, from him, was highcommendation; to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of the affairbelonged 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 acharming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the young Indian woman, shehad been unconscious throughout of what was passing, and now, wrapped up in atravelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the howdahs.

The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was advancingrapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour after leaving thepagoda, had crossed a vast plain. They made a halt at seven o’clock, theyoung woman being still in a state of complete prostration. The guide made herdrink a little brandy and water, but the drowsiness which stupefied her couldnot yet be shaken off. Sir Francis, who was familiar with the effects of theintoxication produced by the fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on heraccount. But he was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate. He toldPhileas Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fallagain into the hands of her executioners. These fanatics were scatteredthroughout the county, and would, despite the English police, recover theirvictim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by quitting Indiafor ever.

Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.

The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o’clock, and, theinterrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to reach Calcuttain less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg would thus be able to arrive intime to take the steamer which left Calcutta the next day, October 25th, atnoon, for Hong Kong.

The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station, whilstPassepartout was charged with purchasing for her various articles of toilet, adress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master gave him unlimited credit.Passepartout started off forthwith, and found himself in the streets ofAllahabad, that is, the City of God, one of the most venerated in India, beingbuilt at the junction of the two sacred rivers, Ganges and Jumna, the waters ofwhich attract pilgrims from every part of the peninsula. The Ganges, accordingto the legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing toBrahma’s agency, it descends to the earth.

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a good look atthe city. It was formerly defended by a noble fort, which has since become astate prison; its commerce has dwindled away, and Passepartout in vain lookedabout him for such a bazaar as he used to frequent in Regent Street. At last hecame upon an elderly, crusty Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whomhe purchased a dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skinpelisse, for which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds. He thenreturned triumphantly to the station.

The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda begangradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that her fine eyes resumedall their soft Indian expression.

When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the queen ofAhmehnagara, he speaks thus:

“Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmoniouscontour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow andfreshness. Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama, the godof love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest reflections and acelestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of Himalaya, in the black pupilsof her great clear eyes. Her teeth, fine, equal, and white, glitter between hersmiling lips like dewdrops in a passion-flower’s half-enveloped breast.Her delicately formed ears, her vermilion hands, her little feet, curved andtender as the lotus-bud, glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls ofCeylon, 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 andthe beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower displays the wealth of itstreasures; and beneath the silken folds of her tunic she seems to have beenmodelled in pure silver by the godlike hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortalsculptor.”

It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to Aouda, that shewas a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the phrase. She spokeEnglish with great purity, and the guide had not exaggerated in saying that theyoung Parsee had been transformed by her bringing up.

The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to pay theguide the price agreed upon for his service, and not a farthing more; whichastonished Passepartout, who remembered all that his master owed to theguide’s devotion. He had, indeed, risked his life in the adventure atPillaji, and, if he should be caught afterwards by the Indians, he would withdifficulty escape their vengeance. Kiouni, also, must be disposed of. Whatshould be done with the elephant, which had been so dearly purchased? PhileasFogg had already determined this question.

“Parsee,” said he to the guide, “you have been serviceableand devoted. I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion. Would youlike to have this elephant? He is yours.”

The guide’s eyes glistened.

“Your honour is giving me a fortune!” cried he.

“Take him, guide,” returned Mr. Fogg, “and I shall still beyour debtor.”

“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout. “Take him, friend. Kiouni isa brave and faithful beast.” And, going up to the elephant, he gave himseveral lumps of sugar, saying, “Here, Kiouni, here, here.”

The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout aroundthe waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head. Passepartout, not inthe least alarmed, caressed the animal, which replaced him gently on theground.

Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout, installed ina carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were whirling at full speedtowards Benares. It was a run of eighty miles, and was accomplished in twohours. During the journey, the young woman fully recovered her senses. What washer astonishment to find herself in this carriage, on the railway, dressed inEuropean habiliments, and with travellers who were quite strangers to her! Hercompanions first set about fully reviving her with a little liquor, and thenSir Francis narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage withwhich Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, andrecounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of Passepartout’srash idea. Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout, abashed, kept repeatingthat “it wasn’t worth telling.”

Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than words; herfine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips. Then, as her thoughtsstrayed back to the scene of the sacrifice, and recalled the dangers whichstill menaced her, she shuddered with terror.

Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda’s mind, and offered, inorder to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might remainsafely until the affair was hushed up—an offer which she eagerly andgratefully accepted. She had, it seems, a Parsee relation, who was one of theprincipal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly an English city, though on anisland on the Chinese coast.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin legends assertthat this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi, which, likeMahomet’s tomb, was once suspended between heaven and earth; though theBenares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of India, standsquite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout caught glimpses of itsbrick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of desolation to the place, as thetrain entered it.

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty’s destination, the troops he wasrejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city. He bade adieu toPhileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing the hope that he wouldcome that way again in a less original but more profitable fashion. Mr. Fogglightly pressed him by the hand. The parting of Aouda, who did not forget whatshe owed to Sir Francis, betrayed more warmth; and, as for Passepartout, hereceived a hearty shake of the hand from the gallant general.

The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the valley of theGanges. Through the windows of their carriage the travellers had glimpses ofthe diversified landscape of Behar, with its mountains clothed in verdure, itsfields of barley, wheat, and corn, its jungles peopled with green alligators,its neat villages, and its still thickly-leaved forests. Elephants were bathingin the waters of the sacred river, and groups of Indians, despite the advancedseason and chilly air, were performing solemnly their pious ablutions. Thesewere fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities beingVishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural forces, andBrahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators. What would thesedivinities think of India, anglicised as it is to-day, with steamers whistlingand scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls which float upon itssurface, the turtles swarming along its banks, and the faithful dwelling uponits borders?

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the steamconcealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could scarcely discern thefort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward from Benares, the ancientstronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or Ghazipur and its famous rose-waterfactories; or the tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of theGanges; the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing andtrading-place, where is held the principal opium market of India; or Monghir, amore than European town, for it is as English as Manchester or Birmingham, withits iron foundries, edgetool factories, and high chimneys puffing clouds ofblack smoke heavenward.

Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst of the roaringof the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before the locomotive; and themarvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour, Murshedabad, the ancient capital,Burdwan, Hugly, and the French town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout wouldhave been proud to see his country’s flag flying, were hidden from theirview in the darkness.

Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and the packet left for Hong Kongat noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him.

According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of October, andthat was the exact date of his actual arrival. He was therefore neitherbehind-hand nor ahead of time. The two days gained between London and Bombayhad been lost, as has been seen, in the journey across India. But it is not tobe supposed that Phileas Fogg regretted them.

CHAPTER XV.
IN WHICH THE BAG OF BANKNOTES DISGORGES SOME THOUSANDS OF POUNDS MORE

The train entered the station, and Passepartout jumping out first, was followedby Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend. Phileas Fogg intendedto proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer, in order to get Aouda comfortablysettled for the voyage. He was unwilling to leave her while they were still ondangerous 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 toPassepartout.

“Yes.”

“Be so good, both of you, as to follow me.”

Mr. Fogg betrayed no surprise whatever. The policeman was a representative ofthe law, and law is sacred to an Englishman. Passepartout tried to reason aboutthe matter, but the policeman tapped him with his stick, and Mr. Fogg made hima signal to obey.

“May this young lady go with us?” asked he.

“She may,” replied the policeman.

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palkigahri, a sort offour-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in which they took their places andwere driven away. No one spoke during the twenty minutes which elapsed beforethey reached their destination. They first passed through the “blacktown,” with its narrow streets, its miserable, dirty huts, and squalidpopulation; then through the “European town,” which presented arelief in its bright brick mansions, shaded by coconut-trees and bristling withmasts, where, although it was early morning, elegantly dressed horsemen andhandsome equipages were passing back and forth.

The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which, however, did nothave the appearance of a private mansion. The policeman having requested hisprisoners—for so, truly, they might be called—to descend, conductedthem into a room with barred windows, and said: “You will appear beforeJudge Obadiah at half-past eight.”

He then retired, and closed the door.

“Why, we are prisoners!” exclaimed Passepartout, falling into achair.

Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg: “Sir, youmust 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 quiteunlikely that he should be arrested for preventing a suttee. The complainantswould 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 toHong 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 tohimself, “Parbleu that’s certain! Before noon we shall be onboard.” But he was by no means reassured.

At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and, requestingthem to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall. It was evidently acourt-room, and a crowd of Europeans and natives already occupied the rear ofthe apartment.

Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a bench opposite the desksof the magistrate and his clerk. Immediately after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, roundman, followed by the clerk, entered. He proceeded to take down a wig which washanging on a nail, and put it hurriedly on his head.

“The first case,” said he. Then, putting his hand to his head, heexclaimed, “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 aclerk’s wig?”

The wigs were exchanged.

Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the big clockover 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 havethe 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 therogues who were going to burn our young lady.”

The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk proceeded toread in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege against Phileas Fogg and hisservant, who were accused of having violated a place held consecrated by theBrahmin religion.

“You hear the charge?” asked the judge.

“Yes, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, “and Iadmit it.”

“You admit it?”

“I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn, whatthey were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji.”

The priests looked at each other; they did not seem to understand what wassaid.

“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 Bombayitself?”

“Bombay?” cried Passepartout.

“Certainly. We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of thepagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay.”

“And as a proof,” added the clerk, “here are thedesecrator’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 thisimprudent 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’sescapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for twelve hours, had consultedthe priests of Malabar Hill. Knowing that the English authorities dealt veryseverely with this kind of misdemeanour, he promised them a goodly sum indamages, and sent them forward to Calcutta by the next train. Owing to thedelay caused by the rescue of the young widow, Fix and the priests reached theIndian capital before Mr. Fogg and his servant, the magistrates having beenalready warned by a dispatch to arrest them should they arrive. Fix’sdisappointment when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his appearance inCalcutta may be imagined. He made up his mind that the robber had stoppedsomewhere on the route and taken refuge in the southern provinces. Fortwenty-four hours Fix watched the station with feverish anxiety; at last he wasrewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and Passepartout arrive, accompanied by a youngwoman, whose presence he was wholly at a loss to explain. He hastened for apoliceman; and this was how the party came to be arrested and brought beforeJudge Obadiah.

Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have espied thedetective ensconced in a corner of the court-room, watching the proceedingswith an interest easily understood; for the warrant had failed to reach him atCalcutta, 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 protectsequally and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as the manPassepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred pagoda of Malabar Hill,at Bombay, on the 20th of October, I condemn the said Passepartout toimprisonment for fifteen days and a fine of three hundred pounds.”

“Three hundred pounds!” cried Passepartout, startled at thelargeness of the sum.

“Silence!” shouted the constable.

“And inasmuch,” continued the judge, “as it is not provedthat the act was not done by the connivance of the master with the servant, andas the master in any case must be held responsible for the acts of his paidservant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a week’s imprisonment and a fine ofone hundred and fifty pounds.”

Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction; if Phileas Fogg could bedetained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than time for the warrant toarrive. Passepartout was stupefied. This sentence ruined his master. A wager oftwenty thousand pounds lost, because he, like a precious fool, had gone intothat abominable pagoda!

Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not in the least concernhim, did not even lift his eyebrows while it was being pronounced. Just as theclerk 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 thejudge announce that the bail required for each prisoner would be one thousandpounds.

“I will pay it at once,” said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank-billsfrom the carpet-bag, which Passepartout had by him, and placing them on theclerk’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 Passepartoutangrily.

“Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!” he muttered, as they were handedto him. “More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides, they pinch myfeet.”

Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed by the crestfallenPassepartout. Fix still nourished hopes that the robber would not, after all,leave the two thousand pounds behind him, but would decide to serve out hisweek in jail, and issued forth on Mr. Fogg’s traces. That gentleman tooka carriage, and the party were soon landed on one of the quays.

The “Rangoon” was moored half a mile off in the harbour, its signalof departure hoisted at the mast-head. Eleven o’clock was striking; Mr.Fogg was an hour in advance of time. Fix saw them leave the carriage and pushoff in a boat for the steamer, and stamped his feet with disappointment.

“The rascal is off, after all!” he exclaimed. “Two thousandpounds sacrificed! He’s as prodigal as a thief! I’ll follow him tothe end of the world if necessary; but, at the rate he is going on, the stolenmoney will soon be exhausted.”

The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture. Since leavingLondon, what with travelling expenses, bribes, the purchase of the elephant,bails, and fines, Mr. Fogg had already spent more than five thousand pounds onthe way, and the percentage of the sum recovered from the bank robber promisedto the detectives, was rapidly diminishing.

CHAPTER XVI.
IN WHICH FIX DOES NOT SEEM TO UNDERSTAND IN THE LEAST WHAT IS SAID TO HIM

The “Rangoon”—one of the Peninsular and OrientalCompany’s boats plying in the Chinese and Japanese seas—was a screwsteamer, built of iron, weighing about seventeen hundred and seventy tons, andwith engines of four hundred horse-power. She was as fast, but not as wellfitted up, as the “Mongolia,” and Aouda was not as comfortablyprovided for on board of her as Phileas Fogg could have wished. However, thetrip from Calcutta to Hong Kong only comprised some three thousand five hundredmiles, occupying from ten to twelve days, and the young woman was not difficultto please.

During the first days of the journey Aouda became better acquainted with herprotector, and constantly gave evidence of her deep gratitude for what he haddone. The phlegmatic gentleman listened to her, apparently at least, withcoldness, neither his voice nor his manner betraying the slightest emotion; buthe seemed to be always on the watch that nothing should be wanting toAouda’s comfort. He visited her regularly each day at certain hours, notso much to talk himself, as to sit and hear her talk. He treated her with thestrictest politeness, but with the precision of an automaton, the movements ofwhich had been arranged for this purpose. Aouda did not quite know what to makeof him, though Passepartout had given her some hints of his master’seccentricity, and made her smile by telling her of the wager which was sendinghim round the world. After all, she owed Phileas Fogg her life, and she alwaysregarded him through the exalting medium of her gratitude.

Aouda confirmed the Parsee guide’s narrative of her touching history. Shedid, indeed, belong to the highest of the native races of India. Many of theParsee merchants have made great fortunes there by dealing in cotton; and oneof 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, whomshe hoped to join at Hong Kong. Whether she would find a protector in him shecould not tell; but Mr. Fogg essayed to calm her anxieties, and to assure herthat everything would be mathematically—he used the veryword—arranged. Aouda fastened her great eyes, “clear as the sacredlakes of the Himalaya,” upon him; but the intractable Fogg, as reservedas ever, did not seem at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.

The first few days of the voyage passed prosperously, amid favourable weatherand propitious winds, and they soon came in sight of the great Andaman, theprincipal of the islands in the Bay of Bengal, with its picturesque SaddlePeak, two thousand four hundred feet high, looming above the waters. Thesteamer passed along near the shores, but the savage Papuans, who are in thelowest scale of humanity, but are not, as has been asserted, cannibals, did notmake their appearance.

The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was superb. Vast forestsof palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic mimosa, and tree-like fernscovered the foreground, while behind, the graceful outlines of the mountainswere traced against the sky; and along the coasts swarmed by thousands theprecious swallows whose nests furnish a luxurious dish to the tables of theCelestial Empire. The varied landscape afforded by the Andaman Islands was soonpassed, however, and the “Rangoon” rapidly approached the Straitsof Malacca, which gave access to the China seas.

What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to country, doingall this while? He had managed to embark on the “Rangoon” atCalcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after leaving orders that, if thewarrant should arrive, it should be forwarded to him at Hong Kong; and he hopedto conceal his presence to the end of the voyage. It would have been difficultto explain why he was on board without awakening Passepartout’ssuspicions, who thought him still at Bombay. But necessity impelled him,nevertheless, to renew his acquaintance with the worthy servant, as will beseen.

All the detective’s hopes and wishes were now centred on Hong Kong; forthe steamer’s stay at Singapore would be too brief to enable him to takeany steps there. The arrest must be made at Hong Kong, or the robber wouldprobably escape him for ever. Hong Kong was the last English ground on which hewould set foot; beyond, China, Japan, America offered to Fogg an almost certainrefuge. If the warrant should at last make its appearance at Hong Kong, Fixcould arrest him and give him into the hands of the local police, and therewould be no further trouble. But beyond Hong Kong, a simple warrant would be ofno avail; an extradition warrant would be necessary, and that would result indelays and obstacles, of which the rascal would take advantage to eludejustice.

Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours which he spent inhis cabin, and kept repeating to himself, “Now, either the warrant willbe at Hong Kong, in which case I shall arrest my man, or it will not be there;and this time it is absolutely necessary that I should delay his departure. Ihave 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 Iprevent 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 ofPassepartout, and tell him what kind of a fellow his master really was. ThatPassepartout was not Fogg’s accomplice, he was very certain. The servant,enlightened by his disclosure, and afraid of being himself implicated in thecrime, would doubtless become an ally of the detective. But this method was adangerous one, only to be employed when everything else had failed. A word fromPassepartout to his master would ruin all. The detective was therefore in asore strait. But suddenly a new idea struck him. The presence of Aouda on the“Rangoon,” in company with Phileas Fogg, gave him new material forreflection.

Who was this woman? What combination of events had made her Fogg’stravelling companion? They had evidently met somewhere between Bombay andCalcutta; but where? Had they met accidentally, or had Fogg gone into theinterior purposely in quest of this charming damsel? Fix was fairly puzzled. Heasked himself whether there had not been a wicked elopement; and this idea soimpressed itself upon his mind that he determined to make use of the supposedintrigue. Whether the young woman were married or not, he would be able tocreate such difficulties for Mr. Fogg at Hong Kong that he could not escape bypaying any amount of money.

But could he even wait till they reached Hong Kong? Fogg had an abominable wayof jumping from one boat to another, and, before anything could be effected,might get full under way 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 thesteamer stopped at Singapore, whence there is a telegraphic wire to Hong Kong.He finally resolved, moreover, before acting more positively, to questionPassepartout. It would not be difficult to make him talk; and, as there was notime 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 upand down in the forward part of the steamer. The detective rushed forward withevery appearance of extreme surprise, and exclaimed, “You here, on the‘Rangoon’?”

“What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?” returned the reallyastonished Passepartout, recognising his crony of the “Mongolia.”“Why, I left you at Bombay, and here you are, on the way to Hong Kong!Are you going round the world too?”

“No, no,” replied Fix; “I shall stop at Hong Kong—atleast 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 leftCalcutta?”

“Oh, a trifle of sea-sickness—I’ve been staying in my berth.The Gulf of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian Ocean. And howis Mr. Fogg?”

“As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time! But, MonsieurFix, you don’t know that we have a young lady with us.”

“A young lady?” replied the detective, not seeming to comprehendwhat was said.

Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda’s history, the affair at theBombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two thousand pounds, therescue, the arrest, and sentence of the Calcutta court, and the restoration ofMr. Fogg and himself to liberty on bail. Fix, who was familiar with the lastevents, seemed to be equally ignorant of all that Passepartout related; and thelater 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 oneof her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong Kong.”

“Nothing to be done there,” said Fix to himself, concealing hisdisappointment. “A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?”

“Willingly, Monsieur Fix. We must at least have a friendly glass on boardthe ‘Rangoon.’”

CHAPTER XVII.
SHOWING WHAT HAPPENED ON THE VOYAGE FROM SINGAPORE TO HONG KONG

The detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this interview, thoughFix was reserved, and did not attempt to induce his companion to divulge anymore facts concerning Mr. Fogg. He caught a glimpse of that mysteriousgentleman 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 handat whist.

Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange chance kept Fixstill on the route that his master was pursuing. It was really worthconsidering why this certainly very amiable and complacent person, whom he hadfirst met at Suez, had then encountered on board the “Mongolia,”who disembarked at Bombay, which he announced as his destination, and nowturned up so unexpectedly on the “Rangoon,” was following Mr.Fogg’s tracks step by step. What was Fix’s object? Passepartout wasready to wager his Indian shoes—which he religiously preserved—thatFix would also leave Hong Kong at the same time with them, and probably on thesame steamer.

Passepartout might have cudgelled his brain for a century without hitting uponthe real object which the detective had in view. He never could have imaginedthat Phileas Fogg was being tracked as a robber around the globe. But, as it isin human nature to attempt the solution of every mystery, Passepartout suddenlydiscovered an explanation of Fix’s movements, which was in truth far fromunreasonable. Fix, he thought, could only be an agent of Mr. Fogg’sfriends at the Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and to ascertain that hereally went round the world as had been agreed upon.

“It’s clear!” repeated the worthy servant to himself, proudof his shrewdness. “He’s a spy sent to keep us in view! Thatisn’t quite the thing, either, to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is sohonourable a man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you dear!”

Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say nothing to hismaster, lest he should be justly offended at this mistrust on the part of hisadversaries. But he determined to chaff Fix, when he had the chance, withmysterious 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 fromSumatra. The mountainous and craggy islets intercepted the beauties of thisnoble island from the view of the travellers. The “Rangoon” weighedanchor at Singapore the next day at four a.m., to receive coal, having gainedhalf a day on the prescribed time of her arrival. Phileas Fogg noted this gainin his journal, and then, accompanied by Aouda, who betrayed a desire for awalk on shore, disembarked.

Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg’s every movement, followed them cautiously,without being himself perceived; while Passepartout, laughing in his sleeve atFix’s manœuvres, 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 bypleasant highways and avenues. A handsome carriage, drawn by a sleek pair ofNew Holland horses, carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda into the midst of rows ofpalms with brilliant foliage, and of clove-trees, whereof the cloves form theheart of a half-open flower. Pepper plants replaced the prickly hedges ofEuropean fields; sago-bushes, large ferns with gorgeous branches, varied theaspect of this tropical clime; while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled theair with a penetrating perfume. Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skippedabout in the trees, nor were tigers wanting in the jungles.

After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr. Fogg returned tothe town, which is a vast collection of heavy-looking, irregular houses,surrounded by charming gardens rich in tropical fruits and plants; and at teno’clock they re-embarked, closely followed by the detective, who had keptthem constantly in sight.

Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes—a fruit aslarge as good-sized apples, of a dark-brown colour outside and a bright redwithin, and whose white pulp, melting in the mouth, affords gourmands adelicious sensation—was waiting for them on deck. He was only too glad tooffer some mangoes to Aouda, who thanked him very gracefully for them.

At eleven o’clock the “Rangoon” rode out of Singaporeharbour, 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 toview. Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred miles from the island of HongKong, which is a little English colony near the Chinese coast. Phileas Fogghoped to accomplish the journey in six days, so as to be in time for thesteamer which would leave on the 6th of November for Yokohama, the principalJapanese port.

The “Rangoon” had a large quota of passengers, many of whomdisembarked at Singapore, among them a number of Indians, Ceylonese, Chinamen,Malays, and Portuguese, mostly second-class travellers.

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the last quarter of themoon. The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at intervals rose almost to a storm,but happily blew from the south-west, and thus aided the steamer’sprogress. The captain as often as possible put up his sails, and under thedouble action of steam and sail the vessel made rapid progress along the coastsof Anam and Cochin China. Owing to the defective construction of the“Rangoon,” however, unusual precautions became necessary inunfavourable weather; but the loss of time which resulted from this cause,while it nearly drove Passepartout out of his senses, did not seem to affecthis master in the least. Passepartout blamed the captain, the engineer, and thecrew, and consigned all who were connected with the ship to the land where thepepper grows. Perhaps the thought of the gas, which was remorselessly burningat 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 forYokohama?”

“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 theFrenchman guessed his real purpose? He knew not what to think. But how couldPassepartout have discovered that he was a detective? Yet, in speaking as hedid, 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 sounfortunate as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?”

“Why,” responded Fix, a little embarrassed, “I don’tknow; 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 hereyou are in China. America is not far off, and from America to Europe is only astep.”

Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was as serene aspossible, and laughed with him. But Passepartout persisted in chaffing him byasking him if he made much by his present occupation.

“Yes, and no,” returned Fix; “there is good and bad luck insuch things. But you must understand that I don’t travel at my ownexpense.”

“Oh, I am quite sure of that!” cried Passepartout, laughingheartily.

Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself up to hisreflections. He was evidently suspected; somehow or other the Frenchman hadfound out that he was a detective. But had he told his master? What part was heplaying in all this: was he an accomplice or not? Was the game, then, up? Fixspent several hours turning these things over in his mind, sometimes thinkingthat all was lost, then persuading himself that Fogg was ignorant of hispresence, and then undecided what course it was best to take.

Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last resolved to dealplainly with Passepartout. If he did not find it practicable to arrest Fogg atHong Kong, and if Fogg made preparations to leave that last foothold of Englishterritory, he, Fix, would tell Passepartout all. Either the servant was theaccomplice 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, andthen his interest would be to abandon the robber.

Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout. Meanwhile Phileas Foggmoved about above them in the most majestic and unconscious indifference. Hewas passing methodically in his orbit around the world, regardless of thelesser stars which gravitated around him. Yet there was near by what theastronomers would call a disturbing star, which might have produced anagitation in this gentleman’s heart. But no! the charms of Aouda failedto act, to Passepartout’s great surprise; and the disturbances, if theyexisted, would have been more difficult to calculate than those of Uranus whichled to the discovery of Neptune.

It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read inAouda’s eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master. Phileas Fogg,though brave and gallant, must be, he thought, quite heartless. As to thesentiment which this journey might have awakened in him, there was clearly notrace 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 theengine, 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. “Weare not going. Oh, these English! If this was an American craft, we should blowup, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!”

CHAPTER XVIII.
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, obstinatelyremaining in the north-west, blew a gale, and retarded the steamer. The“Rangoon” rolled heavily and the passengers became impatient of thelong, monstrous waves which the wind raised before their path. A sort oftempest arose on the 3rd of November, the squall knocking the vessel about withfury, and the waves running high. The “Rangoon” reefed all hersails, and even the rigging proved too much, whistling and shaking amid thesquall. The steamer was forced to proceed slowly, and the captain estimatedthat she would reach Hong Kong twenty hours behind time, and more if the stormlasted.

Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be strugglingespecially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity. He never changedcountenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty hours, by making him toolate for the Yokohama boat, would almost inevitably cause the loss of thewager. But this man of nerve manifested neither impatience nor annoyance; itseemed as if the storm were a part of his programme, and had been foreseen.Aouda was amazed to find him as calm as he had been from the first time she sawhim.

Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light. The storm greatlypleased him. His satisfaction would have been complete had the“Rangoon” been forced to retreat before the violence of wind andwaves. Each delay filled him with hope, for it became more and more probablethat Fogg would be obliged to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now theheavens themselves became his allies, with the gusts and squalls. It matterednot that they made him sea-sick—he made no account of this inconvenience;and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects, his spirit bounded withhopeful exultation.

Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious weather.Everything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had seemed to be at hismaster’s service; steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and steam unitedto speed his journey. Had the hour of adversity come? Passepartout was as muchexcited as if the twenty thousand pounds were to come from his own pocket. Thestorm exasperated him, the gale made him furious, and he longed to lash theobstinate sea into obedience. Poor fellow! Fix carefully concealed from him hisown satisfaction, for, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely haverestrained himself from personal violence.

Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted, being unable toremain quiet below, and taking it into his head to aid the progress of the shipby lending a hand with the crew. He overwhelmed the captain, officers, andsailors, who could not help laughing at his impatience, with all sorts ofquestions. He wanted to know exactly how long the storm was going to last;whereupon he was referred to the barometer, which seemed to have no intentionof rising. Passepartout shook it, but with no perceptible effect; for neithershaking nor maledictions could prevail upon it to change its mind.

On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm lessened itsviolence; the wind veered southward, and was once more favourable. Passepartoutcleared up with the weather. Some of the sails were unfurled, and the“Rangoon” resumed its most rapid speed. The time lost could not,however, be regained. Land was not signalled until five o’clock on themorning of the 6th; the steamer was due on the 5th. Phileas Fogg wastwenty-four hours behind-hand, and the Yokohama steamer would, of course, bemissed.

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 hedared not, for he wished to preserve the spark of hope, which still remainedtill the last moment. He had confided his anxiety to Fix who—the slyrascal!—tried to console him by saying that Mr. Fogg would be in time ifhe took the next boat; but this only put Passepartout in a passion.

Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach the pilot, andtranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would leave Hong Kong forYokohama.

“At high tide to-morrow 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 herdeparture was postponed till to-morrow.”

“Thank you,” returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to thesaloon.

Passepartout clasped the pilot’s hand and shook it heartily in hisdelight, exclaiming, “Pilot, you are the best of good fellows!”

The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses won him thisenthusiastic greeting. He remounted the bridge, and guided the steamer throughthe flotilla of junks, tankas, and fishing boats which crowd the harbour ofHong Kong.

At one o’clock the “Rangoon” was at the quay, and thepassengers were going ashore.

Chance had strangely favoured Phileas Fogg, for had not the“Carnatic” been forced to lie over for repairing her boilers, shewould have left on the 6th of November, and the passengers for Japan would havebeen obliged to await for a week the sailing of the next steamer. Mr. Fogg was,it is true, twenty-four hours behind his time; but this could not seriouslyimperil the remainder of his tour.

The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco made adirect connection with that from Hong Kong, and it could not sail until thelatter reached Yokohama; and if Mr. Fogg was twenty-four hours late on reachingYokohama, this time would no doubt be easily regained in the voyage oftwenty-two days across the Pacific. He found himself, then, about twenty-fourhours behind-hand, thirty-five days after leaving London.

The “Carnatic” was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the nextmorning. 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 ClubHotel. A room was engaged for the young woman, and Mr. Fogg, after seeing thatshe wanted for nothing, set out in search of her cousin Jeejeeh. He instructedPassepartout to remain at the hotel until his return, that Aouda might not beleft entirely alone.

Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt, every one wouldknow so wealthy and considerable a personage as the Parsee merchant. Meeting abroker, he made the inquiry, to learn that Jeejeeh had left China two yearsbefore, and, retiring from business with an immense fortune, had taken up hisresidence in Europe—in Holland the broker thought, with the merchants ofwhich country he had principally traded. Phileas Fogg returned to the hotel,begged a moment’s conversation with Aouda, and without more ado, apprisedher that Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong Kong, but probably in Holland.

Aouda at first said nothing. She passed her hand across her forehead, andreflected a few moments. Then, in her sweet, soft voice, she said: “Whatought I to do, Mr. Fogg?”

“It is very simple,” responded the gentleman. “Go on toEurope.”

“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, wasgoing to continue the journey with them, went off at a brisk gait to obey hismaster’s order.

CHAPTER XIX.
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TAKES A TOO GREAT INTEREST IN HIS MASTER, AND WHAT COMESOF IT

Hong Kong is an island which came into the possession of the English by theTreaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the colonising genius of theEnglish has created upon it an important city and an excellent port. The islandis situated at the mouth of the Canton River, and is separated by about sixtymiles from the Portuguese town of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong hasbeaten Macao in the struggle for the Chinese trade, and now the greater part ofthe transportation of Chinese goods finds its depot at the former place. Docks,hospitals, wharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamisedstreets, give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surreytransferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.

Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the Victoriaport, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other modes ofconveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and Europeans who passed toand fro in the streets. Hong Kong seemed to him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta,and Singapore, since, like them, it betrayed everywhere the evidence of Englishsupremacy. At the Victoria port he found a confused mass of ships of allnations: English, French, American, and Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels,Japanese and Chinese junks, sempas, tankas, and flower-boats, which formed somany floating parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of thenatives who seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into abarber’s to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all atleast eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to wear yellow, whichis the Imperial colour. Passepartout, without exactly knowing why, thought thisvery 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 seemedvery much disturbed and disappointed.

“This is bad,” muttered Passepartout, “for the gentlemen ofthe Reform Club!” He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had notperceived that gentleman’s chagrin. The detective had, indeed, goodreasons to inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him. The warrant had notcome! It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could not now reach HongKong for several days; and, this being the last English territory on Mr.Fogg’s route, the robber would escape, unless he could manage to detainhim.

“Well, Monsieur Fix,” said Passepartout, “have you decided togo with us so far as America?”

“Yes,” returned Fix, through his set teeth.

“Good!” exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. “I knewyou could not persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and engage yourberth.”

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 veryevening, 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. Itseemed to be the only possible means of keeping Phileas Fogg several dayslonger at Hong Kong. He accordingly invited his companion into a tavern whichcaught his eye on the quay. On entering, they found themselves in a large roomhandsomely decorated, at the end of which was a large camp-bed furnished withcushions. Several persons lay upon this bed in a deep sleep. At the smalltables which were arranged about the room some thirty customers were drinkingEnglish beer, porter, gin, and brandy; smoking, the while, long red clay pipesstuffed with little balls of opium mingled with essence of rose. From time totime one of the smokers, overcome with the narcotic, would slip under thetable, whereupon the waiters, taking him by the head and feet, carried and laidhim 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 thosewretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures to whom the English merchants sellevery year the miserable drug called opium, to the amount of one million fourhundred thousand pounds—thousands devoted to one of the most despicablevices which afflict humanity! The Chinese government has in vain attempted todeal with the evil by stringent laws. It passed gradually from the rich, towhom it was at first exclusively reserved, to the lower classes, and then itsravages could not be arrested. Opium is smoked everywhere, at all times, by menand women, in the Celestial Empire; and, once accustomed to it, the victimscannot dispense with it, except by suffering horrible bodily contortions andagonies. A great smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a day; but he dies infive years. It was in one of these dens that Fix and Passepartout, in search ofa friendly glass, found themselves. Passepartout had no money, but willinglyaccepted Fix’s invitation in the hope of returning the obligation at somefuture time.

They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did ample justice,whilst Fix observed him with close attention. They chatted about the journey,and Passepartout was especially merry at the idea that Fix was going tocontinue it with them. When the bottles were empty, however, he rose to go andtell 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 winethat was left in the bottom of his glass. “Well, we’ll talk aboutit to-morrow; I haven’t time now.”

“Stay! What I have to say concerns your master.”

Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix’s faceseemed 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. Butgo on, go on. First, though, let me tell you that those gentlemen have putthemselves to a useless expense.”

“Useless!” said Fix. “You speak confidently. It’s clearthat you don’t know how large the sum is.”

“Of course I do,” returned Passepartout. “Twenty thousandpounds.”

“Fifty-five thousand!” answered Fix, pressing his companion’shand.

“What!” cried the Frenchman. “Has Monsieur Foggdared—fifty-five thousand pounds! Well, there’s all the more reasonfor not losing an instant,” he continued, getting up hastily.

Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed: “Fifty-fivethousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds. If you’llhelp 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 withfollowing my master and suspecting his honour, but they must try to putobstacles in his way! I blush for them!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as wellwaylay 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 becamemore and more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank withoutperceiving it. “A real conspiracy! And gentlemen, too. Bah!”

Fix began to be puzzled.

“Members of the Reform Club!” continued Passepartout. “Youmust know, Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that, when hemakes 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 tointerrupt 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 spokeagain. What should he do? Passepartout’s mistake seemed sincere, but itmade his design more difficult. It was evident that the servant was not themaster’s accomplice, as Fix had been inclined to suspect.

“Well,” said the detective to himself, “as he is not anaccomplice, he will help me.”

He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he resolved tomake 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, ofwhich you and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive forsecuring your innocent complicity.”

“But why?”

“Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five thousandpounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose description wasfortunately secured. Here is his description; it answers exactly to that of Mr.Phileas Fogg.”

“What nonsense!” cried Passepartout, striking the table with hisfist. “My master is the most honourable of men!”

“How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went intohis 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 boldenough 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 wereagainst him! Passepartout essayed to reject the suspicions which forcedthemselves upon his mind; he did not wish to believe that his master wasguilty.

“Well, what do you want of me?” said he, at last, with an effort.

“See here,” replied Fix; “I have tracked Mr. Fogg to thisplace, but as yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which Isent 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 Bankof 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 betrue—if my master is really the robber you are seeking for—which Ideny—I have been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity andgoodness; 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 letus 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, wishedto entirely overcome him. Some pipes full of opium lay upon the table. Fixslipped one into Passepartout’s hand. He took it, put it between hislips, lit it, drew several puffs, and his head, becoming heavy under theinfluence 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 XX.
IN WHICH FIX COMES FACE TO FACE WITH PHILEAS FOGG

While these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg, unconscious ofthe danger he was in of losing the steamer, was quietly escorting Aouda aboutthe streets of the English quarter, making the necessary purchases for the longvoyage before them. It was all very well for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg tomake the tour of the world with a carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected totravel comfortably under such conditions. He acquitted his task withcharacteristic serenity, and invariably replied to the remonstrances of hisfair companion, who was confused by his patience and generosity:

“It is in the interest of my journey—a part of my programme.”

The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at asumptuously served table-d’hôte; after which Aouda, shaking handswith her protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for rest. Mr.Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal of the Timesand Illustrated London News.

Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been not tosee his servant return at bedtime. But, knowing that the steamer was not toleave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did not disturb himself about thematter. When Passepartout did not appear the next morning to answer hismaster’s bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying the least vexation, contentedhimself with taking his carpet-bag, 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 harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got intothe palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and half anhour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark. Mr. Fogg thenlearned that the “Carnatic” had sailed the evening before. He hadexpected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was forced to giveup both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his face, and he merelyremarked to Aouda, “It is an accident, madam; nothing more.”

At this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached. It wasFix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: “Were you not, like me, sir, apassenger by the ‘Rangoon,’ which arrived yesterday?”

“I was, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg coldly. “But I have not thehonour—”

“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 withyou?”

“No,” said Aouda. “He has not made his appearance sinceyesterday. Could he have gone on board the ‘Carnatic’ withoutus?”

“Without you, madam?” answered the detective. “Excuse me, didyou 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 twelvehours before the stated time, without any notice being given; and we must nowwait a week for another steamer.”

As he said “a week” Fix felt his heart leap for joy. Fogg detainedat Hong Kong for a week! There would be time for the warrant to arrive, andfortune at last favoured the representative of the law. His horror may beimagined when he heard Mr. Fogg say, in his placid voice, “But there areother vessels besides the ‘Carnatic,’ it seems to me, in theharbour of Hong Kong.”

And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps toward the docks insearch of some craft about to start. Fix, stupefied, followed; it seemed as ifhe were attached to Mr. Fogg by an invisible thread. Chance, however, appearedreally to have abandoned the man it had hitherto served so well. For threehours Phileas Fogg wandered about the docks, with the determination, ifnecessary, to charter a vessel to carry him to Yokohama; but he could only findvessels which were loading or unloading, and which could not therefore setsail. Fix began to hope again.

But Mr. Fogg, far from being discouraged, was continuing his search, resolvednot to stop if he had to resort to Macao, when he was accosted by a sailor onone of the wharves.

“Is your honour looking for a boat?”

“Have you a boat ready to sail?”

“Yes, your honour; a pilot-boat—No. 43—the best in theharbour.”

“Does she go fast?”

“Between eight and nine knots the hour. Will you look at her?”

“Yes.”

“Your honour will be satisfied with her. Is it for a seaexcursion?”

“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, “Isyour honour joking?”

“No. I have missed the ‘Carnatic,’ and I must get to Yokohamaby 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 twohundred 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, evidentlystruggling between the anxiety to gain a large sum and the fear of venturing sofar. Fix was in mortal suspense.

Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, “You would not be afraid, wouldyou, 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 honour,” replied he, “I could not risk myself, mymen, or my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage at this timeof year. Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in time, for it is sixteenhundred 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 anotherway.”

Fix ceased to breathe at all.

“How?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“By going to Nagasaki, at the extreme south of Japan, or even toShanghai, which is only eight hundred miles from here. In going to Shanghai weshould not be forced to sail wide of the Chinese coast, which would be a greatadvantage, as the currents run northward, and would aid us.”

“Pilot,” said Mr. Fogg, “I must take the American steamer atYokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki.”

“Why not?” returned the pilot. “The San Francisco steamerdoes not start from Yokohama. It puts in at Yokohama and Nagasaki, but itstarts 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 daysbefore us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time, if we had good luck anda south-west wind, and the sea was calm, we could make those eight hundredmiles to Shanghai.”

“And you could go—”

“In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard and the sails putup.”

“It is a bargain. Are you the master of the boat?”

“Yes; John Bunsby, master of the ‘Tankadere.’”

“Would you like some earnest-money?”

“If it would not put your honour 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 favour.”

“Very well. In half an hour we shall go on board.”

“But poor Passepartout?” urged Aouda, who was much disturbed by theservant’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 othersdirected their course to the police-station at Hong Kong. Phileas Fogg theregave Passepartout’s description, and left a sum of money to be spent inthe search for him. The same formalities having been gone through at the Frenchconsulate, and the palanquin having stopped at the hotel for the luggage, whichhad 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, asgracefully built as if she were a racing yacht. Her shining copper sheathing,her galvanised iron-work, her deck, white as ivory, betrayed the pride taken byJohn Bunsby in making her presentable. Her two masts leaned a trifle backward;she carried brigantine, foresail, storm-jib, and standing-jib, and was wellrigged for running before the wind; and she seemed capable of brisk speed,which, indeed, she had already proved by gaining several prizes in pilot-boatraces. The crew of the “Tankadere” was composed of John Bunsby, themaster, and four hardy mariners, who were familiar with the Chinese seas. JohnBunsby, himself, a man of forty-five or thereabouts, vigorous, sunburnt, with asprightly 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 ofcots, above a circular divan; in the centre was a table provided with aswinging lamp. The accommodation was confined, but neat.

“I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you,” said Mr. Fogg toFix, who bowed without responding.

The detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting by the kindness ofMr. Fogg.

“It’s certain,” thought he, “though rascal as he is, heis a polite one!”

The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past three. Mr. Foggand Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a last glance at the quay, in the hopeof espying Passepartout. Fix was not without his fears lest chance shoulddirect the steps of the unfortunate servant, whom he had so badly treated, inthis direction; in which case an explanation the reverse of satisfactory to thedetective must have ensued. But the Frenchman did not appear, and, withoutdoubt, was still lying under the stupefying influence of the opium.

John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start, and the“Tankadere,” taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail, andstanding-jib, bounded briskly forward over the waves.

CHAPTER XXI.
IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE “TANKADERE” RUNS GREAT RISK OF LOSING AREWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS

This voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture on a craft of twentytons, and at that season of the year. The Chinese seas are usually boisterous,subject to terrible gales of wind, and especially during the equinoxes; and itwas now early November.

It would clearly have been to the master’s advantage to carry hispassengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day; but he wouldhave been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudent even to attemptto 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, andthe “Tankadere,” impelled by favourable winds, conducted herselfadmirably.

“I do not need, pilot,” said Phileas Fogg, when they got into theopen sea, “to advise you to use all possible speed.”

“Trust me, your honour. We are carrying all the sail the wind will letus. The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we are going intoport.”

“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 wasseated aft, was profoundly affected as she looked out upon the ocean, darkeningnow with the twilight, on which she had ventured in so frail a vessel. Aboveher head rustled the white sails, which seemed like great white wings. Theboat, carried forward by the wind, seemed to be flying in the air.

Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter, and her insufficient lightwould soon die out in the mist on the horizon. Clouds were rising from theeast, and already overcast a part of the heavens.

The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in these seascrowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions are not uncommonoccurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the least shock would shatter thegallant little craft.

Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept apart from hisfellow-travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg’s taciturn tastes; besides, he didnot quite like to talk to the man whose favours he had accepted. He wasthinking, too, of the future. It seemed certain that Fogg would not stop atYokohama, but would at once take the boat for San Francisco; and the vastextent of America would ensure him impunity and safety. Fogg’s planappeared to him the simplest in the world. Instead of sailing directly fromEngland to the United States, like a common villain, he had traversed threequarters of the globe, so as to gain the American continent more surely; andthere, after throwing the police off his track, he would quietly enjoy himselfwith the fortune stolen from the bank. But, once in the United States, whatshould he, Fix, do? Should he abandon this man? No, a hundred times no! Untilhe had secured his extradition, he would not lose sight of him for an hour. Itwas his duty, and he would fulfil it to the end. At all events, there was onething to be thankful for; Passepartout was not with his master; and it wasabove all important, after the confidences Fix had imparted to him, that theservant should never have speech with his master.

Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so strangelydisappeared. Looking at the matter from every point of view, it did not seem tohim impossible that, by some mistake, the man might have embarked on the“Carnatic” at the last moment; and this was also Aouda’sopinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy fellow to whom she owedso much. They might then find him at Yokohama; for, if the“Carnatic” was carrying him thither, it would be easy to ascertainif he had been on board.

A brisk breeze arose about ten o’clock; but, though it might have beenprudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after carefully examining the heavens,let the craft remain rigged as before. The “Tankadere” bore sailadmirably, as she drew a great deal of water, and everything was prepared forhigh speed in case of a gale.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight, having been alreadypreceded by Fix, who had lain down on one of the cots. The pilot and crewremained on deck all night.

At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had made more thanone hundred miles. The log indicated a mean speed of between eight and ninemiles. The “Tankadere” still carried all sail, and wasaccomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind held as it was, thechances would be in her favour. During the day she kept along the coast, wherethe currents were favourable; the coast, irregular in profile, and visiblesometimes across the clearings, was at most five miles distant. The sea wasless boisterous, since the wind came off land—a fortunate circumstancefor the boat, which would suffer, owing to its small tonnage, by a heavy surgeon the sea.

The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the south-west. Thepilot put up his poles, but took them down again within two hours, as the windfreshened up anew.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the sea, ate with agood appetite, Fix being invited to share their repast, which he accepted withsecret chagrin. To travel at this man’s expense and live upon hisprovisions was not palatable to him. Still, he was obliged to eat, and so heate.

When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said,“sir”—this “sir” scorched his lips, and he had tocontrol himself to avoid collaring this“gentleman”—“sir, you have been very kind to give me apassage on this boat. But, though my means will not admit of my expending themas 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 areply. “This enters into my general expenses.”

Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward, where he ensconcedhimself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.

Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was in high hope. Heseveral times assured Mr. Fogg that they would reach Shanghai in time; to whichthat gentleman responded that he counted upon it. The crew set to work in goodearnest, inspired by the reward to be gained. There was not a sheet which wasnot tightened, not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted; not a lurch couldbe charged to the man at the helm. They worked as desperately as if they werecontesting in a Royal yacht regatta.

By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had beenaccomplished from Hong Kong, and Mr. Fogg might hope that he would be able toreach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal; in which case, themany misadventures which had overtaken him since he left London would notseriously affect his journey.

The “Tankadere” entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate theisland of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours of the night, andcrossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very rough in the straits, full ofeddies formed by the counter-currents, and the chopping waves broke her course,whilst it became very difficult to stand on deck.

At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens seemed topredict a gale. The barometer announced a speedy change, the mercury rising andfalling capriciously; the sea also, in the south-east, raised long surges whichindicated a tempest. The sun had set the evening before in a red mist, in themidst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.

John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the heavens, mutteringindistinctly between his teeth. At last he said in a low voice to Mr. Fogg,“Shall I speak out to your honour?”

“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 usforward.”

“Oh, if you take it that way,” said John Bunsby, “I’venothing more to say.” John Bunsby’s suspicions were confirmed. At aless advanced season of the year the typhoon, according to a famousmeteorologist, would have passed away like a luminous cascade of electricflame; but in the winter equinox it was to be feared that it would burst uponthem with great violence.

The pilot took his precautions in advance. He reefed all sail, the pole-mastswere dispensed with; all hands went forward to the bows. A single triangularsail, of strong canvas, was hoisted as a storm-jib, so as to hold the wind frombehind. Then they waited.

John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but this imprisonment inso narrow a space, with little air, and the boat bouncing in the gale, was farfrom 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 featherby a wind, an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To compare herspeed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam would be below thetruth.

The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on by monstrouswaves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal to theirs. Twenty timesshe seemed almost to be submerged by these mountains of water which rose behindher; but the adroit management of the pilot saved her. The passengers wereoften bathed in spray, but they submitted to it philosophically. Fix cursed it,no doubt; but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector, whose coolnessamazed her, showed herself worthy of him, and bravely weathered the storm. Asfor Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of hisprogramme.

Up to this time the “Tankadere” had always held her course to thenorth; but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore down from thenorth-west. The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves, shook and rolledterribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence. At night the tempestincreased in violence. John Bunsby saw the approach of darkness and the risingof the storm with dark misgivings. He thought awhile, and then asked his crewif it was not time to slacken speed. After a consultation he approached Mr.Fogg, and said, “I think, your honour, that we should do well to make forone 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 realise somuch determination and tenacity. Then he cried, “Well—yes! Yourhonour 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 notfounder. Twice it could have been all over with her if the crew had not beenconstantly 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 windnow returned to the south-east. It was a favourable change, and the“Tankadere” again bounded forward on this mountainous sea, thoughthe waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and counter-shocks whichwould have crushed a craft less solidly built. From time to time the coast wasvisible 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 thesun descended toward the horizon. The tempest had been as brief as terrific.The passengers, thoroughly exhausted, could now eat a little, and take somerepose.

The night was comparatively quiet. Some of the sails were again hoisted, andthe speed of the boat was very good. The next morning at dawn they espied thecoast, and John Bunsby was able to assert that they were not one hundred milesfrom Shanghai. A hundred miles, and only one day to traverse them! That veryevening Mr. Fogg was due at Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss the steamer toYokohama. Had there been no storm, during which several hours were lost, theywould be at this moment within thirty miles of their destination.

The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it. All sailswere now hoisted, and at noon the “Tankadere” was within forty-fivemiles of Shanghai. There remained yet six hours in which to accomplish thatdistance. All on board feared that it could not be done, and everyone—Phileas Fogg, no doubt, excepted—felt his heart beat withimpatience. The boat must keep up an average of nine miles an hour, and thewind was becoming calmer every moment! It was a capricious breeze, coming fromthe coast, and after it passed the sea became smooth. Still, the“Tankadere” was so light, and her fine sails caught the ficklezephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the currents John Bunsby found himselfat 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 theywere still three miles from Shanghai. The pilot swore an angry oath; the rewardof two hundred pounds was evidently on the point of escaping him. He looked atMr. Fogg. Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil; and yet his whole fortune was atthis 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 forYokohama at the appointed time.

“Confound her!” cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder with adesperate 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 thepilot 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, itwas hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it, would change her course alittle, so as to succour the pilot-boat.

“Fire!” said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little cannonresounded in the air.

CHAPTER XXII.
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES, IT IS CONVENIENTTO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE’S POCKET

The “Carnatic,” setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the7th of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan. She carried alarge cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers. Two state-rooms in the rearwere, however, unoccupied—those which had been engaged by Phileas Fogg.

The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait, anddisordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to totter to aseat on deck.

It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows: Shortly afterFix 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, andstruggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic. The thought of aduty unfulfilled shook off his torpor, and he hurried from the abode ofdrunkenness. Staggering and holding himself up by keeping against the walls,falling down and creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind ofinstinct, 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 crossedit, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the “Carnatic” wasmoving off. Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this sort ofscene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin, and Passepartoutdid not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles away from China. Thushe found himself the next morning on the deck of the “Carnatic,”and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze. The pure air sobered him. Hebegan to collect his sense, which he found a difficult task; but at last herecalled the events of the evening before, Fix’s revelation, and theopium-house.

“It is evident,” said he to himself, “that I have beenabominably drunk! What will Mr. Fogg say? At least I have not missed thesteamer, which is the most important thing.”

Then, as Fix occurred to him: “As for that rascal, I hope we are well ridof 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 ofrobbing the Bank of England! Pshaw! Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am amurderer.”

Should he divulge Fix’s real errand to his master? Would it do to tellthe 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 themetropolitan police had been following him round the world, and have a goodlaugh over it? No doubt; at least, it was worth considering. The first thing todo was to find Mr. Fogg, and apologise for his singular behaviour.

Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with the rolling of thesteamer, to the after-deck. He saw no one who resembled either his master orAouda. “Good!” muttered he; “Aouda has not got up yet, andMr. 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 state-room. Thepurser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of Fogg.

“I beg your pardon,” said Passepartout persistently. “He is atall gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a younglady—”

“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. Allat 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 timeof sailing had been changed, that he should have informed his master of thatfact, and that he had not done so. It was his fault, then, that Mr. Fogg andAouda had missed the steamer. Yes, but it was still more the fault of thetraitor who, in order to separate him from his master, and detain the latter atHong Kong, had inveigled him into getting drunk! He now saw thedetective’s trick; and at this moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, hisbet was lost, and he himself perhaps arrested and imprisoned! At this thoughtPassepartout tore his hair. Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what asettling of accounts there would be!

After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to study hissituation. It was certainly not an enviable one. He found himself on the way toJapan, and what should he do when he got there? His pocket was empty; he hadnot a solitary shilling, not so much as a penny. His passage had fortunatelybeen paid for in advance; and he had five or six days in which to decide uponhis 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 travellers between North America, China, Japan, and theOriental islands put in. It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and at but a shortdistance from that second capital of the Japanese Empire, and the residence ofthe Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor,absorbed his office in his own. The “Carnatic” anchored at the quaynear the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd of ships bearing the flags ofall nations.

Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of the Sons ofthe Sun. He had nothing better to do than, taking chance for his guide, towander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama. He found himself at first ina thoroughly European quarter, the houses having low fronts, and being adornedwith verandas, beneath which he caught glimpses of neat peristyles. Thisquarter occupied, with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, all thespace between the “promontory of the Treaty” and the river. Here,as at Hong Kong and Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races, Americans andEnglish, 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 downin the midst of Hottentots.

He had, at least, one resource,—to call on the French and English consulsat Yokohama for assistance. But he shrank from telling the story of hisadventures, intimately connected as it was with that of his master; and, beforedoing so, he determined to exhaust all other means of aid. As chance did notfavour him in the European quarter, he penetrated that inhabited by the nativeJapanese, determined, if necessary, to push on to Yeddo.

The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess of thesea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There Passepartout beheldbeautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of a singular architecture,bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by immensecedar-trees, holy retreats where were sheltered Buddhist priests and sectariesof Confucius, and interminable streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tintedand red-cheeked children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanesescreens, and who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles andyellowish cats, might have been gathered.

The streets were crowded with people. Priests were passing in processions,beating their dreary tambourines; police and custom-house officers with pointedhats encrusted with lac and carrying two sabres hung to their waists; soldiers,clad in blue cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns; the Mikado’sguards, enveloped in silken doubles, hauberks and coats of mail; and numbers ofmilitary folk of all ranks—for the military profession is as muchrespected in Japan as it is despised in China—went hither and thither ingroups and pairs. Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims,and simple civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads, longbusts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying from copper-colourto a dead white, but never yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the Japanesewidely differ. He did not fail to observe the curious equipages—carriagesand palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and litters made of bamboo; northe women—whom he thought not especially handsome—who took littlesteps with their little feet, whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals,and clogs of worked wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests,teeth fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in anenormous knot behind an ornament which the modern Parisian ladies seem to haveborrowed 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 jewelleryestablishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the restaurantsdecked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses, where the odorous beveragewas being drunk with “saki,” a liquor concocted from thefermentation of rice, and the comfortable smoking-houses, where they werepuffing, not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a very fine, stringytobacco. He went on till he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vastrice plantations. There he saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves, withflowers which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes, not on bushes,but on trees, and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum, and apple trees,which the Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit, andwhich queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows protected from the sparrows,pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds. On the branches of the cedars wereperched large eagles; amid the foliage of the weeping willows were herons,solemnly standing on one leg; and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wildbirds, and a multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred, and whichto their minds symbolise long life and prosperity.

As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among the shrubs.

“Good!” said he; “I’ll have some supper.”

But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless.

“No chance there,” thought he.

The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as hearty a breakfast aspossible before leaving the “Carnatic;” but, as he had been walkingabout all day, the demands of hunger were becoming importunate. He observedthat the butchers stalls contained neither mutton, goat, nor pork; and, knowingalso that it is a sacrilege to kill cattle, which are preserved solely forfarming, he made up his mind that meat was far from plentiful inYokohama—nor was he mistaken; and, in default of butcher’s meat, hecould have wished for a quarter of wild boar or deer, a partridge, or somequails, some game or fish, which, with rice, the Japanese eat almostexclusively. But he found it necessary to keep up a stout heart, and topostpone the meal he craved till the following morning. Night came, andPassepartout re-entered the native quarter, where he wandered through thestreets, lit by vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers, who wereexecuting skilful steps and boundings, and the astrologers who stood in theopen air with their telescopes. Then he came to the harbour, which was lit upby the resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from their boats.

The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of which, intheir splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites, Passepartout thoughtseemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling crowd. Each time a companypassed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to himself: “Good! anotherJapanese embassy departing for Europe!”

CHAPTER XXIII.
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT’S NOSE BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG

The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself that hemust 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 neverhe must use the strong, if not melodious voice which nature had bestowed uponhim. He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to try them uponthe Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since they were for ever pounding ontheir cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate Europeantalent.

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert, and theaudience prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not possibly pay theirentertainer with coin bearing the Mikado’s features. Passepartouttherefore decided to wait several hours; and, as he was sauntering along, itoccurred to him that he would seem rather too well dressed for a wanderingartist. The idea struck him to change his garments for clothes more in harmonywith his project; by which he might also get a little money to satisfy theimmediate cravings of hunger. The resolution taken, it remained to carry itout.

It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a native dealer inold clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange. The man liked the Europeancostume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his shop accoutred in an oldJapanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban, faded with long use. A few smallpieces of silver, moreover, jingled in his pocket.

“Good!” thought he. “I will imagine I am at theCarnival!”

His first care, after being thus “Japanesed,” was to enter atea-house of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, tobreakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved.

“Now,” thought he, when he had eaten heartily, “Imustn’t lose my head. I can’t sell this costume again for one stillmore Japanese. I must consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which Ishall not retain the most delightful of memories, as quickly aspossible.”

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 andmeals. Once at San Francisco, he would find some means of going on. Thedifficulty was, how to traverse the four thousand seven hundred miles of thePacific which lay between Japan and the New World.

Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed his stepstowards the docks. But, as he approached them, his project, which at first hadseemed so simple, began to grow more and more formidable to his mind. What needwould they have of a cook or servant on an American steamer, and whatconfidence would they put in him, dressed as he was? What references could hegive?

As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense placard whicha sort of clown was carrying through the streets. This placard, which was inEnglish, read as follows:

ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE,
HONOURABLE 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 justwhat I want!”

He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the Japanesequarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a large cabin, adornedwith several clusters of streamers, the exterior walls of which were designedto represent, in violent colours and without perspective, a company ofjugglers.

This was the Honourable William Batulcar’s establishment. That gentlemanwas 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 theStates of the Union.

Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway appeared inperson.

“What do you want?” said he to Passepartout, whom he at first tookfor a native.

“Would you like a servant, sir?” asked Passepartout.

“A servant!” cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beardwhich hung from his chin. “I already have two who are obedient andfaithful, have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment and here theyare,” added he, holding out his two robust arms, furrowed with veins aslarge 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 Honourable Mr. Batulcar. “You are no more aJapanese than I am a monkey! Who 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 nationalityshould cause this question, “we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces, itis 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 partsFrench clowns.”

“Ah!”

“You are pretty strong, eh?”

“Especially after a good meal.”

“And you can sing?”

“Yes,” returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to sing inthe streets.

“But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on your leftfoot, and a sabre balanced on your right?”

“Humph! I think so,” replied Passepartout, recalling the exercisesof his younger days.

“Well, that’s enough,” said the Honourable William Batulcar.

The engagement was concluded there and then.

Passepartout had at last found something to do. He was engaged to act in thecelebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a very dignified position, but within aweek he would be on his way to San Francisco.

The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, was tocommence at three o’clock, and soon the deafening instruments of aJapanese orchestra resounded at the door. Passepartout, though he had not beenable to study or rehearse a part, was designated to lend the aid of his sturdyshoulders in the great exhibition of the “human pyramid,” executedby the Long Noses of the god Tingou. This “great attraction” was toclose the performance.

Before three o’clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators,comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women andchildren, who precipitated themselves upon the narrow benches and into theboxes opposite the stage. The musicians took up a position inside, and werevigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams, flutes, bones, tambourines, andimmense drums.

The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be confessedthat the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world.

One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful trick of thebutterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air, with the odorous smokeof his pipe, a series of blue words, which composed a compliment to theaudience; while a third juggled with some lighted candles, which heextinguished successively as they passed his lips, and relit again withoutinterrupting for an instant his juggling. Another reproduced the most singularcombinations with a spinning-top; in his hands the revolving tops seemed to beanimated with a life of their own in their interminable whirling; they ran overpipe-stems, the edges of sabres, wires and even hairs stretched across thestage; they turned around on the edges of large glasses, crossed bambooladders, dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange musical effectsby the combination of their various pitches of tone. The jugglers tossed themin the air, threw them like shuttlecocks with wooden battledores, and yet theykept on spinning; they put them into their pockets, and took them out stillwhirling as before.

It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats andgymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, &c., was executedwith wonderful precision.

But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a show towhich Europe is as yet a stranger.

The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage of the godTingou. Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages, they bore upon theirshoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what especially distinguished them wasthe long noses which were fastened to their faces, and the uses which they madeof them. These noses were made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feetlong, some straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitationwarts upon them. It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their realnoses, that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen of thesesectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others, dressed torepresent lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their noses, jumping from oneto another, and performing the most skilful leapings and somersaults.

As a last scene, a “human pyramid” had been announced, in whichfifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But, instead offorming a pyramid by mounting each other’s shoulders, the artists were togroup themselves on top of the noses. It happened that the performer who hadhitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the troupe, and as, to fillthis part, only strength and adroitness were necessary, Passepartout had beenchosen to take his place.

The poor fellow really felt sad when—melancholy reminiscence of hisyouth!—he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, andfastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he cheered upwhen 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 composethe base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all stretched themselves on the floor,their noses pointing to the ceiling. A second group of artists disposedthemselves 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 aroseon top of the noses. This elicited loud applause, in the midst of which theorchestra was just striking up a deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, thebalance was lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and thehuman monument was shattered like a castle built of cards!

It was Passepartout’s fault. Abandoning his position, clearing thefootlights without the aid of his wings, and, clambering up to the right-handgallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators, crying, “Ah, mymaster! 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 tothe outside, where they encountered the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, furious withrage. He demanded damages for the “breakage” of the pyramid; andPhileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful of banknotes.

At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda, followed byPassepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings, and nose six feet long,stepped upon the American steamer.

CHAPTER XXIV.
DURING WHICH MR. FOGG AND PARTY CROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN

What happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai will be easilyguessed. The signals made by the “Tankadere” had been seen by thecaptain of the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag at half-mast, haddirected his course towards the little craft. Phileas Fogg, after paying thestipulated price of his passage to John Busby, and rewarding that worthy withthe additional sum of five hundred and fifty pounds, ascended the steamer withAouda and Fix; and they started at once for Nagasaki and Yokohama.

They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of November. PhileasFogg lost no time in going on board the “Carnatic,” where helearned, to Aouda’s great delight—and perhaps to his own, though hebetrayed no emotion—that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived onher the day before.

The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening, and itbecame necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay. Mr. Foggapplied in vain to the French and English consuls, and, after wandering throughthe 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 HonourableMr. Batulcar’s theatre. He certainly would not have recognisedPassepartout in the eccentric mountebank’s costume; but the latter, lyingon 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 recounted to him what had takenplace 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 thatthe time had not yet arrived to divulge to his master what had taken placebetween the detective and himself; and, in the account he gave of his absence,he simply excused himself for having been overtaken by drunkenness, in smokingopium at a tavern in Hong Kong.

Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then furnished hisman 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 belongedto the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was named the “GeneralGrant.” She was a large paddle-wheel steamer of two thousand five hundredtons; well equipped and very fast. The massive walking-beam rose and fell abovethe deck; at one end a piston-rod worked up and down; and at the other was aconnecting-rod which, in changing the rectilinear motion to a circular one, wasdirectly connected with the shaft of the paddles. The “GeneralGrant” was rigged with three masts, giving a large capacity for sails,and thus materially aiding the steam power. By making twelve miles an hour, shewould cross the ocean in twenty-one days. Phileas Fogg was therefore justifiedin hoping that he would reach San Francisco by the 2nd of December, New York bythe 11th, and London on the 20th—thus gaining several hours on the fataldate of the 21st of December.

There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them English, manyAmericans, a large number of coolies on their way to California, and severalEast Indian officers, who were spending their vacation in making the tour ofthe world. Nothing of moment happened on the voyage; the steamer, sustained onits large paddles, rolled but little, and the “Pacific” almostjustified its name. Mr. Fogg was as calm and taciturn as ever. His youngcompanion felt herself more and more attached to him by other ties thangratitude; his silent but generous nature impressed her more than she thought;and it was almost unconsciously that she yielded to emotions which did not seemto have the least effect upon her protector. Aouda took the keenest interest inhis plans, and became impatient at any incident which seemed likely to retardhis journey.

She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive the state ofthe lady’s heart; and, being the most faithful of domestics, he neverexhausted his eulogies of Phileas Fogg’s honesty, generosity, anddevotion. He took pains to calm Aouda’s doubts of a successfultermination of the journey, telling her that the most difficult part of it hadpassed, that now they were beyond the fantastic countries of Japan and China,and were fairly on their way to civilised places again. A railway train fromSan Francisco to New York, and a transatlantic steamer from New York toLiverpool, would doubtless bring them to the end of this impossible journeyround the world within the period agreed upon.

On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed exactly onehalf of the terrestrial globe. The “General Grant” passed, on the23rd of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and was at the veryantipodes of London. Mr. Fogg had, it is true, exhausted fifty-two of theeighty days in which he was to complete the tour, and there were onlytwenty-eight left. But, though he was only half-way by the difference ofmeridians, he had really gone over two-thirds of the whole journey; for he hadbeen obliged to make long circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay,from Calcutta to Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama. Could he havefollowed without deviation the fiftieth parallel, which is that of London, thewhole distance would only have been about twelve thousand miles; whereas hewould be forced, by the irregular methods of locomotion, to traverse twenty-sixthousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of November, accomplished seventeenthousand five hundred. And now the course was a straight one, and Fix was nolonger there to put obstacles in their way!

It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout made a joyfuldiscovery. It will be remembered that the obstinate fellow had insisted onkeeping his famous family watch at London time, and on regarding that of thecountries he had passed through as quite false and unreliable. Now, on thisday, though he had not changed the hands, he found that his watch exactlyagreed with the ship’s chronometers. His triumph was hilarious. He wouldhave 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 morelikely! If one listened to that sort of people, a pretty sort of time one wouldkeep! I was sure that the sun would some day regulate itself by mywatch!”

Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had been divided intotwenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, he would have no reason forexultation; for the hands of his watch would then, instead of as now indicatingnine o’clock in the morning, indicate nine o’clock in the evening,that is, the twenty-first hour after midnight precisely the difference betweenLondon time and that of the one hundred and eightieth meridian. But if Fix hadbeen able to explain this purely physical effect, Passepartout would not haveadmitted, even if he had comprehended it. Moreover, if the detective had beenon board at that moment, Passepartout would have joined issue with him on aquite 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 meetagain during the day, had repaired at once to the English consulate, where heat last found the warrant of arrest. It had followed him from Bombay, and hadcome by the “Carnatic,” on which steamer he himself was supposed tobe. Fix’s disappointment may be imagined when he reflected that thewarrant was now useless. Mr. Fogg had left English ground, and it was nownecessary to procure his extradition!

“Well,” thought Fix, after a moment of anger, “my warrant isnot good here, but it will be in England. The rogue evidently intends to returnto his own country, thinking he has thrown the police off his track. Good! Iwill follow him across the Atlantic. As for the money, heaven grant there maybe some left! But the fellow has already spent in travelling, rewards, trials,bail, elephants, and all sorts of charges, more than five thousand pounds. Yet,after all, the Bank is rich!”

His course decided on, he went on board the “General Grant,” andwas there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived. To his utter amazement, herecognised Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise. He quickly concealedhimself in his cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation, and hoped—thanksto the number of passengers—to remain unperceived by Mr. Fogg’sservant.

On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on the forwarddeck. The latter, without a word, made a rush for him, grasped him by thethroat, and, much to the amusement of a group of Americans, who immediatelybegan 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. Fixgot up in a somewhat rumpled condition, and, looking at his adversary, coldlysaid, “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 quietlyfollowed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of the passengers.

“You have given me a thrashing,” said Fix. “Good, I expectedit. 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 honestman?”

“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 himmiss the Yokohama steamer.”

Passepartout listened, with closed fists.

“Now,” resumed Fix, “Mr. Fogg seems to be going back toEngland. Well, I will follow him there. But hereafter I will do as much to keepobstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time to put them in hispath. I’ve changed my game, you see, and simply because it was for myinterest to change it. Your interest is the same as mine; for it is only inEngland that you will ascertain whether you are in the service of a criminal oran honest man.”

Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced that he spokewith 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 foryou.”

“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 XXV.
IN WHICH A SLIGHT GLIMPSE IS HAD OF SAN FRANCISCO

It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout set footupon the American continent, if this name can be given to the floating quayupon which they disembarked. These quays, rising and falling with the tide,thus facilitate the loading and unloading of vessels. Alongside them wereclippers of all sizes, steamers of all nationalities, and the steamboats, withseveral decks rising one above the other, which ply on the Sacramento and itstributaries. There were also heaped up the products of a commerce which extendsto Mexico, Chili, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific islands.

Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent, thought hewould manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine style; but, tumblingupon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them. Put out of countenance bythe manner in which he thus “set foot” upon the New World, heuttered a loud cry, which so frightened the innumerable cormorants and pelicansthat 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 trainleft for New York, and learned that this was at six o’clock p.m.; he had,therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian capital. Taking a carriageat a charge of three dollars, he and Aouda entered it, while Passepartoutmounted the box beside the driver, and they set out for the InternationalHotel.

From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity the widestreets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon Gothic churches, thegreat docks, the palatial wooden and brick warehouses, the numerousconveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the side-walks, not only Americansand Europeans, but Chinese and Indians. Passepartout was surprised at all hesaw. San Francisco was no longer the legendary city of 1849—a city ofbanditti, assassins, and incendiaries, who had flocked hither in crowds inpursuit of plunder; a paradise of outlaws, where they gambled with gold-dust, arevolver in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other: it was now a greatcommercial emporium.

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama of the streetsand avenues, which cut each other at right-angles, and in the midst of whichappeared pleasant, verdant squares, while beyond appeared the Chinese quarter,seemingly imported from the Celestial Empire in a toy-box. Sombreros and redshirts and plumed Indians were rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats andblack coats everywhere worn by a multitude of nervously active,gentlemanly-looking men. Some of the streets—especially MontgomeryStreet, which is to San Francisco what Regent Street is to London, theBoulevard des Italiens to Paris, and Broadway to New York—were lined withsplendid and spacious stores, which exposed in their windows the products ofthe entire world.

When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not seem to him as ifhe had left England at all.

The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar, a sort of restaurantfreely open to all passers-by, who might partake of dried beef, oyster soup,biscuits, and cheese, without taking out their purses. Payment was made onlyfor the ale, porter, or sherry which was drunk. This seemed “veryAmerican” to Passepartout. The hotel refreshment-rooms were comfortable,and Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing themselves at a table, were abundantlyserved on diminutive plates by negroes of darkest hue.

After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for the Englishconsulate to have his passport visaed. As he was going out, he metPassepartout, 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 hadbeen 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 thoughtbest, and went on to the consulate.

He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, “by the greatestchance in the world,” he met Fix. The detective seemed wholly taken bysurprise. What! Had Mr. Fogg and himself crossed the Pacific together, and notmet on the steamer! At least Fix felt honoured to behold once more thegentleman 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 honour would be his; and the detective—who wasdetermined not to lose sight of him—begged permission to accompany themin their walk about San Francisco—a request which Mr. Fogg readilygranted.

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great crowd wascollected; the side-walks, street, horsecar rails, the shop-doors, the windowsof the houses, and even the roofs, were full of people. Men were going aboutcarrying 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 conjectured, who said to Mr. Fogg,“Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd. There may be danger init.”

“Yes,” returned Mr. Fogg; “and blows, even if they arepolitical, are still blows.”

Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see without beingjostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a flight of stepssituated at the upper end of Montgomery Street. Opposite them, on the otherside of the street, between a coal wharf and a petroleum warehouse, a largeplatform had been erected in the open air, towards which the current of thecrowd seemed to be directed.

For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of this excitedassemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was it to nominate some highofficial—a governor or member of Congress? It was not improbable, soagitated was the multitude before them.

Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass. All the handswere raised in the air. Some, tightly closed, seemed to disappear suddenly inthe midst of the cries—an energetic way, no doubt, of casting a vote. Thecrowd swayed back, the banners and flags wavered, disappeared an instant, thenreappeared 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 tohave diminished in height.

“It is evidently a meeting,” said Fix, “and its object mustbe 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, theHonourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy.”

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg’s arm, observed the tumultuous scene withsurprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all was. Beforethe man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and excited shouts wereheard; the staffs of the banners began to be used as offensive weapons; andfists flew about in every direction. Thumps were exchanged from the tops of thecarriages and omnibuses which had been blocked up in the crowd. Boots and shoeswent whirling through the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack ofrevolvers mingling in the din, the rout approached the stairway, and flowedover the lower step. One of the parties had evidently been repulsed; but themere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or Camerfield had gained theupper hand.

“It would be prudent for us to retire,” said Fix, who was anxiousthat Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until they got back toLondon. “If there is any question about England in all this, and we wererecognised, 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 terracebehind 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 theCamerfield forces in flank. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix found themselves betweentwo fires; it was too late to escape. The torrent of men, armed with loadedcanes and sticks, was irresistible. Phileas Fogg and Fix were roughly hustledin 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 ofevery Englishman’s arm, but in vain. A big brawny fellow with a redbeard, flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief of theband, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, whom he would have given acrushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received it in his stead. An enormousbruise immediately made its appearance under the detective’s silk hat,which was completely smashed in.

“Yankee!” exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at theruffian.

“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 hisfeet again, though with tattered clothes. Happily, he was not seriously hurt.His travelling overcoat was divided into two unequal parts, and his trousersresembled those of certain Indians, which fit less compactly than they are easyto put on. Aouda had escaped unharmed, and Fix alone bore marks of the fray inhis black and blue bruise.

“Thanks,” said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were outof the crowd.

“No thanks are necessary,” replied Fix; “but let usgo.”

“Where?”

“To a tailor’s.”

Such a visit was, indeed, opportune. The clothing of both Mr. Fogg and Fix wasin rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged in the contest betweenCamerfield 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-barrelledrevolvers. When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows; but Aouda having, in a fewwords, told him of their adventure, his countenance resumed its placidexpression. Fix evidently was no longer an enemy, but an ally; he wasfaithfully keeping his word.

Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and their luggage tothe 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 Foggcalmly. “It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself to betreated in that way, without retaliating.”

The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr. Fogg was one ofthose Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate duelling at home, fight abroadwhen their honour is attacked.

At a quarter before six the travellers reached the station, and found the trainready to depart. As he was about to enter it, Mr. Fogg called a porter, andsaid to him: “My friend, was there not some trouble to-day in SanFrancisco?”

“It was a political meeting, sir,” replied the porter.

“But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in thestreets.”

“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 XXVI.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PARTY TRAVEL BY THE PACIFIC RAILROAD

“From ocean to ocean”—so say the Americans; and these fourwords 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, betweenSan Francisco and Ogden, and the Union Pacific, between Ogden and Omaha. Fivemain 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 stillinfested by Indians and wild beasts, and a large tract which the Mormons, afterthey were driven from Illinois in 1845, began to colonise.

The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly, under the mostfavourable conditions, at least six months. It is now accomplished in sevendays.

It was in 1862 that, in spite of the Southern Members of Congress, who wished amore southerly route, it was decided to lay the road between the forty-firstand forty-second parallels. President Lincoln himself fixed the end of the lineat Omaha, in Nebraska. The work was at once commenced, and pursued with trueAmerican energy; nor did the rapidity with which it went on injuriously affectits good execution. The road grew, on the prairies, a mile and a half a day. Alocomotive, running on the rails laid down the evening before, brought therails to be laid on the morrow, and advanced upon them as fast as they were putin 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 Riveras far as the junction of its northern branch, follows its southern branch,crosses the Laramie territory and the Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great SaltLake, and reaches Salt Lake City, the Mormon capital, plunges into the TuillaValley, across the American Desert, Cedar and Humboldt Mountains, the SierraNevada, and descends, viâ Sacramento, to the Pacific—its grade,even on the Rocky Mountains, never exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to themile.

Such was the road to be traversed in seven days, which would enable PhileasFogg—at least, so he hoped—to take the Atlantic steamer at New Yorkon the 11th for Liverpool.

The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight wheels, and withno 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 whichconducted to the front and rear platforms. These platforms were foundthroughout the train, and the passengers were able to pass from one end of thetrain to the other. It was supplied with saloon cars, balcony cars,restaurants, and smoking-cars; theatre cars alone were wanting, and they willhave these some day.

Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and cigars, who seemedto have plenty of customers, were continually circulating in the aisles.

The train left Oakland station at six o’clock. It was already night, coldand cheerless, the heavens being overcast with clouds which seemed to threatensnow. The train did not proceed rapidly; counting the stoppages, it did not runmore than twenty miles an hour, which was a sufficient speed, however, toenable it to reach Omaha within its designated time.

There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of the passengerswere overcome with sleep. Passepartout found himself beside the detective; buthe did not talk to him. After recent events, their relations with each otherhad grown somewhat cold; there could no longer be mutual sympathy or intimacybetween them. Fix’s manner had not changed; but Passepartout was veryreserved, and ready to strangle his former friend on the slightest provocation.

Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow, however, whichhappily could not obstruct the train; nothing could be seen from the windowsbut a vast, white sheet, against which the smoke of the locomotive had agreyish aspect.

At eight o’clock a steward entered the car and announced that the timefor going to bed had arrived; and in a few minutes the car was transformed intoa dormitory. The backs of the seats were thrown back, bedsteads carefullypacked were rolled out by an ingenious system, berths were suddenly improvised,and each traveller had soon at his disposition a comfortable bed, protectedfrom curious eyes by thick curtains. The sheets were clean and the pillowssoft. It only remained to go to bed and sleep which everybody did—whilethe train sped on across the State of California.

The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very hilly. The CentralPacific, taking Sacramento for its starting-point, extends eastward to meet theroad from Omaha. The line from San Francisco to Sacramento runs in anorth-easterly direction, along the American River, which empties into SanPablo Bay. The one hundred and twenty miles between these cities wereaccomplished in six hours, and towards midnight, while fast asleep, thetravellers passed through Sacramento; so that they saw nothing of thatimportant place, the seat of the State government, with its fine quays, itsbroad streets, its noble hotels, squares, and churches.

The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction, Roclin, Auburn, andColfax, entered the range of the Sierra Nevada. ’Cisco was reached atseven in the morning; and an hour later the dormitory was transformed into anordinary car, and the travellers could observe the picturesque beauties of themountain region through which they were steaming. The railway track wound inand out among the passes, now approaching the mountain-sides, now suspendedover precipices, avoiding abrupt angles by bold curves, plunging into narrowdefiles, which seemed to have no outlet. The locomotive, its great funnelemitting a weird light, with its sharp bell, and its cow-catcher extended likea spur, mingled its shrieks and bellowings with the noise of torrents andcascades, 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 aroundthe sides of the mountains, and did not attempt to violate nature by taking theshortest cut from one point to another.

The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley about nineo’clock, going always northeasterly; and at midday reached Reno, wherethere was a delay of twenty minutes for breakfast.

From this point the road, running along Humboldt River, passed northward forseveral miles by its banks; then it turned eastward, and kept by the riveruntil it reached the Humboldt Range, nearly at the extreme eastern limit ofNevada.

Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places in thecar, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded itself as they passedalong the vast prairies, the mountains lining the horizon, and the creeks, withtheir frothy, foaming streams. Sometimes a great herd of buffaloes, massingtogether in the distance, seemed like a moveable dam. These innumerablemultitudes of ruminating beasts often form an insurmountable obstacle to thepassage of the trains; thousands of them have been seen passing over the trackfor hours together, in compact ranks. The locomotive is then forced to stop andwait till the road is once more clear.

This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was travelling. Abouttwelve o’clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffaloencumbered the track. The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to clear theway with its cow-catcher; but the mass of animals was too great. The buffaloesmarched along with a tranquil gait, uttering now and then deafening bellowings.There was no use of interrupting them, for, having taken a particulardirection, nothing can moderate and change their course; it is a torrent ofliving flesh which no dam could contain.

The travellers gazed on this curious spectacle from the platforms; but PhileasFogg, 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 ofthe way.

Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and longed to dischargehis arsenal of revolvers upon them.

“What a country!” cried he. “Mere cattle stop the trains, andgo by in a procession, just as if they were not impeding travel! Parbleu! Ishould like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap in his programme!And here’s an engineer who doesn’t dare to run the locomotive intothis herd of beasts!”

The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was wise. He wouldhave crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with the cow-catcher; but thelocomotive, however powerful, would soon have been checked, the train wouldinevitably 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 greaterspeed when the obstacle was removed. The procession of buffaloes lasted threefull hours, and it was night before the track was clear. The last ranks of theherd were now passing over the rails, while the first had already disappearedbelow the southern horizon.

It was eight o’clock when the train passed through the defiles of theHumboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated Utah, the region of theGreat Salt Lake, the singular colony of the Mormons.

CHAPTER XXVII.
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT UNDERGOES, AT A SPEED OF TWENTY MILES AN HOUR, A COURSEOF MORMON HISTORY

During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-easterly for aboutfifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a north-easterly direction, towardsthe Great Salt Lake.

Passepartout, about nine o’clock, went out upon the platform to take theair. The weather was cold, the heavens grey, but it was not snowing. Thesun’s disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring of gold, andPassepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value in pounds sterling,when he was diverted from this interesting study by a strange-looking personagewho made his appearance on the platform.

This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark, with blackmoustache, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black waistcoat, blacktrousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves. He might have been taken for aclergyman. He went from one end of the train to the other, and affixed to thedoor of each car a notice written in manuscript.

Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated that ElderWilliam 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 twelveo’clock; and that he invited all who were desirous of being instructedconcerning the mysteries of the religion of the “Latter Day Saints”to attend.

“I’ll go,” said Passepartout to himself. He knew nothing ofMormonism except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation.

The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about one hundredpassengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the notice, ensconcedthemselves in car No. 117. Passepartout took one of the front seats. NeitherMr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend.

At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated voice, asif he had already been contradicted, said, “I tell you that Joe Smith isa martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that the persecutions of theUnited States Government against the prophets will also make a martyr ofBrigham Young. Who dares to say the contrary?”

No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone contrastedcuriously with his naturally calm visage. No doubt his anger arose from thehardships to which the Mormons were actually subjected. The government had justsucceeded, with some difficulty, in reducing these independent fanatics to itsrule. It had made itself master of Utah, and subjected that territory to thelaws of the Union, after imprisoning Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion andpolygamy. The disciples of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, andresisted, by words at least, the authority of Congress. Elder Hitch, as isseen, was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains.

Then, emphasising his words with his loud voice and frequent gestures, herelated the history of the Mormons from Biblical times: how that, in Israel, aMormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals of the new religion,and bequeathed them to his son Mormon; how, many centuries later, a translationof this precious book, which was written in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith,junior, a Vermont farmer, who revealed himself as a mystical prophet in 1825;and how, in short, the celestial messenger appeared to him in an illuminatedforest, and gave him the annals of the Lord.

Several of the audience, not being much interested in the missionary’snarrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch, continuing his lecture, relatedhow Smith, junior, with his father, two brothers, and a few disciples, foundedthe church of the “Latter Day Saints,” which, adopted not only inAmerica, but in England, Norway and Sweden, and Germany, counts many artisans,as well as men engaged in the liberal professions, among its members; how acolony was established in Ohio, a temple erected there at a cost of two hundredthousand dollars, and a town built at Kirkland; how Smith became anenterprising banker, and received from a simple mummy showman a papyrus scrollwritten by Abraham and several famous Egyptians.

The Elder’s story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience grewgradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers. But this did notdisconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with the story of Joseph Smith’sbankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined creditors gave him a coat of tar andfeathers; his reappearance some years afterwards, more honourable and honouredthan ever, at Independence, Missouri, the chief of a flourishing colony ofthree thousand disciples, and his pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, andretirement into the Far West.

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout, who waslistening with all his ears. Thus he learned that, after long persecutions,Smith reappeared in Illinois, and in 1839 founded a community at Nauvoo, on theMississippi, numbering twenty-five thousand souls, of which he became mayor,chief justice, and general-in-chief; that he announced himself, in 1843, as acandidate for the Presidency of the United States; and that finally, beingdrawn into ambuscade at Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and assassinatedby a band of men disguised in masks.

Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder, lookinghim full in the face, reminded him that, two years after the assassination ofJoseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young, his successor, left Nauvoofor the banks of the Great Salt Lake, where, in the midst of that fertileregion, directly on the route of the emigrants who crossed Utah on their way toCalifornia, the new colony, thanks to the polygamy practised by the Mormons,had flourished beyond expectations.

“And this,” added Elder William Hitch, “this is why thejealousy of Congress has been aroused against us! Why have the soldiers of theUnion invaded the soil of Utah? Why has Brigham Young, our chief, beenimprisoned, in contempt of all justice? Shall we yield to force? Never! Drivenfrom Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from Ohio, driven from Missouri,driven from Utah, we shall yet find some independent territory on which toplant our tents. And you, my brother,” continued the Elder, fixing hisangry eyes upon his single auditor, “will you not plant yours there, too,under the shadow of our flag?”

“No!” replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring fromthe car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.

During the lecture the train had been making good progress, and towardshalf-past twelve it reached the northwest border of the Great Salt Lake. Thencethe passengers could observe the vast extent of this interior sea, which isalso called the Dead Sea, and into which flows an American Jordan. It is apicturesque expanse, framed in lofty crags in large strata, encrusted withwhite salt—a superb sheet of water, which was formerly of larger extentthan now, its shores having encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at oncereduced its breadth and increased its depth.

The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is situated three mileseight hundred feet above the sea. Quite different from Lake Asphaltite, whosedepression 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 weightbeing 1,170, and, after being distilled, 1,000. Fishes are, of course, unableto live in it, and those which descend through the Jordan, the Weber, and otherstreams soon perish.

The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons are mostlyfarmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals, fields of wheat,corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies, hedges of wild rose, clumps ofacacias and milk-wort, would have been seen six months later. Now the groundwas 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, connectedwith Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours in this strikinglyAmerican town, built on the pattern of other cities of the Union, like achecker-board, “with the sombre sadness of right-angles,” as VictorHugo expresses it. The founder of the City of the Saints could not escape fromthe taste for symmetry which distinguishes the Anglo-Saxons. In this strangecountry, where the people are certainly not up to the level of theirinstitutions, everything is done “squarely”—cities, houses,and follies.

The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o’clock, about thestreets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan and the spurs of theWahsatch Range. They saw few or no churches, but the prophet’s mansion,the court-house, and the arsenal, blue-brick houses with verandas and porches,surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias, palms, and locusts. A clay andpebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded the town; and in the principal streetwere the market and several hotels adorned with pavilions. The place did notseem thickly populated. The streets were almost deserted, except in thevicinity of the temple, which they only reached after having traversed severalquarters surrounded by palisades. There were many women, which was easilyaccounted for by the “peculiar institution” of the Mormons; but itmust not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists. They are free tomarry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting that it is mainly thefemale citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as, according to the Mormonreligion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the possession of its highest joys.These poor creatures seemed to be neither well off nor happy. Some—themore well-to-do, no doubt—wore short, open, black silk dresses, under ahood or modest shawl; others were habited in Indian fashion.

Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women, charged, ingroups, 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 somany wives at once across the vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as itwere, in a body to the Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them in thecompany of the glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of thatdelightful place, to all eternity. He felt decidedly repelled from such avocation, and he imagined—perhaps he was mistaken—that the fairones of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his person. Happily, hisstay there was but brief. At four the party found themselves again at thestation, 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 thecries was evidently a belated Mormon. He was breathless with running. Happilyfor 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 theseats.

Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast, approachedhim with lively interest, and learned that he had taken flight after anunpleasant domestic scene.

When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to ask himpolitely 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 was enough!”

CHAPTER XXVIII.
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 asfar as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles from SanFrancisco. From this point it took an easterly direction towards the jaggedWahsatch Mountains. It was in the section included between this range and theRocky Mountains that the American engineers found the most formidabledifficulties in laying the road, and that the government granted a subsidy offorty-eight thousand dollars per mile, instead of sixteen thousand allowed forthe 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 toarrive at the great basin.

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the Great SaltLake. From this point it described a long curve, descending towards BitterCreek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the waters between theAtlantic and the Pacific. There were many creeks in this mountainous region,and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek, Green Creek, and others, uponculverts.

Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix longed toget out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than Phileas Fogghimself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents, and set foot onEnglish soil.

At ten o’clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, andtwenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of BitterCreek throughout. The next day, 7th December, they stopped for a quarter of anhour at Green River station. Snow had fallen abundantly during the night, but,being mixed with rain, it had half melted, and did not interrupt theirprogress. The bad weather, however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulationof snow, by blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal toMr. Fogg’s tour.

“What an idea!” he said to himself. “Why did my master makethis journey in winter? Couldn’t he have waited for the good season toincrease his chances?”

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and thedepression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a totallydifferent cause.

Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and down theplatforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp Proctor, the same whohad so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishingto be recognised, the young woman drew back from the window, feeling much alarmat her discovery. She was attached to the man who, however coldly, gave herdaily evidences of the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend, perhaps,the depth of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which shecalled gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was really morethan that. Her heart sank within her when she recognised the man whom Mr. Foggdesired, sooner or later, to call to account for his conduct. Chance alone, itwas clear, had brought Colonel Proctor on this train; but there he was, and itwas necessary, at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg should not perceive hisadversary.

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and Passepartoutwhom she had seen.

“That Proctor on this train!” cried Fix. “Well, reassureyourself, 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 chargeof him, colonel as he is.”

“Mr. Fix,” resumed Aouda, “Mr. Fogg will allow no one toavenge him. He said that he would come back to America to find this man. Shouldhe perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might haveterrible results. He must not see him.”

“You are right, madam,” replied Fix; “a meeting between themmight ruin all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would bedelayed, and—”

“And,” added Passepartout, “that would play the game of thegentlemen of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York. Well, if mymaster does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that chancewill not bring him face to face with this confounded American. We must, ifpossible, prevent his stirring out of it.”

The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking out of thewindow. 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 betrayeddetermined will, “to get him back living to Europe!”

Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but hisconfidence in his master remained unbroken.

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a meetingbetween him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult task, since thatgentleman 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 therailway.”

“Yes,” replied Mr. Fogg; “but they pass.”

“You were in the habit of playing whist,” resumed Fix, “onthe steamers.”

“Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards norpartners.”

“Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all theAmerican 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 arethree of us, and a dummy—”

“As you please, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resumehis favourite pastime even on the railway.

Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned withtwo packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with cloth.

The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even receivedsome compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg. As for the detective, he wassimply an adept, and worthy of being matched against his present opponent.

“Now,” thought Passepartout, “we’ve got him. Hewon’t budge.”

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of the watersat Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four feet above thelevel of the sea, one of the highest points attained by the track in crossingthe Rocky Mountains. After going about two hundred miles, the travellers atlast 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 NorthPlatte River, already appeared. The whole northern and eastern horizon wasbounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which is formed by the southernportion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest being Laramie Peak. Between thisand the railway extended vast plains, plentifully irrigated. On the right rosethe lower spurs of the mountainous mass which extends southward to the sourcesof the Arkansas River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.

At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort Halleck,which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky Mountains werecrossed. There was reason to hope, then, that no accident would mark thejourney through this difficult country. The snow had ceased falling, and theair became crisp and cold. Large birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose andflew off in the distance. No wild beast appeared on the plain. It was a desertin its vast nakedness.

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his partners hadjust 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; butthat gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant, “See what isthe matter.”

Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers had alreadydescended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way. The engineerand conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom the station-masterat Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent on before. The passengersdrew around and took part in the discussion, in which Colonel Proctor, with hisinsolent manner, was conspicuous.

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, “No! youcan’t pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear theweight of the train.”

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile from theplace where they now were. According to the signal-man, it was in a ruinouscondition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it was impossible torisk 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 theyare prudent there is good reason for it.

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard, listened withset teeth, immovable as a statue.

“Hum!” cried Colonel Proctor; “but we are not going to stayhere, I imagine, and take root in the snow?”

“Colonel,” replied the conductor, “we have telegraphed toOmaha for a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow in lessthan six hours.”

“Six hours!” cried Passepartout.

“Certainly,” returned the conductor, “besides, it will takeus 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 arapid, and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find aford.”

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company and theconductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not disinclined to makecommon cause with him. Here was an obstacle, indeed, which all hismaster’s banknotes could not remove.

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without reckoningthe delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles over a plaincovered with snow. They grumbled and protested, and would certainly have thusattracted Phileas Fogg’s attention if he had not been completely absorbedin his game.

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what hadoccurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car, when theengineer, a true Yankee, named Forster called out, “Gentlemen, perhapsthere 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 thevery 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’sproposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted, and found the plan avery feasible one. He told stories about engineers leaping their trains overrivers without bridges, by putting on full steam; and many of those presentavowed 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 overMedicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too American.“Besides,” thought he, “there’s a still more simpleway, and it does not even occur to any of these people! Sir,” said healoud to one of the passengers, “the engineer’s plan seems to me alittle 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 itwould be more prudent—”

“What! Prudent!” cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed toexcite prodigiously. “At full speed, don’t you see, at fullspeed!”

“I know—I see,” repeated Passepartout; “but it wouldbe, if not more prudent, since that word displeases you, at least morenatural—”

“Who! What! What’s the matter with this fellow?” criedseveral.

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 asAmerican 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 morenatural for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train comeafter!”

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have acknowledged itsjustice. The passengers resumed their places in the cars. Passepartout took hisseat without telling what had passed. The whist-players were quite absorbed intheir game.

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam, backedthe train for nearly a mile—retiring, like a jumper, in order to take alonger leap. Then, with another whistle, he began to move forward; the trainincreased its speed, and soon its rapidity became frightful; a prolongedscreech issued from the locomotive; the piston worked up and down twentystrokes to the second. They perceived that the whole train, rushing on at therate 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 trainleaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the engineer could notstop it until it had gone five miles beyond the station. But scarcely had thetrain passed the river, when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crashinto the rapids of Medicine Bow.

CHAPTER XXIX.
IN WHICH CERTAIN INCIDENTS ARE NARRATED WHICH ARE ONLY TO BE MET WITH ONAMERICAN RAILROADS

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption, passing FortSaunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass. The road here attainedthe highest elevation of the journey, eight thousand and ninety-two feet abovethe level of the sea. The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic bylimitless plains, levelled by nature. A branch of the “grand trunk”led off southward to Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round aboutis rich in gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants arealready 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 bringthem to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek ranparallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories of Wyomingand Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near Sedgwick, andtouched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd ofOctober, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful locomotives,carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant,vice-president of the road, stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Siouxand Pawnees performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off, andthe first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press broughton the train. Thus was celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, amighty instrument of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, anddestined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistleof the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion’s lyre, was about to bidthem rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three hundred andfifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching Omaha. The roadfollowed the capricious windings of the southern branch of the Platte River, onits 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 andform a single artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri alittle above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one—not even thedummy—complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winningseveral guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a notless eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning, chance distinctlyfavoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours 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 recognised 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 theten 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 andgently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the American, whowas staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up, and, going to ColonelProctor 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 ismine, and mine only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that Ishould not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it.”

“When and where you will,” replied the American, “and withwhatever weapon you choose.”

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detectiveendeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the colonel outof the window, but a sign from his master checked him. Phileas Fogg left thecar, and the American followed him upon the platform. “Sir,” saidMr. 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 atSan Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I hadcompleted 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 atthe place of meeting promptly.”

“All this is an evasion,” cried Stamp Proctor. “Now ornever!”

“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, andwill stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could beexchanged.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg. “I will stop at PlumCreek.”

“And I guess you’ll stay there too,” added the Americaninsolently.

“Who knows?” replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly asusual. He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to befeared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a requestwhich the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the interrupted gamewith perfect calmness.

At eleven o’clock the locomotive’s whistle announced that they wereapproaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix, went outupon 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 combatantswere 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 atonce. There’s the bell ringing now.”

The train started.

“I’m really very sorry, gentlemen,” said the conductor.“Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you.But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we goalong?”

“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, “andthe 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 tothe 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 itvacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen had an affair of honour to settle.The passengers granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappearedon 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, eachprovided with two six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car. The seconds,remaining outside, shut them in. They were to begin firing at the first whistleof the locomotive. After an interval of two minutes, what remained of the twogentlemen would be taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix andPassepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack. They werelistening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage cries resounded inthe air, accompanied by reports which certainly did not issue from the carwhere the duellists were. The reports continued in front and the whole lengthof 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 thatthe train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than once theyhad waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had, according to theirhabit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the train, with the ease of aclown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which thepassengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer andstoker 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 closingthe steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward with terrificvelocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged monkeysover the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to hand with thepassengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunksout of the train. The cries and shots were constant. The travellers defendedthemselves 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 trueheroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows whenever asavage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen mortally wounded to theground, and the wheels crushed those who fell upon the rails as if they hadbeen worms. Several passengers, shot or stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for tenminutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the train wasnot stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a garrison, was only twomiles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux would be masters of the trainbetween Fort Kearney and the station beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell. At thesame moment he cried, “Unless the train is stopped in five minutes, weare lost!”

“It shall be stopped,” said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush fromthe car.

“Stay, monsieur,” cried Passepartout; “I will go.”

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door unperceivedby the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and while the strugglecontinued and the balls whizzed across each other over his head, he made use ofhis old acrobatic experience, and with amazing agility worked his way under thecars, holding on to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of thesashes, creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thusgaining the forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender, with theother he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the traction, he would neverhave succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar, had not a violent concussionjolted this bar out. The train, now detached from the engine, remained a littlebehind, whilst the locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for severalminutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped, less than ahundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux had notexpected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform several werefound missing; among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had justsaved them.

CHAPTER XXX.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SIMPLY DOES HIS DUTY

Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had they been killedin the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It was impossible totell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one of the mostseriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered his groin. He wascarried into the station with the other wounded passengers, to receive suchattention as could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the fight,had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the arm. ButPassepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down Aouda’s cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were stainedwith blood. From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far asthe eye could reach on the white plain behind, red trails were visible. Thelast Sioux were disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River.

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious decision tomake. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without speaking, and heunderstood her look. If his servant was a prisoner, ought he not to riskeverything to rescue him from the Indians? “I will find him, living ordead,” said he quietly to Aouda.

“Ah, Mr.—Mr. Fogg!” cried she, clasping his hands andcovering them with tears.

“Living,” added Mr. Fogg, “if we do not lose a moment.”

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he pronouncedhis own doom. The delay of a single day would make him lose the steamer at NewYork, and his bet would be certainly lost. But as he thought, “It is myduty,” he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his soldiers hadplaced themselves in a position to defend the station, should the Sioux attackit.

“Sir,” said Mr. Fogg to the captain, “three passengers havedisappeared.”

“Dead?” asked the captain.

“Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do youpropose 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 thefort 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 memy duty.”

“Very well,” said Mr. Fogg, coldly. “I will go alone.”

“You, sir!” cried Fix, coming up; “you go alone in pursuit ofthe Indians?”

“Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish—him to whomevery one present owes his life? I shall go.”

“No, sir, you shall not go alone,” cried the captain, touched inspite of himself. “No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!” headded, turning to the soldiers.

The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to pick hismen. 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 favour, you willremain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me—”

A sudden pallor overspread the detective’s face. Separate himself fromthe man whom he had so persistently followed step by step! Leave him to wanderabout in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg, and, despite hissuspicions and of the struggle which was going on within him, he lowered hiseyes before that calm and frank look.

“I will stay,” said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman’s hand, and, havingconfided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the sergeant and hislittle squad. But, before going, he had said to the soldiers, “Myfriends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you, if we save theprisoners.”

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking of thesimple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas Fogg. He hadsacrificed 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 outwardcomposure. He now saw the folly of which he had been guilty in letting Fogg goalone. What! This man, whom he had just followed around the world, waspermitted now to separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abusehimself, and, as if he were director of police, administered to himself a soundlecture for his greenness.

“I have been an idiot!” he thought, “and this man will seeit. He has gone, and won’t come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who havein 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 notknow what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all; but he could notdoubt how the young woman would receive his confidences. What course should hetake? He thought of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains; it did not seemimpossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on thesnow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.

Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to abandon thegame altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station, and pursue hisjourney homeward in peace.

Towards two o’clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, longwhistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow, preceded by awild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger through the mist, whichgave it a fantastic aspect. No train was expected from the east, neither hadthere been time for the succour asked for by telegraph to arrive; the trainfrom Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soonexplained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles, was thatwhich, having been detached from the train, had continued its route with suchterrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had runseveral miles, when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam hadslackened; and it had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyondFort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, afterremaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train hadthen stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and thelocomotive without cars, understood what had happened. He could not imagine howthe locomotive had become separated from the train; but he did not doubt thatthe 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 stillbe engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in thefurnace; the pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, runningbackwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the head ofthe train. They could now continue the journey so terribly interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station, and askedthe conductor, “Are you going to start?”

“At once, madam.”

“But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers—”

“I cannot interrupt the trip,” replied the conductor. “We arealready three hours behind time.”

“And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?”

“To-morrow evening, madam.”

“To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We mustwait—”

“It is impossible,” responded the conductor. “If you wish togo, please get in.”

“I will not go,” said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there was noprospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to leave FortKearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start, and he had only totake his seat in the car, an irresistible influence held him back. The stationplatform burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind againbegan; 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 buzzingof the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam was escaping from thevalves. 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 satmotionless 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 theplatform, and peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mistwhich narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcomesound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, toissue 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? Hadthey found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with them, or were theystill wandering amid the mist? The commander of the fort was anxious, though hetried to conceal his apprehensions. As night approached, the snow fell lessplentifully, but it became intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on theplains. Neither flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart stifled withanguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains. Her imagination carried herfar off, and showed her innumerable dangers. What she suffered through the longhours it would be impossible to describe.

Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep. Once a manapproached and spoke to him, and the detective merely replied by shaking hishead.

Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disc of the sun roseabove a misty horizon; but it was now possible to recognise objects two milesoff. Phileas Fogg and the squad had gone southward; in the south all was stillvacancy. 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 hesacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those already sacrificed? Hishesitation did not last long, however. Calling one of his lieutenants, he wason the point of ordering a reconnaissance, when gunshots were heard. Was it asignal? The soldiers rushed out of the fort, and half a mile off they perceiveda little band returning in good order.

Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were Passepartout andthe other two travellers, rescued from the Sioux.

They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort Kearney. Shortlybefore the detachment arrived, Passepartout and his companions had begun tostruggle with their captors, three of whom the Frenchman had felled with hisfists, when his master and the soldiers hastened up to their relief.

All were welcomed with joyful cries. Phileas Fogg distributed the reward he hadpromised to the soldiers, while Passepartout, not without reason, muttered tohimself, “It must certainly be confessed that I cost my masterdear!”

Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have beendifficult to analyse the thoughts which struggled within him. As for Aouda, shetook her protector’s hand and pressed it in her own, too much moved tospeak.

Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he thought he shouldfind it there, ready to start for Omaha, and he hoped that the time lost mightbe 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 XXXI.
IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, CONSIDERABLY FURTHERS THE INTERESTS OF PHILEASFOGG

Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time. Passepartout, theinvoluntary cause of this delay, was desperate. He had ruined his master!

At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and, looking him intently inthe face, said:

“Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?”

“Quite seriously.”

“I have a purpose in asking,” resumed Fix. “Is it absolutelynecessary that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o’clockin 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, youwould 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 leaveseight. 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. Aman has proposed such a method to me.”

It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose offer he hadrefused.

Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix, having pointed out the man, whowas walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg went up to him. Aninstant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose name was Mudge, entered a hutbuilt just below the fort.

There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long beams, alittle raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon which there wasroom for five or six persons. A high mast was fixed on the frame, held firmlyby metallic lashings, to which was attached a large brigantine sail. This mastheld an iron stay upon which to hoist a jib-sail. Behind, a sort of rudderserved 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 sledgesmake extremely rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one station toanother. 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 superiorto that of the express trains.

Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this land-craft. The wind wasfavourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west. The snow had hardened, andMudge was very confident of being able to transport Mr. Fogg in a few hours toOmaha. Thence the trains eastward run frequently to Chicago and New York. Itwas not impossible that the lost time might yet be recovered; and such anopportunity was not to be rejected.

Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling in the open air,Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout at Fort Kearney, the servanttaking upon himself to escort her to Europe by a better route and under morefavourable conditions. But Aouda refused to separate from Mr. Fogg, andPassepartout was delighted with her decision; for nothing could induce him toleave his master while Fix was with him.

It would be difficult to guess the detective’s thoughts. Was thisconviction shaken by Phileas Fogg’s return, or did he still regard him asan exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world completed, wouldthink himself absolutely safe in England? Perhaps Fix’s opinion ofPhileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was nevertheless resolved to do hisduty, and to hasten the return of the whole party to England as much aspossible.

At eight o’clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers took theirplaces on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in their travelling-cloaks. Thetwo great sails were hoisted, and under the pressure of the wind the sledgeslid 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 twohundred miles. If the wind held good, the distance might be traversed in fivehours; if no accident happened the sledge might reach Omaha by oneo’clock.

What a journey! The travellers, huddled close together, could not speak for thecold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were going. The sledge sped onas lightly as a boat over the waves. When the breeze came skimming the earththe sledge seemed to be lifted off the ground by its sails. Mudge, who was atthe rudder, kept in a straight line, and by a turn of his hand checked thelurches which the vehicle had a tendency to make. All the sails were up, andthe jib was so arranged as not to screen the brigantine. A top-mast washoisted, and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the othersails. Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge could notbe going at less than forty miles an hour.

“If nothing breaks,” said Mudge, “we shall get there!”

Mr. Fogg had made it for Mudge’s interest to reach Omaha within the timeagreed on, by the offer of a handsome reward.

The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight line, was as flatas a sea. It seemed like a vast frozen lake. The railroad which ran throughthis section ascended from the south-west to the north-west by Great Island,Columbus, an important Nebraska town, Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha. Itfollowed throughout the right bank of the Platte River. The sledge, shorteningthis route, took a chord of the arc described by the railway. Mudge was notafraid 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 tofear—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 thechords of a stringed instrument, resounded as if vibrated by a violin bow. Thesledge slid along in the midst of a plaintively intense melody.

“Those chords give the fifth and the octave,” said Mr. Fogg.

These were the only words he uttered during the journey. Aouda, cosily packedin furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as possible from the attacks of thefreezing wind. As for Passepartout, his face was as red as the sun’s discwhen it sets in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled the biting air. With hisnatural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope again. They would reach New Yorkon the evening, if not on the morning, of the 11th, and there were still somechances that it would be before the steamer sailed for Liverpool.

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by the hand. Heremembered that it was the detective who procured the sledge, the only means ofreaching Omaha in time; but, checked by some presentiment, he kept his usualreserve. One thing, however, Passepartout would never forget, and that was thesacrifice which Mr. Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from theSioux. Mr. Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No! His servant wouldnever forget that!

While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different, the sledgeflew past over the vast carpet of snow. The creeks it passed over were notperceived. Fields and streams disappeared under the uniform whiteness. Theplain was absolutely deserted. Between the Union Pacific road and the branchwhich unites Kearney with Saint Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island.Neither village, station, nor fort appeared. From time to time they sped bysome phantom-like tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the wind.Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt, famished, ferociousprairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge. Passepartout, revolver in hand,held himself ready to fire on those which came too near. Had an accident thenhappened to the sledge, the travellers, attacked by these beasts, would havebeen in the most terrible danger; but it held on its even course, soon gainedon the wolves, and ere long left the howling band at a safe distance behind.

About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was crossing the PlatteRiver. He said nothing, but he felt certain that he was now within twenty milesof Omaha. In less than an hour he left the rudder and furled his sails, whilstthe sledge, carried forward by the great impetus the wind had given it, went onhalf a mile further with its sails unspread.

It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white with snow,said: “We have got there!”

Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication, by numeroustrains, 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 generouslyrewarded Mudge, whose hand Passepartout warmly grasped, and the party directedtheir 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, whichruns directly east, and passes fifty stations.

A train was ready to start when Mr. Fogg and his party reached the station, andthey only had time to get into the cars. They had seen nothing of Omaha; butPassepartout confessed to himself that this was not to be regretted, as theywere not travelling to see the sights.

The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council Bluffs, DesMoines, and Iowa City. During the night it crossed the Mississippi atDavenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois. The next day, which was the10th, at four o’clock in the evening, it reached Chicago, already risenfrom its ruins, and more proudly seated than ever on the borders of itsbeautiful Lake Michigan.

Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains are not wantingat Chicago. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one to the other, and the locomotiveof the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, and Chicago Railway left at full speed, as if itfully comprehended that that gentleman had no time to lose. It traversedIndiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey like a flash, rushing through townswith antique names, some of which had streets and car-tracks, but as yet nohouses. At last the Hudson came into view; and, at a quarter-past eleven in theevening of the 11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of theriver, before the very pier of the Cunard line.

The “China,” for Liverpool, had started three-quarters of an hourbefore!

CHAPTER XXXII.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ENGAGES IN A DIRECT STRUGGLE WITH BAD FORTUNE

The “China,” in leaving, seemed to have carried off PhileasFogg’s last hope. None of the other steamers were able to serve hisprojects. The “Pereire,” of the French Transatlantic Company, whoseadmirable steamers are equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave untilthe 14th; the Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or London, but toHavre; and the additional trip from Havre to Southampton would render PhileasFogg’s last efforts of no avail. The Inman steamer did not depart tillthe next day, and could not cross the Atlantic in time to save the wager.

Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his “Bradshaw,” which gavehim the daily movements of the transatlantic steamers.

Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat by three-quartersof an hour. It was his fault, for, instead of helping his master, he had notceased putting obstacles in his path! And when he recalled all the incidents ofthe tour, when he counted up the sums expended in pure loss and on his ownaccount, when he thought that the immense stake, added to the heavy charges ofthis useless journey, would completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himselfwith bitter self-accusations. Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him; and, onleaving the Cunard pier, only said: “We will consult about what is bestto-morrow. Come.”

The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat, and drove in acarriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were engaged, and thenight passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg, who slept profoundly, but very long toAouda 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 toa quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st there were nine days, thirteenhours, and forty-five minutes. If Phileas Fogg had left in the“China,” one of the fastest steamers on the Atlantic, he would havereached Liverpool, and then London, within the period agreed upon.

Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions to awaithis return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant’s notice. Heproceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about among the vessels mooredor anchored in the river, for any that were about to depart. Several haddeparture signals, and were preparing to put to sea at morning tide; for inthis immense and admirable port there is not one day in a hundred that vesselsdo not set out for every quarter of the globe. But they were mostly sailingvessels, of which, of course, Phileas Fogg could make no use.

He seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored at the Battery, acable’s length off at most, a trading vessel, with a screw, well-shaped,whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke, indicated that she was getting readyfor 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 thedeck, and asked for the captain, who forthwith presented himself. He was a manof fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big eyes, a complexion of oxidised 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,” wellknown.”

“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’—” resumedPhileas Fogg.

“The owners are myself,” replied the captain. “The vesselbelongs 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 agrave 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.” Upto 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 byballoon—which would have been venturesome, besides not being capable ofbeing put in practice. It seemed that Phileas Fogg had an idea, for he said tothe 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 were eight thousand dollars togain, without changing his route; for which it was well worth conquering therepugnance he had for all kinds of passengers. Besides, passengers at twothousand dollars are no longer passengers, but valuable merchandise. “Istart at nine o’clock,” said Captain Speedy, simply. “Are youand your party ready?”

“We will be on board at nine o’clock,” replied, no lesssimply, Mr. Fogg.

It was half-past eight. To disembark from the “Henrietta,” jumpinto 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 byMr. Fogg with the coolness which never abandoned him. They were on board whenthe “Henrietta” made ready to weigh anchor.

When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to cost, he uttered aprolonged “Oh!” which extended throughout his vocal gamut.

As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would certainly notcome out of this affair well indemnified. When they reached England, even ifMr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls of bank-bills into the sea, more thanseven thousand pounds would have been spent!

CHAPTER XXXIII.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SHOWS HIMSELF EQUAL TO THE OCCASION

An hour after, the “Henrietta” passed the lighthouse which marksthe 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 hercourse rapidly eastward.

At noon the next day, a man mounted the bridge to ascertain the vessel’sposition. It might be thought that this was Captain Speedy. Not the least inthe world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire. As for Captain Speedy, he was shut upin his cabin under lock and key, and was uttering loud cries, which signifiedan anger at once pardonable and excessive.

What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished to go to Liverpool, butthe captain would not carry him there. Then Phileas Fogg had taken passage forBordeaux, and, during the thirty hours he had been on board, had so shrewdlymanaged with his banknotes that the sailors and stokers, who were only anoccasional crew, and were not on the best terms with the captain, went over tohim in a body. This was why Phileas Fogg was in command instead of CaptainSpeedy; why the captain was a prisoner in his cabin; and why, in short, the“Henrietta” was directing her course towards Liverpool. It was veryclear, to see Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had been a sailor.

How the adventure ended will be seen anon. Aouda was anxious, though she saidnothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr. Fogg’s manœuvre simplyglorious. 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 notbecome too boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east, if noaccident happened to the boat or its machinery, the “Henrietta”might cross the three thousand miles from New York to Liverpool in the ninedays, 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 ofEngland, might create more difficulties for Mr. Fogg than he imagined or coulddesire.

During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea was not veryunpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the north-east, the sails werehoisted, and the “Henrietta” ploughed across the waves like a realtransatlantic steamer.

Passepartout was delighted. His master’s last exploit, the consequencesof which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had the crew seen so jolly anddexterous a fellow. He formed warm friendships with the sailors, and amazedthem with his acrobatic feats. He thought they managed the vessel likegentlemen, and that the stokers fired up like heroes. His loquaciousgood-humour infected everyone. He had forgotten the past, its vexations anddelays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished; and sometimes heboiled 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, fortheir old intimacy no longer existed.

Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going on. Theconquest of the “Henrietta,” the bribery of the crew, Fogg managingthe boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him. He did not know whatto think. For, after all, a man who began by stealing fifty-five thousandpounds might end by stealing a vessel; and Fix was not unnaturally inclined toconclude that the “Henrietta” under Fogg’s command, was notgoing 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 wasat least a plausible one, and the detective began to seriously regret that hehad embarked on the affair.

As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his cabin; andPassepartout, 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 therewas a captain on board.

On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland, a dangerouslocality; during the winter, especially, there are frequent fogs and heavygales of wind. Ever since the evening before the barometer, suddenly falling,had indicated an approaching change in the atmosphere; and during the night thetemperature varied, the cold became sharper, and the wind veered to thesouth-east.

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’sspeed slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long waves of which brokeagainst the stern. She pitched violently, and this retarded her progress. Thebreeze little by little swelled into a tempest, and it was to be feared thatthe “Henrietta” might not be able to maintain herself upright onthe waves.

Passepartout’s visage darkened with the skies, and for two days the poorfellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg was a bold mariner, andknew how to maintain headway against the sea; and he kept on his course,without even decreasing his steam. The “Henrietta,” when she couldnot 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 amountain of water raised the stern above the waves; but the craft always keptstraight ahead.

The wind, however, did not grow as boisterous as might have been feared; it wasnot one of those tempests which burst, and rush on with a speed of ninety milesan hour. It continued fresh, but, unhappily, it remained obstinately in thesouth-east, rendering the sails useless.

The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg’sdeparture from London, and the “Henrietta” had not yet beenseriously delayed. Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worstlocalities had been passed. In summer, success would have been well-nighcertain. In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad season. Passepartout saidnothing; but he cherished hope in secret, and comforted himself with thereflection 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 speakearnestly with him. Without knowing why it was a presentiment, perhapsPassepartout became vaguely uneasy. He would have given one of his ears to hearwith the other what the engineer was saying. He finally managed to catch a fewwords, and was sure he heard his master say, “You are certain of what youtell me?”

“Certain, sir,” replied the engineer. “You must rememberthat, since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces, and,though we had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to Bordeaux, wehaven’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 wasgiving out! “Ah, if my master can get over that,” muttered he,“he’ll be a famous man!” He could not help imparting to Fixwhat he had overheard.

“Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?”

“Of course.”

“Ass!” replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turningon his heel.

Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the epithet, the reasonof which he could not for the life of him comprehend; but he reflected that theunfortunate Fix was probably very much disappointed and humiliated in hisself-esteem, after having so awkwardly followed a false scent around the world,and refrained.

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 forthe engineer, and said to him, “Feed all the fires until the coal isexhausted.”

A few moments after, the funnel of the “Henrietta” vomited forthtorrents of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam on; but onthe 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced that the coal would giveout in the course of the day.

“Do not let the fires go down,” replied Mr. Fogg. “Keep themup to the last. Let the valves be filled.”

Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position, calledPassepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy. It was as if the honestfellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger. He went to the poop, saying tohimself, “He will be like a madman!”

In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the poop-deck. Thebomb 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 toutter. Had the poor man been an apoplectic, he could never have recovered fromhis 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 yourvessel.”

“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 scarcelypronounce the words. “A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!”

“Here are sixty thousand,” replied Phileas Fogg, handing thecaptain a roll of bank-bills. This had a prodigious effect on Andrew Speedy. AnAmerican can scarcely remain unmoved at the sight of sixty thousand dollars.The captain forgot in an instant his anger, his imprisonment, and all hisgrudges against his passenger. The “Henrietta” was twenty yearsold; it was a great bargain. The bomb would not go off after all. Mr. Fogg hadtaken away the match.

“And I shall still have the iron hull,” said the captain in asofter tone.

“The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?”

“Agreed.”

And Andrew Speedy, seizing the banknotes, counted them and consigned them tohis pocket.

During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and Fix seemed onthe point of having an apoplectic fit. Nearly twenty thousand pounds had beenexpended, and Fogg left the hull and engine to the captain, that is, near thewhole value of the craft! It was true, however, that fifty-five thousand poundshad 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 losetwenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a quarter before nine onthe evening of the 21st of December. I missed the steamer at New York, and asyou refused to take me to Liverpool—”

“And I did well!” cried Andrew Speedy; “for I have gained atleast forty thousand dollars by it!” He added, more sedately, “Doyou 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 wasgoing 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, andburn them.”

It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the adequatepressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks, and the spare deck weresacrificed. On the next day, the 19th of December, the masts, rafts, and sparswere burned; the crew worked lustily, keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed,cut, and sawed away with all his might. There was a perfect rage fordemolition.

The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides disappearedon the 20th, and the “Henrietta” was now only a flat hulk. But onthis day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light. By ten in the eveningthey were passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had only twenty-four hours more inwhich 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 commiserate you. Everything is againstyou. We are only opposite Queenstown.”

“Ah,” said Mr. Fogg, “is that place where we see the lightsQueenstown?”

“Yes.”

“Can we enter the harbour?”

“Not under three hours. Only at high tide.”

“Stay,” replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his featuresthat by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt once more to conquerill-fortune.

Queenstown is the Irish port at which the transatlantic steamers stop to putoff the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin by express trains always heldin readiness to start; from Dublin they are sent on to Liverpool by the mostrapid boats, and thus gain twelve hours on the Atlantic steamers.

Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way. Instead ofarriving at Liverpool the next evening by the “Henrietta,” he wouldbe there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach London before aquarter before nine in the evening.

The “Henrietta” entered Queenstown Harbour at one o’clock inthe morning, it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being graspedheartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on the levelledhulk 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 onthe spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle was going on within him? Had hechanged his mind about “his man”? Did he understand that he hadmade a grave mistake? He did not, however, abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got uponthe train, which was just ready to start, at half-past one; at dawn of day theywere 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 minutesbefore twelve, 21st 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 XXXIV.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AT LAST REACHES LONDON

Phileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House, and he wasto be transferred to London the next day.

Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon Fix hadhe not been held back by some policemen. Aouda was thunderstruck at thesuddenness of an event which she could not understand. Passepartout explainedto 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 whenshe saw that she could attempt to do nothing to save her protector, she weptbitterly.

As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether Mr. Foggwere guilty or not.

The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this newmisfortune! Had he not concealed Fix’s errand from his master? When Fixrevealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr. Fogg? If thelatter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix proof of hisinnocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix would not havecontinued his journey at the expense and on the heels of his master, only toarrest him the moment he set foot on English soil. Passepartout wept till hewas blind, and felt like blowing his brains out.

Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the CustomHouse. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to see Mr. Foggagain.

That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was about toattain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at Liverpool at twentyminutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he had till a quarter beforenine 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 foundMr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger, upon a woodenbench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last blow failed to force himinto an outward betrayal of any emotion. Was he being devoured by one of thosesecret rages, all the more terrible because contained, and which only burstforth, with an irresistible force, at the last moment? No one could tell. Therehe sat, calmly waiting—for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he stillbelieve, now that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he wouldsucceed?

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 wassingularly set and stern. The situation, in any event, was a terrible one, andmight be thus stated: if Phileas Fogg was honest he was ruined; if he was aknave, he was caught.

Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were any practicableoutlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping from it? Possibly; for once hewalked slowly around the room. But the door was locked, and the window heavilybarred 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 twohours too fast.

Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express train, hecould reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter before nine, p.m. Hisforehead slightly wrinkled.

At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise outside, then ahasty opening of doors. Passepartout’s voice was audible, and immediatelyafter that of Fix. Phileas Fogg’s eyes brightened for an instant.

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who hurriedtowards him.

Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not speak.“Sir,” he stammered, “sir—forgiveme—most—unfortunate resemblance—robber arrested three daysago—you are free!”

Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him steadily in theface, and with the only rapid motion he had ever made in his life, or which heever would make, drew back his arms, and with the precision of a machineknocked Fix down.

“Well hit!” cried Passepartout, “Parbleu! that’s whatyou might call a good application of English fists!”

Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word. He had only receivedhis deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout left the Custom House withoutdelay, 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. Itwas forty minutes past two. The express train had left thirty-five minutesbefore. Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.

There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway arrangements didnot permit the special train to leave until three o’clock.

At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by the offer of agenerous reward, at last set out towards London with Aouda and his faithfulservant.

It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half; and this wouldhave been easy on a clear road throughout. But there were forced delays, andwhen Mr. Fogg stepped from the train at the terminus, all the clocks in Londonwere striking ten minutes before nine.[1]

Having made the tour of the world, he was behind-hand five minutes. He had lostthe wager!

[1]A somewhat remarkable eccentricity on the part of the Londonclocks!—TRANSLATOR.

CHAPTER XXXV.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUTTWICE

The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if they hadbeen told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors and windows were stillclosed, no appearance of change was visible.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to purchasesome provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And by theblundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed that long journey,overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and still found time to dosome good on his way, to fail near the goal by a sudden event which he couldnot have foreseen, and against which he was unarmed; it was terrible! But a fewpounds were left of the large sum he had carried with him. There only remainedof his fortune the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amounthe owed to his friends of the Reform Club. So great had been the expense of histour that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is probablethat he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who rather laid wagersfor honour’s sake than for the stake proposed. But this wager totallyruined him.

Mr. Fogg’s course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what remainedfor him to do.

A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was overwhelmedwith grief at her protector’s misfortune. From the words which Mr. Foggdropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious project.

Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to thedesperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch upon hismaster, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so doing.

First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had extinguishedthe gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days. He had found in theletter-box a bill from the gas company, and he thought it more than time to puta 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 onceclose her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a faithful dog, at hismaster’s door.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda’sbreakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda to excusehim from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed all day in puttinghis affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask permission to have a fewmoment’s conversation with the young lady.

Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey them. Helooked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring his mind to leavehim. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured by remorse; for he accusedhimself more bitterly than ever of being the cause of the irretrievabledisaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg, and had betrayed Fix’s projectsto him, his master would certainly not have given the detective passage toLiverpool, and then—

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

“My master! Mr. Fogg!” he cried, “why do you not curse me? Itwas 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 hismaster’s message.

“Madam,” he added, “I can do nothing myself—nothing! Ihave no influence over my master; but you, perhaps—”

“What influence could I have?” replied Aouda. “Mr. Fogg isinfluenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him isoverflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must not be left alone aninstant! You say he is going to speak with me this evening?”

“Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort inEngland.”

“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 notset out for his club when Westminster clock struck half-past eleven.

Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer expected himthere. 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 hiswager. It was not even necessary that he should go to his bankers for thetwenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists already had his cheque in theirhands, and they had only to fill it out and send it to the Barings to have theamount 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 inorder. Passepartout continually ascended and descended the stairs. The hourswere long for him. He listened at his master’s door, and looked throughthe keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do, and as if he feared thatsomething terrible might happen at any moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, butno 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 hismiserable 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 lookedruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive.

About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda wouldreceive 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. Noemotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly the Fogg who hadgone away; there was the same calm, the same impassibility.

He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on Aouda,“Madam,” said he, “will you pardon me for bringing you toEngland?”

“I, Mr. Fogg!” replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.

“Please let me finish,” returned Mr. Fogg. “When I decided tobring 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 yourexistence would have been free and happy. But now I am ruined.”

“I know it, Mr. Fogg,” replied Aouda; “and I ask you in myturn, will you forgive me for having followed you, and—whoknows?—for having, perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to yourruin?”

“Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only beassured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could not takeyou.”

“So, Mr. Fogg,” resumed Aouda, “not content with rescuing mefrom a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in aforeign land?”

“Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg toplace 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 haveneed 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 likeyou. 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 heartto which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that misery itself, sharedby two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience.”

“They say so, madam.”

“Mr. Fogg,” said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, “do youwish 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, whocould dare all to save him to whom she owed all, at first astonished, thenpenetrated him. He shut his eyes for an instant, as if to avoid her look. Whenhe opened them again, “I love you!” he said, simply. “Yes, byall 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 heldAouda’s hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big, round facebecame 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 toolate.”

It was five minutes past eight.

“Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?”

“For to-morrow, Monday,” said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.

“Yes; for to-morrow, Monday,” she replied.

Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.

CHAPTER XXXVI.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG’S NAME IS ONCE MORE AT A PREMIUM ON’CHANGE

It is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion when ittranspired that the real bankrobber, a certain James Strand, had been arrested,on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh. Three days before, Phileas Fogg hadbeen a criminal, who was being desperately followed up by the police; now hewas an honourable gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journeyround the world.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had laidbets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic; the“Phileas Fogg bonds” again became negotiable, and many new wagerswere 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 offeverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten, reappear beforetheir eyes! Where was he at this moment? The 17th of December, the day of JamesStrand’s arrest, was the seventy-sixth since Phileas Fogg’sdeparture, and no news of him had been received. Was he dead? Had he abandonedthe effort, or was he continuing his journey along the route agreed upon? Andwould he appear on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine inthe evening, on the threshold of the Reform Club saloon?

The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot bedescribed. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas Fogg.Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning and evening. Nonews. The police were ignorant what had become of the detective, Fix, who hadso unfortunately followed up a false scent. Bets increased, nevertheless, innumber and value. Phileas Fogg, like a racehorse, was drawing near his lastturning-point. The bonds were quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but attwenty, at ten, and at five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in hisfavour.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets onSaturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently establishedaround the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and everywhere disputes,discussions, and financial transactions were going on. The police had greatdifficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as the hour when Phileas Fogg was dueapproached, 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, thebrewer, 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 ThomasFlanagan.

“At twenty-three minutes past seven,” replied Gauthier Ralph;“and the next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve.”

“Well, gentlemen,” resumed Andrew Stuart, “if Phileas Fogghad 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 heappeared before us at the last minute.”

“Why,” said Andrew Stuart nervously, “if I should see him, Ishould not believe it was he.”

“The fact is,” resumed Thomas Flanagan, “Mr. Fogg’sproject was absurdly foolish. Whatever his punctuality, he could not preventthe delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three dayswould be fatal to his tour.”

“Observe, too,” added John Sullivan, “that we have receivedno intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along hisroute.”

“He has lost, gentleman,” said Andrew Stuart, “he has ahundred times lost! You know, besides, that the ‘China’—theonly steamer he could have taken from New York to get here in time arrivedyesterday. I have seen a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Foggis not among them. Even if we admit that fortune has favoured him, he canscarcely have reached America. I think he will be at least twenty daysbehind-hand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand.”

“It is clear,” replied Gauthier Ralph; “and we have nothingto do but to present Mr. Fogg’s cheque at Barings to-morrow.”

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’sproposal of a rubber.

“I wouldn’t give up my four thousand of the bet,” said AndrewStuart, as he took his seat, “for three thousand nine hundred andninety-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 thecards which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly quiet; butthe 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 helistened, with mathematical regularity.

“Sixteen minutes to nine!” said John Sullivan, in a voice whichbetrayed his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his partnerssuspended 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; and the pendulum hadnot beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared, followed by an excitedcrowd who had forced their way through the club doors, and in his calm voice,said, “Here I am, gentlemen!”

CHAPTER XXXVII.
IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT PHILEAS FOGG GAINED NOTHING BY HIS TOUR AROUND THEWORLD, UNLESS IT WERE HAPPINESS

Yes; Phileas Fogg in person.

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in theevening—about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the travellersin London—Passepartout had been sent by his master to engage the servicesof the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage ceremony, which was to takeplace the next day.

Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached theclergyman’s house, but found him not at home. Passepartout waited a goodtwenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman, it was thirty-fiveminutes past eight. But in what a state he was! With his hair in disorder, andwithout his hat, he ran along the street as never man was seen to run before,overturning passers-by, rushing over the sidewalk like a waterspout.

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!” gaspedPassepartout—“marriage—impossible—”

“Impossible?”

“Impossible—for to-morrow.”

“Why so?”

“Because to-morrow—is Sunday!”

“Monday,” replied Mr. Fogg.

“No—to-day is Saturday.”

“Saturday? Impossible!”

“Yes, yes, yes, yes!” cried Passepartout. “You have made amistake of one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time; but there areonly ten minutes left!”

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging him alongwith 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 runover 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 aday? How came he to think that he had arrived in London on Saturday, thetwenty-first day of December, when it was really Friday, the twentieth, theseventy-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, andthis merely because he had travelled constantly eastward; he would, onthe 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 thereforediminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed degrees in thisdirection. There are three hundred and sixty degrees on the circumference ofthe earth; and these three hundred and sixty degrees, multiplied by fourminutes, gives precisely twenty-four hours—that is, the day unconsciouslygained. In other words, while Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun passthe meridian eighty times, his friends in London only saw it pass themeridian seventy-nine times. This is why they awaited him at the ReformClub on Saturday, and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.

And Passepartout’s famous family watch, which had always kept Londontime, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as well as thehours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but, as he had spentnearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary gain was small. His objectwas, however, to be victorious, and not to win money. He divided the onethousand pounds that remained between Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix,against whom he cherished no grudge. He deducted, however, fromPassepartout’s share the cost of the gas which had burned in his room fornineteen 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 suggestedour marriage, my servant would not have gone to the Reverend SamuelWilson’s, I should not have been apprised 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, andthat Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave the bride away. Had he not savedher, and was he not entitled to this honour?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped vigorously at hismaster’s door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked, “What’s thematter, Passepartout?”

“What is it, sir? Why, I’ve just this instant foundout—”

“What?”

“That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eightdays.”

“No doubt,” returned Mr. Fogg, “by not crossing India. But ifI had not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she would not have beenmy wife, and—”

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around the world ineighty days. To do this he had employed every means ofconveyance—steamers, railways, carriages, yachts, trading-vessels,sledges, elephants. The eccentric gentleman had throughout displayed all hismarvellous qualities of coolness and exactitude. But what then? What had hereally gained by all this trouble? What had he brought back from this long andweary journey?

Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who, strange as itmay appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?