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Future Attack: Protect the Past: Defend the Present & Preserve the Future in the Name of Global and National Security Interest.

With the ability of time travel, certain world powers seek to reverse historical events in an attempt to change the future to attain global power in their favor by dissolving the power of the US. Ronnie Slay is a time travel agent for the Agency. He is tasked with traveling through time to preven...

 

 

 

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, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814.  He was one of

the most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed

always to avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage,

about whom little was known, except that he was a polished man

of the world.  People said that he resembled Byron--at least

that his head was Byronic; but he was a bearded, tranquil Byron,

who might live on a thousand years without growing old.

 

Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg

was a Londoner.  He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank,

nor in the counting-rooms of the "City"; no ships ever came into

London docks of which he was the owner; he had no public employment;

he had never been entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple,

or Lincoln's Inn, or Gray's Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded

in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench,

or the Ecclesiastical Courts.  He certainly was not a manufacturer;

nor was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer.  His name was strange

to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known

to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution

or the London Institution, the Artisan's Association, or the

Institution of Arts and Sciences.  He belonged, in fact,

to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the English capital,

from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly

for the purpose of abolishing pernicious insects.

 

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 cheques were regularly paid at sight from his account current,

which was always flush.

 

Was Phileas Fogg rich?  Undoubtedly.  But those who knew him

best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg

was the last person to whom to apply for the information.  He was

not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew

that money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose,

he supplied it quietly and sometimes anonymously.  He was, in short,

the least communicative of men.  He talked very little, and seemed

all the more mysterious for his taciturn manner.  His daily habits

were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly

the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits

of the curious were fairly puzzled.

 

Had he travelled?  It was likely, for no one seemed to know

the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded

that he did not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it.

He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures

advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of travellers,

pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with

a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions.

He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit.

 

It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself

from London for many years.  Those who were honoured by a better

acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could

pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else.  His sole pastimes

were reading the papers and playing whist.  He often won at this game,

which, as a silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his winnings

never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities.

Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing.

The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty,

yet a motionless, unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.

 

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children,

which may happen to the most honest people; either relatives

or near friends, which is certainly more unusual.  He lived alone

in his house in Saville Row, whither none penetrated.  A single

domestic sufficed to serve him.  He breakfasted and dined at the club,

at hours mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table,

never taking his meals with other members, much less bringing

a guest with him; and went home at exactly midnight, only to retire

at once to bed.  He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform

provides for its favoured members.  He passed ten hours out of the

twenty-four in Saville Row, either in sleeping or making his toilet.

When he chose to take a walk it was with a regular step in the

entrance hall with its mosaic flooring, or in the circular gallery

with its dome supported by twenty red porphyry Ionic columns,

and illumined by blue painted windows.  When he breakfasted or dined

all the resources of the club--its kitchens and pantries,

its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his table with their most

succulent stores; he was served by the gravest waiters,

in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered

the viands in special porcelain, and on the finest linen;

club decanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry,

his port, and his cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages

were refreshingly cooled with ice, brought at great cost

from the American lakes.

 

If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be

confessed that there is something good in eccentricity.

 

The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly comfortable.

The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but little from the

sole domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be almost superhumanly

prompt and regular.  On this very 2nd of October he had dismissed

James Forster, because that luckless youth had brought him shaving-water

at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead of eighty-six;

and he was awaiting his successor, who was due at the house

between eleven and half-past.

 

Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close together

like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his knees,

his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a complicated

clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the days,

the months, and the years.  At exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would,

according to his daily habit, quit Saville Row, and repair to the Reform.

 

A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where

Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant, appeared.

 

"The new servant," said he.

 

A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.

 

"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your name is John?"

 

"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer, "Jean Passepartout,

a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness

for going out of one business into another.  I believe I'm honest,

monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I've had several trades.  I've been

an itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard,

and dance on a rope like Blondin.  Then I got to be a professor of gymnastics,

so as to make better use of my talents; and then I was a sergeant fireman

at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire.  But I quitted France

five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of domestic life,

took service as a valet here in England.  Finding myself out of place,

and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact and settled

gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in the hope

of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the name

of Passepartout."

 

"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg.  "You are well recommended

to me; I hear a good report of you.  You know my conditions?"

 

"Yes, monsieur."

 

"Good!  What time is it?"

 

"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout,

drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.

 

"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.

 

"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--"

 

"You are four minutes too slow.  No matter; it's enough to mention

the error.  Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m.,

this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service."

 

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on

his head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

 

Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new

master going out.  He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor,

James Forster, departing in his turn.  Passepartout remained

alone in the house in Saville Row.

 

 

 

 

Chapter 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 new master!"

 

Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much

visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.

 

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been

carefully observing him.  He appeared to be a man about forty years of age,

with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure;

his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled,

his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent.  His countenance possessed

in the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in action,"

a quality of those who act rather than talk.  Calm and phlegmatic,

with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English

composure which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on canvas.

Seen in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being

perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer.

Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed

even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well as

in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions.

 

He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready,

and was economical alike of his steps and his motions.  He never took

one step too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut;

he made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or agitated.

He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always reached his

destination at the exact moment.

 

He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation;

and as he knew that in this world account must be taken of friction,

and that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody.

 

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris.  Since he

had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet,

he had in vain searched for a master after his own heart.

Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by

Moliere with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was

an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding,

soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round head, such as one

likes to see on the shoulders of a friend.  His eyes were blue,

his complexion rubicund, his figure almost portly and well-built,

his body muscular, and his physical powers fully developed by the

exercises of his younger days.  His brown hair was somewhat tumbled;

for, while the ancient sculptors are said to have known eighteen methods

of arranging Minerva's tresses, Passepartout was familiar with but one of

dressing his own: three strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.

 

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature would agree

with Mr. Fogg.  It was impossible to tell whether the new servant

would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master required;

experience alone could solve the question.  Passepartout had been

a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose;

but so far he had failed to find it, though he had already served

in ten English houses.  But he could not take root in any of these;

with chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular,

constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure.

His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament,

after passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often

brought home in the morning on policemen's shoulders.  Passepartout,

desirous of respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild

remonstrance on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he took his leave.

Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life

was one of unbroken regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed

from home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was after.

He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.

 

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in

the house in Saville Row.  He begun its inspection without delay,

scouring it from cellar to garret.  So clean, well-arranged,

solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell,

lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes.

When Passepartout reached the second story he recognised at once

the room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it.

Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with

the lower stories; while on the mantel stood an electric clock,

precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's bedchamber, both beating

the same second at the same instant.  "That's good, that'll do,"

said Passepartout to himself.

 

He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon inspection,

iUniverse

proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house.

It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight in the morning,

exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past eleven,

when he left the house for the Reform Club--all the details of service,

the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the shaving-water

at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at twenty minutes before ten.

Everything was regulated and foreseen that was to be done from

half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour at which the

methodical gentleman retired.

 

Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste.

Each pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number,

indicating the time of year and season at which they were

in turn to be laid out for wearing; and the same system

was applied to the master's shoes.  In short, the house

in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder

and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness,

comfort, and method idealised.  There was no study, nor were there books,

which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform

two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law and politics,

were at his service.  A moderate-sized safe stood in his bedroom,

constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but Passepartout

found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere; everything betrayed

the most tranquil and peaceable habits.

 

Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands,

a broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully,

"This is just what I wanted!  Ah, we shall get on together,

Mr. Fogg and I!  What a domestic and regular gentleman!

A real machine; well, I don't mind serving a machine."

 

 

 

 

Chapter III

 

IN WHICH A CONVERSATION TAKES PLACE WHICH SEEMS LIKELY TO COST

PHILEAS FOGG DEAR

 

 

Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven, and

having put his right foot before his left five hundred and seventy-five times, and his left foot

before his right five hundred and seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club,

an imposing edifice in Pall Mall, which could not have cost less than

three millions.  He repaired at once to the dining-room, the nine windows

of which open upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded

with an autumn colouring; and took his place at the habitual table,

the cover of which had already been laid for him.  His breakfast consisted

of a side-dish, a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of

roast beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart,

and a morsel of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with

several cups of tea, for which the Reform is famous.  He rose at

thirteen minutes to one, and directed his steps towards the large hall,

a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings.

A flunkey handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut

with a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation.

The perusal of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four,

whilst the Standard, his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour.

Dinner passed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the

reading-room and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six.

Half an hour later several members of the Reform came in and drew up

to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning.

They were Mr. Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer;

John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer;

and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England--

all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club which

comprises the princes of English trade and finance.

 

"Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what about that robbery?"

 

"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money."

 

"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands

on the robber.  Skilful detectives have been sent to all the

principal ports of America and the Continent, and he'll

be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers."

 

"But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart.

 

"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph, positively.

 

"What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no robber?"

 

"No."

 

"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then."

 

"The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman."

 

It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers, who

made this remark.  He bowed to his friends, and entered into the conversation.

The affair which formed its subject, and which was town talk, had occurred

three days before at the Bank of England.  A package of banknotes, to the

value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the principal

cashier's table, that functionary being at the moment engaged in registering

the receipt of three shillings and sixpence.  Of course, he could not have

his eyes everywhere.  Let it be observed that the Bank of England reposes

a touching confidence in the honesty of the public.  There are neither guards

nor gratings to protect its treasures; gold, silver, banknotes are freely

exposed, at the mercy of the first comer.  A keen observer of English customs

relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the

curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds.

He took it up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the next man,

and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was transferred to the end

of a dark entry; nor did it return to its place for half an hour.  Meanwhile,

the cashier had not so much as raised his head.  But in the present instance

things had not gone so smoothly.  The package of notes not being found when

five o'clock sounded from the ponderous clock in the "drawing office,"

the amount was passed to the account of profit and loss.  As soon as

the robbery was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool,

Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by

the proffered reward of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum

that might be recovered.  Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching

those who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination

was at once entered upon.

 

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said,

that the thief did not belong to a professional band.  On the day

of the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners,

and with a well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro

in the paying room where the crime was committed.  A description

Free Search Engine SubmissionFiction

of him was easily procured and sent to the detectives; and some

hopeful spirits, of whom Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension.

The papers and clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were

discussing the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club

was especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.

 

Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely

to be in vain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly

stimulate their zeal and activity.  But Stuart was far from sharing

this confidence; and, as they placed themselves at the whist-table,

they continued to argue the matter.  Stuart and Flanagan played together,

while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his partner.  As the game proceeded

the conversation ceased, excepting between the rubbers, when it revived again.

 

"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favour of the

thief, who must be a shrewd fellow."

 

"Well, but where can he fly to?" asked Ralph.  "No country is safe for him."

 

"Pshaw!"

 

"Where could he go, then?"

 

"Oh, I don't know that.  The world is big enough."

 

"It was once," said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone.  "Cut, sir,"

he added, handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

 

The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up its thread.

 

"What do you mean by `once'?  Has the world grown smaller?"

 

"Certainly," returned Ralph.  "I agree with Mr. Fogg.  The world

has grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly

than a hundred years ago.  And that is why the search for this thief

will be more likely to succeed."

 

"And also why the thief can get away more easily."

 

"Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart," said Phileas Fogg.

 

But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the

hand was finished, said eagerly: "You have a strange way, Ralph,

of proving that the world has grown smaller.  So, because you

can go round it in three months--"

 

"In eighty days," interrupted Phileas Fogg.

 

"That is true, gentlemen," added John Sullivan.  "Only eighty days,

now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the

Great Indian Peninsula Railway, has been opened.

Here is the estimate made by the Daily Telegraph:

 

 From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and

   Brindisi, by rail and steamboats .................  7 days

 From Suez to Bombay, by steamer .................... 13  "

 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

made a false deal.  "But that doesn't take into account bad weather,

contrary winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so on."

 

"All included," returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play

despite the discussion.

 

"But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails,"

replied Stuart; "suppose they stop the trains, pillage

the luggage-vans, and scalp the passengers!"

 

"All included," calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down the cards,

"Two trumps."

 

Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on:

"You are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically--"

 

"Practically also, Mr. Stuart."

 

"I'd like to see you do it in eighty days."

 

"It depends on you.  Shall we go?"

 

"Heaven preserve me!  But I would wager four thousand pounds

that such a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible."

 

"Quite possible, on the contrary," returned Mr. Fogg.

 

"Well, make it, then!"

 

"The journey round the world in eighty days?"

 

"Yes."

 

"I should like nothing better."

 

"When?"

 

"At once.  Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense."

 

"It's absurd!" cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at

the persistency of his friend.  "Come, let's go on with the game."

 

"Deal over again, then," said Phileas Fogg.  "There's a false deal."

 

Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly

put them down again.

 

"Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall be so:  I will wager

the four thousand on it."

 

"Calm yourself, my dear Stuart," said Fallentin.  "It's only a joke."

 

"When I say I'll wager," returned Stuart, "I mean it."  "All right,"

said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he continued: 

"I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring's which

I will willingly risk upon it."

 

"Twenty thousand pounds!" cried Sullivan.  "Twenty thousand pounds,

which you would lose by a single accidental delay!"

 

"The unforeseen does not exist," quietly replied Phileas Fogg.

 

"But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least possible

time in which the journey can be made."

 

"A well-used minimum suffices for everything."

 

"But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically

from the trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon

the trains again."

 

"I will jump--mathematically."

 

"You are joking."

 

"A true Englishman doesn't joke when he is talking about so

serious a thing as a wager," replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly.

"I will bet twenty thousand pounds against anyone who wishes

that I will make the tour of the world in eighty days or less;

in nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or a hundred and fifteen

thousand two hundred minutes.  Do you accept?"

 

"We accept," replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan,

Flanagan, and Ralph, after consulting each other.

 

"Good," said Mr. Fogg.  "The train leaves for Dover at a

quarter before nine.  I will take it."

 

"This very evening?" asked Stuart.

 

"This very evening," returned Phileas Fogg.  He took out and

consulted a pocket almanac, and added,  "As today is Wednesday,

the 2nd of October, I shall be due in London in this very room of

the Reform Club, on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter

before nine p.m.; or else the twenty thousand pounds,

now deposited in my name at Baring's, will belong to you,

in fact and in right, gentlemen.  Here is a cheque for the amount."

 

A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by

the six parties, during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical

composure.  He certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked

the twenty thousand pounds, half of his fortune, because he

foresaw that he might have to expend the other half to carry out

this difficult, not to say unattainable, project.  As for his

antagonists, they seemed much agitated; not so much by the value

of their stake, as because they had some scruples about betting

under conditions so difficult to their friend.

 

The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the

game so that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for departure.

 

"I am quite ready now," was his tranquil response.  "Diamonds are trumps:

be so good as to play, gentlemen."

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter IV

 

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT

 

 

Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends,

Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.

 

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his duties,

was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the inexactness

of appearing at this unaccustomed hour; for, according to rule,

he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.

 

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 the right hour.

 

"Passepartout!" repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.

 

Passepartout made his appearance.

 

"I've called you twice," observed his master.

 

"But it is not midnight," responded the other, showing his watch.

 

"I know it; I don't blame you.  We start for Dover and Calais

in ten minutes."

 

A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout's round face;

clearly he had not comprehended his master.

 

"Monsieur is going to leave home?"

 

"Yes," returned Phileas Fogg.  "We are going round the world."

 

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows,

held up his hands, and seemed about to collapse,

so overcome was he with stupefied astonishment.

 

"Round the world!" he murmured.

 

"In eighty days," responded Mr. Fogg.  "So we haven't a moment to lose."

 

"But the trunks?" gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying

his head from right to left.

 

"We'll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts

and three pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you.

We'll buy our clothes on the way.  Bring down my mackintosh

and traveling-cloak, and some stout shoes, though we shall

do little walking.  Make haste!"

 

Passepartout tried to reply, but could not.  He went out,

mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered:

"That's good, that is!  And I, who wanted to remain quiet!"

 

He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure.

Around the world in eighty days!  Was his master a fool?  No.

Was this a joke, then?  They were going to Dover; good!

To Calais; good again!  After all, Passepartout, who had

been away from France five years, would not be sorry

to set foot on his native soil again.  Perhaps they would

go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris once more.

But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt--

but, then, it was none the less true that he was going away,

this 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 in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room,

and descended to Mr. Fogg.

 

Mr. Fogg was quite ready.  Under his arm might have been observed a red-bound

copy of Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide,

with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of steamers and railways.

He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of

Bank of England notes, which would pass wherever he might go.

 

"You have forgotten nothing?" 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 in gold, and weighed him down.

 

Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked,

and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly

to Charing Cross.  The cab stopped before the railway station

at twenty minutes past eight.  Passepartout jumped off the box

and followed his master, who, after paying the cabman,

was about to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman,

with a child in her arms, her naked feet smeared with mud,

her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered feather,

and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl, approached,

and mournfully asked for alms.

 

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist,

and handed them to the beggar, saying, "Here, my good woman.

I'm glad that I met you;" and passed on.

 

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes;

his master's action touched his susceptible heart.

 

Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased,

Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train, when he perceived

his five friends of the Reform.

 

"Well, gentlemen," said he, "I'm off, you see; and, if you

will examine my passport when I get back, you will be able

to judge whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon."

 

"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph politely.

"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 quarter before nine p.m.  Good-bye, gentlemen."

 

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage

at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed,

and the train slowly glided out of the station.

 

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling.

Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips.

Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction,

clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.

 

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham,

Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

 

"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

 

"Alas!  In my hurry--I--I forgot--"

 

"What?"

 

"To turn off the gas in my room!"

 

"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; "it will burn--

at your expense."

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 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 a lively sensation at the West End.  The news of the

bet spread through the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting topic

of conversation to its members.  From the club it soon got into

the papers throughout England.  The boasted "tour of the world"

was talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as if the

subject were another Alabama claim.  Some took sides with Phileas

Fogg, but the large majority shook their heads and declared

against him; it was absurd, impossible, they declared, that the

tour of the world could be made, except theoretically and on paper,

in this minimum of time, and with the existing means of travelling.

The Times, Standard, Morning Post, and Daily News, and twenty other

highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr. Fogg's project as madness;

the Daily Telegraph alone hesitatingly supported him.  People in general

thought him a lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for having

accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration of its proposer.

 

Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question,

for geography is one of the pet subjects of the English;

and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg's venture were eagerly

devoured by all classes of readers.  At first some rash individuals,

principally of the gentler sex, espoused his cause, which became

still more popular when the Illustrated London News came out

with his portrait, copied from a photograph in the Reform Club.

A few readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say,

"Why not, after all?  Stranger things have come to pass."

 

At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin

of the Royal Geographical Society, which treated the question from

every point of view, and demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.

 

Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed

alike by man and by nature.  A miraculous agreement of the times of departure

and arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary to his success.

He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at the designated hours,

in Europe, where the distances were relatively moderate; but when

he calculated upon crossing India in three days, and the United States

in seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon accomplishing his task?

There were accidents to machinery, the liability of trains to run off the line,

collisions, bad weather, the blocking up by snow--were not all these against

Phileas Fogg?  Would he not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter,

at the mercy of the winds and fogs?  Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers

to be two or three days behind time?  But a single delay would suffice to

fatally break the chain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once miss,

even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next,

and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.

 

This article made a great deal of noise, and, being copied into

all the papers, seriously depressed the advocates of the rash tourist.

 

Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who are

of a higher class than mere gamblers; to bet is in the English temperament.

Not only the members of the Reform, but the general public, made heavy wagers

for or against Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the betting books as if

he were a race-horse.  Bonds were issued, and made their appearance on 'Change;

"Phileas Fogg bonds" were offered at par or at a premium, and a great business

was done in them.  But five days after the article in the bulletin of the

Geographical Society appeared, the demand began to subside:  "Phileas Fogg"

declined.  They were offered by packages, at first of five, then of ten,

until at last nobody would take less than twenty, fifty, a hundred!

 

Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only advocate

of Phileas Fogg left.  This noble lord, who was fastened to his chair,

would have given his fortune to be able to make the tour of the world,

if it took ten years; and he bet five thousand pounds on Phileas Fogg.

When the folly as well as the uselessness of the adventure was pointed out

to him, he contented himself with replying, "If the thing is feasible,

the first to do it ought to be an Englishman."

 

The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against him,

and the bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one;

and a week after his departure an incident occurred which deprived him

of backers at any price.

 

The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o'clock

one evening, when the following telegraphic dispatch was put into his hands:

 

Suez to London.

 

Rowan, Commissioner of Police, Scotland Yard:

 

I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg.  Send with out delay warrant

of arrest to Bombay.

 

Fix, Detective.

 

The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous.  The polished gentleman

disappeared to give place to the bank robber.  His photograph, which was

hung with those of the rest of the members at the Reform Club,

was minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature,

the description of the robber which had been provided to the police.

The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary ways,

his sudden departure; and it seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour

round the world on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in view

than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his track.

 

 

 

 

Chapter VI

 

IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE, BETRAYS A VERY NATURAL IMPATIENCE

 

 

The circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about

Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:

 

The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental Company,

built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and five hundred

horse-power, was due at eleven o'clock a.m. on Wednesday, the 9th of October,

at Suez.  The Mongolia plied regularly between Brindisi and Bombay via

the Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest steamers belonging to the company,

always making more than ten knots an hour between Brindisi and Suez,

and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.

 

Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd

of natives and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling village--

now, thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing town.  One was

the British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies of the

English Government, and the unfavourable predictions of Stephenson,

was in the habit of seeing, from his office window, English ships

daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old roundabout

route from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was abridged

by at least a half.  The other was a small, slight-built personage,

with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering out

from under eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching.

He was just now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience,

nervously pacing up and down, and unable to stand still for a moment.

This was Fix, one of the detectives who had been dispatched from England

in search of the bank robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every

passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to

be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the description

of the criminal, which he had received two days before from the

police headquarters at London.  The detective was evidently inspired

by the hope of obtaining the splendid reward which would be the prize

of success, and awaited with a feverish impatience, easy to understand,

the arrival of the steamer Mongolia.

 

"So you say, consul," asked he for the twentieth time, "that this steamer

is never behind time?"

 

"No, Mr. Fix," replied the consul.  "She was bespoken yesterday at Port Said,

and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft.  I repeat that

the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required by the company's

regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of speed."

 

"Does she come directly from Brindisi?"

 

"Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there,

and she left there Saturday at five p.m.  Have patience, Mr. Fix;

she will not be late.  But really, I don't see how, from the

description you have, you will be able to recognise your man,

even if he is on board the Mongolia."

 

"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul,

than recognises them.  You must have a scent for them,

and a scent is like a sixth sense which combines hearing,

seeing, and smelling.  I've arrested more than one of these gentlemen

in my time, and, if my thief is on board, I'll answer for it;

he'll not slip through my fingers."

 

"I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery."

 

"A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand pounds!

We don't often have such windfalls.  Burglars are getting to be so

contemptible nowadays!  A fellow gets hung for a handful of shillings!"

 

"Mr. Fix," said the consul, "I like your way of talking, and hope

you'll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from easy.

Don't you see, the description which you have there has

a singular resemblance to an honest man?"

 

"Consul," remarked the detective, dogmatically, "great robbers

always resemble honest folks.  Fellows who have rascally faces

have only one course to take, and that is to remain honest;

otherwise they would be arrested 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 various nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters, fellahs,

bustled to and fro as if the steamer were immediately expected.

The weather was clear, and slightly chilly.  The minarets of the town

loomed above the houses in the pale rays of the sun.  A jetty pier,

some two thousand yards along, extended into the roadstead.

A number of fishing-smacks and coasting boats, some retaining

the fantastic fashion of ancient galleys, were discernible on the Red Sea.

 

As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit,

scrutinised the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.

 

It was now half-past ten.

 

"The steamer doesn't come!" he exclaimed, as the port clock struck.

 

"She can't be far off now," returned his companion.

 

"How long will she stop at Suez?"

 

"Four hours; long enough to get in her coal.  It is thirteen hundred

and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the Red Sea,

and she has to take in a fresh coal supply."

 

"And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?"

 

"Without putting in anywhere."

 

"Good!" said Fix.  "If the robber is on board he will no doubt

get off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies in

Asia by some other route.  He ought to know that he would not be

safe an hour in India, which is English soil."

 

"Unless," objected the consul, "he is exceptionally shrewd.

An English criminal, you know, is always better concealed

n London than anywhere else."

 

This observation furnished the detective food for thought,

and meanwhile the consul went away to his office.  Fix, left alone,

was more impatient than ever, having a presentiment that the

robber was on board the Mongolia.  If he had indeed left London

intending to reach the New World, he would naturally take the

route via India, which was less watched and more difficult

to watch than that of the Atlantic.  But Fix's reflections were

soon interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which announced

the arrival of the Mongolia.  The porters and fellahs rushed

down the quay, and a dozen boats pushed off from the shore to go

and meet the steamer.  Soon her gigantic hull appeared passing

along between the banks, and eleven o'clock struck as she anchored

in the road.  She brought an unusual number of passengers,

some of whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama

of the town, while the greater part disembarked in the boats,

and landed on the quay.

 

Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face

and figure which made its appearance.  Presently one of

the passengers, after vigorously pushing his way through the

importunate crowd of porters, came up to him and politely asked if

he could point out the English consulate, at the same time showing

a passport which he wished to have visaed.  Fix instinctively took

the passport, and with a rapid glance read the description

of its bearer.  An involuntary motion of surprise nearly escaped him,

for the description in the passport was identical with that of the

bank robber which he had received from Scotland 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 his identity."

 

"Oh, is that necessary?"

 

"Quite indispensable."

 

"And where is the consulate?"

 

"There, on the corner of the square," said Fix, pointing to

a house two hundred steps off.

 

"I'll go and fetch my master, who won't be much pleased, however,

to be disturbed."

 

The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.

 

 

 

 

Chapter VII

 

WHICH ONCE MORE DEMONSTRATES THE USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS

AS AIDS TO DETECTIVES

 

 

The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to

the consul's office, where he was at once admitted to the presence

of that official.

 

"Consul," said he, without preamble, "I have strong reasons

for believing that my man is a passenger on the Mongolia."

And he narrated what had just passed concerning the passport.

 

"Well, Mr. Fix," replied the consul, "I shall not be sorry to

see the rascal's face; but perhaps he won't come here--that is,

if he is the person you suppose him to be.  A robber doesn't quite

like to leave traces of his flight behind him; and, besides,

he is not obliged to have his passport countersigned."

 

"If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come."

 

"To have his passport visaed?"

 

"Yes.  Passports are only good for annoying honest folks,

and aiding in the flight of rogues.  I assure you it will be quite

the thing for him to do; but I hope you will not visa the passport."

 

"Why not?  If the passport is genuine I have no right to refuse."

 

"Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to

arrest him from London."

 

"Ah, that's your look-out.  But I cannot--"

 

The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock was heard

at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was the servant

whom Fix had met on the quay.  The other, who was his master,

held out his passport with the request that the consul would do him

the favour to visa it.  The consul took the document and carefully read it,

whilst Fix observed, or rather devoured, the stranger with his eyes

from a corner of the room.

 

"You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?" said the consul, after reading the passport.

 

"I am."

 

"And this man is your servant?"

 

"He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout."

 

"You are from London?"

 

"Yes."

 

"And you are going--"

 

"To Bombay."

 

"Very good, sir.  You know that a visa is useless, and that no passport

is required?"

 

"I know it, sir," replied Phileas Fogg; "but I wish to prove,

by your visa, that I came by Suez."

 

"Very well, sir."

 

The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after which

he added his official seal.  Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee,

coldly bowed, and went out, followed by his servant.

 

"Well?" queried the detective.

 

"Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man," replied the consul.

 

"Possibly; but that is not the question.  Do you think, consul,

that this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature,

the robber whose description I have received?"

 

"I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions--"

 

"I'll make certain of it," interrupted Fix.  "The servant seems

to me less mysterious than the master; besides, he's a Frenchman,

and can't help talking.  Excuse me for a little while, consul."

 

Fix started off in search of Passepartout.

 

Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to

the quay, gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to

the    Mongolia in a boat, and descended to his cabin.

He took up his note-book, which contained the following memoranda:

 

"Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.

"Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m.

"Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m.

"Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 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, 158+; or, in days, six days and a half."

 

These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns,

indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the

stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point Paris,

Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama,

San Francisco, New York, and London--from the 2nd of October

to the 21st of December; and giving a space for setting down

the gain made or the loss suffered on arrival at each locality.

This methodical record thus contained an account of everything needed,

and Mr. Fogg always knew whether he was behind-hand or in advance

of his time.  On this Friday, October 9th, he noted his arrival at Suez,

and observed that he had as yet neither gained nor lost.

He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never once thinking

of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who are wont

to see foreign countries through the eyes of their domestics.

 

 

 

 

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.

So this is Suez?"

 

"Yes."

 

"In Egypt?"

 

"Certainly, in Egypt."

 

"And in Africa?"

 

"In Africa."

 

"In Africa!" repeated Passepartout.  "Just think, monsieur,

I had no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I

saw of Paris was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty

minutes before nine in the morning, between the Northern and

the Lyons stations, through the windows of a car, and in a

driving rain!  How I regret not having seen once more Pere la Chaise

and the circus in the Champs Elysees!"

 

"You are in a great hurry, then?"

 

"I am not, but my master is.  By the way, I must buy some shoes and shirts.

We came away without trunks, only with a 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 the steamer."

 

"You have plenty of time; it's only twelve o'clock."

 

Passepartout pulled out his big watch.  "Twelve!" he exclaimed;

"why, it's only eight minutes before ten."

 

"Your watch is slow."

 

"My watch?  A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from

my great-grandfather!  It doesn't vary five minutes in the year.

It's a perfect chronometer, look you."

 

"I see how it is," said Fix.  "You have kept London time,

which is two hours behind that of Suez.  You ought to regulate

your watch at noon in each country."

 

"I regulate my watch?  Never!"

 

"Well, then, it will not agree with the sun."

 

"So much the worse for the sun, monsieur.  The sun will be wrong, then!"

 

And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a

defiant gesture.  After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed:

"You left London hastily, then?"

 

"I rather think so!  Last Friday at eight o'clock in the evening,

Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three-quarters of an hour

afterwards we were off."

 

"But where is your master going?"

 

"Always straight ahead.  He is going round the world."

 

"Round the world?" cried Fix.

 

"Yes, and in eighty days!  He says it is on a wager; but, between us,

I don't believe a word of it.  That wouldn't be common sense.

There's something else in the wind."

 

"Ah!  Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?"

 

"I should say he was."

 

"Is he rich?"

 

"No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand new

banknotes with him.  And he doesn't spare the money on the way,

either: he has offered a large reward to the engineer of the

Mongolia if he gets us to Bombay well in advance of time."

 

"And you have known your master a long time?"

 

"Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London."

 

The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious

and excited detective may be imagined.  The hasty departure

from London soon after the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr. Fogg;

his eagerness to reach distant countries; the pretext of an

eccentric and foolhardy bet--all confirmed Fix in his theory.

He continued to pump poor Passepartout, and learned that he really

knew little or nothing of his master, who lived a solitary

existence in London, was said to be rich, though no one knew

whence came his riches, and was mysterious and impenetrable

in his affairs and habits.  Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg

would not land at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.

 

"Is Bombay far from here?" asked Passepartout.

 

"Pretty far.  It is a ten days' voyage by sea."

 

"And in what country is Bombay?"

 

"India."

 

"In Asia?"

 

"Certainly."

 

"The deuce!  I was going to tell you there's one thing that worries me--

my burner!"

 

"What burner?"

 

"My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at

this moment burning at my expense.  I have calculated, monsieur,

that I lose two shillings every four and twenty hours, exactly

sixpence more than I earn; and you will understand that the longer

our journey--"

 

Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout's trouble about the gas?

It is not probable.  He was not listening, but was cogitating a project.

Passepartout and he had now reached the shop, where Fix left his companion

to make his purchases, after recommending him not to miss the steamer,

and hurried back to the consulate.  Now that he was fully convinced,

Fix had quite recovered his equanimity.

 

"Consul," said he, "I have no longer any doubt.  I have spotted my man.

He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round the world

in eighty days."

 

"Then he's a sharp fellow," returned the consul, "and counts on

returning to London after putting the police of the two countries

off his track."

 

"We'll see about that," replied Fix.

 

"But are you not mistaken?"

 

"I am not mistaken."

 

"Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa,

that he had passed through Suez?"

 

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

 

He reported in a few words the most important parts

of his conversation with Passepartout.

 

"In short," said the consul, "appearances are wholly against this man.

And what are you going to do?"

 

"Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched

instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the Mongolia, follow my rogue

to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely, with my warrant

in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder."

 

Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective

took leave of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office,

whence he sent the dispatch which we have seen to the London police office.

A quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small bag in his hand,

proceeding on board the Mongolia; and, ere many moments longer,

the noble steamer rode out at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter IX

 

IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS

TO THE DESIGNS OF PHILEAS FOGG

 

 

The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred

and ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the

steamers one hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it.

The Mongolia, thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer,

seemed likely, so rapid was her speed, to reach her destination

considerably within that time.  The greater part of the passengers

from Brindisi were bound for India some for Bombay, others for Calcutta

by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses

the Indian peninsula.  Among the passengers was a number of officials

and military officers of various grades, the latter being either attached

to the regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops,

and receiving high salaries ever since the central

government has assumed the powers of the East India Company:

for the sub-lieutenants get 280 pounds, brigadiers, 2,400 pounds,

and generals of divisions, 4,000 pounds.  What with the military men,

a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable

efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the Mongolia.

The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast,

lunch, dinner, and the eight o'clock supper, and the ladies

scrupulously changed their toilets twice a day; and the hours

were whirled away, when the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games.

 

But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most long

and narrow gulfs.  When the wind came from the African or Asian coast

the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled fearfully.  Then the ladies

speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancing

suddenly ceased.  Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind

or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb.  What was Phileas Fogg

doing all this time?  It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would

be constantly watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging

of the billows--every chance, in short, which might force the Mongolia

to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey.  But, if he thought

of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by any outward sign.

 

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no

incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship's chronometers,

and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed

through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference;

did not care to recognise the historic towns and villages which,

along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky;

and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old

historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient

navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices.

How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the Mongolia?  He made his

four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent rolling

and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist indefatigably,

for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself.

A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith,

returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-general of the English army,

who was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party, and,

with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence.

 

As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his meals

conscientiously in the forward cabin.  He rather enjoyed the voyage,

for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in the scenes

through which they were passing, and consoled himself with the delusion

that his master's whim would end at Bombay.  He was pleased, on the day after

leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging person with whom he had walked

and chatted on the quays.

 

"If I am not mistaken," said he, approaching this person, with his most

amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered

to guide me at Suez?"

 

"Ah!  I quite recognise you.  You are the servant of the strange Englishman--"

 

"Just so, monsieur--"

 

"Fix."

 

"Monsieur Fix," resumed Passepartout, "I'm charmed to find you on board.

Where are you bound?"

 

"Like you, to Bombay."

 

"That's capital!  Have you made this trip before?"

 

"Several times.  I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company."

 

"Then you know India?"

 

"Why yes," replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.

 

"A curious place, this India?"

 

"Oh, very curious.  Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas, tigers,

snakes, elephants!  I hope you will have ample time to see the sights."

 

"I hope so, Monsieur Fix.  You see, a man of sound sense ought not

to spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train,

and from a railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour

of the world in eighty days!  No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure,

will cease at Bombay."

 

"And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?" asked Fix, in the most natural

tone in the world.

 

"Quite well, and I too.  I eat like a famished ogre; it's the sea air.

 

"But I never see your master on deck."

 

"Never; he hasn't the least curiosity."

 

"Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty days

may conceal some secret errand--perhaps a diplomatic mission?"

 

"Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it,

nor would I give half a crown to find out."

 

After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit

of chatting together, the latter making it a point to gain

the worthy man's confidence.  He frequently offered him a glass

of whiskey or pale ale in the steamer bar-room, which Passepartout

never failed to accept with graceful alacrity, mentally pronouncing

Fix the best of good fellows.

 

Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th,

Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing,

was sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.

Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought that,

with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an immense

coffee-cup and saucer. The following night they passed through the Strait

of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic The Bridge of Tears, and the

next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of Aden harbour,

to take in coal.  This matter of fuelling steamers is a serious

one at such distances from the coal-mines; it costs the Peninsular

Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a year.  In these

distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds sterling a ton.

 

The Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to traverse

before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at

Steamer Point to coal up.  But this delay, as it was foreseen,

did not affect Phileas Fogg's programme; besides, the Mongolia,

instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due,

arrived there on the evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.

 

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport

again visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them.  The visa procured,

Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits; while Passepartout,

according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed population of Somanlis,

Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who comprise the twenty-five

thousand inhabitants of Aden.  He gazed with wonder upon the fortifications

which make this place the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns

where the English engineers were still at work, two thousand years after

the engineers of Solomon.

 

"Very curious, very curious," said Passepartout to himself,

on returning to the steamer.  "I see that it is by no means useless

to travel, if a man wants to see something new."  At six p.m.

the Mongolia slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon

once more on the Indian Ocean.  She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours

in which to reach Bombay, and the sea was favourable, the wind being

in the north-west, and all sails aiding the engine.  The steamer

rolled but little, the ladies, in fresh toilets, reappeared

on deck, and the singing and dancing were resumed.  The trip

was being accomplished most successfully, and Passepartout

was enchanted with the congenial companion which chance had secured

him in the person of the delightful Fix.  On Sunday, October 20th,

towards noon, they came in sight of the Indian coast: two hours

later the pilot came on board.  A range of hills lay against the

sky in the horizon, and soon the rows of palms which adorn Bombay

came distinctly into view.  The steamer entered the road formed by

the islands in the bay, and at half-past four she hauled up at the

quays of Bombay.

 

Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber

of the voyage, and his partner and himself having, by a bold stroke,

captured all thirteen of the tricks, concluded this fine campaign

with a brilliant victory.

 

The Mongolia was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the

20th.  This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his

departure from London, and he calmly entered the fact in the

itinerary, in the column of gains.

 

 

 

 

Chapter X

 

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT IS ONLY TOO GLAD TO GET OFF

WITH THE LOSS OF HIS SHOES

 

 

Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its

base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India,

embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread

unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls.

The British Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the

larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general

stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal,

and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.

 

But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven

hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from

one hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants.

A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority;

and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are

absolutely independent.  The celebrated East India Company

was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a foothold

on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down to the time

of the great Sepoy insurrection.  It gradually annexed province

after province, purchasing them of the native chiefs, whom it seldom paid,

and appointed the governor-general and his subordinates, civil and military.

But the East India Company has now passed away, leaving the British

possessions in India directly under the control of the Crown.

The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race,

is daily changing.

 

Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods

of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldly coaches;

now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great railway,

with branch lines joining the main line at many points on its route,

traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days.

This railway does not run in a direct line across India.

The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies,

is only from one thousand to eleven hundred miles;

but the deflections of the road increase this distance by more than a third.

 

The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows:

Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent

opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts,

runs thence north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly

independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad,

turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares,

then departs from the river a little, and, descending south-eastward

by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.

 

The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half-past four p.m.;

at exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.

 

Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer,

gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the station

promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which beat to the second,

like a astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport office.

As for the wonders of Bombay its famous city hall, its splendid library,

its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches,

and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two polygonal towers--

he cared not a straw to see them.  He would not deign to examine

even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea,

concealed south-east from the docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist

architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette.

 

Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg

repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner.

Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended

a certain giblet of "native rabbit," on which he prided himself.

 

Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce,

found it far from palatable.  He rang for the landlord, and,

on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him,

"Is this rabbit, sir?"

 

"Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly replied, "rabbit from the jungles."

 

"And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?"

 

"Mew, my lord!  What, a rabbit mew!  I swear to you--"

 

"Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this:

cats were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals.

That was a good time."

 

"For the cats, my lord?"

 

"Perhaps for the travellers as well!"

 

After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.  Fix had gone

on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was

the headquarters of the Bombay police.  He made himself known

as a London detective, told his business at Bombay, and the

position of affairs relative to the supposed robber, and nervously

asked if a warrant had arrived from London.  It had not reached

the office; indeed, there had not yet been time for it to arrive.

Fix was sorely disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest

from the director of the Bombay police.  This the director refused,

as the matter concerned the London office, which alone could legally

deliver the warrant.  Fix did not insist, and was fain to resign himself

to await the arrival of the important document; but he was determined

not to lose sight of the mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay.

He did not doubt for a moment, any more than Passepartout, that Phileas Fogg

would remain there, at least until it was time for the warrant to arrive.

 

Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master's orders

on leaving the Mongolia than he saw at once that they were to

leave Bombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey

would be extended at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond

that place.  He began to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg

talked about was not really in good earnest, and whether his fate

was not in truth forcing him, despite his love of repose, around

the world in eighty days!

 

Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took

a leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people

of many nationalities--Europeans, Persians with pointed caps,

Banyas with round turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees

with black mitres, and long-robed Armenians--were collected.

It happened to be the day of a Parsee festival.  These descendants

of the sect of Zoroaster--the most thrifty, civilised, intelligent,

and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted the richest

native merchants of Bombay--were celebrating a sort of religious carnival,

with processions and shows, in the midst of which Indian dancing-girls,

clothed in rose-coloured gauze, looped up with gold and silver,

danced airily, but with perfect modesty, to the sound of viols

and the clanging of tambourines.  It is needless to say that Passepartout

watched these curious ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth,

and that his countenance was that of the greenest booby imaginable.

 

Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity

drew him unconsciously farther off than he intended to go.

At last, having seen the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance,

he was turning his steps towards the station, when he happened

to espy the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with

an irresistible desire to see its interior.  He was quite ignorant

that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian temples,

and that even the faithful must not go in without first leaving their

shoes outside the door.  It may be said here that the wise policy

of the British Government severely punishes a disregard of the practices

of the native religions.

 

Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist,

and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation

which everywhere met his eyes, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling

on the sacred flagging.  He looked up to behold three enraged priests,

who forthwith fell upon him; tore off his shoes, and began to beat him

with loud, savage exclamations.  The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet

again, and lost no time in knocking down two of his long-gowned

adversaries with his fists and a vigorous application of his toes;

then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legs could carry him,

he soon escaped the third priest by mingling with the crowd in the streets.

 

At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless,

and having in the squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes,

rushed breathlessly into the station.

 

Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he

was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform.

He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta,

and farther, if necessary.  Passepartout did not observe the

detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him

relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.

 

"I hope that this will not happen again," said Phileas Fogg coldly,

as he got into the train.  Poor Passepartout, quite crestfallen,

followed his master without a word.  Fix was on the point of entering

another carriage, when an idea struck him which induced him to alter his plan.

 

"No, I'll stay," muttered he.  "An offence has been committed on Indian soil.

I've got my man."

 

Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out

into the darkness of the night.

 

 

 

Chapter XI

 

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SECURES A CURIOUS MEANS OF CONVEYANCE

AT A FABULOUS PRICE

 

 

The train had started punctually.  Among the passengers were

a number of officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo

merchants, whose business called them to the eastern coast.

Passepartout rode in the same carriage with his master, and a

third passenger occupied a seat opposite to them.  This was

Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr. Fogg's whist partners

on the Mongolia, now on his way to join his corps at Benares.

Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty, who had greatly

distinguished himself in the last Sepoy revolt.  He made India

his home, only paying brief visits to England at rare intervals;

and was almost as familiar as a native with the customs, history,

and character of India and its people.  But Phileas Fogg, who was

not travelling, but only describing a circumference, took no pains

to inquire into these subjects; he was a solid body, traversing

an orbit around the terrestrial globe, according to the laws

of rational mechanics.  He was at this moment calculating in his mind

the number of hours spent since his departure from London, and,

had it been in his nature to make a useless demonstration,

would have rubbed his hands for satisfaction.  Sir Francis Cromarty

had observed the oddity of his travelling companion--although the

only opportunity he had for studying him had been while he was

dealing the cards, and between two rubbers--and questioned himself

whether a human heart really beat beneath this cold exterior,

and whether Phileas Fogg had any sense of the beauties of nature.

The brigadier-general was free to mentally confess that,

of all the eccentric persons he had ever met, none was comparable

to this product of the exact sciences.

 

Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his design of going

round the world, nor the circumstances under which he set out;

and the general only saw in the wager a useless eccentricity

and a lack of sound common sense.  In the way this strange gentleman

was going on, he would leave the world without having done any good

to himself or anybody else.

 

An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts

and the Island of Salcette, and had got into the open country.

At Callyan they reached the junction of the branch line which

descends towards south-eastern India by Kandallah and Pounah;

and, passing Pauwell, they entered the defiles of the mountains,

with their basalt bases, and their summits crowned with thick

and verdant forests.  Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty exchanged

a few words from time to time, and now Sir Francis, reviving the conversation,

observed, "Some years ago, Mr. Fogg, you would have met with a delay

at this point which would probably have lost you your wager."

 

"How so, Sir Francis?"

 

"Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains,

which the passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins

or on ponies to Kandallah, on the other side."

 

"Such a delay would not have deranged my plans in the least,"

said Mr. Fogg.  "I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of

certain obstacles."

 

"But, Mr. Fogg," pursued Sir Francis, "you run the risk of

having some difficulty about this worthy fellow's adventure

at the pagoda."  Passepartout, his feet comfortably wrapped

in his travelling-blanket, was sound asleep and did not dream

that anybody was talking about him.  "The Government is very severe

upon that kind of offence.  It takes particular care that the

religious customs of the Indians should be respected,

and if your servant were caught--"

 

"Very well, Sir Francis," replied Mr. Fogg; "if he had been

caught he would have been condemned and punished, and then would

have quietly returned to Europe.  I don't see how this affair

could have delayed his master."

 

The conversation fell again.  During the night the train left

the mountains behind, and passed Nassik, and the next day

proceeded over the flat, well-cultivated country of the Khandeish,

with its straggling villages, above which rose the minarets

of the pagodas.  This fertile territory is watered by numerous

small rivers and limpid streams, mostly tributaries of the Godavery.

 

Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realise

that he was actually crossing India in a railway train.

The locomotive, guided by an English engineer and fed with English

coal, threw out its smoke upon cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove,

and pepper plantations, while the steam curled in spirals around

groups of palm-trees, in the midst of which were seen picturesque

bungalows, viharis (sort of abandoned monasteries), and marvellous

temples enriched by the exhaustless ornamentation of Indian architecture.

Then they came upon vast tracts extending to the horizon, with jungles

inhabited by snakes and tigers, which fled at the noise of the train;

succeeded by forests penetrated by the railway, and still haunted

by elephants which, with pensive eyes, gazed at the train as it passed.

The travellers crossed, beyond Milligaum, the fatal country so often

stained with blood by the sectaries of the goddess Kali.  Not far off

rose Ellora, with its graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad,

capital of the ferocious Aureng-Zeb, now the chief town of one of the

detached provinces of the kingdom of the Nizam.  It was thereabouts

that Feringhea, the Thuggee chief, king of the stranglers, held his sway.

These ruffians, united by a secret bond, strangled victims of every age

in honour of the goddess Death, without ever shedding blood; there was

a period when this part of the country could scarcely be travelled over

without corpses being found in every direction.  The English Government

has succeeded in greatly diminishing these murders, though the Thuggees

still exist, and pursue the exercise of their horrible rites.

 

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor where

Passepartout was able to purchase some Indian slippers,

ornamented with false pearls, in which, with evident vanity,

he proceeded to encase his feet.  The travellers made a hasty breakfast

and started off for Assurghur, after skirting for a little the banks

of the small river Tapty, which empties into the Gulf of Cambray, near Surat.

 

Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie.  Up to

his arrival at Bombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey

would end there; but, now that they were plainly whirling across

India at full speed, a sudden change had come over the spirit of

his dreams.  His old vagabond nature returned to him; the fantastic

ideas of his youth once more took possession of him.  He came to regard

his master's project as intended in good earnest, believed in the reality

of the bet, and therefore in the tour of the world and the necessity

of making it without fail within the designated period.  Already he began

to worry about possible delays, and accidents which might happen on the way.

He recognised himself as being personally interested in the wager,

and trembled at the thought that he might have been the means of losing it

by his unpardonable folly of the night before.  Being much less cool-headed

than Mr. Fogg, he was much more restless, counting and recounting the

days passed over, uttering maledictions when the train stopped,

and accusing it of sluggishness, and mentally blaming Mr. Fogg

for not having bribed the engineer.  The worthy fellow was ignorant that,

while it was possible by such means to hasten the rate of a steamer,

it could not be done on the railway.

 

The train entered the defiles of the Sutpour Mountains, which separate

the Khandeish from Bundelcund, towards evening.  The next day Sir Francis

Cromarty asked Passepartout what time it was; to which, on consulting

his watch, he replied that it was three in the morning.  This famous timepiece,

always regulated on the Greenwich meridian, which was now some seventy-seven

degrees westward, was at least four hours slow.  Sir Francis corrected

Passepartout's time, whereupon the latter made the same remark that he had

done to Fix; and up on the general insisting that the watch should be

regulated in each new meridian, since he was constantly going eastward,

that is in the face of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter

by four minutes for each degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately refused

to alter his watch, which he kept at London time.  It was an innocent delusion

which could harm no one.

 

The train stopped, at eight o'clock, in the midst of a glade some

fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows,

and workmen's cabins.  The conductor, passing along the carriages,

shouted, "Passengers will get out here!"

 

Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation;

but the general could not tell what meant a halt in the midst

of this forest of dates and acacias.

 

Passepartout, not less surprised, rushed out and speedily returned, crying:

"Monsieur, no more railway!"

 

"What do you mean?" asked Sir Francis.

 

"I mean to say that the train isn't going on."

 

The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly followed him,

and they proceeded together to the conductor.

 

"Where are we?" asked Sir Francis.

 

"At the hamlet of Kholby."

 

"Do we stop here?"

 

"Certainly.  The railway isn't finished."

 

"What! not finished?"

 

"No.  There's still a matter of fifty miles to be laid

from here to Allahabad, where the line begins again."

 

"But the papers announced the opening of the railway throughout."

 

"What would you have, officer?  The papers were mistaken."

 

"Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta," retorted Sir Francis,

who was growing warm.

 

"No doubt," replied the conductor; "but the passengers know

that they must provide means of transportation for themselves

from Kholby to Allahabad."

 

Sir Francis was furious.  Passepartout would willingly have knocked

the conductor down, and did not dare to look at his master.

 

"Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg quietly, "we will, if you please,

look about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad."

 

"Mr. Fogg, this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage."

 

"No, Sir Francis; it was foreseen."

 

"What!  You knew that the way--"

 

"Not at all; but I knew that some obstacle or other would sooner or later

arise on my route.  Nothing, therefore, is lost. I have two days,

which I have already gained, to sacrifice.  A steamer leaves Calcutta

for Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th.  This is the 22nd, and we shall

reach Calcutta in time."

 

There was nothing to say to so confident a response.

 

It was but too true that the railway came to a termination at this point.

The papers were like some watches, which have a way of getting too fast,

and had been premature in their announcement of the completion of the line.

The greater part of the travellers were aware of this interruption, and,

leaving the train, they began to engage such vehicles as the village

could provide four-wheeled palkigharis, waggons drawn by zebus,

carriages that looked like perambulating pagodas, palanquins, ponies,

and what not.

 

Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, after searching the village

from end to end, came back without having found anything.

 

"I shall go afoot," said Phileas Fogg.

 

Passepartout, who had now rejoined his master, made a wry grimace,

as he thought of his magnificent, but too frail Indian shoes.

Happily he too had been looking about him, and, after a moment's hesitation,

said, "Monsieur, I think I have found a means of conveyance."

 

"What?"

 

"An elephant!  An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives

but a hundred steps from here."

 

"Let's go and see the elephant," replied Mr. Fogg.

 

They soon reached a small hut, near which, enclosed within

some high palings, was the animal in question.  An Indian came

out of the hut, and, at their request, conducted them within

the enclosure.  The elephant, which its owner had reared, not for

a beast of burden, but for warlike purposes, was half domesticated.

The Indian had begun already, by often irritating him, and feeding

him every three months on sugar and butter, to impart to him

a ferocity not in his nature, this method being often employed

by those who train the Indian elephants for battle.  Happily,

however, for Mr. Fogg, the animal's instruction in this direction

had not gone far, and the elephant still preserved his natural

gentleness.  Kiouni--this was the name of the beast--could

doubtless travel rapidly for a long time, and, in default of

any other means of conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him.

But elephants are far from cheap in India, where they are becoming

scarce, the males, which alone are suitable for circus shows,

are much sought, especially as but few of them are domesticated.

When therefore Mr. Fogg proposed to the Indian to hire Kiouni,

he refused point-blank.  Mr. Fogg persisted, offering the excessive

sum of ten pounds an hour for the loan of the beast to Allahabad.

Refused.  Twenty pounds?  Refused also.  Forty pounds?  Still refused.

Passepartout jumped at each advance; but the Indian declined to be tempted.

Yet the offer was an alluring one, for, supposing it took the elephant

fifteen hours to reach Allahabad, his owner would receive no less than

six hundred pounds sterling.

 

Phileas Fogg, without getting in the least flurried, then proposed

to purchase the animal outright, and at first offered a thousand pounds

for him.  The Indian, perhaps thinking he was going to make a great bargain,

still refused.

 

Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr. Fogg aside, and begged him to reflect

before he went any further; to which that gentleman replied that

he was not in the habit of acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand

pounds was at stake, that the elephant was absolutely necessary to him,

and that he would secure him if he had to pay twenty times his value.

Returning to the Indian, whose small, sharp eyes, glistening with avarice,

betrayed that with him it was only a question of how great a price

he could obtain.  Mr. Fogg offered first twelve hundred, then fifteen hundred,

eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds.  Passepartout, usually so rubicund,

was fairly white with suspense.

 

At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.

 

"What a price, good heavens!" cried Passepartout, "for an elephant."

 

It only remained now to find a guide, which was comparatively easy.

A young Parsee, with an intelligent face, offered his services,

which Mr. Fogg accepted, promising so generous a reward as to materially

stimulate his zeal.  The elephant was led out and equipped.  The Parsee,

who was an accomplished elephant driver, covered his back with a sort

of saddle-cloth, and attached to each of his flanks some curiously

uncomfortable howdahs.  Phileas Fogg paid the Indian with some banknotes

which he extracted from the famous carpet-bag, a proceeding that seemed

to deprive poor Passepartout of his vitals.  Then he offered to carry

Sir Francis to Allahabad, which the brigadier gratefully accepted,

as one traveller the more would not be likely to fatigue the

gigantic beast.  Provisions were purchased at Kholby, and,

while Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg took the howdahs on either side,

Passepartout got astride the saddle-cloth between them.

The Parsee perched himself on the elephant's neck, and at nine o'clock

they set out from the village, the animal marching off through the

dense forest of palms by the shortest cut.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XII

 

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS

VENTURE ACROSS THE INDIAN FORESTS, AND WHAT ENSUED

 

 

In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of the line

where the railway was still in process of being built.  This line,

owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia Mountains,

did not pursue a straight course.  The Parsee, who was quite familiar

with the roads and paths in the district, declared that they would gain

twenty miles by striking directly through the forest.

 

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck

in the peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled

by the swift trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by

the skilful Parsee; but they endured the discomfort with true

British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catch a glimpse

of each other.  As for Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast's back,

and received the direct force of each concussion as he trod along,

he was very careful, in accordance with his master's advice,

to keep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise

have been bitten off short.  The worthy fellow bounced from

the elephant's neck to his rump, and vaulted like a clown on a spring-board;

yet he laughed in the midst of his bouncing, and from time to time took

a piece of sugar out of his pocket, and inserted it in Kiouni's trunk,

who received it without in the least slackening his regular trot.

 

After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him

an hour for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst

at a neighbouring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs

round about him.  Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted

the delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief.  "Why, he's

made of iron!" exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on Kiouni.

 

"Of forged iron," replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing

a hasty breakfast.

 

At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure.  The country

soon presented a very savage aspect.  Copses of dates and

dwarf-palms succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains,

dotted with scanty shrubs, and sown with great blocks of syenite.

All this portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented

by travellers, is inhabited by a fanatical population,

hardened in the most horrible practices of the Hindoo faith.

The English have not been able to secure complete dominion over

this territory, which is subjected to the influence of rajahs,

whom it is almost impossible to reach in their inaccessible

mountain fastnesses. The travellers several times saw bands

of ferocious Indians, who, when they perceived the elephant

striding across-country, made angry arid threatening motions.

The Parsee avoided them as much as possible.  Few animals were

observed on the route; even the monkeys hurried from their path

with contortions and grimaces which convulsed Passepartout with laughter.

 

In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the worthy servant.

What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he got to Allahabad?

Would he carry him on with him?  Impossible!  The cost of transporting him

would make him ruinously expensive.  Would he sell him, or set him free?

The estimable beast certainly deserved some consideration.  Should Mr. Fogg

choose to make him, Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much

embarrassed; and these thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time.

 

The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the evening,

and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a ruined bungalow.

They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that day, and an equal distance

still separated them from the station of Allahabad.

 

The night was cold.  The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow

with a few dry branches, and the warmth was very grateful,

provisions purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the

travellers ate ravenously.  The conversation, beginning with a few

disconnected phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores.

The guide watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself

against the trunk of a large tree.  Nothing occurred during the

night to disturb the slumberers, although occasional growls front

panthers and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the more

formidable beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against

the occupants of the bungalow.  Sir Francis slept heavily, like an

honest soldier overcome with fatigue.  Passepartout was wrapped in

uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before.  As for Mr. Fogg,

he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene mansion

in Saville Row.

 

The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped

to reach Allahabad by evening.  In that case, Mr. Fogg would only

lose a part of the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning

of the tour.  Kiouni, resuming his rapid gait, soon descended

the lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noon they passed

by the village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches

of the Ganges.  The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer

to keep the open country, which lies along the first depressions

of the basin of the great river.  Allahabad was now only twelve miles

to the north-east.  They stopped under a clump of bananas,

the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream,

was amply partaken of and appreciated.

 

At two o'clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended

several miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods.

They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the journey

seemed on the point of being successfully accomplished, when the

elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped.

 

It was then four o'clock.

 

"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.

 

"I don't know, officer," replied the Parsee, listening attentively

to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches.

 

The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a distant

concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments.

Passepartout was all eyes and ears.  Mr. Fogg patiently

waited without a word.  The Parsee jumped to the ground,

fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket.

He soon returned, saying:

 

"A procession of Brahmins is coming this way.  We must prevent

their seeing us, if possible."

 

The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket,

at the same time asking the travellers not to stir.  He held himself

ready to bestride the animal at a moment's notice, should flight

become necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession

of the faithful would pass without perceiving them amid

the thick foliage, in which they were wholly concealed.

 

The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer,

and now droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals.

The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees,

a hundred paces away; and the strange figures who performed the religious

ceremony were easily distinguished through the branches.

First came the priests, with mitres on their heads,

and clothed in long lace robes.  They were surrounded by men,

women, and children, who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm,

interrupted at regular intervals by the tambourines and cymbals;

while behind them was drawn a car with large wheels,

the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each other.

Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus,

stood a hideous statue with four arms, the body coloured a dull red,

with haggard eyes, dishevelled hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted

with betel.  It stood upright upon the figure of a prostrate

and headless giant.

 

Sir Francis, recognising the statue, whispered, "The goddess Kali;

the goddess of love and death."

 

"Of death, perhaps," muttered back Passepartout, "but of love--

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

issued drop by drop--stupid fanatics, who, in the great Indian ceremonies,

still throw themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut.  Some Brahmins,

clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman

who faltered at every step, followed.  This woman was young, and as

fair as a European.  Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms,

hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems with bracelets,

earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold, and covered

with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her form.

 

The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast

to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists,

and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin.

It was the body of an old man, gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments

of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban embroidered with pearls,

a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere sewed with diamonds,

and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince.  Next came the musicians

and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the noise

of the instruments; these closed the procession.

 

Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and,

turning to the guide, said, "A suttee."

 

The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips.  The procession slowly

wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in the depths

of the wood.  The songs gradually died away; occasionally cries were heard

in the distance, until at last all was silence again.

 

Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as

the procession had disappeared, asked: "What is a suttee?"

 

"A suttee," returned the general, "is a human sacrifice, but a voluntary one.

The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow at the dawn of day."

 

"Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who could not repress

his indignation.

 

"And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg.

 

"Is that of the prince, her husband," said the guide; "an independent

rajah of Bundelcund."

 

"Is it possible," resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not

the least emotion, "that these barbarous customs still exist in India,

and that the English have been unable to put a stop to them?"

 

"These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India,"

replied Sir Francis; "but we have no power over these savage territories,

and especially here in Bundelcund.  The whole district north of the Vindhias

is the theatre of incessant murders and pillage."

 

"The poor wretch!" exclaimed Passepartout, "to be burned alive!"

 

"Yes," returned Sir Francis, "burned alive.  And, if she were not,

you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit

to from her relatives.  They would shave off her hair, feed her

on a scanty allowance of rice, treat her with contempt;

she would be looked upon as an unclean creature, and would die

in some corner, like a scurvy dog.  The prospect of so frightful

an existence drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice

much more than love or religious fanaticism.  Sometimes, however,

the sacrifice is really voluntary, and it requires the active

interference of the Government to prevent it.  Several years ago,

when I was living at Bombay, a young widow asked permission

of the governor to be burned along with her husband's body;

but, as you may imagine, he refused.  The woman left the town,

took refuge with an independent rajah, and there carried out

her self-devoted purpose."

 

While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several times,

and now said: "The sacrifice which will take place to-morrow at dawn

is not a voluntary one."

 

"How do you know?"

 

"Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund."

 

"But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any resistance,"

observed Sir Francis.

 

"That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and opium."

 

"But where are they taking her?"

 

"To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the night there."

 

"And the sacrifice will take place--"

 

"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 peculiar

whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said,

"Suppose we save this woman."

 

"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!"

 

"I have yet twelve hours to spare; I can devote them to that."

 

"Why, you are a man of heart!"

 

"Sometimes," replied Phileas Fogg, quietly; "when I have the time."

 

 

 

 

Chapter 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. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore

the success of his tour.  But he did not hesitate, and he found in

Sir Francis Cromarty an enthusiastic ally.

 

As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be proposed.

His master's idea charmed him; he perceived a heart, a soul, under that

icy exterior.  He began to love Phileas Fogg.

 

There remained the guide: what course would he adopt?  Would he

not take part with the Indians?  In default of his assistance,

it was necessary to be assured of his neutrality.

 

Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.

 

"Officers," replied the guide, "I am a Parsee, and this woman is a Parsee.

Command me as you will."

 

"Excellent!" said Mr. Fogg.

 

"However," resumed the guide, "it is certain, not only that

we shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken."

 

"That is foreseen," replied Mr. Fogg.  "I think we must wait till night

before acting."

 

"I think so," said the guide.

 

The worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who,

he said, was a celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the

daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant.  She had received a

thoroughly English education in that city, and, from her manners

and intelligence, would be thought an European.  Her name was Aouda.

Left an orphan, she was married against her will to the old rajah

of Bundelcund; and, knowing the fate that awaited her, she escaped,

was retaken, and devoted by the rajah's relatives, who had an interest

in her death, to the sacrifice from which it seemed she could not escape.

 

The Parsee's narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions

in their generous design.  It was decided that the guide should direct

the elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly approached

as quickly as possible.  They halted, half an hour afterwards, in a copse,

some five hundred feet from the pagoda, where they were well concealed;

but they could hear the groans and cries of the fakirs distinctly.

 

They then discussed the means of getting at the victim.  The guide

was familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared,

the young woman was imprisoned.  Could they enter any of its doors

while the whole party of Indians was plunged in a drunken sleep,

or was it safer to attempt to make a hole in the walls?

This could only be determined at the moment and the place themselves;

but it was certain that the abduction must be made that night,

and not when, at break of day, the victim was led to her funeral pyre.

Then no human intervention could save her.

 

As soon as night fell, about six o'clock, they decided to make

a reconnaissance around the pagoda.  The cries of the fakirs were

just ceasing; the Indians were in the act of plunging themselves

into the drunkenness caused by liquid opium mingled with hemp,

and it might be possible to slip between them to the temple itself.

 

The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the wood,

and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream,

whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre of wood,

on the top of which lay the embalmed body of the rajah, which was to be

burned with his wife.  The pagoda, whose minarets loomed above the trees

in the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps away.

 

"Come!" whispered the guide.

 

He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush,

followed by his companions; the silence around was only broken

by the low murmuring of the wind among the branches.

 

Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up

by the torches.  The ground was covered by groups of the Indians,

motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn

with the dead.  Men, women, and children lay together.

 

In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji

loomed distinctly.  Much to the guide's disappointment,

the guards of the rajah, lighted by torches, were watching

at the doors and marching to and fro with naked sabres;

probably the priests, too, were watching within.

 

The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force

an entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his

companions back again.  Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty

also saw that nothing could be attempted in that direction.

They stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy.

 

"It is only eight now," said the brigadier, "and these guards

may also go to sleep."

 

"It is not impossible," returned the Parsee.

 

They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.

 

The time seemed long; the guide ever and anon left them

to take an observation on the edge of the wood, but the guards

watched steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim light

crept through the windows of the pagoda.

 

They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards,

and it became apparent that their yielding to sleep could not be counted on.

The other plan must be carried out; an opening in the walls of the pagoda

must be made.  It remained to ascertain whether the priests were watching

by the side of their victim as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door.

 

After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was ready

for the attempt, and advanced, followed by the others.  They took

a roundabout way, so as to get at the pagoda on the rear.

They reached the walls about half-past twelve, without having met anyone;

here there was no guard, nor were there either windows or doors.

 

The night was dark.  The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the horizon,

and was covered with heavy clouds; the height of the trees deepened

the darkness.

 

It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must

be accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had

their pocket-knives.  Happily the temple walls were built of brick

and wood, which could be penetrated with little difficulty;

after one brick had been taken out, the rest would yield easily.

 

They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side

and Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks

so as to make an aperture two feet wide.  They were getting on rapidly,

when suddenly a cry was heard in the interior of the temple,

followed almost instantly by other cries replying from the outside.

Passepartout and the guide stopped.  Had they been heard?  Was the

alarm being given?  Common prudence urged them to retire, and they

did so, followed by Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis.  They again hid

themselves in the wood, and waited till the disturbance, whatever

it might be, ceased, holding themselves ready to resume their attempt

without delay.  But, awkwardly enough, the guards now appeared

at the rear of the temple, and there installed themselves,

in readiness to prevent a surprise.

 

It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the party,

thus interrupted in their work.  They could not now reach the victim;

how, then, could they save her?  Sir Francis shook his fists,

Passepartout was beside himself, and the guide gnashed his teeth with rage.

The tranquil Fogg waited, without betraying any emotion.

 

"We have nothing to do but to go away," whispered Sir Francis.

 

"Nothing but to go away," echoed the guide.

 

"Stop," said Fogg.  "I am only due at Allahabad tomorrow before noon."

 

"But what can you hope to do?" asked Sir Francis.  "In a few hours

it will be daylight, and--"

 

"The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last moment."

 

Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg's eyes.

What was this cool Englishman thinking of?  Was he planning

to make a rush for the young woman at the very moment

of the sacrifice, and boldly snatch her from her executioners?

 

This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg

was such a fool.  Sir Francis consented, however, to remain

to the end of this terrible drama.  The guide led them to the rear

of the glade, where they were able to observe the sleeping groups.

 

Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower branches

of a tree, was resolving an idea which had at first struck him like a flash,

and which was now firmly lodged in his brain.

 

He had commenced by saying to himself, "What folly!" and then he repeated,

"Why not, after all?  It's a chance perhaps the only one; and with such sots!"

Thinking thus, he slipped, with the suppleness of a serpent,

to the lowest branches, the ends of which bent almost to the ground.

 

The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the

approach of day, though it was not yet light.  This was the moment.

The slumbering multitude became animated, the tambourines sounded,

songs and cries arose; the hour of the sacrifice had come.

The doors of the pagoda swung open, and a bright light escaped

from its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis

espied the victim.  She seemed, having shaken off the stupor of intoxication,

to be striving to escape from her executioner.  Sir Francis's heart throbbed;

and, convulsively seizing Mr. Fogg's hand, found in it an open knife.

Just at this moment the crowd began to move.  The young woman had again

fallen into a stupor caused by the fumes of hemp, and passed among

the fakirs, who escorted her with their wild, religious cries.

 

Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of the crowd,

followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of the stream,

and stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the rajah's corpse.

In the semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out

beside her husband's body. Then a torch was brought, and the wood,

heavily soaked with oil, instantly took fire.

 

At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who,

in an instant of mad generosity, was about to rush upon the pyre.

But he had quickly pushed them aside, when the whole scene suddenly changed.

A cry of terror arose.  The whole multitude prostrated themselves,

terror-stricken, on the ground.

 

The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden,

like a spectre, took up his wife in his arms, and descended from

the pyre in the midst of the clouds of smoke, which only

heightened his ghostly appearance.

 

Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror,

lay there, with their faces on the ground, not daring to lift

their eyes and behold such a prodigy.

 

The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which

supported her, and which she did not seem in the least to burden.

Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head,

and Passepartout was, no doubt, scarcely less stupefied.

 

The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg,

and, in an abrupt tone, said, "Let us be off!"

 

It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre

in the midst of the smoke and, profiting by the still

overhanging darkness, had delivered the young woman from death!

It was Passepartout who, playing his part with a happy audacity,

had passed through the crowd amid the general terror.

 

A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the woods,

and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. But the cries

and noise, and a ball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg's hat,

apprised them that the trick had been discovered.

 

The old rajah's body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre;

and the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an abduction

had taken place.  They hastened into the forest, followed by the soldiers,

who fired a volley after the fugitives; but the latter rapidly increased

the distance between them, and ere long found themselves beyond the reach

of the bullets and arrows.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XIV

 

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL

VALLEY OF THE GANGES WITHOUT EVER THINKING OF SEEING IT

 

 

The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour

Passepartout laughed gaily at his success.  Sir Francis pressed

the worthy fellow's hand, and his master said, "Well done!" which,

from him, was high commendation; to which Passepartout replied

that all the credit of the affair belonged to Mr. Fogg.  As for him,

he had only been struck with a "queer" idea; and he laughed

to think that for a few moments he, Passepartout, the ex-gymnast,

ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse of a charming woman,

a venerable, embalmed rajah!  As for the young Indian woman,

she had been unconscious throughout of what was passing, and now,

wrapped up in a travelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the howdahs.

 

The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee,

was advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and,

an hour after leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain.

They made a halt at seven o'clock, the young woman being still

in a state of complete prostration.  The guide made her drink a little

brandy and water, but the drowsiness which stupefied her could not

yet be shaken off.  Sir Francis, who was familiar with the effects

of the intoxication produced by the fumes of hemp, reassured his

companions on her account.  But he was more disturbed at the

prospect of her future fate.  He told Phileas Fogg that,

should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall again

into the hands of her executioners.  These fanatics were scattered

throughout the county, and would, despite the English police,

recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta.  She would

only be safe by quitting India for ever.

 

Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.

 

The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o'clock, and,

the interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them

to reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours.  Phileas Fogg

would thus be able to arrive in time to take the steamer which

left Calcutta the next day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.

 

The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station,

whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various articles

of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master gave him

unlimited credit.  Passepartout started off forthwith, and found himself

in the streets of Allahabad, that is, the City of God, one of the most

venerated in India, being built at the junction of the two sacred rivers,

Ganges and Jumna, the waters of which attract pilgrims from every part

of the peninsula.  The Ganges, according to the legends of the Ramayana,

rises in heaven, whence, owing to Brahma's agency, it descends to the earth.

 

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take

a good look at the city.  It was formerly defended by a noble fort,

which has since become a state prison; its commerce has dwindled away,

and Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar as he used

to frequent in Regent Street.  At last he came upon an elderly,

crusty Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom he purchased

a dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin pelisse,

for which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds.  He then

returned triumphantly to the station.

 

The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda

began gradually to yield, and she became more herself,

so that her fine eyes resumed all their soft Indian expression.

 

When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms

of the queen of Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus:

 

"Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious

contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow

and freshness.  Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama,

the god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest reflections

and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of Himalaya,

in the black pupils of her great clear eyes.  Her teeth, fine,

equal, and white, glitter between her smiling lips like dewdrops

in a passion-flower's half-enveloped breast.  Her delicately formed ears,

her vermilion hands, her little feet, curved and tender as the lotus-bud,

glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls of Ceylon,

the most dazzling diamonds of Golconda.  Her narrow and supple waist,

which a hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline of her rounded

figure and the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower displays

the wealth of its treasures; and beneath the silken folds of her tunic

she seems to have been modelled in pure silver by the godlike hand

of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor."

 

It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to Aouda,

that she was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the phrase.

She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had not exaggerated

in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed by her bringing up.

 

The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg

proceeded to pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service,

and not a farthing more; which astonished Passepartout,

who remembered all that his master owed to the guide's devotion.

He had, indeed, risked his life in the adventure at Pillaji, and,

if he should be caught afterwards by the Indians, he would with

difficulty escape their vengeance.  Kiouni, also, must be disposed of.

What should be done with the elephant, which had been so dearly purchased?

Phileas Fogg had already determined this question.

 

"Parsee," said he to the guide, "you have been serviceable and devoted.

I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion.  Would you like

to have this elephant?  He is yours."

 

The guide's eyes glistened.

 

"Your honour is giving me a fortune!" cried he.

 

"Take him, guide," returned Mr. Fogg, "and I shall still be your debtor."

 

"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout.  "Take him, friend.  Kiouni is a brave

and faithful beast."  And, going up to the elephant, he gave him several

lumps of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, here, here."

 

The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout

around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head.

Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the animal,

which replaced him gently on the ground.

 

Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout,

installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat,

were whirling at full speed towards Benares.  It was a run of eighty miles,

and was accomplished in two hours.  During the journey, the young woman

fully recovered her senses.  What was her astonishment to find herself

in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European habiliments,

and with travellers who were quite strangers to her!  Her companions

first set about fully reviving her with a little liquor,

and then Sir Francis narrated to her what had passed,

dwelling upon the courage with which Phileas Fogg

had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and recounting

the happy sequel of the venture, the result of Passepartout's rash idea.

Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout, abashed, kept repeating that

"it wasn't worth telling."

 

Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears

than words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better

than her lips.  Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene

of the sacrifice, and recalled the dangers which still menaced her,

she shuddered with terror.

 

Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda's mind, and offered,

in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might remain

safely until the affair was hushed up--an offer which she eagerly

and gratefully accepted.  She had, it seems, a Parsee relation,

who was one of the principal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly

an English city, though on an island on the Chinese coast.

 

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares.  The Brahmin legends

assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi, which,

like Mahomet's tomb, was once suspended between heaven and earth;

though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of India,

stands quite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout caught glimpses

of its brick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of desolation to the place,

as the train entered it.

 

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination, the troops he

was rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city.

He bade adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success,

and expressing the hope that he would come that way again

in a less original but more profitable fashion.  Mr. Fogg lightly

pressed him by the hand.  The parting of Aouda, who did not forget

what she owed to Sir Francis, betrayed more warmth; and, as for

Passepartout, he received a hearty shake of the hand from the

gallant general.

 

The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the

valley of the Ganges.  Through the windows of their carriage

the travellers had glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar,

with its mountains clothed in verdure, its fields of barley,

wheat, and corn, its jungles peopled with green alligators,

its neat villages, and its still thickly-leaved forests.

Elephants were bathing in the waters of the sacred river,

and groups of Indians, despite the advanced season and chilly air,

were performing solemnly their pious ablutions.  These were

fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities

being Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of

natural forces, and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators.

What would these divinities think of India, anglicised as it is to-day,

with steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls

which float upon its surface, the turtles swarming along its banks,

and the faithful dwelling upon its borders?

 

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when

the steam concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers

could scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles

south-westward from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs

of Behar; or Ghazipur and its famous rose-water factories; or the

tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of the Ganges;

the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing and

trading-place, where is held the principal opium market of India;

or Monghir, a more than European town, for it is as English as

Manchester or Birmingham, with its iron foundries, edgetool factories,

and high chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke heavenward.

 

Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst

of the roaring of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before

the locomotive; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour,

Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and the French

town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see

his country's flag flying, were hidden from their view in the darkness.

 

Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning,

and the packet left for Hong Kong at noon;

so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him.

 

According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th

of October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival.

He was therefore neither behind-hand nor ahead of time.

The two days gained between London and Bombay had been lost,

as has been seen, in the journey across India.  But it is not

to be supposed that Phileas Fogg regretted them.

 

 

 

 

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 followed by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend.

Phileas Fogg intended to proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer,

in order to get Aouda comfortably settled for the voyage.

He was unwilling to leave her while they were still on dangerous ground.

 

Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him, and said,

"Mr. Phileas Fogg?"

 

"I am he."

 

"Is this man your servant?" added the policeman, pointing to Passepartout.

 

"Yes."

 

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

 

Mr. Fogg betrayed no surprise whatever.  The policeman was a

representative of the law, and law is sacred to an Englishman.

Passepartout tried to reason about the matter, but the policeman

tapped him with his stick, and Mr. Fogg made him a signal to obey.

 

"May this young lady go with us?" asked he.

 

"She may," replied the policeman.

 

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palkigahri,

a sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in which they

took their places and were driven away.  No one spoke during

the twenty minutes which elapsed before they reached their destination.

They first passed through the "black town," with its narrow streets,

its miserable, dirty huts, and squalid population; then through the

"European town," which presented a relief in its bright brick mansions,

shaded by coconut-trees and bristling with masts, where, although it was

early morning, elegantly dressed horsemen and handsome equipages

were passing back and forth.

 

The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which,

however, did not have the appearance of a private mansion.

The policeman having requested his prisoners for so, truly,

they might be called-to descend, conducted them into a room

with barred windows, and said:  "You will appear before

Judge Obadiah at half-past eight."

 

He then retired, and closed the door.

 

"Why, we are prisoners!" exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a chair.

 

Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg:

"Sir, you must leave me to my fate!  It is on my account that

you receive this treatment, it is for having saved me!"

 

Phileas Fogg contented himself with saying that it was impossible.

It was quite unlikely that he should be arrested for preventing a suttee.

The complainants would not dare present themselves with such a charge.

There was some mistake.  Moreover, he would not, in any event,

abandon Aouda, but would escort her to Hong Kong.

 

"But the steamer leaves at noon!" observed Passepartout, nervously.

 

"We shall be on board by noon," replied his master, placidly.

 

It was said so positively that Passepartout could not help

muttering to himself, "Parbleu that's certain!  Before noon

we shall be on board."  But he was by no means reassured.

 

At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and,

requesting them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall.

It was evidently a court-room, and a crowd of Europeans and natives

already occupied the rear of the apartment.

 

Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a

bench opposite the desks of the magistrate and his clerk.

Immediately after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, round man, followed by

the clerk, entered.  He proceeded to take down a wig which was

hanging on a nail, and put it hurriedly on his head.

 

"The first case," said he.  Then, putting his hand to his

head, he exclaimed, "Heh!  This is not my wig!"

 

"No, your worship," returned the clerk, "it is mine."

 

"My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence

in a clerk's wig?"

 

The wigs were exchanged.

 

Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the big clock

over the judge seemed to go around with terrible rapidity.

 

"The first case," repeated Judge Obadiah.

 

"Phileas Fogg?" demanded Oysterpuff.

 

"I am here," replied Mr. Fogg.

 

"Passepartout?"

 

"Present," responded Passepartout.

 

"Good," said the judge.  "You have been looked for, prisoners,

for two days on the trains from Bombay."

 

"But of what are we accused?" asked Passepartout, impatiently.

 

"You are about to be informed."

 

"I am an English subject, sir," said Mr. Fogg, "and I have the right--"

 

"Have you been ill-treated?"

 

"Not at all."

 

"Very well; let the complainants come in."

 

A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian priests entered.

 

"That's it," muttered Passepartout; "these are the rogues

who were going to burn our young lady."

 

The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk

proceeded to read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege against

Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of having violated

a place held consecrated by the Brahmin religion.

 

"You hear the charge?" asked the judge.

 

"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, "and I admit it."

 

"You admit it?"

 

"I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn,

what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji."

 

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

what was said.

 

"Yes," cried Passepartout, warmly; "at the pagoda of Pillaji,

where they were on the point of burning their victim."

 

The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were stupefied.

 

"What victim?" said Judge Obadiah.  "Burn whom?  In Bombay itself?"

 

"Bombay?" cried Passepartout.

 

"Certainly.  We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of the pagoda

of Malabar Hill, at Bombay."

 

"And as a proof," added the clerk, "here are the desecrator's very shoes,

which he left behind him."

 

Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.

 

"My shoes!" cried Passepartout, in his surprise permitting

this imprudent exclamation to escape him.

 

The confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the

affair at Bombay, for which they were now detained at Calcutta,

may be imagined.

 

Fix the detective, had foreseen the advantage which Passepartout's

escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for twelve hours,

had consulted the priests of Malabar Hill.  Knowing that the English

authorities dealt very severely with this kind of misdemeanour,

he promised them a goodly sum in damages, and sent them forward

to Calcutta by the next train.  Owing to the delay caused by the rescue

of the young widow, Fix and the priests reached the Indian capital before

Mr. Fogg and his servant, the magistrates having been already warned

by a dispatch to arrest them should they arrive.  Fix's disappointment

when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his appearance in Calcutta

may be imagined.  He made up his mind that the robber had stopped

somewhere on the route and taken refuge in the southern provinces.

For twenty-four hours Fix watched the station with feverish anxiety;

at last he was rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and Passepartout arrive,

accompanied by a young woman, whose presence he was wholly at a loss

to explain.  He hastened for a policeman; and this was how the party came

to be arrested and brought before Judge Obadiah.

 

Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have

espied the detective ensconced in a corner of the court-room,

watching the proceedings with an interest easily understood;

for the warrant had failed to reach him at Calcutta,

as it had done at Bombay and Suez.

 

Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout's rash exclamation,

which the poor fellow would have given the world to recall.

 

"The facts are admitted?" asked the judge.

 

"Admitted," replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.

 

"Inasmuch," resumed the judge, "as the English law protects equally

and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as the man

Passepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred pagoda of Malabar Hill,

at Bombay, on the 20th of October, I condemn the said Passepartout

to imprisonment for fifteen days and a fine of three hundred pounds."

 

"Three hundred pounds!" cried Passepartout, startled at the largeness

of the sum.

 

"Silence!" shouted the constable.

 

"And inasmuch," continued the judge, "as it is not proved that

the act was not done by the connivance of the master with the servant,

and as the master in any case must be held responsible for the acts

of his paid servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a week's imprisonment

and a fine of one hundred and fifty pounds."

 

Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction; if Phileas Fogg

could be detained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than time

for the warrant to arrive.  Passepartout was stupefied.  This sentence

ruined his master.  A wager of twenty thousand pounds lost, because he,

like a precious fool, had gone into that abominable pagoda!

 

Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not

in the least concern him, did not even lift his eyebrows while

it was being pronounced.  Just as the clerk was calling the next case,

he rose, and said, "I offer bail."

 

"You have that right," returned the judge.

 

Fix's blood ran cold, but he resumed his composure when he heard

the judge announce that the bail required for each prisoner

would be one thousand pounds.

 

"I will pay it at once," said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank-bills

from the carpet-bag, which Passepartout had by him, and placing them

on the clerk's desk.

 

"This sum will be restored to you upon your release from prison,"

said the judge.  "Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail."

 

"Come!" said Phileas Fogg to his servant.

 

"But let them at least give me back my shoes!" cried Passepartout angrily.

 

"Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!" he muttered, as they were handed to him.

"More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides, they pinch my feet."

 

Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed

by the crestfallen Passepartout.  Fix still nourished hopes

that the robber would not, after all, leave the two thousand pounds

behind him, but would decide to serve out his week in jail,

and issued forth on Mr. Fogg's traces.  That gentleman took a carriage,

and the party were soon landed on one of the quays.

 

The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbour, its signal

of departure hoisted at the mast-head.  Eleven o'clock was striking;

Mr. Fogg was an hour in advance of time.  Fix saw them leave the carriage and

push off in a boat for the steamer, and stamped his feet with disappointment.

 

"The rascal is off, after all!" he exclaimed.  "Two thousand pounds sacrificed!

He's as prodigal as a thief!  I'll follow him to the end of the world

if necessary; but, at the rate he is going on, the stolen money will

soon be exhausted."

 

The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture.

Since leaving London, what with travelling expenses, bribes,

the purchase of the elephant, bails, and fines, Mr. Fogg

had already spent more than five thousand pounds on the way,

and the percentage of the sum recovered from the bank robber

promised to the detectives, was rapidly diminishing.

 

 

 

 

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 Oriental Company's boats

plying in the Chinese and Japanese seas--was a screw steamer,

built of iron, weighing about seventeen hundred and seventy tons,

and with engines of four hundred horse-power.  She was as fast,

but not as well fitted up, as the Mongolia, and Aouda was not as

comfortably provided for on board of her as Phileas Fogg could have wished.

However, the trip from Calcutta to Hong Kong only comprised some

three thousand five hundred miles, occupying from ten to twelve days,

and the young woman was not difficult to please.

 

During the first days of the journey Aouda became better acquainted

with her protector, and constantly gave evidence of her deep gratitude

for what he had done.  The phlegmatic gentleman listened to her,

apparently at least, with coldness, neither his voice nor his manner

betraying the slightest emotion; but he seemed to be always on the watch

that nothing should be wanting to Aouda's comfort.  He visited her

regularly each day at certain hours, not so much to talk himself,

as to sit and hear her talk.  He treated her with the strictest politeness,

but with the precision of an automaton, the movements of which had been

arranged for this purpose.  Aouda did not quite know what to make of him,

though Passepartout had given her some hints of his master's eccentricity,

and made her smile by telling her of the wager which was sending him

round the world.  After all, she owed Phileas Fogg her life, and she

always regarded him through the exalting medium of her gratitude.

 

Aouda confirmed the Parsee guide's narrative of her touching history.

She did, indeed, belong to the highest of the native races of India.

Many of the Parsee merchants have made great fortunes there by dealing

in cotton; and one of them, Sir Jametsee Jeejeebhoy, was made a baronet

by the English government.  Aouda was a relative of this great man,

and it was his cousin, Jeejeeh, whom she hoped to join at Hong Kong.

Whether she would find a protector in him she could not tell;

but Mr. Fogg essayed to calm her anxieties, and to assure her that

everything would be mathematically--he used the very word--arranged.

Aouda fastened her great eyes, "clear as thee sacred lakes of the Himalaya,"

upon him; but the intractable Fogg, as reserved as ever, did not seem

at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.

 

The first few days of the voyage passed prosperously, amid favourable

weather and propitious winds, and they soon came in sight of

the great Andaman, the principal of the islands in the Bay of Bengal,

with its picturesque Saddle Peak, two thousand four hundred feet high,

looming above the waters.  The steamer passed along near the shores,

but the savage Papuans, who are in the lowest scale of humanity,

but are not, as has been asserted, cannibals, did not make their appearance.

 

The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was superb.

Vast forests of palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic mimosa,

and tree-like ferns covered the foreground, while behind, the graceful outlines

of the mountains were traced against the sky; and along the coasts swarmed

by thousands the precious swallows whose nests furnish a luxurious dish

to the tables of the Celestial Empire.  The varied landscape afforded by

the Andaman Islands was soon passed, however, and the Rangoon rapidly

approached the Straits of Malacca, which gave access to the China seas.

 

What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to country,

doing all this while?  He had managed to embark on the Rangoon at Calcutta

without being seen by Passepartout, after leaving orders that,

if the warrant should arrive, it should be forwarded to him at Hong Kong;

and he hoped to conceal his presence to the end of the voyage.

It would have been difficult to explain why he was on board

without awakening Passepartout's suspicions, who thought him still at Bombay.

But necessity impelled him, nevertheless, to renew his acquaintance

with the worthy servant, as will be seen.

 

All the detective's hopes and wishes were now centred on Hong Kong;

for the steamer's stay at Singapore would be too brief to enable

him to take any steps there.  The arrest must be made at Hong Kong,

or the robber would probably escape him for ever.  Hong Kong was

the last English ground on which he would set foot; beyond, China,

Japan, America offered to Fogg an almost certain refuge.

If the warrant should at last make its appearance at Hong Kong,

Fix could arrest him and give him into the hands of the local police,

and there would be no further trouble.  But beyond Hong Kong,

a simple warrant would be of no avail; an extradition warrant

would be necessary, and that would result in delays and obstacles,

of which the rascal would take advantage to elude justice.

 

Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours

which he spent in his cabin, and kept repeating to himself,

"Now, either the warrant will be at Hong Kong, in which case

I shall arrest my man, or it will not be there; and this time

it is absolutely necessary that I should delay his departure.

I have failed at Bombay, and I have failed at Calcutta; if I fail

at Hong Kong, my reputation is lost:  Cost what it may, I must succeed!

But how shall I prevent his departure, if that should turn out to be

my last resource?"

 

Fix made up his mind that, if worst came to worst, he would make

a confidant of Passepartout, and tell him what kind of a fellow

his master really was.  That Passepartout was not Fogg's accomplice,

he was very certain.  The servant, enlightened by his disclosure,

and afraid of being himself implicated in the crime, would doubtless

become an ally of the detective.  But this method was a dangerous one,

only to be employed when everything else had failed.  A word from

Passepartout to his master would ruin all.  The detective was therefore

in a sore strait.  But suddenly a new idea struck him.  The presence

of Aouda on the Rangoon, in company with Phileas Fogg, gave him

new material for reflection.

 

Who was this woman?  What combination of events had made her Fogg's

travelling companion?  They had evidently met somewhere between Bombay

and Calcutta; but where?  Had they met accidentally, or had Fogg gone

into the interior purposely in quest of this charming damsel?

Fix was fairly puzzled.  He asked himself whether there had not

been a wicked elopement; and this idea so impressed itself

upon his mind that he determined to make use of the supposed intrigue.

Whether the young woman were married or not, he would be able to create

such difficulties for Mr. Fogg at Hong Kong that he could not escape

by paying any amount of money.

 

But could he even wait till they reached Hong Kong?  Fogg had an

abominable way of jumping from one boat to another, and, before anything

could be effected, might get full under way again for Yokohama.

 

Fix decided that he must warn the English authorities, and signal

the Rangoon before her arrival.  This was easy to do, since the steamer

stopped at Singapore, whence there is a telegraphic wire to Hong Kong.

He finally resolved, moreover, before acting more positively,

to question Passepartout.  It would not be difficult to make him talk;

and, as there was no time to lose, Fix prepared to make himself known.

 

It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the Rangoon

was due at Singapore.

 

Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck.  Passepartout was

promenading up and down in the forward part of the steamer.

The detective rushed forward with every appearance of extreme

surprise, and exclaimed, "You here, on the Rangoon?"

 

"What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?" returned the really

astonished Passepartout, 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--at least for some days."

 

"Hum!" said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed.

"But how is it I have not seen you on board since we left Calcutta?"

 

"Oh, a trifle of sea-sickness--I've been staying in my berth.

The Gulf of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian Ocean.

And how is Mr. Fogg?"

 

"As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time!

But, Monsieur Fix, you don't know that we have a young lady with us."

 

"A young lady?" replied the detective, not seeming to comprehend

what was said.

 

Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda's history, the affair

at the Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for

two thousand pounds, the rescue, the arrest, and sentence

of the Calcutta court, and the restoration of Mr. Fogg

and himself to liberty on bail.  Fix, who was familiar

with the last events, seemed to be equally ignorant of all

that Passepartout related; and the later was charmed

to find so interested a listener.

 

"But does your master propose to carry this young woman to Europe?"

 

"Not at all.  We are simply going to place her under the protection

of one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong Kong."

 

"Nothing to be done there," said Fix to himself, concealing his disappointment.

"A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?"

 

"Willingly, Monsieur Fix.  We must at least have a friendly glass

on board the Rangoon."

 

 

 

 

Chapter XVII

 

SHOWING WHAT HAPPENED ON THE VOYAGE FROM SINGAPORE TO HONG KONG

 

 

The detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this interview,

though Fix was reserved, and did not attempt to induce his companion

to divulge any more facts concerning Mr. Fogg.  He caught a glimpse

of that mysterious gentleman once or twice; but Mr. Fogg usually confined

himself to the cabin, where he kept Aouda company, or, according to his

inveterate habit, took a hand at whist.

 

Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange

chance kept Fix still on the route that his master was pursuing.

It was really worth considering why this certainly very amiable

and complacent person, whom he had first met at Suez, had then

encountered on board the Mongolia, who disembarked at Bombay,

which he announced as his destination, and now turned up so

unexpectedly on the Rangoon, was following Mr. Fogg's tracks step

by step.  What was Fix's object?  Passepartout was ready to wager his

Indian shoes--which he religiously preserved--that Fix would also leave

Hong Kong at the same time with them, and probably on the same steamer.

 

Passepartout might have cudgelled his brain for a century without

hitting upon the real object which the detective had in view.

He never could have imagined that Phileas Fogg was being tracked

as a robber around the globe.  But, as it is in human nature to attempt

the solution of every mystery, Passepartout suddenly discovered

an explanation of Fix's movements, which was in truth far from unreasonable.

Fix, he thought, could only be an agent of Mr. Fogg's friends

at the Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and to ascertain

that he really went round the world as had been agreed upon.

 

"It's clear!" repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud of his shrewdness.

"He's a spy sent to keep us in view!  That isn't quite the thing, either,

to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is so honourable a man!  Ah, gentlemen of the Reform,

this shall cost you dear!"

 

Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say

nothing to his master, lest he should be justly offended at this

mistrust on the part of his adversaries.  But he determined

to chaff Fix, when he had the chance, with mysterious allusions,

which, however, need not betray his real suspicions.

 

During the afternoon of Wednesday, 30th October, the Rangoon

entered the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula

of that name from Sumatra.  The mountainous and craggy islets

intercepted the beauties of this noble island from the view

of the travellers.  The Rangoon weighed anchor at Singapore the next day

at four a.m., to receive coal, having gained half a day on the prescribed

time of her arrival.  Phileas Fogg noted this gain in his journal, and then,

accompanied by Aouda, who betrayed a desire for a walk on shore, disembarked.

 

Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg's every movement, followed them cautiously,

without being himself perceived; while Passepartout, laughing in his sleeve

at Fix's manoeuvres, went about his usual errands.

 

The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are

no mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions.

It is a park checkered by pleasant highways and avenues.

A handsome carriage, drawn by a sleek pair of New Holland horses,

carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda into the midst of rows of palms

with brilliant foliage, and of clove-trees, whereof the cloves

form the heart of a half-open flower.  Pepper plants replaced

the prickly hedges of European fields; sago-bushes, large ferns

with gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of this tropical clime;

while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the air with a penetrating perfume.

Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skipped about in the trees, nor were tigers

wanting in the jungles.

 

After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr. Fogg

returned to the town, which is a vast collection of heavy-looking,

irregular houses, surrounded by charming gardens rich in tropical fruits

and plants; and at ten o'clock they re-embarked, closely followed by

the detective, who had kept them constantly in sight.

 

Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes--

a fruit as large as good-sized apples, of a dark-brown colour

outside and a bright red within, and whose white pulp, melting in

the mouth, affords gourmands a delicious sensation--was waiting

for them on deck.  He was only too glad to offer some mangoes

to Aouda, who thanked him very gracefully for them.

 

At eleven o'clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbour,

and in a few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their forests,

inhabited by the most beautifully-furred tigers in the world,

were lost to view.  Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred miles

from the island of Hong Kong, which is a little English colony

near the Chinese coast.  Phileas Fogg hoped to accomplish the journey

in six days, so as to be in time for the steamer which would leave

on the 6th of November for Yokohama, the principal Japanese port.

 

The Rangoon had a large quota of passengers, many of whom disembarked

at Singapore, among them a number of Indians, Ceylonese, Chinamen,

Malays, and Portuguese, mostly second-class travellers.

 

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the

last quarter of the moon.  The sea rolled heavily, and the wind

at intervals rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from

the south-west, and thus aided the steamer's progress.

The captain as often as possible put up his sails,

and under the double action of steam and sail the vessel made

rapid progress along the coasts of Anam and Cochin China.

Owing to the defective construction of the Rangoon, however,

unusual precautions became necessary in unfavourable weather;

but the loss of time which resulted from this cause, while it

nearly drove Passepartout out of his senses, did not seem

to affect his master in the least.  Passepartout blamed the captain,

the engineer, and the crew, and consigned all who were connected

with the ship to the land where the pepper grows.  Perhaps the thought

of the gas, which was remorselessly burning at his expense in Saville Row,

had something to do with his hot impatience.

 

"You are in a great hurry, then," said Fix to him one day, "to reach Hong Kong?"

 

"A very great hurry!"

 

"Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for Yokohama?"

 

"Terribly anxious."

 

"You believe in this journey around the world, then?"

 

"Absolutely.  Don't you, Mr. Fix?"

 

"I?  I don't believe a word of it."

 

"You're a sly dog!" said Passepartout, winking at him.

 

This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why.

Had the Frenchman guessed his real purpose?  He knew not what

to think.  But how could Passepartout have discovered that he

was a detective?  Yet, in speaking as he did, the man evidently

meant more than he expressed.

 

Passepartout went still further the next day; he could not hold his tongue.

 

"Mr. Fix," said he, in a bantering tone, "shall we be so unfortunate

as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?"

 

"Why," responded Fix, a little embarrassed, "I don't know; perhaps--"

 

"Ah, if you would only go on with us!  An agent of the Peninsular Company,

you know, can't stop on the way!  You were only going to Bombay,

and here you are in China.  America is not far off, and from America

to Europe is only a step."

 

Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was

as serene as possible, and laughed with him.  But Passepartout

persisted in chaffing him by asking him if he made much by his

present occupation.

 

"Yes, and no," returned Fix; "there is good and bad luck in such things.

But you must understand that I don't travel at my own expense."

 

"Oh, I am quite sure of that!" cried Passepartout, laughing heartily.

 

Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself

up to his reflections.  He was evidently suspected; somehow

or other the Frenchman had found out that he was a detective.

But had he told his master?  What part was he playing in all this:

was he an accomplice or not?  Was the game, then, up?  Fix spent

several hours turning these things over in his mind, sometimes

thinking that all was lost, then persuading himself that Fogg

was ignorant of his presence, and then undecided what course

it was best to take.

 

Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last

resolved to deal plainly with Passepartout.  If he did not find it

practicable to arrest Fogg at Hong Kong, and if Fogg made preparations

to leave that last foothold of English territory, he, Fix, would tell

Passepartout all.  Either the servant was the accomplice of his master,

and in this case the master knew of his operations, and he should fail;

or else the servant knew nothing about the robbery, and then his interest

would be to abandon the robber.

 

Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout.  Meanwhile Phileas Fogg

moved about above them in the most majestic and unconscious indifference.

He was passing methodically in his orbit around the world, regardless of

the lesser stars which gravitated around him.  Yet there was near by what

the astronomers would call a disturbing star, which might have produced

an agitation in this gentleman's heart.  But no! the charms of Aouda

failed to act, to Passepartout's great surprise; and the disturbances,

if they existed, would have been more difficult to calculate than those

of Uranus which led to the discovery of Neptune.

 

It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read

in Aouda's eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master.

Phileas Fogg, though brave and gallant, must be, he thought,

quite heartless.  As to the sentiment which this journey might

have awakened in him, there was clearly no trace of such a thing;

while poor Passepartout existed in perpetual reveries.

 

One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine-room,

and was observing the engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer

threw the screw out of the water.  The steam came hissing out

of the valves; and this made Passepartout indignant.

 

"The valves are not sufficiently charged!" he exclaimed.  "We are

not going.  Oh, these English!  If this was an American craft,

we should blow up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!"

 

 

 

 

Chapter 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, obstinately remaining in the north-west, blew a gale,

and retarded the steamer.  The Rangoon rolled heavily and the

passengers became impatient of the long, monstrous waves which

the wind raised before their path.  A sort of tempest arose on

the 3rd of November, the squall knocking the vessel about with fury,

and the waves running high.  The Rangoon reefed all her sails, and even

the rigging proved too much, whistling and shaking amid the squall.

The steamer was forced to proceed slowly, and the captain estimated

that she would reach Hong Kong twenty hours behind time, and more

if the storm lasted.

 

Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be struggling

especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity.  He never changed

countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty hours, by making him

too late for the Yokohama boat, would almost inevitably cause the loss

of the wager.  But this man of nerve manifested neither impatience

nor annoyance; it seemed as if the storm were a part of his programme,

and had been foreseen.  Aouda was amazed to find him as calm as he had been

from the first time she saw him.

 

Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light.

The storm greatly pleased him.  His satisfaction would have

been complete had the Rangoon been forced to retreat before

the violence of wind and waves.  Each delay filled him with hope,

for it became more and more probable that Fogg would be obliged

to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now the heavens themselves

became his allies, with the gusts and squalls.  It mattered not

that they made him sea-sick--he made no account of this inconvenience;

and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects, his spirit bounded

with hopeful exultation.

 

Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious weather.

Everything had gone so well till now!  Earth and sea had seemed to be

at his master's service; steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and steam

united to speed his journey.  Had the hour of adversity come?

Passepartout was as much excited as if the twenty thousand pounds

were to come from his own pocket.  The storm exasperated him,

the gale made him furious, and he longed to lash the obstinate sea

into obedience.  Poor fellow!  Fix carefully concealed from him

his own satisfaction, for, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could

scarcely have restrained himself from personal violence.

 

Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted,

being unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head

to aid the progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew.

He overwhelmed the captain, officers, and sailors, who could not

help laughing at his impatience, with all sorts of questions.

He wanted to know exactly how long the storm was going to last;

whereupon he was referred to the barometer, which seemed to have

no intention of rising.  Passepartout shook it, but with no

perceptible effect; for neither shaking nor maledictions

could prevail upon it to change its mind.

 

On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm

lessened its violence; the wind veered southward, and was once

more favourable.  Passepartout cleared up with the weather.

Some of the sails were unfurled, and the Rangoon resumed its

most rapid speed.  The time lost could not, however, be regained.

Land was not signalled until five o'clock on the morning of the 6th;

the steamer was due on the 5th.  Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours

behind-hand, and the Yokohama steamer would, of course, be missed.

 

The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge,

to guide the Rangoon through the channels to the port of Hong Kong.

Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for Yokohama;

but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark of hope,

which still remained till the last moment.  He had confided

his anxiety to Fix who--the sly rascal!--tried to console him

by saying that Mr. Fogg would be in time if he took the next boat;

but this only put Passepartout in a passion.

 

Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach the pilot,

and tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would leave Hong Kong

for Yokohama.

 

"At high tide 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 her departure was postponed till to-morrow."

 

"Thank you," returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the saloon.

 

Passepartout clasped the pilot's hand and shook it heartily in his delight,

exclaiming, "Pilot, you are the best of good fellows!"

 

The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses

won him this enthusiastic greeting.  He remounted the bridge,

and guided the steamer through the flotilla of junks,

tankas, and fishing boats which crowd the harbour of Hong Kong.

 

At one o'clock the Rangoon was at the quay, and the passengers

were going ashore.

 

Chance had strangely favoured Phileas Fogg, for had not the

Carnatic been forced to lie over for repairing her boilers,

she would have left on the 6th of November, and the passengers

for Japan would have been obliged to await for a week the sailing

of the next steamer.  Mr. Fogg was, it is true, twenty-four hours

behind his time; but this could not seriously imperil the

remainder of his tour.

 

The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco

made a direct connection with that from Hong Kong, and it could not sail

until the latter reached Yokohama; and if Mr. Fogg was twenty-four hours

late on reaching Yokohama, this time would no doubt be easily regained

in the voyage of twenty-two days across the Pacific.  He found himself,

then, about twenty-four hours behind-hand, thirty-five days

after leaving London.

 

The Carnatic was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the next morning.

Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to his business there,

which was to deposit Aouda safely with her wealthy relative.

 

On landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they

repaired to the Club Hotel.  A room was engaged for the young woman,

and Mr. Fogg, after seeing that she wanted for nothing, set out in search

of her cousin Jeejeeh.  He instructed Passepartout to remain at the hotel

until his return, that Aouda might not be left entirely alone.

 

Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt,

every one would know so wealthy and considerable a personage

as the Parsee merchant.  Meeting a broker, he made the inquiry,

to learn that Jeejeeh had left China two years before, and, retiring

from business with an immense fortune, had taken up his residence

in Europe--in Holland the broker thought, with the merchants

of which country he had principally traded.  Phileas Fogg returned

to the hotel, begged a moment's conversation with Aouda, and without

more ado, apprised her that Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong Kong,

but probably in Holland.

 

Aouda at first said nothing.  She passed her hand across her forehead,

and reflected a few moments.  Then, in her sweet, soft voice, she said:

"What ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?"

 

"It is very simple," responded the gentleman.  "Go on to Europe."

 

"But I cannot intrude--"

 

"You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my project.

Passepartout!"

 

"Monsieur."

 

"Go to the Carnatic, and engage three cabins."

 

Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very gracious to him,

was going to continue the journey with them, went off at a brisk gait

to obey his master's order.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XIX

 

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT TAKES A TOO GREAT INTEREST IN HIS MASTER,

AND WHAT COMES OF IT

 

Hong Kong is an island which came into the possession of the

English by the Treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842;

and the colonising genius of the English has created upon it

an important city and an excellent port.  The island is situated

at the mouth of the Canton River, and is separated by about sixty miles

from the Portuguese town of Macao, on the opposite coast.  Hong Kong

has beaten Macao in the struggle for the Chinese trade, and now

the greater part of the transportation of Chinese goods finds

its depot at the former place.  Docks, hospitals, wharves,

a Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamised streets,

give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey

transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.

 

Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the

Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins

and other modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese,

and Europeans who passed to and fro in the streets.  Hong Kong seemed

to him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta, and Singapore, since, like them,

it betrayed everywhere the evidence of English supremacy.

At the Victoria port he found a confused mass of ships of all nations:

English, French, American, and Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels,

Japanese and Chinese junks, sempas, tankas, and flower-boats,

which formed so many floating parterres.  Passepartout noticed

in the crowd a number of the natives who seemed very old

and were dressed in yellow.  On going into a barber's

to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all

at least eighty years old, at which age they are permitted

to wear yellow, which is the Imperial colour.  Passepartout,

without exactly knowing why, thought this very funny.

 

On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the Carnatic,

he was not astonished to find Fix walking up and down.

The detective seemed very much disturbed and disappointed.

 

"This is bad," muttered Passepartout, "for the gentlemen of

the Reform Club!"  He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he

had not perceived that gentleman's chagrin.  The detective had, indeed,

good reasons to inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him.

The warrant had not come!  It was certainly on the way,

but as certainly it could not now reach Hong Kong for several days;

and, this being the last English territory on Mr. Fogg's route,

the robber would escape, unless he could manage to detain him.

 

"Well, Monsieur Fix," said Passepartout, "have you decided to go with us

so far as America?"

 

"Yes," returned Fix, through his set teeth.

 

"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily.

"I knew you could not persuade yourself to separate from us.

Come and engage your berth."

 

They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons.

The clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them that,

the repairs on the Carnatic having been completed, the steamer

would leave that very evening, and not next morning, as had been announced.

 

"That will suit my master all the better," said Passepartout.

"I will go and let him know."

 

Fix now decided to make a bold move; he resolved to tell Passepartout all.

It seemed to be the only possible means of keeping Phileas Fogg several days

longer at Hong Kong.  He accordingly invited his companion into a tavern

which caught his eye on the quay.  On entering, they found themselves

in a large room handsomely decorated, at the end of which was a large

camp-bed furnished with cushions.  Several persons lay upon this bed

in a deep sleep.  At the small tables which were arranged about the room

some thirty customers were drinking English beer, porter, gin, and brandy;

smoking, the while, long red clay pipes stuffed with little balls of opium

mingled with essence of rose.  From time to time one of the smokers,

overcome with the narcotic, would slip under the table, whereupon the waiters,

taking him by the head and feet, carried and laid him upon the bed.

The bed already supported twenty of these stupefied sots.

 

Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking-house haunted

by those wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures to whom the English

merchants sell every year the miserable drug called opium,

to the amount of one million four hundred thousand pounds--

thousands devoted to one of the most despicable vices

which afflict humanity!  The Chinese government has in vain

attempted to deal with the evil by stringent laws.  It passed

gradually from the rich, to whom it was at first exclusively reserved,

to the lower classes, and then its ravages could not be arrested.

Opium is smoked everywhere, at all times, by men and women,

in the Celestial Empire; and, once accustomed to it, the victims

cannot dispense with it, except by suffering horrible bodily contortions

and agonies.  A great smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a day;

but he dies in five years.  It was in one of these dens that Fix

and Passepartout, in search of a friendly glass, found themselves.

Passepartout had no money, but willingly accepted Fix's invitation

in the hope of returning the obligation at some future time.

 

They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did ample justice,

whilst Fix observed him with close attention.  They chatted about the journey,

and Passepartout was especially merry at the idea that Fix was going to

continue it with them.  When the bottles were empty, however,

he rose to go and tell his master of the change in the time

of the sailing of the Carnatic.

 

Fix caught him by the arm, and said, "Wait a moment."

 

"What for, Mr. Fix?"

 

"I want to have a serious talk with you."

 

"A serious talk!" cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine

that was left in the bottom of his glass.  "Well, we'll talk

about it 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 face seemed to have a singular expression.  He resumed his seat.

 

"What is it that you have to say?"

 

Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout's arm, and,

lowering his voice, said, "You have guessed who I am?"

 

"Parbleu!" said Passepartout, smiling.

 

"Then I'm going to tell you everything--"

 

"Now that I know everything, my friend!  Ah! that's very good.

But go on, go on.  First, though, let me tell you that those

gentlemen have put themselves to a useless expense."

 

"Useless!" said Fix.  "You speak confidently.  It's clear that

you don't know how large the sum is."

 

"Of course I do," returned Passepartout.  "Twenty thousand pounds."

 

"Fifty-five thousand!" answered Fix, pressing his companion's hand.

 

"What!" cried the Frenchman.  "Has Monsieur Fogg dared--

fifty-five thousand pounds!  Well, there's all the more reason

for not losing an instant," he continued, getting up hastily.

 

Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed:

"Fifty-five thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds.

If you'll help me, I'll let you have five hundred of them."

 

"Help you?" cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open.

 

"Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days."

 

"Why, what are you saying?  Those gentlemen are not satisfied

with following my master and suspecting his honour, but they must

try to put obstacles in his way!  I blush for them!"

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery.  They might

as well waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!"

 

"That's just what we count on doing."

 

"It's a conspiracy, then," cried Passepartout, who became more

and more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank

without perceiving it.  "A real conspiracy!  And gentlemen, too. Bah!"

 

Fix began to be puzzled.

 

"Members of the Reform Club!" continued Passepartout.  "You must know,

Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that,

when he makes a wager, he tries to win it fairly!"

 

"But who do you think I am?" asked Fix, looking at him intently.

 

"Parbleu!  An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out here

to interrupt my master's journey.  But, though I found you out some time ago,

I've taken good care to say nothing about it to Mr. Fogg."

 

"He knows nothing, then?"

 

"Nothing," replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass.

 

The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before

he spoke again.  What should he do?  Passepartout's mistake seemed sincere,

but it made his design more difficult.  It was evident that the servant

was not the master's accomplice, as Fix had been inclined to suspect.

 

"Well," said the detective to himself, "as he is not an accomplice,

he will help me."

 

He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong,

so he resolved to make a clean breast of it.

 

"Listen to me," said Fix abruptly.  "I am not, as you think,

an agent of the members of the Reform Club--"

 

"Bah!" retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.

 

"I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office."

 

"You, a detective?"

 

"I will prove it.  Here is my commission."

 

Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed

this document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.

 

"Mr. Fogg's wager," resumed Fix, "is only a pretext, of which you

and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes.  He had a motive

for securing your innocent complicity."

 

"But why?"

 

"Listen.  On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five thousand pounds

was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose description

was fortunately secured.  Here is his description; it answers exactly

to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg."

 

"What nonsense!" cried Passepartout, striking the table with his fist.

"My master is the most honourable of men!"

 

"How can you tell?  You know scarcely anything about him.  You went into

his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish pretext,

without trunks, and carrying a large amount in banknotes.  And yet you

are bold enough to assert that he is an honest man!"

 

"Yes, yes," repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.

 

"Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?"

 

Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head

between his hands, and did not dare to look at the detective.

Phileas Fogg, the saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous man,

a robber!  And yet how many presumptions there were against him!

Passepartout essayed to reject the suspicions which forced themselves

upon his mind; he did not wish to believe that his master was guilty.

 

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

 

"See here," replied Fix; "I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place,

but as yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which

I sent to London.  You must help me to keep him here in Hong Kong--"

 

"I!  But I--"

 

"I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered

by the Bank of England."

 

"Never!" replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,

exhausted in mind and body.

 

"Mr. Fix," he stammered, "even should what you say be true--

if my master is really the robber you are seeking for--which I deny--

I have been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity and goodness;

and I will never betray him--not for all the gold in the world.

I come from a village where they don't eat that kind of bread!"

 

"You refuse?"

 

"I refuse."

 

"Consider that I've said nothing," said Fix; "and let us drink."

 

"Yes; let us drink!"

 

Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects

of the liquor.  Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated

from his master, wished to entirely overcome him.  Some pipes full of opium

lay upon the table.  Fix slipped one into Passepartout's hand.

He took it, put it between his lips, lit it, drew several puffs,

and his head, becoming heavy under the influence of the narcotic,

fell upon the table.

 

"At last!" said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious.

"Mr. Fogg will not be informed of the Carnatic's departure; and,

if he is, he will have to go without this cursed Frenchman!"

 

And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XX

 

IN WHICH FIX COMES FACE TO FACE WITH PHILEAS FOGG

 

 

While these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg,

unconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer,

was quietly escorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter,

making the necessary purchases for the long voyage before them.

It was all very well for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the

tour of the world with a carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected

to travel comfortably under such conditions.  He acquitted

his task with characteristic serenity, and invariably replied

to the remonstrances of his fair companion, who was confused

by his patience and generosity:

 

"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 a sumptuously served table-d'hote; after which Aouda,

shaking hands with her protector after the English fashion,

retired to her room for rest.  Mr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout

the evening in the perusal of The Times and Illustrated London News.

 

Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would

have been not to see his servant return at bedtime.

But, knowing that the steamer was not to leave for Yokohama until

the next morning, he did not disturb himself about the matter.

When Passepartout did not appear the next morning to answer

his master's bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying the least vexation,

contented himself with taking his 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 into the palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow,

and half an hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark.

Mr. Fogg then learned that the Carnatic had sailed the evening before.

He had expected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic,

and was forced to give up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared

on his face, and he merely remarked to Aouda, "It is an accident, madam;

nothing more."

 

At this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached.

It was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg:  "Were you not, like me,

sir, a passenger by the Rangoon, which arrived yesterday?"

 

"I was, sir," replied Mr. Fogg coldly.  "But I have not the honour--"

 

"Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here."

 

"Do you know where he is, sir?" asked Aouda anxiously.

 

"What!" responded Fix, feigning surprise.  "Is he not with you?"

 

"No," said Aouda.  "He has not made his appearance since yesterday.

Could he have gone on board the Carnatic without us?"

 

"Without you, madam?" answered the detective.  "Excuse me, did you intend

to sail in the Carnatic?"

 

"Yes, sir."

 

"So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed.  The Carnatic,

its repairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve hours before

the stated time, without any notice being given; and we must now wait

a week for another steamer."

 

As he said "a week" Fix felt his heart leap for joy.  Fogg detained

at Hong Kong for a week!  There would be time for the warrant to arrive,

and fortune at last favoured the representative of the law.  His horror

may be imagined when he heard Mr. Fogg say, in his placid voice,

"But there are other vessels besides the Carnatic, it seems to me,

in the harbour of Hong Kong."

 

And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps toward the docks

in search of some craft about to start.  Fix, stupefied, followed;

it seemed as if he were attached to Mr. Fogg by an invisible thread.

Chance, however, appeared really to have abandoned the man it had hitherto

served so well.  For three hours Phileas Fogg wandered about the docks,

with the determination, if necessary, to charter a vessel to carry him

to Yokohama; but he could only find vessels which were loading or unloading,

and which could not therefore set sail.  Fix began to hope again.

 

But Mr. Fogg, far from being discouraged, was continuing his search,

resolved not to stop if he had to resort to Macao, when he was accosted

by a sailor on one of the wharves.

 

"Is your honour looking for a boat?"

 

"Have you a boat ready to sail?"

 

"Yes, your honour; a pilot-boat--No. 43--the best in the harbour."

 

"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 sea excursion?"

 

"No; for a voyage."

 

"A voyage?"

 

"Yes, will you agree to take me to Yokohama?"

 

The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said,

"Is your honour joking?"

 

"No.  I have missed the Carnatic, and I must get to Yokohama

by the 14th at the latest, to take the boat for San Francisco."

 

"I am sorry," said the sailor; "but it is impossible."

 

"I offer you a hundred pounds per day, and an additional

reward of two hundred pounds if I reach Yokohama in time."

 

"Are you in earnest?"

 

"Very much so."

 

The pilot walked away a little distance, and gazed out to sea,

evidently struggling between the anxiety to gain a large sum

and the fear of venturing so far.  Fix was in mortal suspense.

 

Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, "You would not be afraid,

would you, madam?"

 

"Not with you, Mr. Fogg," was her answer.

 

The pilot now returned, shuffling his hat in his hands.

 

"Well, pilot?" said Mr. Fogg.

 

"Well, your honour," replied he, "I could not risk myself, my men,

or my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage

at this time of year.  Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in time,

for it is sixteen hundred and sixty miles from Hong Kong."

 

"Only sixteen hundred," said Mr. Fogg.

 

"It's the same thing."

 

Fix breathed more freely.

 

"But," added the pilot, "it might be arranged another way."

 

Fix ceased to breathe at all.

 

"How?" asked Mr. Fogg.

 

"By going to Nagasaki, at the extreme south of Japan, or even

to Shanghai, which is only eight hundred miles from here.

In going to Shanghai we should not be forced to sail wide

of the Chinese coast, which would be a great advantage,

as the currents run northward, and would aid us.

 

"Pilot," said Mr. Fogg, "I must take the American steamer

at Yokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki."

 

"Why not?" returned the pilot.  "The San Francisco steamer

does not start from Yokohama.  It puts in at Yokohama

and Nagasaki, but it starts from Shanghai."

 

"You are sure of that?"

 

"Perfectly."

 

"And when does the boat leave Shanghai?"

 

"On the 11th, at seven in the evening.  We have, therefore,

four days before us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time,

if we had good luck and a south-west wind, and the sea was calm,

we could make those eight hundred miles to Shanghai."

 

"And you could go--"

 

"In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard

and the sails put up."

 

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

 

"Yes; John Bunsby, master of the Tankadere."

 

"Would you like some 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 the servant's disappearance.

 

"I shall do all I can to find him," replied Phileas Fogg.

 

While Fix, in a feverish, nervous state, repaired to the pilot-boat,

the others directed their course to the police-station at Hong Kong.

Phileas Fogg there gave Passepartout's description, and left a sum of money

to be spent in the search for him.  The same formalities having been gone

through at the French consulate, and the palanquin having stopped at the hotel

for the luggage, which had been sent back there, they returned to the wharf.

 

It was now three o'clock; and pilot-boat No. 43, with its crew

on board, and its provisions stored away, was ready for departure.

 

The Tankadere was a neat little craft of twenty tons,

as gracefully built as if she were a racing yacht.

Her shining copper sheathing, her galvanised iron-work,

her deck, white as ivory, betrayed the pride taken by John Bunsby

in making her presentable.  Her two masts leaned a trifle backward;

she carried brigantine, foresail, storm-jib, and standing-jib,

and was well rigged for running before the wind; and she seemed capable

of brisk speed, which, indeed, she had already proved by gaining

several prizes in pilot-boat races.  The crew of the Tankadere

was composed of John Bunsby, the master, and four hardy mariners,

who were familiar with the Chinese seas.  John Bunsby, himself,

a man of forty-five or thereabouts, vigorous, sunburnt, with a

sprightly expression of the eye, and energetic and self-reliant

countenance, would have inspired confidence in the most timid.

 

Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix

already installed.  Below deck was a square cabin, of which

the walls bulged out in the form of cots, above a circular divan;

in the centre was a table provided with a swinging lamp.

The accommodation was confined, but neat.

 

"I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you," said Mr.

Fogg to Fix, who bowed without responding.

 

The detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting

by the kindness of Mr. Fogg.

 

"It's certain," thought he, "though rascal as he is, he is a polite one!"

 

The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past three.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a last glance at the quay,

in the hope of espying Passepartout.  Fix was not without his fears

lest chance should direct the steps of the unfortunate servant,

whom he had so badly treated, in this direction; in which case

an explanation the reverse of satisfactory to the detective

must have ensued.  But the Frenchman did not appear, and, without doubt,

was still lying under the stupefying influence of the opium.

 

John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start, and

the Tankadere, taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail,

and standing-jib, bounded briskly forward over the waves.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXI

 

IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE "TANKADERE" RUNS

GREAT RISK OF LOSING A REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS

 

 

This voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture

on a craft of twenty tons, and at that season of the year.

The Chinese seas are usually boisterous, subject to terrible

gales of wind, and especially during the equinoxes;

and it was now early November.

 

It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry

his passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day;

but he would have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudent

even to attempt to reach Shanghai.  But John Bunsby believed in the Tankadere,

which rode on the waves like a seagull; and perhaps he was not wrong.

 

Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of Hong Kong,

and the Tankadere, impelled by favourable winds, conducted herself admirably.

 

"I do not need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, when they got into

the open sea, "to advise you to use all possible speed."

 

"Trust me, your honour.  We are carrying all the sail the wind will let us.

The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we are going into port."

 

"Its your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."

 

Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing

like a sailor, gazed without staggering at the swelling waters.

The young woman, who was seated aft, was profoundly affected

as she looked out upon the ocean, darkening now with the twilight,

on which she had ventured in so frail a vessel.  Above her head

rustled the white sails, which seemed like great white wings.

The boat, carried forward by the wind, seemed to be flying in the air.

 

Night came.  The moon was entering her first quarter, and her

insufficient light would soon die out in the mist on the horizon.

Clouds were rising from the east, and already overcast a part

of the heavens.

 

The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary

in these seas crowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions

are not uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going,

the least shock would shatter the gallant little craft.

 

Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation.  He kept apart

from his fellow-travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg's taciturn tastes; besides,

he did not quite like to talk to the man whose favours he had accepted.

He was thinking, too, of the future.  It seemed certain that Fogg would not

stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the boat for San Francisco;

and the vast extent of America would ensure him impunity and safety.

Fogg's plan appeared to him the simplest in the world.  Instead of sailing

directly from England to the United States, like a common villain,

he had traversed three quarters of the globe, so as to gain the

American continent more surely; and there, after throwing

the police off his track, he would quietly enjoy himself

with the fortune stolen from the bank.  But, once in the United States,

what should he, Fix, do?  Should he abandon this man?  No, a hundred times no!

Until he had secured his extradition, he would not lose sight of him for an hour.

It was his duty, and he would fulfil it to the end.  At all events,

there was one thing to be thankful for; Passepartout was not with his master;

and it was above all important, after the confidences Fix had imparted to him,

that the servant should never have speech with his master.

 

Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so

strangely disappeared.  Looking at the matter from every point of view,

it did not seem to him impossible that, by some mistake, the man might

have embarked on the Carnatic at the last moment; and this was also

Aouda's opinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy fellow

to whom she owed so much.  They might then find him at Yokohama;

for, if the Carnatic was carrying him thither, it would be easy

to ascertain if he had been on board.

 

A brisk breeze arose about ten o'clock; but, though it might

have been prudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after carefully

examining the heavens, let the craft remain rigged as before.

The Tankadere bore sail admirably, as she drew a great deal of water,

and everything was prepared for high speed in case of a gale.

 

Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight,

having been already preceded by Fix, who had lain down on one of the cots.

The pilot and crew remained on deck all night.

 

At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had made

more than one hundred miles.  The log indicated a mean speed of between

eight and nine miles.  The Tankadere still carried all sail,

and was accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed.

If the wind held as it was, the chances would be in her favour.

During the day she kept along the coast, where the currents were favourable;

the coast, irregular in profile, and visible sometimes across the clearings,

was at most five miles distant.  The sea was less boisterous,

since the wind came off land--a fortunate circumstance for the boat,

which would suffer, owing to its small tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.

 

The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the south-west.

The pilot put up his poles, but took them down again within two hours,

as the wind freshened up anew.

 

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the sea,

ate with a good appetite, Fix being invited to share their repast,

which he accepted with secret chagrin.  To travel at this man's

expense and live upon his provisions was not palatable to him.

Still, he was obliged to eat, and so he ate.

 

When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said,

"sir"--this "sir" scorched his lips, and he had to control himself

to avoid collaring this "gentleman"--"sir, you have been very kind

to give me a passage on this boat.  But, though my means will not admit

of my expending them as freely as you, I must ask to pay my share--"

 

"Let us not speak of that, sir," replied Mr. Fogg.

 

"But, if I insist--"

 

"No, sir," repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a

reply.  "This enters into my general expenses."

 

Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward,

where he ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.

 

Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was

in high hope.  He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would

reach Shanghai in time; to which that gentleman responded

that he counted upon it.  The crew set to work in good earnest,

inspired by the reward to be gained.  There was not a sheet

which was not tightened not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted;

not a lurch could be charged to the man at the helm.  They worked

as desperately as if they were contesting in a Royal yacht regatta.

 

By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had been

accomplished from Hong Kong, and Mr. Fogg might hope that he would be able

to reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal; in which case,

the many misadventures which had overtaken him since he left London

would not seriously affect his journey.

 

The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate

the island of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours

of the night, and crossed the Tropic of Cancer.  The sea was very

rough in the straits, full of eddies formed by the counter-currents,

and the chopping waves broke her course, whilst it became very difficult

to stand on deck.

 

At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens

seemed to predict a gale.  The barometer announced a speedy change,

the mercury rising and falling capriciously; the sea also,

in the south-east, raised long surges which indicated a tempest.

The sun had set the evening before in a red mist,

in the midst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.

 

John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the heavens,

muttering indistinctly between his teeth.  At last he said in a low voice

to Mr. Fogg, "Shall I speak out to your honour?"

 

"Of course."

 

"Well, we are going to have a squall."

 

"Is the wind north or south?" asked Mr. Fogg quietly.

 

"South.  Look! a typhoon is coming up."

 

"Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us forward."

 

"Oh, if you take it that way," said John Bunsby, "I've nothing more to say."

John Bunsby's suspicions were confirmed.  At a less advanced season of the year

the typhoon, according to a famous meteorologist, would have passed away

like a luminous cascade of electric flame; but in the winter equinox

it was to be feared that it would burst upon them with great violence.

 

The pilot took his precautions in advance.  He reefed all sail,

the pole-masts were dispensed with; all hands went forward to the bows.

A single triangular sail, of strong canvas, was hoisted as a storm-jib,

so as to hold the wind from behind.  Then they waited.

 

John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but this

imprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the boat

bouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant.  Neither Mr. Fogg,

Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the deck.

 

The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o'clock.

With but its bit of sail, the Tankadere was lifted like a feather by a wind,

an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given.  To compare her speed

to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam would be below

the truth.

 

The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on

by monstrous waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal

to theirs.  Twenty times she seemed almost to be submerged by

these mountains of water which rose behind her; but the adroit

management of the pilot saved her.  The passengers were often

bathed in spray, but they submitted to it philosophically.

Fix cursed it, no doubt; but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon

her protector, whose coolness amazed her, showed herself worthy

of him, and bravely weathered the storm.  As for Phileas Fogg,

it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of his programme.

 

Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to the north;

but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore down from

the north-west.  The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves,

shook and rolled terribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence.

At night the tempest increased in violence.  John Bunsby saw the approach

of darkness and the rising of the storm with dark misgivings.

He thought awhile, and then asked his crew if it was not time to slacken speed.

After a consultation he approached Mr. Fogg, and said, "I think, your honour,

that we should do well to make for one of the ports on the coast."

 

"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 so much determination and tenacity.

Then he cried, "Well--yes!  Your honour is right.  To Shanghai!"

 

So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.

 

The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the

craft did not founder.  Twice it could have been all over with her

if the crew had not been constantly on the watch.  Aouda was exhausted,

but did not utter a complaint.  More than once Mr. Fogg rushed

to protect her from the violence of the waves.

 

Day reappeared.  The tempest still raged with undiminished fury;

but the wind now returned to the south-east.  It was a favourable change,

and the Tankadere again bounded forward on this mountainous sea,

though the waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and counter-shocks

which would have crushed a craft less solidly built.  From time to time

the coast was visible through the broken mist, but no vessel was in sight.

The Tankadere was alone upon the sea.

 

There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became more distinct

as the sun descended toward the horizon.  The tempest had been as brief

as terrific.  The passengers, thoroughly exhausted, could now eat a little,

and take some repose.

 

The night was comparatively quiet.  Some of the sails were again hoisted,

and the speed of the boat was very good.  The next morning at dawn

they espied the coast, and John Bunsby was able to assert that they were

not one hundred miles from Shanghai.  A hundred miles, and only one day

to traverse them!  That very evening Mr. Fogg was due at Shanghai,

if he did not wish to miss the steamer to Yokohama.  Had there been no storm,

during which several hours were lost, they would be at this moment within

thirty miles of their destination.

 

The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it.

All sails were now hoisted, and at noon the Tankadere was within

forty-five miles of Shanghai.  There remained yet six hours

in which to accomplish that distance.  All on board feared

that it could not be done, and every one--Phileas Fogg, no doubt,

excepted--felt his heart beat with impatience.  The boat must keep up

an average of nine miles an hour, and the wind was becoming calmer

every moment!  It was a capricious breeze, coming from the coast,

and after it passed the sea became smooth.  Still, the Tankadere

was so light, and her fine sails caught the fickle zephyrs so well,

that, with the aid of the currents John Bunsby found himself at six o'clock

not more than ten miles from the mouth of Shanghai River.  Shanghai itself

is situated at least twelve miles up the stream.  At seven they were still

three miles from Shanghai.  The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward of

two hundred pounds was evidently on the point of escaping him.  He looked

at Mr. Fogg.  Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil; and yet his whole fortune

was at this moment at stake.

 

At this moment, also, a long black funnel, crowned with wreaths of smoke,

appeared on the edge of the waters.  It was the American steamer,

leaving for Yokohama at the appointed time.

 

"Confound her!" cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder

with a desperate jerk.

 

"Signal her!" said Phileas Fogg quietly.

 

A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the Tankadere,

for making signals in the fogs.  It was loaded to the muzzle;

but just as the pilot was about to apply a red-hot coal to the touchhole,

Mr. Fogg said, "Hoist your flag!"

 

The flag was run up at half-mast, and, this being the signal of distress,

it was hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it, would change her

course a little, so as to succour the pilot-boat.

 

"Fire!" said Mr. Fogg.  And the booming of the little cannon

resounded in the air.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXII

 

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT FINDS OUT THAT, EVEN AT THE ANTIPODES,

IT IS CONVENIENT TO HAVE SOME MONEY IN ONE'S POCKET

 

 

The Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the

7th of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan.

She carried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers.

Two state-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied--those which

had been engaged by Phileas Fogg.

 

The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait,

and disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin,

and to totter to a seat on deck.

 

It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows:

Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted

the unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed

reserved for the smokers.  Three hours later, pursued even

in his dreams by a fixed idea, the poor fellow awoke,

and struggled against the stupefying influence of the narcotic.

The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off his torpor,

and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness.

Staggering and holding himself up by keeping against the walls,

falling down and creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled

by a kind of instinct, he kept crying out, "The Carnatic! the Carnatic!"

 

The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting.

Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the plank,

he crossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the Carnatic

was moving off.  Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed

to this sort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin,

and Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty miles

away from China.  Thus he found himself the next morning on the deck

of the Carnatic, and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze.

The pure air sobered him.  He began to collect his sense, which he found

a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the evening before,

Fix's revelation, and the opium-house.

 

"It is evident," said he to himself, "that I have been abominably drunk!

What will Mr. Fogg say?  At least I have not missed the steamer,

which is the most important thing."

 

Then, as Fix occurred to him: "As for that rascal, I hope we

are well rid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed,

to follow us on board the Carnatic.  A detective on the track

of Mr. Fogg, accused of robbing the Bank of England!  Pshaw!

Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than I am a murderer."

 

Should he divulge Fix's real errand to his master?  Would it

do to tell the part the detective was playing.  Would it not be

better to wait until Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then

impart to him that an agent of the metropolitan police had been

following him round the world, and have a good laugh over it?

No doubt; at least, it was worth considering.  The first thing to

do was to find Mr. Fogg, and apologise for his singular behaviour.

 

Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with

the rolling of the steamer, to the after-deck.  He saw no one

who resembled either his master or Aouda.  "Good!"  muttered he;

"Aouda has not got up yet, and Mr. Fogg has probably found some

partners at whist."

 

He descended to the saloon.  Mr. Fogg was not there.

Passepartout had only, however, to ask the purser the number

of his master's state-room.  The purser replied that he

did not know any passenger by the name of Fogg.

 

"I beg your pardon," said Passepartout persistently.  "He is a tall gentleman,

quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young lady--"

 

"There is no young lady on board," interrupted the purser.

"Here is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself."

 

Passepartout scanned the list, but his master's name was not upon it.

All at once an idea struck him.

 

"Ah! am I on the Carnatic?"

 

"Yes."

 

"On the way to Yokohama?"

 

"Certainly."

 

Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong boat;

but, though he was really on the Carnatic, his master was not there.

 

He fell thunderstruck on a seat.  He saw it all now.

He remembered that the time of sailing had been changed,

that he should have informed his master of that fact,

and that he had not done so.  It was his fault, then,

that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer.

Yes, but it was still more the fault of the traitor who,

in order to separate him from his master, and detain

the latter at Hong Kong, had inveigled him into getting drunk!

He now saw the detective's trick; and at this moment Mr. Fogg

was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself perhaps

arrested and imprisoned!  At this thought Passepartout tore his hair.

Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a settling of accounts

there would be!

 

After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer,

and began to study his situation.  It was certainly not

an enviable one.  He found himself on the way to Japan,

and what should he do when he got there?  His pocket was empty;

he had not a solitary shilling not so much as a penny.

His passage had fortunately been paid for in advance;

and he had five or six days in which to decide upon his future course.

He fell to at meals with an appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg, Aouda,

and himself.  He helped himself as generously as if Japan were a desert,

where nothing to eat was to be looked for.

 

At dawn on the 13th the Carnatic entered the port of Yokohama.

This is an important port of call in the Pacific, where all the

mail-steamers, and those carrying travellers between North America,

China, Japan, and the Oriental islands put in.  It is situated

in the bay of Yeddo, and at but a short distance from that

second capital of the Japanese Empire, and the residence of the Tycoon,

the civil Emperor, before the Mikado, the spiritual Emperor,

absorbed his office in his own.  The Carnatic anchored at the quay

near the custom-house, in the midst of a crowd of ships bearing

the flags of all nations.

 

Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory

of the Sons of the Sun.  He had nothing better to do than,

taking chance for his guide, to wander aimlessly through the streets

of Yokohama.  He found himself at first in a thoroughly European quarter,

the houses having low fronts, and being adorned with verandas,

beneath which he caught glimpses of neat peristyles.  This quarter occupied,

with its streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, all the space between

the "promontory of the Treaty" and the river.  Here, as at Hong Kong

and Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races Americans and English,

Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell anything.

The Frenchman felt himself as much alone among them as if he had dropped

down in the midst of Hottentots.

 

He had, at least, one resource to call on the French and English consuls

at Yokohama for assistance.  But he shrank from telling the story

of his adventures, intimately connected as it was with that of his master;

and, before doing so, he determined to exhaust all other means of aid.

As chance did not favour him in the European quarter, he penetrated

that inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if necessary,

to push on to Yeddo.

 

The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the

goddess of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about.

There Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred

gates of a singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst

of bamboos and reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar-trees,

holy retreats where were sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries

of Confucius, and interminable streets, where a perfect harvest of

rose-tinted and red-cheeked children, who looked as if they had been

cut out of Japanese screens, and who were playing in the midst

of short-legged poodles and yellowish cats, might have been gathered.

 

The streets were crowded with people.  Priests were passing

in processions, beating their dreary tambourines; police and

custom-house officers with pointed hats encrusted with lac and

carrying two sabres hung to their waists; soldiers, clad in blue

cotton with white stripes, and bearing guns; the Mikado's guards,

enveloped in silken doubles, hauberks and coats of mail;

and numbers of military folk of all ranks--for the military

profession is as much respected in Japan as it is despised

in China--went hither and thither in groups and pairs.

Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims,

and simple civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair,

big heads, long busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions

varying from copper-colour to a dead white, but never yellow,

like the Chinese, from whom the Japanese widely differ.

He did not fail to observe the curious equipages--carriages and palanquins,

barrows supplied with sails, and litters made of bamboo; nor the women--

whom he thought not especially handsome--who took little steps with their

little feet, whereon they wore canvas shoes, straw sandals, and clogs

of worked wood, and who displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests,

teeth fashionably blackened, and gowns crossed with silken scarfs,

tied in an enormous knot behind an ornament which the modern

Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed from the dames of Japan.

 

Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley crowd,

looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the jewellery

establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the restaurants

decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses, where the odorous beverage

was being drunk with saki, a liquor concocted from the fermentation of rice,

and the comfortable smoking-houses, where they were puffing, not opium,

which is almost unknown in Japan, but a very fine, stringy tobacco.

He went on till he found himself in the fields, in the midst of vast

rice plantations.  There he saw dazzling camellias expanding themselves,

with flowers which were giving forth their last colours and perfumes,

not on bushes, but on trees, and within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum,

and apple trees, which the Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms

than their fruit, and which queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows

protected from the sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds.

On the branches of the cedars were perched large eagles; amid the foliage

of the weeping willows were herons, solemnly standing on one leg;

and on every hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and a

multitude of cranes, which the Japanese consider sacred,

and which to their minds symbolise long life and prosperity.

 

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 as possible before leaving the Carnatic;

but, as he had been walking about all day, the demands of hunger

were becoming importunate.  He observed that the butchers stalls

contained neither mutton, goat, nor pork; and, knowing also that

it is a sacrilege to kill cattle, which are preserved solely for farming,

he made up his mind that meat was far from plentiful in Yokohama--

nor was he mistaken; and, in default of butcher's meat,

he could have wished for a quarter of wild boar or deer,

a partridge, or some quails, some game or fish, which, with rice,

the Japanese eat almost exclusively.  But he found it necessary

to keep up a stout heart, and to postpone the meal he craved till

the following morning.  Night came, and Passepartout re-entered

the native quarter, where he wandered through the streets,

lit by vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers,

who were executing skilful steps and boundings, and the astrologers

who stood in the open air with their telescopes.  Then he came

to the harbour, which was lit up by the resin torches of the fishermen,

who were fishing from their boats.

 

The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers

of which, in their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites,

Passepartout thought seemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling crowd.

Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to himself:

"Good! another Japanese embassy departing for Europe!"

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXIII

 

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT'S NOSE BECOMES OUTRAGEOUSLY LONG

 

 

The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to

himself that he must get something to eat at all hazards, and the

sooner he did so the better.  He might, indeed, sell his watch;

but he would have starved first.  Now or never he must use the

strong, if not melodious voice which nature had bestowed upon him.

He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to try them

upon the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since they were

for ever pounding on their cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines, and

could not but appreciate European talent.

 

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a

concert, and the audience prematurely aroused from their slumbers,

might not possibly pay their entertainer with coin bearing the

Mikado's features.  Passepartout therefore decided to wait several

hours; and, as he was sauntering along, it occurred to him that he

would seem rather too well dressed for a wandering artist.  The

idea struck him to change his garments for clothes more in harmony

with his project; by which he might also get a little money to

satisfy the immediate cravings of hunger.  The resolution taken,

it remained to carry it out.

 

It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a

native dealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange.

The man liked the European costume, and ere long Passepartout

issued from his shop accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort

of one-sided turban, faded with long use.  A few small pieces of silver,

moreover, jingled in his pocket.

 

"Good!" thought he.  "I will imagine I am at the Carnival!"

 

His first care, after being thus "Japanesed," was to enter a tea-house

of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice,

to breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved.

 

"Now," thought he, when he had eaten heartily, "I mustn't lose my head.

I can't sell this costume again for one still more Japanese.  I must

consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I shall not retain

the most delightful of memories, as quickly as possible."

 

It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to

leave for America.  He would offer himself as a cook or servant,

in payment of his passage and meals.  Once at San Francisco,

he would find some means of going on.  The difficulty was,

how to traverse the four thousand seven hundred miles

of the Pacific which lay between Japan and the New World.

 

Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging,

and directed his steps towards the docks.  But, as he approached

them, his project, which at first had seemed so simple, began to grow

more and more formidable to his mind.  What need would they have

of a cook or servant on an American steamer, and what confidence would

they put in him, dressed as he was?  What references could he give?

 

As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense

placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets.

This placard, which was in English, read as follows:

 

          ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE,

   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 just what I want!"

 

He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more

in the Japanese quarter.  A quarter of an hour later

he stopped before a large cabin, adorned with several

clusters of streamers, the exterior walls of which

were designed to represent, in violent colours

and without perspective, a company of jugglers.

 

This was the Honourable William Batulcar's establishment.

That gentleman was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe

of mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists,

and gymnasts, who, according to the placard, was giving

his last performances before leaving the Empire of the Sun

for the States of the Union.

 

Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway

appeared in person.

 

"What do you want?" said he to Passepartout, whom he at first

took for a native.

 

"Would you like a servant, sir?" asked Passepartout.

 

"A servant!" cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beard

which hung from his chin.  "I already have two who are obedient

and faithful, have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment

and here they are," added he, holding out his two robust arms,

furrowed with veins as large as the strings of a bass-viol.

 

"So I can be of no use to you?"

 

"None."

 

"The devil!  I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!"

 

"Ah!" said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar.  "You are no more a Japanese

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 nationality

should cause this question, "we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces,

it is true but not any better than the Americans do."

 

"True.  Well, if I can't take you as a servant, I can as a clown.

You see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns,

and in foreign parts French clowns."

 

"Ah!"

 

"You are pretty strong, eh?"

 

"Especially after a good meal."

 

"And you can sing?"

 

"Yes," returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont

to sing in the streets.

 

"But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning

on your left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?"

 

"Humph!  I think so," replied Passepartout, recalling the exercises

of his younger days.

 

"Well, that's enough," said the Honourable William Batulcar.

 

The engagement was concluded there and then.

 

Passepartout had at last found something to do.  He was engaged

to act in the celebrated Japanese troupe.  It was not a very dignified

position, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco.

 

The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr. Batulcar,

was to commence at three o'clock, and soon the deafening instruments

of a Japanese orchestra resounded at the door.  Passepartout,

though he had not been able to study or rehearse a part,

was designated to lend the aid of his sturdy shoulders

in the great exhibition of the "human pyramid," executed

by the Long Noses of the god Tingou.  This "great attraction"

was to close the performance.

 

Before three o'clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators,

comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women

and children, who precipitated themselves upon the narrow benches

and into the boxes opposite the stage.  The musicians took up a position

inside, and were vigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams, flutes,

bones, tambourines, and immense drums.

 

The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be

confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world.

 

One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful

trick of the butterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air,

with the odorous smoke of his pipe, a series of blue words,

which composed a compliment to the audience; while a third juggled

with some lighted candles, which he extinguished successively

as they passed his lips, and relit again without interrupting

for an instant his juggling.  Another reproduced the most singular

combinations with a spinning-top; in his hands the revolving tops

seemed to be animated with a life of their own in their

interminable whirling; they ran over pipe-stems, the edges of sabres,

wires and even hairs stretched across the stage; they turned around

on the edges of large glasses, crossed bamboo ladders, dispersed into

all the corners, and produced strange musical effects by the combination

of their various pitches of tone.  The jugglers tossed them in the air,

threw them like shuttlecocks with wooden battledores, and yet they kept

on spinning; they put them into their pockets, and took them out

still whirling as before.

 

It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats

and gymnasts.  The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, &c.,

was executed with wonderful precision.

 

But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses,

a show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.

 

The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage

of the god Tingou.  Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages,

they bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of wings;

but what especially distinguished them was the long noses

which were fastened to their faces, and the uses which they made of them.

These noses were made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long,

some straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation warts

upon them.  It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their real noses,

that they performed their gymnastic exercises.  A dozen of these sectaries

of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others, dressed to represent

lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their noses, jumping from one to another,

and performing the most skilful leapings and somersaults.

 

As a last scene, a "human pyramid" had been announced, in which

fifty Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut.

But, instead of forming a pyramid by mounting each other's shoulders,

the artists were to group themselves on top of the noses.

It happened that the performer who had hitherto formed the base

of the Car had quitted the troupe, and as, to fill this part,

only strength and adroitness were necessary, Passepartout

had been chosen to take his place.

 

The poor fellow really felt sad when--melancholy reminiscence

of his youth!--he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings,

and fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long.

But he cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning

him something to eat.

 

He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest

who were to compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut.

They all stretched themselves on the floor, their noses pointing

to the ceiling.  A second group of artists disposed themselves on

these long appendages, then a third above these, then a fourth,

until a human monument reaching to the very cornices of the theatre

soon arose on top of the noses.  This elicited loud applause,

in the midst of which the orchestra was just striking up a deafening air,

when the pyramid tottered, the balance was lost, one of the lower

noses vanished from the pyramid, and the human monument was

shattered like a castle built of cards!

 

It was Passepartout's fault.  Abandoning his position,

clearing the footlights without the aid of his wings, and,

clambering up to the right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of

one of the spectators, crying, "Ah, my master! my master!"

 

"You here?"

 

"Myself."

 

"Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!"

 

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby

of the theatre to the outside, where they encountered

the Honourable Mr. Batulcar, furious with rage.  He demanded damages

for the "breakage" of the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg appeased him

by giving him a handful of banknotes.

 

At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda,

followed by Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings,

and nose six feet long, stepped upon the American steamer.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXIV

 

DURING WHICH MR. FOGG AND PARTY CROSS THE PACIFIC OCEAN

 

 

What happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai will

be easily guessed.  The signals made by the Tankadere had been

seen by the captain of the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag

at half-mast, had directed his course towards the little craft.

Phileas Fogg, after paying the stipulated price of his passage to

John Busby, and rewarding that worthy with the additional sum of

five hundred and fifty pounds, ascended the steamer with Aouda

and Fix; and they started at once for Nagasaki and Yokohama.

 

They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of November.

Phileas Fogg lost no time in going on board the Carnatic, where he learned,

to Aouda's great delight--and perhaps to his own, though he betrayed

no emotion--that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived on her

the day before.

 

The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening,

and it became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay.

Mr. Fogg applied in vain to the French and English consuls, and,

after wandering through the streets a long time, began to despair

of finding his missing servant.  Chance, or perhaps a kind of presentiment,

at last led him into the Honourable Mr. Batulcar's theatre.  He certainly

would not have recognised Passepartout in the eccentric mountebank's costume;

but the latter, lying on his back, perceived his master in the gallery.

He could not help starting, which so changed the position of his nose

as to bring the "pyramid" pell-mell upon the stage.

 

All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him

what had taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai

on the Tankadere, in company with one Mr. Fix.

 

Passepartout did not change countenance on hearing this name.

He thought that the time had not yet arrived to divulge to his

master what had taken place between the detective and himself;

and, in the account he gave of his absence, he simply excused himself

for having been overtaken by drunkenness, in smoking opium

at a tavern in Hong Kong.

 

Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then

furnished his man with funds necessary to obtain clothing more

in harmony with his position.  Within an hour the Frenchman had

cut off his nose and parted with his wings, and retained nothing

about him which recalled the sectary of the god Tingou.

 

The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San Francisco

belonged to the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was named

the General Grant.  She was a large paddle-wheel steamer

of two thousand five hundred tons; well equipped and very fast.

The massive walking-beam rose and fell above the deck;

at one end a piston-rod worked up and down; and at the other

was a connecting-rod which, in changing the rectilinear motion

to a circular one, was directly connected with the shaft of the paddles.

The General Grant was rigged with three masts, giving a large capacity

for sails, and thus materially aiding the steam power.  By making

twelve miles an hour, she would cross the ocean in twenty-one days.

Phileas Fogg was therefore justified in hoping that he would reach

San Francisco by the 2nd of December, New York by the 11th,

and London on the 20th--thus gaining several hours on the fatal date

of the 21st of December.

 

There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them English,

many Americans, a large number of coolies on their way to California,

and several East Indian officers, who were spending their vacation

in making the tour of the world.  Nothing of moment happened on the voyage;

the steamer, sustained on its large paddles, rolled but little,

and the Pacific almost justified its name.  Mr. Fogg was as calm

and taciturn as ever.  His young companion felt herself more and more

attached to him by other ties than gratitude; his silent but generous nature

impressed her more than she thought; and it was almost unconsciously that

she yielded to emotions which did not seem to have the least effect upon

her protector.  Aouda took the keenest interest in his plans, and became

impatient at any incident which seemed likely to retard his journey.

 

She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive

the state of the lady's heart; and, being the most faithful of domestics,

he never exhausted his eulogies of Phileas Fogg's honesty, generosity,

and devotion.  He took pains to calm Aouda's doubts of a successful

termination of the journey, telling her that the most difficult part

of it had passed, that now they were beyond the fantastic countries

of Japan and China, and were fairly on their way to civilised places again.

A railway train from San Francisco to New York, and a transatlantic steamer

from New York to Liverpool, would doubtless bring them to the end of this

impossible journey round the world within the period agreed upon.

 

On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed exactly

one half of the terrestrial globe.  The General Grant passed, on the 23rd

of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and was at the very

antipodes of London.  Mr. Fogg had, it is true, exhausted fifty-two

of the eighty days in which he was to complete the tour, and there were

only twenty-eight left.  But, though he was only half-way by the

difference of meridians, he had really gone over two-thirds of the

whole journey; for he had been obliged to make long circuits from

London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay, from Calcutta to Singapore,

and from Singapore to Yokohama.  Could he have followed without

deviation the fiftieth parallel, which is that of London,

the whole distance would only have been about twelve thousand miles;

whereas he would be forced, by the irregular methods of locomotion,

to traverse twenty-six thousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of November,

accomplished seventeen thousand five hundred.  And now the course was

a straight one, and Fix was no longer there to put obstacles in their way!

 

It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout

made a joyful discovery.  It will be remembered that the obstinate

fellow had insisted on keeping his famous family watch at London time,

and on regarding that of the countries he had passed through as quite false

and unreliable.  Now, on this day, though he had not changed the hands,

he found that his watch exactly agreed with the ship's chronometers.

His triumph was hilarious.  He would have liked to know what Fix

would say if he were aboard!

 

"The rogue told me a lot of stories," repeated Passepartout,

"about the meridians, the sun, and the moon!  Moon, indeed!

moonshine more likely!  If one listened to that sort of people,

a pretty sort of time one would keep!  I was sure that the sun

would some day regulate itself by my watch!"

 

Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had

been divided into twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks,

he would have no reason for exultation; for the hands of his watch

would then, instead of as now indicating nine o'clock in the morning,

indicate nine o'clock in the evening, that is, the twenty-first hour

after midnight precisely the difference between London time and that

of the one hundred and eightieth meridian.  But if Fix had been able

to explain this purely physical effect, Passepartout would not have admitted,

even if he had comprehended it.  Moreover, if the detective had been on board

at that moment, Passepartout would have joined issue with him on a quite

different subject, and in an entirely different manner.

 

Where was Fix at that moment?

 

He was actually on board the General Grant.

 

On reaching Yokohama, the detective, leaving Mr. Fogg, whom he expected

to meet again during the day, had repaired at once to the English consulate,

where he at last found the warrant of arrest.  It had followed him from Bombay,

and had come by the Carnatic, on which steamer he himself was supposed to be.

Fix's disappointment may be imagined when he reflected that the warrant was

now useless.  Mr. Fogg had left English ground, and it was now necessary

to procure his extradition!

 

"Well," thought Fix, after a moment of anger, "my warrant is not good here,

but it will be in England.  The rogue evidently intends to return to his

own country, thinking he has thrown the police off his track.  Good!

I will follow him across the Atlantic.  As for the money, heaven grant

there may be some left!  But the fellow has already spent in 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,

and was there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived.  To his utter

amazement, he recognised Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise.

He quickly concealed himself in his cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation,

and hoped--thanks to the number of passengers--to remain unperceived

by Mr. Fogg's servant.

 

On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face

on the forward deck.  The latter, without a word,

made a rush for him, grasped him by the throat,

and, much to the amusement of a group of Americans,

who immediately began to bet on him, administered

to the detective a perfect volley of blows,

which proved the great superiority of French

over English pugilistic skill.

 

When Passepartout had finished, he found himself relieved

and comforted.  Fix got up in a somewhat rumpled condition,

and, looking at his adversary, coldly said, "Have you done?"

 

"For this time--yes."

 

"Then let me have a word with you."

 

"But I--"

 

"In your master's interests."

 

Passepartout seemed to be vanquished by Fix's coolness, for he quietly

followed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of the passengers.

 

"You have given me a thrashing," said Fix.  "Good, I expected it.

Now, listen to me.  Up to this time I have been Mr. Fogg's adversary.

I am now in his game."

 

"Aha!" cried Passepartout; "you are convinced he is an honest man?"

 

"No," replied Fix coldly, "I think him a rascal.  Sh! don't budge,

and let me speak.  As long as Mr. Fogg was on English ground,

it was for my interest to detain him there until my warrant

of arrest arrived.  I did everything I could to keep him back.

I sent the Bombay priests after him, I got you intoxicated at Hong Kong,

I separated you from him, and I made him miss the Yokohama steamer."

 

Passepartout listened, with closed fists.

 

"Now," resumed Fix, "Mr. Fogg seems to be going back to England.

Well, I will follow him there.  But hereafter I will do as much

to keep obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time

to put them in his path.  I've changed my game, you see,

and simply because it was for my interest to change it.

Your interest is the same as mine; for it is only in England

that you will ascertain whether you are in the service of a criminal

or an honest man."

 

Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix,

and was convinced that he spoke with entire good faith.

 

"Are we friends?" asked the detective.

 

"Friends?--no," replied Passepartout; "but allies, perhaps.

At the least sign of treason, however, I'll twist your neck for you."

 

"Agreed," said the detective quietly.

 

Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the General Grant

entered the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San Francisco.

 

Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXV

 

IN WHICH A SLIGHT GLIMPSE IS HAD OF SAN FRANCISCO

 

 

It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout

set foot upon the American continent, if this name can be given to

the floating quay upon which they disembarked.  These quays,

rising and falling with the tide, thus facilitate the loading

and unloading of vessels.  Alongside them were clippers of all sizes,

steamers of all nationalities, and the steamboats, with several decks

rising one above the other, which ply on the Sacramento and its tributaries.

There were also heaped up the products of a commerce which extends to Mexico,

Chili, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific islands.

 

Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent,

thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine style;

but, tumbling upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them.

Put out of countenance by the manner in which he thus "set foot"

upon the New World, he uttered a loud cry, which so frightened

the innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are always perched

upon these movable quays, that they flew noisily away.

 

Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the first

train left for New York, and learned that this was at six o'clock p.m.;

he had, therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian capital.

Taking a carriage at a charge of three dollars, he and Aouda entered it,

while Passepartout mounted the box beside the driver, and they set out

for the International Hotel.

 

From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity

the wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon

Gothic churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden and brick warehouses,

the numerous conveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the side-walks,

not only Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and Indians.  Passepartout

was surprised at all he saw.  San Francisco was no longer the legendary city

of 1849--a city of banditti, assassins, and incendiaries, who had flocked

hither in crowds in pursuit of plunder; a paradise of outlaws, where they

gambled with gold-dust, a revolver in one hand and a bowie-knife in the other:

it was now a great commercial emporium.

 

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama

of the streets and avenues, which cut each other at right-angles,

and in the midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares,

while beyond appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly imported

from the Celestial Empire in a toy-box.  Sombreros and red shirts

and plumed Indians were rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats

and black coats everywhere worn by a multitude of nervously active,

gentlemanly-looking men.  Some of the streets--especially Montgomery Street,

which is to San Francisco what Regent Street is to London,

the Boulevard des Italiens to Paris, and Broadway to New York--

were lined with splendid and spacious stores, which exposed

in their windows the products of the entire world.

 

When Passepartout reached the International Hotel,

it did not seem to him as if he had left England at all.

 

The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar,

a sort of restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might

partake of dried beef, oyster soup, biscuits, and cheese,

without taking out their purses.  Payment was made only for the ale,

porter, or sherry which was drunk.  This seemed "very American"

to Passepartout.  The hotel refreshment-rooms were comfortable,

and Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing themselves at a table,

were abundantly served on diminutive plates by negroes of darkest hue.

 

After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for

the English consulate to have his passport visaed.  As he was

going out, he met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not be well,

before taking the train, to purchase some dozens of Enfield rifles

and Colt's revolvers.  He had been listening to stories of attacks

upon the trains by the Sioux and Pawnees.  Mr. Fogg thought it

a useless precaution, but told him to do as he thought best,

and went on to the consulate.

 

He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, "by the

greatest chance in the world," he met Fix.  The detective seemed

wholly taken by surprise.  What!  Had Mr. Fogg and himself

crossed the Pacific together, and not met on the steamer!

At least Fix felt honoured to behold once more the gentleman

to whom he owed so much, and, as his business recalled him to Europe,

he should be delighted to continue the journey in such pleasant company.

 

Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the detective--

who was determined not to lose sight of him--begged permission

to accompany them in their walk about San Francisco--a request

which Mr. Fogg readily granted.

 

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great

crowd was collected; the side-walks, street, horsecar rails,

the shop-doors, the windows of the houses, and even the roofs,

were full of people.  Men were going about carrying large posters,

and flags and streamers were floating in the wind; while loud cries

were heard on every hand.

 

"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 in it."

 

"Yes," returned Mr. Fogg; "and blows, even if they are political

are still blows."

 

Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see without

being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a flight

of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street.  Opposite them,

on the other side of the street, between a coal wharf and a petroleum warehouse,

a large platform had been erected in the open air, towards which the current

of the crowd seemed to be directed.

 

For what purpose was this meeting?  What was the occasion of this

excited assemblage?  Phileas Fogg could not imagine.  Was it to nominate

some high official--a governor or member of Congress?  It was not improbable,

so agitated was the multitude before them.

 

Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass.

All the hands were raised in the air.  Some, tightly closed,

seemed to disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries--an energetic way,

no doubt, of casting a vote.  The crowd swayed back, the banners and flags

wavered, disappeared an instant, then reappeared in tatters.

The undulations of the human surge reached the steps,

while all the heads floundered on the surface like a sea

agitated by a squall.  Many of the black hats disappeared,

and the greater part of the crowd seemed to have diminished in height.

 

"It is evidently a meeting," said Fix, "and its object must be

an exciting one.  I should not wonder if it were about the Alabama,

despite the fact that that question is settled."

 

"Perhaps," replied Mr. Fogg, simply.

 

"At least, there are two champions in presence of each other,

the Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy."

 

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg's arm, observed the tumultuous scene

with surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all was.

Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and excited

shouts were heard; the staffs of the banners began to be used

as offensive weapons; and fists flew about in every direction.

Thumps were exchanged from the tops of the carriages and omnibuses

which had been blocked up in the crowd.  Boots and shoes went whirling

through the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack of revolvers

mingling in the din, the rout approached the stairway, and flowed over

the lower step.  One of the parties had evidently been repulsed;

but the mere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or Camerfield

had gained the upper hand.

 

"It would be prudent for us to retire," said Fix, who was anxious

that Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until

they got back to London.  "If there is any question about England

in all this, and we were recognised, I fear it would go hard with us."

 

"An English subject--" began Mr. Fogg.

 

He did not finish his sentence; for a terrific hubbub now arose

on the terrace behind the flight of steps where they stood,

and there were frantic shouts of, "Hurrah for Mandiboy!  Hip, hip, hurrah!"

 

It was a band of voters coming to the rescue of their allies,

and taking the Camerfield forces in flank.  Mr. Fogg, Aouda,

and Fix found themselves between two fires; it was too late to escape.

The torrent of men, armed with loaded canes and sticks, was irresistible.

Phileas Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled in their attempts to protect

their fair companion; the former, as cool as ever, tried to defend himself

with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of every Englishman's arm,

but in vain.  A big brawny fellow with a red beard, flushed face,

and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief of the band,

raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, whom he would have given

a crushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received it in his stead.

An enormous bruise immediately made its appearance under the detective's

silk hat, which was completely smashed in.

 

"Yankee!" exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at the ruffian.

 

"Englishman!" returned the other.  "We will meet again!"

 

"When you please."

 

"What is your name?"

 

"Phileas Fogg.  And yours?"

 

"Colonel Stamp Proctor."

 

The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who speedily

got upon his feet again, though with tattered clothes.  Happily,

he was not seriously hurt.  His travelling overcoat was divided

into two unequal parts, and his trousers resembled those of certain Indians,

which fit less compactly than they are easy to put on.

Aouda had escaped unharmed, and Fix alone bore marks

of the fray in his black and blue bruise.

 

"Thanks," said Mr. Fogg to the detective,

as soon as they were out of the crowd.

 

"No thanks are necessary," replied.  Fix; "but let us go."

 

"Where?"

 

"To a tailor's."

 

Such a visit was, indeed, opportune.  The clothing of both Mr. Fogg

and Fix was in rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged

in the contest between Camerfield and Mandiboy.  An hour after,

they were once more suitably attired, and with Aouda returned

to the International Hotel.

 

Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen

six-barrelled revolvers.  When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows;

but Aouda having, in a few words, told him of their adventure,

his countenance resumed its placid expression.  Fix evidently

was no longer an enemy, but an ally; he was faithfully keeping his word.

 

Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and their luggage

to the station drew up to the door.  As he was getting in, Mr. Fogg

said to Fix, "You have not seen this Colonel Proctor again?"

 

"No."

 

"I will come back to America to find him," said Phileas Fogg calmly.

"It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself to be treated

in that way, without retaliating."

 

The detective smiled, but did not reply.  It was clear that Mr. Fogg

was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate duelling at home,

fight abroad when their honour is attacked.

 

At a quarter before six the travellers reached the station,

and found the train ready to depart.  As he was about to enter it,

Mr. Fogg called a porter, and said to him: "My friend,

was there not some trouble to-day in San Francisco?"

 

"It was a political meeting, sir," replied the porter.

 

"But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in the streets."

 

"It was only a meeting assembled for an election."

 

"The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?" asked Mr. Fogg.

 

"No, sir; of a justice of the peace."

 

Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXVI

 

IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PARTY TRAVEL BY THE PACIFIC RAILROAD

 

 

"From ocean to ocean"--so say the Americans; and these four words

compose the general designation of the "great trunk line"

which crosses the entire width of the United States.

The Pacific Railroad is, however, really divided into two distinct lines:

the Central Pacific, between San Francisco and Ogden, and the Union Pacific,

between Ogden and Omaha.  Five main lines connect Omaha with New York.

 

New York and San Francisco are thus united by an uninterrupted metal ribbon,

which measures no less than three thousand seven hundred and eighty-six miles.

Between Omaha and the Pacific the railway crosses a territory which is still

infested by Indians and wild beasts, and a large tract which the Mormons,

after they were driven from Illinois in 1845, began to colonise.

 

The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly,

under the most favourable conditions, at least six months.

It is now accomplished in seven days.

 

It was in 1862 that, in spite of the Southern Members of Congress,

who wished a more southerly route, it was decided to lay the road

between the forty-first and forty-second parallels.  President Lincoln

himself fixed the end of the line at Omaha, in Nebraska.  The work was

at once commenced, and pursued with true American energy; nor did the

rapidity with which it went on injuriously affect its good execution.

The road grew, on the prairies, a mile and a half a day.  A locomotive,

running on the rails laid down the evening before, brought the rails

to be laid on the morrow, and advanced upon them as fast as they were

put in position.

 

The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in Iowa, Kansas,

Colorado, and Oregon.  On leaving Omaha, it passes along the left bank

of the Platte River as far as the junction of its northern branch,

follows its southern branch, crosses the Laramie territory and the

Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great Salt Lake, and reaches Salt Lake City,

the Mormon capital, plunges into the Tuilla Valley, across the American Desert,

Cedar and Humboldt Mountains, the Sierra Nevada, and descends, via Sacramento,

to the Pacific--its grade, even on the Rocky Mountains, never exceeding

one hundred and twelve feet to the mile.

 

Such was the road to be traversed in seven days, which would enable

Phileas Fogg--at least, so he hoped--to take the Atlantic steamer

at New York on the 11th for Liverpool.

 

The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight wheels,

and with no compartments in the interior.  It was supplied with two rows

of seats, perpendicular to the direction of the train on either side

of an aisle which conducted to the front and rear platforms.

These platforms were found throughout the train, and the passengers

were able to pass from one end of the train to the other.

It was supplied with saloon cars, balcony cars, restaurants,

and smoking-cars; theatre cars alone were wanting, and they will

have these some day.

 

Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and cigars,

who seemed to have plenty of customers, were continually circulating

in the aisles.

 

The train left Oakland station at six o'clock.  It was already night,

cold and cheerless, the heavens being overcast with clouds which seemed

to threaten snow.  The train did not proceed rapidly; counting the stoppages,

it did not run more than twenty miles an hour, which was a sufficient speed,

however, to enable it to reach Omaha within its designated time.

 

There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of the passengers

were overcome with sleep.  Passepartout found himself beside the detective;

but he did not talk to him.  After recent events, their relations with each

other had grown somewhat cold; there could no longer be mutual sympathy or

intimacy between them.  Fix's manner had not changed; but Passepartout was very

reserved, and ready to strangle his former friend on the slightest provocation.

 

Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow, however,

which happily could not obstruct the train; nothing could be seen

from the windows but a vast, white sheet, against which the smoke

of the locomotive had a greyish aspect.

 

At eight o'clock a steward entered the car and announced that

the time for going to bed had arrived; and in a few minutes

the car was transformed into a dormitory.  The backs of the seats

were thrown back, bedsteads carefully packed were rolled out by

an ingenious system, berths were suddenly improvised, and each traveller

had soon at his disposition a comfortable bed, protected from curious eyes

by thick curtains.  The sheets were clean and the pillows soft.

It only remained to go to bed and sleep which everybody did--

while the train sped on across the State of California.

 

The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very hilly.

The Central Pacific, taking Sacramento for its starting-point,

extends eastward to meet the road from Omaha.  The line from San Francisco

to Sacramento runs in a north-easterly direction, along the American River,

which empties into San Pablo Bay.  The one hundred and twenty miles between

these cities were accomplished in six hours, and towards midnight, while

fast asleep, the travellers passed through Sacramento; so that they saw nothing

of that important place, the seat of the State government, with its fine quays,

its broad streets, its noble hotels, squares, and churches.

 

The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction, Roclin, Auburn,

and Colfax, entered the range of the Sierra Nevada.  'Cisco was reached

at seven in the morning; and an hour later the dormitory was transformed

into an ordinary car, and the travellers could observe the picturesque

beauties of the mountain region through which they were steaming.

The railway track wound in and out among the passes, now approaching

the mountain-sides, now suspended over precipices, avoiding abrupt angles

by bold curves, plunging into narrow defiles, which seemed to have

no outlet.  The locomotive, its great funnel emitting a weird light,

with its sharp bell, and its cow-catcher extended like a spur,

mingled its shrieks and bellowings with the noise of torrents and cascades,

and twined its smoke among the branches of the gigantic pines.

 

There were few or no bridges or tunnels on the route.  The railway

turned around the sides of the mountains, and did not attempt to violate

nature by taking the shortest cut from one point to another.

 

The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley

about nine o'clock, going always northeasterly; and at midday reached Reno,

where there was a delay of twenty minutes for breakfast.

 

From this point the road, running along Humboldt River,

passed northward for several miles by its banks; then it

turned eastward, and kept by the river until it reached

the Humboldt Range, nearly at the extreme eastern limit of Nevada.

 

Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places

in the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded itself

as they passed along the vast prairies, the mountains lining the horizon,

and the creeks, with their frothy, foaming streams.  Sometimes a great herd

of buffaloes, massing together in the distance, seemed like a movable dam.

These innumerable multitudes of ruminating beasts often form an

insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the trains; thousands

of them have been seen passing over the track for hours together,

in compact ranks.  The locomotive is then forced to stop and wait

till the road is once more clear.

 

This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was travelling.

About twelve o'clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffalo

encumbered the track.  The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to clear

the way with its cow-catcher; but the mass of animals was too great.

The buffaloes marched along with a tranquil gait, uttering now and then

deafening bellowings.  There was no use of interrupting them, for,

having taken a particular direction, nothing can moderate and change

their course; it is a torrent of living flesh which no dam could contain.

 

The travellers gazed on this curious spectacle from the platforms;

but Phileas Fogg, who had the most reason of all to be in a hurry,

remained in his seat, and waited philosophically until it should please

the buffaloes to get out of the way.

 

Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and longed

to discharge his arsenal of revolvers upon them.

 

"What a country!" cried he.  "Mere cattle stop the trains, and go by

in a procession, just as if they were not impeding travel!  Parbleu!

I should like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap in his programme!

And here's an engineer who doesn't dare to run the locomotive

into this herd of beasts!"

 

The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was wise.

He would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with the cow-catcher;

but the locomotive, however powerful, would soon have been checked,

the train would inevitably have been thrown off the track,

and would then have been helpless.

 

The best course was to wait patiently, and regain the lost time

by greater speed when the obstacle was removed.  The procession

of buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it was night before

the track was clear.  The last ranks of the herd were now passing over

the rails, while the first had already disappeared below the southern horizon.

 

It was eight o'clock when the train passed through the defiles

of the Humboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated Utah,

the region of the Great Salt Lake, the singular colony of the Mormons.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXVII

 

IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT UNDERGOES, AT A SPEED OF TWENTY MILES AN HOUR,

A COURSE OF MORMON HISTORY

 

 

During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-easterly

for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a north-easterly

direction, towards the Great Salt Lake.

 

Passepartout, about nine o'clock, went out upon the platform to take the air.

The weather was cold, the heavens grey, but it was not snowing.

The sun's disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring of gold,

and Passepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value

in pounds sterling, when he was diverted from this interesting study

by a strange-looking personage who made his appearance on the platform.

 

This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark,

with black moustache, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black waistcoat,

black trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves.  He might have been

taken for a clergyman.  He went from one end of the train to the other,

and affixed to the door of each car a notice written in manuscript.

 

Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated that

Elder William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking advantage of his presence

on train No. 48, would deliver a lecture on Mormonism in car No. 117,

from eleven to twelve o'clock; and that he invited all who were desirous

of being instructed concerning the mysteries of the religion of the

"Latter Day Saints" to attend.

 

"I'll go," said Passepartout to himself.  He knew nothing

of Mormonism except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation.

 

The news quickly spread through the train, which contained

about one hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most,

attracted by the notice, ensconced themselves in car No. 117.

Passepartout took one of the front seats.  Neither Mr. Fogg

nor Fix cared to attend.

 

At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated voice,

as if he had already been contradicted, said, "I tell you that Joe Smith

is a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that the persecutions

of the United States Government against the prophets will also make a martyr

of Brigham Young.  Who dares to say the contrary?"

 

No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone contrasted

curiously with his naturally calm visage.  No doubt his anger arose

from the hardships to which the Mormons were actually subjected.

The government had just succeeded, with some difficulty, in reducing

these independent fanatics to its rule.  It had made itself master of Utah,

and subjected that territory to the laws of the Union, after imprisoning

Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion and polygamy.  The disciples

of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and resisted,

by words at least, the authority of Congress.  Elder Hitch, as is seen,

was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains.

 

Then, emphasising his words with his loud voice and frequent gestures,

he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical times: how that,

in Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals

of the new religion, and bequeathed them to his son Mormon;

how, many centuries later, a translation of this precious book,

which was written in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith, junior,

a Vermont farmer, who revealed himself as a mystical prophet in 1825;

and how, in short, the celestial messenger appeared to him

in an illuminated forest, and gave him the annals of the Lord.

 

Several of the audience, not being much interested in

the missionary's narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch,

continuing his lecture, related how Smith, junior, with his father,

two brothers, and a few disciples, founded the church of the

"Latter Day Saints," which, adopted not only in America,

but in England, Norway and Sweden, and Germany, counts many artisans,

as well as men engaged in the liberal professions, among its members;

how a colony was established in Ohio, a temple erected there at a

cost of two hundred thousand dollars, and a town built at Kirkland;

how Smith became an enterprising banker, and received from a simple mummy

showman a papyrus scroll written by Abraham and several famous Egyptians.

 

The Elder's story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience

grew gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers.

But this did not disconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with

the story of Joseph Smith's bankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined

creditors gave him a coat of tar and feathers; his reappearance

some years afterwards, more honourable and honoured than ever,

at Independence, Missouri, the chief of a flourishing colony

of three thousand disciples, and his pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles,

and retirement into the Far West.

 

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout,

who was listening with all his ears.  Thus he learned that,

after long persecutions, Smith reappeared in Illinois,

and in 1839 founded a community at Nauvoo, on the Mississippi,

numbering twenty-five thousand souls, of which he became mayor,

chief justice, and general-in-chief; that he announced himself,

in 1843, as a candidate for the Presidency of the United States;

and that finally, being drawn into ambuscade at Carthage,

he was thrown into prison, and assassinated by a band of men

disguised in masks.

 

Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder,

looking him full in the face, reminded him that, two years after

the assassination of Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young,

his successor, left Nauvoo for the banks of the Great Salt Lake, where,

in the midst of that fertile region, directly on the route of the emigrants

who crossed Utah on their way to California, the new colony, thanks to

the polygamy practised by the Mormons, had flourished beyond expectations.

 

"And this," added Elder William Hitch, "this is why the jealousy of Congress

has been aroused against us!  Why have the soldiers of the Union invaded

the soil of Utah?  Why has Brigham Young, our chief, been imprisoned,

in contempt of all justice?  Shall we yield to force?  Never!

Driven from Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from Ohio,

driven from Missouri, driven from Utah, we shall yet find some

independent territory on which to plant our tents.  And you,

my brother," continued the Elder, fixing his angry eyes

upon his single auditor, "will you not plant yours there,

too, under the shadow of our flag?"

 

"No!" replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring

from the car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.

 

During the lecture the train had been making good progress,

and towards half-past twelve it reached the northwest border

of the Great Salt Lake.  Thence the passengers could observe

the vast extent of this interior sea, which is also called the Dead Sea,

and into which flows an American Jordan.  It is a picturesque expanse,

framed in lofty crags in large strata, encrusted with white salt--

a superb sheet of water, which was formerly of larger extent than now,

its shores having encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once

reduced its breadth and increased its depth.

 

The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide,

is situated three miles eight hundred feet above the sea.

Quite different from Lake Asphaltite, whose depression

is twelve hundred feet below the sea, it contains considerable salt,

and one quarter of the weight of its water is solid matter,

its specific weight being 1,170, and, after being distilled, 1,000.

Fishes are, of course, unable to live in it, and those which descend

through the Jordan, the Weber, and other streams soon perish.

 

The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons

are mostly farmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals,

fields of wheat, corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies,

hedges of wild rose, clumps of acacias and milk-wort,

would have been seen six months later.  Now the ground

was covered with a thin powdering of snow.

 

The train reached Ogden at two o'clock, where it rested for six hours,

Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt Lake City,

connected with Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours

in this strikingly American town, built on the pattern of other cities

of the Union, like a checker-board, "with the sombre sadness of right-angles,"

as Victor Hugo expresses it.  The founder of the City of the Saints

could not escape from the taste for symmetry which distinguishes

the Anglo-Saxons.  In this strange country, where the people

are certainly not up to the level of their institutions,

everything is done "squarely"--cities, houses, and follies.

 

The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o'clock,

about the streets of the town built between the banks of the

Jordan and the spurs of the Wahsatch Range.  They saw few

or no churches, but the prophet's mansion, the court-house,

and the arsenal, blue-brick houses with verandas and porches,

surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias, palms, and locusts.

A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded the town;

and in the principal street were the market and several hotels

adorned with pavilions.  The place did not seem thickly populated.

The streets were almost deserted, except in the vicinity of the temple,

which they only reached after having traversed several quarters

surrounded by palisades.  There were many women, which was easily

accounted for by the "peculiar institution" of the Mormons;

but it must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists.

They are free to marry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting

that it is mainly the female citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry,

as, according to the Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not admitted

to the possession of its highest joys.  These poor creatures seemed

to be neither well off nor happy.  Some--the more well-to-do, no doubt--

wore short, open, black silk dresses, under a hood or modest shawl;

others were habited in Indian fashion.

 

Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women,

charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon.

His common sense pitied, above all, the husband.  It seemed to him

a terrible thing to have to guide so many wives at once across

the vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it were,

in a body to the Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them

in the company of the glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament

of that delightful place, to all eternity.  He felt decidedly repelled

from such a vocation, and he imagined--perhaps he was mistaken--

that the fair ones of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances

on his person.  Happily, his stay there was but brief.  At four the party

found themselves again at the station, took their places in the train,

and the whistle sounded for starting.  Just at the moment, however,

that the locomotive wheels began to move, cries of "Stop! stop!" were heard.

 

Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one.  The gentleman

who uttered the cries was evidently a belated Mormon.  He was

breathless with running.  Happily for him, the station had neither

gates nor barriers.  He rushed along the track, jumped on the rear

platform of the train, and fell, exhausted, into one of the seats.

 

Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast,

approached him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken flight

after an unpleasant domestic scene.

 

When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured

to ask him politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner

in which he had decamped, it might be thought that he had twenty at least.

 

"One, sir," replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward

--"one, and that 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 as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine

hundred miles from San Francisco.  From this point it took

an easterly direction towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains.

It was in the section included between this range and the

Rocky Mountains that the American engineers found the most

formidable difficulties in laying the road, and that the government

granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand dollars per mile,

instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work done on the plains.

But the engineers, instead of violating nature, avoided its difficulties

by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks.  One tunnel only,

fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to arrive

at the great basin.

 

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at

the Great Salt Lake.  From this point it described a long curve,

descending towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the

dividing ridge of the waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific.

There were many creeks in this mountainous region, and it was necessary

to cross Muddy Creek, Green Creek, and others, upon culverts.

 

Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on,

while Fix longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more

anxious than Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays

and accidents, and set foot on English soil.

 

At ten o'clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station,

and twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the

valley of Bitter Creek throughout.  The next day, 7th December,

they stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green River station.

Snow had fallen abundantly during the night, but, being mixed with rain,

it had half melted, and did not interrupt their progress.  The bad weather,

however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation of snow, by blocking

the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal to Mr. Fogg's tour.

 

"What an idea!" he said to himself.  "Why did my master make

this journey in winter?  Couldn't he have waited for the good

season to increase his chances?"

 

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky

and the depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing

fears from a totally different cause.

 

Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and down

the platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp Proctor,

the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San Francisco meeting.

Not wishing to be recognised, the young woman drew back from the window,

feeling much alarm at her discovery.  She was attached to the man who,

however coldly, gave her daily evidences of the most absolute devotion.

She did not comprehend, perhaps, the depth of the sentiment with which

her protector inspired her, which she called gratitude, but which,

though she was unconscious of it, was really more than that.

Her heart sank within her when she recognised the man whom

Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call to account for his conduct.

Chance alone, it was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor on this train;

but there he was, and it was necessary, at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg

should not perceive his adversary.

 

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and Passepartout

whom she had seen.

 

"That Proctor on this train!" cried Fix.  "Well, reassure yourself,

madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg; he has got to deal with me!

It seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two."

 

"And, besides," added Passepartout, "I'll take charge of him,

colonel as he is."

 

"Mr. Fix," resumed Aouda, "Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge him.

He said that he would come back to America to find this man.

Should he perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision

which might have terrible results.  He must not see him."

 

"You are right, madam," replied Fix; "a meeting between them

might ruin all.  Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg

would be delayed, and--"

 

"And," added Passepartout, "that would play the game of the gentlemen

of the Reform Club.  In four days we shall be in New York.  Well,

if my master does not leave this car during those four days,

we may hope that chance will not bring him face to face with this

confounded American.  We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it."

 

The conversation dropped.  Mr. Fogg had just woke up,

and was looking out of the window.  Soon after Passepartout,

without being heard by his master or Aouda, whispered to the detective,

"Would you really fight for him?"

 

"I would do anything," replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined will,

"to get him back living to Europe!"

 

Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame,

but his confidence in his master remained unbroken.

 

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a meeting

between him and the colonel?  It ought not to be a difficult task,

since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious.

The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few moments,

he said to Mr. Fogg, "These are long and slow hours, sir, that we are passing

on the railway."

 

"Yes," replied Mr. Fogg; "but they pass."

 

"You were in the habit of playing whist," resumed Fix, "on the steamers."

 

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

nor partners."

 

"Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold

on all the American trains.  And as for partners, if madam plays--"

 

"Certainly, sir," Aouda quickly replied; "I understand whist.

It is part of an English education."

 

"I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game.

Well, here are three of us, and a dummy--"

 

"As you please, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad

to resume his favourite pastime even on the railway.

 

Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward,

and soon returned with two packs of cards, some pins,

counters, and a shelf covered with cloth.

 

The game commenced.  Aouda understood whist sufficiently well,

and even received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg.

As for the detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being

matched against his present opponent.

 

"Now," thought Passepartout, "we've got him.  He won't budge."

 

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of the waters

at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four feet above

the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by the track

in crossing the Rocky Mountains.  After going about two hundred miles,

the travellers at last found themselves on one of those vast plains

which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so propitious

for laying the iron road.

 

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams,

branches of the North Platte River, already appeared.

The whole northern and eastern horizon was bounded by the immense

semi-circular curtain which is formed by the southern portion

of the Rocky Mountains, the highest being Laramie Peak.

Between this and the railway extended vast plains,

plentifully irrigated.  On the right rose the lower spurs

of the mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources

of the Arkansas River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.

 

At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort Halleck,

which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky Mountains

were crossed.  There was reason to hope, then, that no accident would mark

the journey through this difficult country.  The snow had ceased falling,

and the air became crisp and cold.  Large birds, frightened by the locomotive,

rose and flew off in the distance.  No wild beast appeared on the plain.

It was a desert in its vast nakedness.

 

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his partners had

just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard, and the train stopped.

Passepartout put his head out of the door, but saw nothing to cause the delay;

no station was in view.

 

Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get out;

but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant,

"See what is the matter."

 

Passepartout rushed out of the car.  Thirty or forty passengers

had already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

 

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way.

The engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man,

whom the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place,

had sent on before.  The passengers drew around and took part

in the discussion, in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner,

was conspicuous.

 

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say,

"No! you can't pass.  The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky,

and would not bear the weight of the train."

 

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a

mile from the place where they now were.  According to the

signal-man, it was in a ruinous condition, several of the iron

wires being broken; and it was impossible to risk the passage.

He did not in any way exaggerate the condition of the bridge.

It may be taken for granted that, rash as the Americans usually are,

when they are prudent there is good reason for it.

 

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard,

listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.

 

"Hum!" cried Colonel Proctor; "but we are not going to stay here,

I imagine, and take root in the snow?"

 

"Colonel," replied the conductor, "we have telegraphed to Omaha for a train,

but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow is less than six hours."

 

"Six hours!" cried Passepartout.

 

"Certainly," returned the conductor, "besides, it will take us as long

as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot."

 

"But it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers.

 

"Yes, but it's on the other side of the river."

 

"And can't we cross that in a boat?" asked the colonel.

 

"That's impossible.  The creek is swelled by the rains.  It is a rapid,

and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a ford."

 

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway

company and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious,

was not disinclined to make common cause with him.  Here was

an obstacle, indeed, which all his master's banknotes could not remove.

 

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who,

without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge

fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow.  They grumbled and

protested, and would certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg's

attention if he had not been completely absorbed in his game.

 

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what

had occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car,

when the engineer a true Yankee, named Forster called out,

"Gentlemen, perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over."

 

"On the bridge?" asked a passenger.

 

"On the bridge."

 

"With our train?"

 

"With our train."

 

Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.

 

"But the bridge is unsafe," urged the conductor.

 

"No matter," replied Forster; "I think that by putting on the

very highest speed we might have a chance of getting over."

 

"The devil!" muttered Passepartout.

 

But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the

engineer's proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted,

and found the plan a very feasible one.  He told stories about

engineers leaping their trains over rivers without bridges,

by putting on full steam; and many of those present avowed

themselves of the engineer's mind.

 

"We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over," said one.

 

"Eighty! ninety!"

 

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to get

over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too American.

"Besides," thought he, "there's a still more simple way, and it does not even

occur to any of these people!  Sir," said he aloud to one of the passengers,

"the engineer's plan seems to me a little dangerous, but--"

 

"Eighty chances!" replied the passenger, turning his back on him.

 

"I know it," said Passepartout, turning to another passenger,

"but a simple idea--"

 

"Ideas are no use," returned the American, shrugging his shoulders,

"as the engineer assures us that we can pass."

 

"Doubtless," urged Passepartout, "we can pass, but perhaps it would

be more prudent--"

 

"What!  Prudent!" cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed

to excite prodigiously.  "At full speed, don't you see, at full speed!"

 

"I know--I see," repeated Passepartout; "but it would be, if not more prudent,

since that word displeases you, at least more natural--"

 

"Who!  What!  What's the matter with this fellow?" cried several.

 

The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.

 

"Are you afraid?" asked Colonel Proctor.

 

"I afraid?  Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman

can be as American as they!"

 

"All aboard!" cried the conductor.

 

"Yes, all aboard!" repeated Passepartout, and immediately.

"But they can't prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural

for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!"

 

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have acknowledged

its justice.  The passengers resumed their places in the cars.

Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed.

The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.

 

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam,

backed the train for nearly a mile--retiring, like a jumper, in order

to take a longer leap.  Then, with another whistle, he began to move forward;

the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became frightful;

a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the piston worked up and down

twenty strokes to the second.  They perceived that the whole train, rushing

on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour, hardly bore upon the rails at all.

 

And they passed over!  It was like a flash.  No one saw the bridge.

The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other,

and the engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles

beyond the station.  But scarcely had the train passed the river,

when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids

of Medicine Bow.

 

 

 

 

Chapter XXIX

 

IN WHICH CERTAIN INCIDENTS ARE NARRATED

WHICH ARE ONLY TO BE MET WITH ON AMERICAN RAILROADS

 

 

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption,

passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass.

The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey,

eight thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea.

The travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains,

levelled by nature.  A branch of the "grand trunk" led off southward to Denver,

the capital of Colorado.  The country round about is rich in gold and silver,

and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already settled there.

 

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San Francisco,

in three days and three nights; four days and nights more would probably

bring them to New York.  Phileas Fogg was not as yet behind-hand.

 

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek

ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the territories

of Wyoming and Colorado.  They entered Nebraska at eleven, passed near

Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch of the Platte River.

 

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on

the 23rd of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge.

Two powerful locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests,

amongst whom was Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road,

stopped at this point; cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees

performed an imitation Indian battle, fireworks were let off,

and the first number of the Railway Pioneer was printed by a press

brought on the train.  Thus was celebrated the inauguration

of this great railroad, a mighty instrument of progress

and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to link

together cities and towns which do not yet exist.  The whistle

of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion's lyre, was about

to bid them rise from American soil.

 

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning,

and three hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed

before reaching Omaha.  The road followed the capricious windings

of the southern branch of the Platte River, on its left bank.

At nine the train stopped at the important town of North Platte,

built between the two arms of the river, which rejoin each other

around it and form a single artery a large tributary whose waters

empty into the Missouri a little above Omaha.

 

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

 

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one--not even the dummy--

complained of the length of the trip.  Fix had begun by winning several

guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself a not less

eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg.  During the morning, chance distinctly

favoured 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 the ten of spades.

 

"Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds,"

replied Colonel Proctor, in an insolent tone.

 

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played,

adding, "You don't understand anything about whist."

 

"Perhaps I do, as well as another," said Phileas Fogg, rising.

 

"You have only to try, son of John Bull," replied the colonel.

 

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold.  She seized Mr. Fogg's

arm and gently pulled him back.  Passepartout was ready to pounce

upon the American, who was staring insolently at his opponent.

But Fix got up, and, going to Colonel Proctor said, "You forget

that it is I with whom you have to deal, sir; for it was I

whom you not only insulted, but struck!"

 

"Mr. Fix," said Mr. Fogg, "pardon me, but this affair is mine,

and mine only.  The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting

that I should not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it."

 

"When and where you will," replied the American, "and with whatever

weapon you choose."

 

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the

detective endeavour to make the quarrel his.  Passepartout wished

to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master

checked him.  Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed

him upon the platform.  "Sir," said Mr. Fogg to his adversary,

"I am in a great hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever

will be greatly to my disadvantage."

 

"Well, what's that to me?" replied Colonel Proctor.

 

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg, very politely, "after our meeting at San Francisco,

I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I had completed

the business which called me to England."

 

"Really!"

 

"Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?"

 

"Why not ten years hence?"

 

"I say six months," returned Phileas Fogg; "and I shall be

at the place of meeting promptly."

 

"All this is an evasion," cried Stamp Proctor.  "Now or never!"

 

"Very good.  You are going to New York?"

 

"No."

 

"To Chicago?"

 

"No."

 

"To Omaha?"

 

"What difference is it to you?  Do you know Plum Creek?"

 

"No," replied Mr. Fogg.

 

"It's the next station.  The train will be there in an hour,

and will stop there ten minutes.  In ten minutes several

revolver-shots could be exchanged."

 

"Very well," said Mr. Fogg.  "I will stop at Plum Creek."

 

"And I guess you'll stay there too," added the American insolently.

 

"Who knows?" replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual.

He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never

to be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel,

a request which the detective could not refuse.  Mr. Fogg resumed

the interrupted game with perfect calmness.

 

At eleven o'clock the locomotive's whistle announced that they were

approaching Plum Creek station.  Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix,

went out upon the platform.  Passepartout accompanied him, carrying

a pair of revolvers.  Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

 

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the platform,

attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second.  But just as the

combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor hurried up,

and shouted, "You can't get off, gentlemen!"

 

"Why not?" asked the colonel.

 

"We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop."

 

"But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman."

 

"I am sorry," said the conductor; "but we shall be off at once.

There's the bell ringing now."

 

The train started.

 

"I'm really very sorry, gentlemen," said the conductor.

"Under any other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you.

But, after all, as you have not had time to fight here,

why not fight as we go along?

 

"That wouldn't be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman,"

said the colonel, in a jeering tone.

 

"It would be perfectly so," replied Phileas Fogg.

 

"Well, we are really in America," thought Passepartout,

"and the conductor is a gentleman of the first order!"

 

So muttering, he followed his master.

 

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through

the cars to the rear of the train.  The last car was only occupied

by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would

not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen

had an affair of honour to settle.  The passengers granted the request

with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

 

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient

for their purpose.  The adversaries might march on each other

in the aisle, and fire at their ease.  Never was duel more easily

arranged.  Mr. Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two

six-barrelled revolvers, entered the car.  The seconds, remaining

outside, shut them in.  They were to begin firing at the first

whistle of the locomotive.  After an interval of two minutes,

what remained of the two gentlemen would be taken from the car.

 

Nothing could be more simple.  Indeed, it was all so simple

that Fix and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they

would crack.  They were listening for the whistle agreed upon,

when suddenly savage cries resounded in the air, accompanied

by reports which certainly did not issue from the car where

the duellists were.  The reports continued in front and the whole

length of the train.  Cries of terror proceeded from the interior

of the cars.

 

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted

their prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous.

They then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

 

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than

once they had waylaid trains on the road.  A hundred of them had,

according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping

the train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

 

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports,

to which the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded

by revolver-shots.

 

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned

the engineer and stoker with blows from their muskets.

A Sioux chief, wishing to stop the train, but not knowing

how to work the regulator, had opened wide instead of closing

the steam-valve, and the locomotive was plunging forward

with terrific velocity.

 

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like

enraged monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors,

and fighting hand to hand with the passengers.  Penetrating the

baggage-car, they pillaged it, throwing the trunks out of the train.

The cries and shots were constant.  The travellers defended

themselves bravely; some of the cars were barricaded,

and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried along

at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

 

Aouda behaved courageously from the first.  She defended herself

like a true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken

windows whenever a savage made his appearance.  Twenty Sioux had fallen

mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell

upon the rails as if they had been worms.  Several passengers,

shot or stunned, lay on the seats.

 

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted

for ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux

if the train was not stopped.  Fort Kearney station, where there was

a garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed,

the Sioux would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney

and the station beyond.

 

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell.

At the same moment he cried, "Unless the train is stopped in five minutes,

we are lost!"

 

"It shall be stopped," said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the car.

 

"Stay, monsieur," cried Passepartout; "I will go."

 

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door

unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car;

and while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each

other over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience,

and with amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on

to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes,</