textfiles/etext/FICTION/atw80d.txt

 LIBRARY OF THE FUTURE (R) First Edition Ver. 4.02 
 Around the World in Eighty Days                                  Verne Jules           

                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                      1873                                  
                                                                            
                                                                            
                        AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS                     
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                 by Jules Verne                             
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
                                                                            
 Electronically Enhanced Text (c) Copyright 1991, World Library, Inc.       
                                                                            
CH_I                                                                        
  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 1816. 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 as a polished man 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 Artisans '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.                                                              
                                                         {CH_I ^paragraph 5}
  He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open               
credit. His checks were regularly paid at sight from his account            
current, which was always flush.                                            
  Was Phileas Fogg rich? Undoubtedly. But those who knew him best           
could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the         
last person to whom to 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 quickly, 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 honored by a better              
acquaintance with him than the rest declared that nobody could pretend      
to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes were reading         
the papers and playing whist. He often won at this game, which, as a        
silent one, harmonized with his nature; but his winnings never went         
into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities. Mr. Fogg        
played, not to win, but for the sake of playing. The game was in his        
eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless,             
unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.                               
  Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which         
may happen to the most honest people; 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 favored members. He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in      
Saville Row, either in sleeping or making his toilet. When he chose to      
take a walk, it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with           
its mosaic flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome               
supported by twenty red porphyry lonic 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         
the finest linen; club decanters, of a lost mold, 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.                                                    
                                                        {CH_I ^paragraph 10}
  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 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 arm-chair, 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.                                               
                                                        {CH_I ^paragraph 15}
  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 new-comer, "Jean                 
Passepartout, a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural      
aptness for going out at 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 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."                                                          
                                                        {CH_I ^paragraph 20}
  "Good. What time is it?"                                                  
  "Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout, drawing an      
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, October 2nd, you are in my service."                  
                                                        {CH_I ^paragraph 25}
  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.                                                   
                                                                            
CH_II                                                                       
  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 agitated. He was the most                  
deliberate person in the world, yet always reached his at the exact         
moment.                                                                     
                                                        {CH_II ^paragraph 5}
  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 began its inspection without delay,                
scouring it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged, solemn a        
mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell, lighted         
and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes. When             
Passepartout reached the second story, he recognized at once the            
room which he was to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it.            
Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with the           
lower stories; 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, 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.                         
                                                       {CH_II ^paragraph 10}
  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 masters shoes. In short, the         
house in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder        
and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was               
cosiness, comfort, and method idealized. There was no study, nor            
were there books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for      
at the Reform 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 scrutinized 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."                                            
                                                                            
CH_III                                                                      
  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 coloring, and took his place at the habitual table, the cover        
of which had already been laid for him. His breakfast consisted of a        
side-dish, a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast      
beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a         
morsel of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with several         
cups of tea, for which the Reform is famous. He rose at thirteen            
minutes to one, and 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 reappeared          
in the reading-room and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes         
before six. Half an hour later several members of the Reform 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 respected 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."                                               
                                                       {CH_III ^paragraph 5}
  "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."                                      
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 10}
  "The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman."                        
  It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his               
newspaper, 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 bank notes, 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, bank notes are freely exposed, at the mercy of the first            
comer. A keen observer of English customs relates that, being in one        
of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the curiosity to examine a         
gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds. He took it up,              
scrutinized it, passed it to his neighbor, he to the next man, and          
so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was transferred to the      
end of a dark entry; nor did it return to its place for half an             
hour. Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as raised his head. But        
in the present instance things had not gone so smoothly. The package        
of notes not being found when five o'clock sounded from the                 
ponderous clock in the "drawing office," the amount was passed to           
the account of profit and loss. As soon as the robbery was discovered,      
picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez,          
Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the 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 professional band. On the day        
of the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and            
with a well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro in the            
paying room, where the crime was committed. A description of him was        
easily procured, and sent to the detectives; and some hopeful spirits,      
of whom Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension. The papers      
and clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were               
discussing the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform        
Club was especially agitated, several of its members being Bank             
officials.                                                                  
  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 are in favor of the thief who        
must be a shrewd fellow."                                                   
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 15}
  "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.                                
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 20}
  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.                   
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 25}
  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                                                      
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 30}
      via Mont Cenis and Brindisi, by rails and steamboats - 7 days         
     Suez to Bombay, by steamer                             13              
     Bombay to Calcutta, by rail                             3              
     Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer                      13              
     Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer               6              
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 35}
     Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer                  22              
     San Francisco to New York, by rail                      7              
     New York to London, by steamer and rail                 9              
                                                      TOTAL 80 days         
-                                                                           
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 40}
  "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 -"                  
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 45}
  "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.                     
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 50}
  "Well, make it, then!"                                                    
  "The journey round the world in eighty days?"                             
  "Yes."                                                                    
  "I should like nothing better."                                           
  "When?"                                                                   
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 55}
  "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 it        
down again.                                                                 
  "Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall be so: I will wager the four         
thousand on it."                                                            
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 60}
  "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, which you would lose by a single accidental      
delay!"                                                                     
  "The unforeseen does not exist," quietly replied Phileas Fogg.            
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 65}
  "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."                                                         
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 70}
  "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 any one 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          
second of October, I shall be due in London, in this very room of           
the Reform Club, on Saturday, the twenty-first of December, at a            
quarter before nine p.m.; or else the twenty thousand pounds, now           
deposited in my name at Baring's will belong to you, in fact and in         
right, gentlemen. Here is a check for the amount."                          
                                                      {CH_III ^paragraph 75}
  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."                                  
                                                                            
CH_IV                                                                       
  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.                                                     
                                                        {CH_IV ^paragraph 5}
  "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."                                                               
                                                       {CH_IV ^paragraph 10}
  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            
astonishment.                                                               
  "Round the world!" he murmured.                                           
                                                       {CH_IV ^paragraph 15}
  "In eighty days," responded Mr. Fogg. "So we haven't a moment to          
lose."                                                                      
  "But the trunks?" gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his          
head from right to left.                                                    
  "We'll have no trunks; only a carpetbag, with two shirts and three        
pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We'll buy our clothes      
on the way. Bring down my mackintosh and travelling-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! 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 hitherto so domestic person!                           
                                                       {CH_IV ^paragraph 20}
  By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpetbag,            
containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still             
troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and               
descended to Mr. Fogg.                                                      
  Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed a        
red-bound copy of Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit and          
General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and departure        
of steamers and railways. He took the carpetbag, opened it, and             
slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes, which would         
pass wherever he might go.                                                  
  "You have forgotten nothing?" asked he.                                   
  "Nothing, monsieur."                                                      
  "My mackintosh and cloak?"                                                
                                                       {CH_IV ^paragraph 25}
  "Here they are."                                                          
  "Good. Take this carpetbag," handing it to Passepartout. "Take            
good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it."               
  Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand            
pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.                                  
  Master and man then descended, the street door was double-locked,         
and at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to          
Charing Cross. The cab stopped before the railway station at twenty         
minutes past eight. Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his        
master, who, after paying the cabman was about to enter the station,        
when a poor beggar woman with 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.                                                  
                                                       {CH_IV ^paragraph 30}
  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 honor."               
  "You do not forget when you are due in London again?" asked Stuart.       
                                                       {CH_IV ^paragraph 35}
  "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 carpetbag, with its enormous treasure.                  
  Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout             
suddenly uttered a cry of despair.                                          
  "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.                                      
                                                       {CH_IV ^paragraph 40}
  "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."                                                         
                                                                            
CH_V                                                                        
  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 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.                                        
                                                         {CH_V ^paragraph 5}
  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 Albermarle, 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 that deprived him      
of backers at any price.                                                    
  The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o'clock      
one evening, when the following telegraphic despatch was put into           
his hands: -                                                                
                                                        {CH_V ^paragraph 10}
-                                                                           
                                   SUEZ TO LONDON.                          
     ROWAN, COMMISSIONER OF POLICE,                                         
      SCOTLAND YARD.                                                        
     I'VE FOUND THE BANK ROBBER PHILEAS FOGG. SEND                          
                                                        {CH_V ^paragraph 15}
     WITHOUT DELAY WARRANT OF ARREST TO BOMBAY.                             
                                   FIX, DETECTIVE.                          
-                                                                           
  The effect of this despatch was instantaneous. The polished               
gentleman disappeared to give place to the bank robber. His                 
photograph, which was hung with those of the rest of the members of         
the Reform Club was minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by          
feature' the description of the robber which had been provided to           
the police. The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his        
solitary ways, his sudden departure; and it seemed clear that, in           
undertaking a tour round the world on the pretext of a wager, he had        
no other end in view than to elude the detectives, and throw them           
off his track.                                                              
                                                                            
CH_VI                                                                       
  CHAPTER VI                                                                
  In which Fix, the detective, betrays a very natural impatience            
-                                                                           
  The circumstances under which this telegraphic despatch about             
Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:-                                     
  The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsula and Oriental             
Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and      
five hundred horsepower, was due at eleven o'clock a.m. on                  
Wednesday, the 9th of October, at Suez. The Mongolia plied regularly        
between Brindisi and Bombay via the Suez Canal, and was one of the          
fastest steamers belonging to the company, always making more than ten      
knots an hour between Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half between        
Suez and Bombay.                                                            
  Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd of      
natives and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling           
village --now, thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a                    
fast-growing town. One was the British consul at Suez, who, despite         
the prophecies of the English Government, and the unfavorable               
predictions of Stephenson, was in the habit of seeing, from his office      
window, English ships daily passing to and fro on the great canal,          
by which the old roundabout route from England to India by the Cape of      
Good Hope was 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              
despatched from England in search of the bank robber; it was his            
task to narrowly watch every passenger who arrived at Suez, and to          
follow up all who seemed to be suspicious characters, or bore a             
resemblance to the description of the criminal, which he had                
received two days before from the police headquarters at London. The        
detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining the splendid      
reward which would be the prize of success, and awaited with a              
feverish impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the steamer         
Mongolia.                                                                   
  "So you say, consul," asked he for the twentieth time, "that this         
steamer is never behind?"                                                   
                                                        {CH_VI ^paragraph 5}
  "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 recognize your man, even if he is on board        
the Mongolia."                                                              
  "A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, then           
recognizes them. You must have a scent for them, and a scent is like a      
sixth sense which combines hearing, seeing, and smelling. I've              
arrested more than one of these gentlemen in my time, and if my             
thief is on board, I'll answer for it, he'll not slip through my            
fingers."                                                                   
  "I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery."                         
                                                       {CH_VI ^paragraph 10}
  "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 be 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 long, 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.                
                                                       {CH_VI ^paragraph 15}
  As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit,               
scrutinized the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.                       
  It was now half-past ten.                                                 
  "The steamer doesn't come!" he exclaimed, as the port clock struck.       
  "She can't be far off now," returned his companion.                       
  "How long will she stop at Suez?"                                         
                                                       {CH_VI ^paragraph 20}
  "Four hours; long enough to get in her coal. It is thirteen               
hundred and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the Red        
Sea, and she has to take in a fresh coal supply."                           
  "And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?"                           
  "Without putting in anywhere."                                            
  "Good," said Fix. "If the robber is on board, he will no doubt get        
off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies in Asia by         
some other route. He ought to know that he would not be safe an hour        
in India, which is English soil."                                           
  "Unless," objected the consul, "he is exceptionally shrewd. An            
English criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London            
than anywhere else."                                                        
                                                       {CH_VI ^paragraph 25}
  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 -"                                                    
                                                       {CH_VI ^paragraph 30}
  "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?"                                             
                                                       {CH_VI ^paragraph 35}
  "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 I and returned to the steamer.                     
                                                                            
CH_VII                                                                      
  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."              
                                                       {CH_VII ^paragraph 5}
  "To have his passport visaed?"                                            
  "Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks and aiding        
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 lookout. But I cannot-"                                  
                                                      {CH_VII ^paragraph 10}
  The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock           
was heard at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was           
the servant whom Fix had met on the quay. The other, who was his            
master, held out his passport with the request that the consul would        
do him the favor to visa it. The consul took the document and               
carefully read it, 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."                                 
                                                      {CH_VII ^paragraph 15}
  "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?"                                                      
                                                      {CH_VII ^paragraph 20}
  "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.                                                                     
                                                      {CH_VII ^paragraph 25}
  "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         
boat, in descended to his cabin. He took up his notebook, which             
contained the following memoranda:                                          
                                                      {CH_VII ^paragraph 30}
-                                                                           
  "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            
                                                      {CH_VII ^paragraph 35}
  "Left Turin, Friday, at 7:20 a.m.                                         
  "Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 p.m.                    
  "Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 p.m.                              
  "Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.                         
  "Total of hours spent, 158 1/2, or, in days, six days and a half."        
                                                      {CH_VII ^paragraph 40}
-                                                                           
  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 of each locality. This methodical              
record thus contained an account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg         
always knew whether he was behindhand or in advance of his time. On         
this Wednesday, 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.                              
                                                                            
CH_VIII                                                                     
  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?"                                          
                                                      {CH_VIII ^paragraph 5}
  "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?"                                                          
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 10}
  "In Africa."                                                              
  "In Africa!" repeated Passepartout. "Just think, monsieur, I had          
no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw of         
Paris was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes              
before nine in the morning, between the Northern and the Lyons              
stations, through the windows of a car, and in a driving rain! How I        
regret not having seen once more Pere la Chaise and the circus in           
the Champs Elysees!"                                                        
  "You are in a great hurry, then?"                                         
  "I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes and        
shirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpetbag."                
  "I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want."            
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 15}
  "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."                                   
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 20}
  "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."                             
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 25}
  "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."                     
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 30}
  "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?"                                                             
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 35}
  "No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand-new bank           
notes 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.                            
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 40}
  "Pretty far. It is a ten days' voyage by sea."                            
  "And in what country is Bombay?"                                          
  "India."                                                                  
  "In Asia?"                                                                
  "Certainly."                                                              
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 45}
  "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."                                                      
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 50}
  "Then he's a sharp fellow," returned the consul, "and counts on           
returning to London after putting the police of the two continents 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?"                                                       
                                                     {CH_VIII ^paragraph 55}
  "Why? I have no idea; but listen to me."                                  
  He reported in a few words the most important parts of his                
conversation with Passepartout.                                             
  "In short," said the consul, "appearances are wholly against this         
man. And what are you going to do?"                                         
  "Send a despatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be                  
despatched instantly to 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, hence he sent the despatch which we have seen to the London         
police office. A quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small           
bag in his hand, proceeding on board the Mongolia; and ere many             
moments longer, the notable steamer rode out at full steam upon the         
waters of the Red Sea.                                                      
                                                                            
CH_IX                                                                       
  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 L280, brigadiers,       
L2400, and generals of division, L4000. 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 whiled 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 fearful ly. 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 recognize the historic towns and villages which, along      
its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky; and         
betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old           
historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient          
navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample            
sacrifices. How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the           
Mongolia? He made his four hearty meals every day, regardless of the        
most persistent rolling and pitching on the part of the steamer; and        
he played whist indefatigably, for he had found partners as                 
enthusiastic in the game as himself. A tax-collector, on the way to         
his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith, returning to his parish at         
Bombay; and a brigadier-general of the English army, who was about          
to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party, and, with Mr.          
Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence.               
  As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped seasickness, and took           
his meals conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed           
the voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest      
in the scenes through which they were passing, and consoled himself         
with the delusion that his master's whim would end at Bombay. He was        
pleased, on the day after leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging        
person with whom he had walked and chatted on the quays.                    
                                                        {CH_IX ^paragraph 5}
  "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 recognize you. You are the servant of the strange            
Englishman-"                                                                
  "Just so, Monsieur-"                                                      
  "Fix."                                                                    
  "Monsieur Fix," resumed Passepartout, "I'm charmed to find you on         
board. Where are you bound?"                                                
                                                       {CH_IX ^paragraph 10}
  "Like you, to Bombay."                                                    
  "That's capital! Have you made this trip before?"                         
  "Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsula Company."         
  "Then you know India?"                                                    
  "Why -yes," replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.                            
                                                       {CH_IX ^paragraph 15}
  "A curious place, this India?"                                            
  "Oh, very 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."                                                                       
                                                       {CH_IX ^paragraph 20}
  "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 barroom, which Passepartout never failed to              
accept with graceful alacrity, mentally pronouncing Fix the best of         
good fellows.                                                               
                                                       {CH_IX ^paragraph 25}
  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, northwest of      
Aden Harbor, to take in coal. This matter of fuelling steamers is a         
serious one at such distances from the coal mines; it costs the             
Peninsula 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 Somalis, Banyai, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who      
comprise the twenty-five thousand inhabitants of Aden. He gazed with        
wonder upon the fortifications which make this place the Gibraltar          
of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns where the English engineers      
were still at work, two thousand years after the engineers of Solomon.      
  "Very curious, very curious," said Passepartout to himself, on            
returning to the steamer. "I see that it is by no means useless to          
travel, if a man wants to see something new." At six p.m. the Mongolia      
slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon once more on the            
Indian Ocean. She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours in which to           
reach Bombay, and the sea was favorable, the wind being in the              
northwest, and all sails aiding the engine. The steamer rolled but          
little, the ladies, in fresh toilets, reappeared on deck, and the           
singing and dancing 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.                                                        
                                                       {CH_IX ^paragraph 30}
  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.                                                                   
                                                                            
CH_X                                                                        
  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 unwieldy         
coaches; now, fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a        
great railway, with branch lines joining the main line at many              
points on its route, traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta        
in three days. This railway does not run in a direct line across            
India. The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is      
only from one thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of      
the road increase this distance by more than a third.                       
  The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as             
follows: -Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to           
the continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western           
Ghauts, runs thence northeast as far as Burhampoor, skirts the              
nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad,           
turns thence eastwardly, meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs        
from the river a little, and, descending southeastward by Burdivan and      
the French town of Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.              
                                                         {CH_X ^paragraph 5}
  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 an astronomical clock, directed his          
steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay -its famous      
city hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars,          
mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on         
Malebar Hill with its with its two polygonal towers -he cared not a         
straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces      
of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypogea, concealed southeast from           
the docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the              
Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette.                               
  Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas            
Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner.      
Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended      
a certain giblet of "native rabbit," on which he prided himself.            
  Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce,      
found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and on his           
appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, "Is this rabbit,          
sir?"                                                                       
  "Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly replied, "rabbit from the jungles."      
                                                        {CH_X ^paragraph 10}
  "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!"                                     
                                                        {CH_X ^paragraph 15}
  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, Sindis with square bonnets, Parsees with black               
mitres, and long-robed Armenians -were collected. It happened to be         
the day of a Parsee festival. These descendants of the sect of              
Zoroaster -the most thrifty, civilized, intelligent, and austere of         
the East Indians, among whom are counted the richest native                 
merchants of Bombay -were celebrating a sort of religious carnival,         
with processions and shows, in the midst of which Indian dancing            
girls, clothed in rose-colored gauze, looped up with gold and               
silver, danced airily, but with perfect modesty, to the sound of viols      
and the clanging of tambourines. It is needless to say that                 
Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with staring eyes and         
gaping mouth, and that his countenance was that of the greenest             
booby imaginable.                                                           
  Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him      
unconsciously farther off than he intended to go. At last, having seen      
the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning his           
steps towards the station, when he happened to espy the splendid            
pagoda on Malebar 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.                                  
                                                        {CH_X ^paragraph 20}
  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.                                  
                                                                            
CH_XI                                                                       
  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, 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 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 southeastern India by Kandallah and Pounah; and, passing            
Pauwell, they entered the defiles of the mountains, with their              
basalt bases, and their summits crowned with thick and verdant              
forests. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty exchanged a few words        
from time to time, and now Sir Francis, reviving the conversation,          
observed, "Some years ago, Mr. Fogg, you would have met with a delay        
at this point, which would probably have lost you your wager."              
  "How so, Sir Francis?"                                                    
                                                        {CH_XI ^paragraph 5}
  "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.                         
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 10}
  Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realize that he        
was actually crossing India in a railway train. The locomotive, guided      
by an English engineer and fed with English coal, threw out its             
smoke upon cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove, and pepper plantations,           
while the steam curled in spirals around groups of palm trees, in           
the midst of which were seen picturesque bungalows, viharis (a 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 Malligaum, the fatal country so often            
stained with blood by the sectaries of the goddess Kali. Not far off        
rose Ellora, with its graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad,          
capital of the ferocious Aureng-Zeb, now the chief town of one of           
the detached provinces of the kingdom of the Nizam. It was thereabouts      
that Feringhea, the Thuggee chief, king of the stranglers, held his         
sway. These ruffians, united by a secret bond, strangled victims of         
every age in honor of the goddess Death, without ever shedding              
blood; there was a period when this part of the country could scarcely      
be 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           
incase 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 recognized himself as being personally interested in         
the wager, and trembled at the thought that he might have been the          
means of losing it by his unpardonable folly of the night before.           
Being much less cool-headed than Mr. Fogg, he was much more                 
restless, counting 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 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      
upon the general insisting that the watch should be regulated in            
each new meridian, since he was constantly going eastward, that is          
in the face of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter by four         
minutes for each degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately refused to      
alter his watch, which he kept at London time. It was an innocent           
delusion which could harm no one.                                           
  The train stopped, at eight o'clock, in the midst of a glade some         
fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows and         
workmen's cabins. The conductor, passing along the carriages, shouted,      
"Passengers will get out here!"                                             
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 15}
  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.                 
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 20}
  "Where are we?" asked Sir Francis.                                        
  "At the hamlet of Kholby."                                                
  "Do we stop here?"                                                        
  "Certainly. The railway isn't finished."                                  
  "What! Not finished?"                                                     
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 25}
  "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," returned 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."                                                              
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 30}
  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 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-"                                            
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 35}
  "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.                                    
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 40}
  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      
pailings, 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. At each advance                  
Passepartout jumped; 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.                                                    
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 45}
  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 heaven!" 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 saddlecloth, and attached to his flanks a pair      
of curiously uncomfortable howdahs.                                         
                                                       {CH_XI ^paragraph 50}
  Phileas Fogg paid the Indian with some bank notes which he extracted      
from the famous carpetbag, a proceeding that seemed to deprive poor         
Passepartout of his vitals. Then he offered to carry Sir Francis to         
Allahabad, which the brigadier gratefully accepted, as one 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 saddlecloth        
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.                      
                                                                            
CH_XII                                                                      
  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 springboard; yet he laughed in the midst      
of his bouncing, and from time to time took a piece of sugar out of         
his pocket, and inserted it in Kiouni's trunk, who received it without      
in the least slackening his regular trot.                                   
  After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an hour      
for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at a              
neighboring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs round          
about him. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted the delay, and        
both descended with a feeling of relief. "Why, he's made of iron!"          
exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on Kiouni.                         
  "Of forged iron," replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing         
a hasty breakfast.                                                          
                                                       {CH_XII ^paragraph 5}
  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, of rajahs, whom it is almost impossible to reach in their           
inaccessible mountain fastnesses.The travellers several times saw           
bands of ferocious Indians, who, when they perceived the elephant           
striding across country, made angry and threatening motions. The            
Parsee avoided them as much as possible. Few animals were observed          
on the route; even the monkeys hurried from their path with                 
contortions and grimaces which convulsed Passepartout with laughter.        
  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 I he warmth was very grateful. The provisions             
purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travellers ate             
ravenously. The conversation, beginning with a few disconnected             
phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores. The guide               
watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself against the          
trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to disturb         
the slumberers, although occasional growls from panthers and                
chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the more formidable beasts        
made no cries or hostile demonstration against the occupants of the         
bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily, like an honest soldier overcome        
with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in uneasy dreams of the              
bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg, he slumbered as                
peacefully as if he had been in his serene mansion in Saville Row.          
  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 noon they passed by the village of          
Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches of the Ganges. The guide        
avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep the open                
country, which lies along the first depressions of the basin of the         
great river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the northeast.They      
stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, as healthy as         
bread and as succulent as cream, was amply partaken of and                  
appreciated.                                                                
                                                      {CH_XII ^paragraph 10}
  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,-                        
                                                      {CH_XII ^paragraph 15}
  "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 colored a            
dull red, with haggard eyes, dishevelled hair, protruding tongue,           
and lips tinted with betel. It stood upright upon the figure of a           
prostrate and headless giant.                                               
  Sir Francis, recognizing the statue, whispered, "The goddess Kali;        
the goddess of love and death."                                             
  "Of death, perhaps," murmured back Passepartout, "but of love             
                                                      {CH_XII ^paragraph 20}
-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 around 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,          
long damasceened 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."                                     
                                                      {CH_XII ^paragraph 25}
  The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession         
slowly wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in        
the depths of the wood. The songs gradually died away; occasionally         
cries were heard in the distance, until at last all was silence again.      
  Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the         
procession had disappeared, asked, "What is a suttee?"                      
  "A suttee," returned the general, "is a human sacrifice, but a            
voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned tomorrow at      
the dawn of day."                                                           
  "Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who could not repress           
his indignation.                                                            
  "And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg.                                         
                                                      {CH_XII ^paragraph 30}
  "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."                                                      
                                                      {CH_XII ^paragraph 35}
  While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several          
times, and now said, "The sacrifice which will take place tomorrow          
at dawn is not a voluntary one."                                            
  "How do you know?"                                                        
  "Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund."                        
  "But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any                  
resistance," observed Sir Francis.                                          
  "That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and         
opium."                                                                     
                                                      {CH_XII ^paragraph 40}
  "But where are they taking her?"                                          
  "To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the         
night there."                                                               
  "And the sacrifice will take place-"                                      
  "Tomorrow, at the first light of dawn."                                   
  The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped upon        
his neck. Just at the moment that he was about to urge Kiouni               
forward with a peculiar whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and turning          
to Sir Francis Cromarty, said, "Suppose we save this woman."                
                                                      {CH_XII ^paragraph 45}
  "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."       
                                                                            
CH_XIII                                                                     
  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.                              
                                                      {CH_XIII ^paragraph 5}
  "Officer," replied the guide, "I am a Parsee, and this woman is a         
Parsee. Command me as you will."                                            
  "Excellent," said Mr. Fogg.                                               
  "However," resumed the guide, "it is certain, not only that we shall      
risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken."                    
  "That is foreseen," replied Mr. Fogg. "I think we must wait till          
night before acting."                                                       
  "I think so," said the guide.                                             
                                                     {CH_XIII ^paragraph 10}
  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.                                                   
  Then they 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          
reconnoissance 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.                                                                 
                                                     {CH_XIII ^paragraph 15}
  "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 in 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          
indistinctly. 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.                                            
                                                     {CH_XIII ^paragraph 20}
  "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 assiduously as        
were the soldiers at the door.                                              
                                                     {CH_XIII ^paragraph 25}
  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 wall about half-past twelve, without having met any one; 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.         
                                                     {CH_XIII ^paragraph 30}
  "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."                                                                    
                                                     {CH_XIII ^paragraph 35}
  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 revolving 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.                                                                 
                                                     {CH_XIII ^paragraph 40}
  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 of intoxication to be striving to         
escape from her executioner. Sir Francis' 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 semiobscurity they saw the victim, quite         
senseless, stretched out beside her husband's body. Then a torch was        
brought, and the wood, 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 in the midst 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.                                                  
                                                     {CH_XIII ^paragraph 45}
  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.                      
                                                                            
CH_XIV                                                                      
  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 country, and would, despite the      
English police, recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta.        
She would only be safe by quitting India forever.                           
  Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.               
  The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o'clock, and the           
interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to             
reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg would thus      
be able to arrive in time to take the steamer which left Calcutta           
the next day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.                         
                                                       {CH_XIV ^paragraph 5}
  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 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 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."                                     
                                                      {CH_XIV ^paragraph 10}
  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 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 honor is giving me a fortune!" cried he.                            
                                                      {CH_XIV ^paragraph 15}
  "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.                                                                     
                                                      {CH_XIV ^paragraph 20}
  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 ancient Casi,         
which, like Mahomet's tomb, was once suspended between heaven and           
earth; though the Benares of today, 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 him 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 divinities think of India, anglicized as it is      
today, with steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges,               
frightening the gulls which float upon its surface, the turtles             
swarming along its banks, and the faithful dwelling upon its borders?       
  The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the         
steam concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could             
scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles southwestward from      
Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or Ghazipur         
and its famous rosewater 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, edge tool factories, and high chimneys puffing              
clouds of black smoke heavenward.                                           
                                                      {CH_XIV ^paragraph 25}
  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              
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 behindhand 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.                                                             
                                                                            
CH_XV                                                                       
  CHAPTER XV                                                                
  In which the bag of bank notes disgorges some thousands of pounds         
more                                                                        
-                                                                           
  The train entered the station, and Passepartout, jumping out              
first, was followed by Mr. Fog, who assisted his fair companion to          
descend. Phileas Fogg intended to proceed at once to the Hong Kong          
steamer, in order 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.                                                               
                                                        {CH_XV ^paragraph 5}
  "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.                                         
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 10}
  Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a                     
"palki-gari," 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 cocoanut 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!"                                 
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 15}
  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 courtroom, and a crowd of Europeans and natives               
already occupied the rear of the apartment.                                 
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 20}
  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.                                                  
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 25}
  Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the        
big clock over the judge seemed to go round with terrible rapidity.         
  "The first case," repeated Judge Obadiah.                                 
  "Phileas Fogg?" demanded Oysterpuff.                                      
  "I am here," replied Mr. Fogg.                                            
  "Passepartout?"                                                           
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 30}
  "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-"                                                                     
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 35}
  "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."                                              
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 40}
  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."                 
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 45}
  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.                                             
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 50}
  "Certainly. We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of           
the pagoda of Malebar 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.                                                                   
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 55}
  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 Malebar Hill. Knowing            
that the English authorities dealt very severely with this kind of          
misdemeanor, he promised them a goodly sum in damages, and sent them        
forward to Calcutta by the next train. Owing to the delay caused by         
the rescue of the young widow, Fix and the priests reached the              
Indian capital before Mr. Fogg and his servant, the magistrates having      
been already warned by a despatch to arrest them, should they               
arrive. Fix's disappointment when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not      
made his appearance in Calcutta, may be imagined. He made up his            
mind that the robber had stopped somewhere on the route and taken           
refuge in the southern provinces. For twenty-four hours Fix watched         
the station with feverish anxiety; at last he was rewarded by seeing        
Mr. Fogg and Passepartout arrive, accompanied by a young woman,             
whose presence he was wholly at a loss to explain. He hastened for a        
policeman; and this was how the party came to be arrested and               
brought before Judge Obadiah.                                               
  Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have            
espied the detective ensconced in a corner of the courtroom,                
watching the proceedings with an interest easily understood; for the        
warrant had failed to reach him at Calcutta, as it had done at              
Bombay and Suez.                                                            
  Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout's rash                
exclamation, which the poor fellow would have given the world to            
recall.                                                                     
  "The facts are admitted?" asked the judge.                                
  "Admitted," replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.                                     
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 60}
  "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             
Malebar 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!                        
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 65}
  Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not in the          
least concern him, did not even lift his eyebrows while it was being        
pronounced. Just as the clerk was calling the next case, he rose,           
and said, "I offer bail."                                                   
  "You have that right," returned the judge.                                
  Fix's blood ran cold, but he resumed his composure when he heard the      
judge announce that the bail required for each prisoner would be one        
thousand pounds.                                                            
  "I will pay it at once," said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank             
bills from the carpetbag, which Passepartout had by him, and placing        
them on the clerk's desk.                                                   
  "This sum will be restored to you upon your release from prison,"         
said the judge. "Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail."                     
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 70}
  "Come!" said Phileas Fogg to his servant.                                 
  "But let them at least give me back my shoes!" cried Passepartout,        
angrily.                                                                    
  "Ah, these are pretty shoes!" he muttered, as they were handed to         
him. "More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides, they pinch my            
feet."                                                                      
  Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed by           
the crestfallen Passepartout. Fix still nourished hopes that the            
robber would not, after all, leave the two thousand pounds behind him,      
but would decide to serve out his week in jail, and issued forth on         
Mr. Fogg's traces. That gentleman took a carriage, and the party            
were soon landed on one of the quays.                                       
  The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbor, its signal          
of departure hoisted at the masthead. Eleven o'clock was striking; Mr.      
Fogg was an hour in advance of time. Fix saw them leave the carriage        
and push off in a boat for the steamer, and stamped his feet in             
disappointment.                                                             
                                                       {CH_XV ^paragraph 75}
  "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.                                                        
                                                                            
CH_XVI                                                                      
  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 horsepower. 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 the sacred lakes        
of the Himalaya," upon him; but the intractable Fogg, as reserved as        
ever, did not seem at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.         
                                                       {CH_XVI ^paragraph 5}
  The first few days of the voyage passed prosperously, amid favorable      
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 give access to the China seas.                            
  What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to             
country, doing all this while? He had managed to embark on the Rangoon      
at Calcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after leaving orders        
that, if the warrant should arrive, it should be forwarded to him at        
Hong Kong; and he hoped to conceal his presence to the end of the           
voyage. It would have been difficult to explain why he was on board         
without awaking Passepartout's suspicions, who thought him still at         
Bombay. But necessity impelled him, nevertheless, to renew his              
acquaintance with the worthy servant, as will be seen.                      
  All the detective's hopes and wishes were now centered on Hong Kong;      
for the steamer's stay at Singapore would be too brief to enable him        
to take any steps there. The arrest must be made at Hong Kong, or           
the robber would probably escape him forever. Hong Kong was the last        
English ground on which he would set foot; beyond, China, Japan,            
America offered to Fogg an almost certain refuge. If the warrant            
should at last make its appearance at Hong Kong, Fix could arrest           
him and 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?"                 
                                                      {CH_XVI ^paragraph 10}
  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 was 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.                                                       
                                                      {CH_XVI ^paragraph 15}
  Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck. Passepartout was             
promenading up and down in the forward part of the steamer. The             
detective rushed forward with every appearance of extreme surprise,         
and exclaimed, "You here, on the Rangoon?"                                  
  "What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?" returned the really               
astonished Passepartout, recognizing his crony of the Mongolia.             
"Why, I left you at Bombay, and here you are, on the way to Hong Kong!      
Are you going round the world too?"                                         
  "No, no," replied Fix; "I shall stop at Hong Kong -at least for some      
days."                                                                      
  "Hum!" said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed.            
"But how is it I have not seen you on board since we left Calcutta?"        
  "Oh, a trifle of 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?"                                                           
                                                      {CH_XVI ^paragraph 20}
  "As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time! But,             
Monsieur Fix, you don't know that we have a young lady with us."            
  "A young lady?" replied the detective, not seeming to comprehend          
what was said.                                                              
  Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda's history, the affair at           
the Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two thousand            
pounds, the rescue, the arrest and sentence of the Calcutta court, and      
the restoration of Mr. Fogg and himself to liberty on bail. Fix, who        
was familiar with the last events, seemed to be equally ignorant of         
all that Passepartout related; and the latter was charmed to find so        
interested a listener.                                                      
  "But does your master propose to carry this young woman to Europe?"       
  "Not at all. We are simply going to place her under the protection        
of one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong Kong."                     
                                                      {CH_XVI ^paragraph 25}
  "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."                                                      
                                                                            
CH_XVII                                                                     
  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 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.                                    
                                                      {CH_XVII ^paragraph 5}
  "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 honorable a man!        
Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you dear!"                     
  Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say               
nothing to his master, lest he should be justly offended at this            
mistrust on the part of his adversaries. But he determined to chaff         
Fix, when he had the chance, with mysterious allusions, which,              
however, need not betray his real suspicions.                               
  During the afternoon of Wednesday, October 30th, 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 grinning bands of          
monkeys skipped about in the trees, nor were tigers wanting in the          
jungles.                                                                    
                                                     {CH_XVII ^paragraph 10}
  After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr. Fogg        
returned to the to 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 color outside and a          
bright red within, and whose white pulp, melting in the mouth, affords      
gourmands a delicious sensation -was was waiting for them on deck.          
He was only too glad to offer some mangoes to Aouda, who thanked him        
very gracefully for them.                                                   
  At eleven o'clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbor, and in        
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 southwest, and            
thus aided the steamer's progress. The captain as often as possible         
put up his sails, and under the double action of steam and sail, the        
vessel made rapid progress along the coasts of Anam and Cochin              
China. Owing to the defective construction of the Rangoon, however,         
unusual precautions became necessary in unfavorable weather; but the        
loss of time which resulted from this cause, while it nearly drove          
Passepartout out of his senses, did not seem to affect his master in        
the least. Passepartout blamed the captain, the engineer, and the           
crew, and consigned all who were connected with the ship to the land        
where the pepper grows. Perhaps the thought of the gas, which was           
remorselessly burning at his expense in Saville Row, had something          
to do with his hot impatience.                                              
                                                     {CH_XVII ^paragraph 15}
  "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?"                     
                                                     {CH_XVII ^paragraph 20}
  "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.                                                                 
                                                     {CH_XVII ^paragraph 25}
  "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."                                                                   
                                                     {CH_XVII ^paragraph 30}
  "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 of 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 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.                            
                                                     {CH_XVII ^paragraph 35}
  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!"                   
                                                                            
CH_XVIII                                                                    
  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 northwest, blew a gale, and              
retarded the steamer. The Rangoon rolled heavily, and the passengers        
became impatient of the long, monstrous waves which the wind raised         
before their path. A sort of tempest arose on the 3rd of November, the      
squall knocking the vessel about with fury, and the waves running           
high. The Rangoon reefed all her sails, and even the rigging proved         
too much, whistling and shaking amid the squall. The steamer was            
forced to proceed slowly, and the captain estimated that she would          
reach Hong Kong twenty hours behind time, and more if the storm             
lasted.                                                                     
  Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be             
struggling especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity. He      
never changed countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty          
hours, by making him too late for the Yokohama boat, would almost           
inevitably cause the loss of the wager. But this man of nerve               
manifested neither impatience nor annoyance; it seemed as if the storm      
were a part of his 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 day filled him with hope, for it became more and more           
probable that Fogg would be obliged to remain some days at Hong             
Kong: and now the heavens themselves became his allies, with the gusts      
and squalls. It mattered not that they made him seasick-he made 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.              
                                                     {CH_XVIII ^paragraph 5}
  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         
favorable. Passepartout cleared up with the weather. Some of the sails      
were unfurled, and the Rangoon resumed its most rapid speed. The            
time lost could not, however, be regained. Land was not signalled           
until five o'clock on the morning of the 6th; the steamer was due on        
the 5th. Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours behindhand, 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 tomorrow morning," answered the pilot.                      
                                                    {CH_XVIII ^paragraph 10}
  "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?"                                   
                                                    {CH_XVIII ^paragraph 15}
  "Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her          
departure was postponed till tomorrow."                                     
  "Thank you," returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the          
saloon.                                                                     
  Passepartout clasped the polot'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 harbor of Hong Kong. At one o'clock the Rangoon was at      
the quay, and the passengers were going ashore.                             
  Chance had strangely favored Phileas Fogg, for, 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.                      
                                                    {CH_XVIII ^paragraph 20}
  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 twenty-two days across the           
Pacific. He found himself, then, about twenty-four hours behindhand,        
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 Jejeeh. He instructed Passepartout to remain at        
the hotel until his return, that Aouda might not be left entirely           
alone.                                                                      
  Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt, everyone      
would know so wealthy and considerable a personage as the Parsee            
merchant. Meeting a broker, he made the inquiry, to learn that              
Jejeeh 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 Jejeeh 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?"                                   
                                                    {CH_XVIII ^paragraph 25}
  "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."                            
                                                    {CH_XVIII ^paragraph 30}
  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.                                 
                                                                            
CH_XIX                                                                      
  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 Nanking, after the war of 1842; and the colonizing         
genius of the English has created upon it an important city and an          
excellent port. The island is situated at the mouth of the Canton           
River, and is separated by about sixty miles from the Portuguese            
town of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong has beaten Macao in         
the struggle for and now the greater part of the transportation of          
Chinese goods finds its depot at the former place. Docks, hospitals,        
wharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamized streets        
give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey                
transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.                         
  Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the         
Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other        
modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and               
Europeans who passed to and fro in the streets. Hong Kong seemed to         
him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta, and Singapore, since, like them, it        
betrayed everywhere the evidence of English supremacy. At the Victoria      
port he found a confused mass of ships of all nations, English,             
French, American, and Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels,                
Japanese and Chinese junks, sempas, tankas, and flower boats, which         
formed so many floating parterres. Passepartout noticed in the crowd a      
number of the natives who seemed very old and were dressed in               
yellow. On going into a barber's to get shaved, he learned that             
these ancient men were all at least eighty years old, at which age          
they are permitted to wear yellow, which is the Imperial color.             
Passepartout, without exactly knowing why, thought this very funny.         
  On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the Carnatic, he        
was not astonished to find Fix walking up and down. The detective           
seemed very much disturbed and disappointed.                                
  "This is bad," muttered Passepartout, "for the gentlemen of the           
Reform Club!" He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had not          
perceived that gentleman's chagrin. The detective had, indeed, good         
reasons to inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him. The warrant      
had not come! It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could        
not now reach Hong Kong for several days; and this being the last           
English territory on Mr. Fogg's route, the robber would escape, unless      
he could manage to detain him.                                              
                                                       {CH_XIX ^paragraph 5}
  "Well, Monsieur Fix," said Passepartout, "have you decided to go          
on with us as far as America?"                                              
  "Yes," returned Fix, through his set teeth.                               
  "Good!" exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. "I knew you could      
not persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and engage your             
berth."                                                                     
  They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons.      
The clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them that, the             
repairs on the Carnatic having been completed, the steamer would leave      
that very evening, and not next morning as had been announced.              
  "That will suit my master all the better," said Passepartout. "I          
will go and let him know."                                                  
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 10}
-                                                                           
  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."                     
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 15}
  "What for, Mr. Fix?"                                                      
  "I want to have a serious talk with you."                                 
  "A serious talk!" cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine         
that was left in the bottom of his glass. "Well, we'll talk about it        
tomorrow; I haven't time now."                                              
  "Stay! What I have to say concerns your master."                          
  Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix's         
face seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his seat.             
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 20}
  "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."                                       
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 25}
  "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."         
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 30}
  "Help you?" cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open.       
  "Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days."                  
  "Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied with         
following my master and suspecting his honor, but they must try to put      
obstacles in his way! I blush for them!"                                    
  "What do you mean?"                                                       
  "I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as            
well waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!"                   
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 35}
  "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.          
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 40}
  "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."                                               
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 45}
  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, 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 here by the London office."                
  "You, a detective?"                                                       
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 50}
  "I will prove it. Here is my commission."                                 
  Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed          
this document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.               
  "Mr. Fogg's wager," resumed Fix, "is only a pretext, of which you         
and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive for              
securing your innocent complicity."                                         
  "But why?"                                                                
  "Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five            
thousand pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose      
description was fortunately secured. Here is this description; it           
answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg."                               
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 55}
  "What nonsense!" cried Passepartout, striking the table with his          
fist. "My master is the most honorable of men!"                             
  "How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went         
into his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish        
pretext, without trunks, and carrying a large amount in bank notes.         
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.                             
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 60}
  "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.                                                 
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 65}
  "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!"                                                      
                                                      {CH_XIX ^paragraph 70}
  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 time 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.                          
                                                                            
CH_XX                                                                       
  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 carpetbag; a lady could not be expected to travel comfortably        
under such conditions. He acquitted his task with characteristic            
serenity, and invariably replied to the 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 bed time. But, knowing that           
the steamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he        
did not disturb himself about the matter. When Passepartout did not         
appear the next morning, to answer his master's bell, Mr. Fogg, not         
betraying the least vexation, contented himself with taking his             
carpetbag, calling Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.                      
                                                        {CH_XX ^paragraph 5}
  It was then eight o'clock; at half-past nine, it being then high          
tide, the Carnatic would leave the harbor. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into      
the palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and      
half an hour later stepped upon the quay 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 honor-"        
  "Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here."                   
  "Do you know where he is, sir?" asked Aouda anxiously.                    
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 10}
  "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."                                                  
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 15}
  As he said "a week" Fix felt his heart leap for joy. Fogg detained        
at Hong Kong a week! There would be time for the warrant to arrive,         
and fortune at last favored the representative of the law. His              
horror may be imagined when he heard Mr. Fogg say, in his placid            
voice, "But there are other vessels besides the Carnatic, it seems          
to me, in the harbor of Hong Kong."                                         
  And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps 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 honor looking for a boat?"                                       
  "Have you a boat ready to sail?"                                          
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 20}
  "Yes, your honor; a pilot boat -No. 43 -the best in the harbor."          
  "Does she go fast?"                                                       
  "Between eight and nine knots the hour. Will you look at her?"            
  "Yes."                                                                    
  "Your honor will be satisfied with her. Is it for a sea excursion?"       
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 25}
  "No; for voyage."                                                         
  "A voyage?"                                                               
  "Yes; will you agree to take me to Yokohama?"                             
  The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said,         
"Is your honor joking?"                                                     
  "No. I have missed the Carnatic, and I must get to Yokohama by the        
14th at the latest, to take the boat for San Francisco."                    
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 30}
  "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.                       
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 35}
  Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, "You would not be afraid,         
would you, madam?"                                                          
  "Not with you, Mr. Fogg," was her answer.                                 
  The pilot now returned, shuffling his hat in his hands.                   
  "Well, pilot?" said Mr. Fogg                                              
  "Well, your honor," replied he, "I could not risk myself, my men, or      
my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage at this          
time of year. Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in time, for it          
is sixteen hundred and sixy miles from Hong Kong."                          
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 40}
  "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.                                             
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 45}
  "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?"                                                   
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 50}
  "Perfectly."                                                              
  "And when does the boat leave Shanghai?"                                  
  "On the 11th, at seven in the evening. We have, therefore, four days      
before us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time, if we had            
good luck and a southwest wind, and the sea was calm, we could make         
those eight hundred miles to Shanghai."                                     
  "And you could go-"                                                       
  "In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard and the sails      
put up."                                                                    
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 55}
  "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 honor out-"                                     
  "Here are two hundred pounds on account. Sir," added Phileas Fogg,        
turning to Fix, "if you would like to take advantage-"                      
 "Thanks, sir; I was about to ask the favor."                               
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 60}
  "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          
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.             
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 65}
  The Tankadere was a neat little craft of twenty tons, as                  
gracefully built as if she were a racing yacht. Her shining copper          
sheathing, her galvanized iron work, her deck, white as ivory,              
betrayed the pride taken by John Bunsby in making her presentable. Her      
two masts leaned a trifle backward; she carried brigantine,                 
foresail, storm-jib and standing-jib, and was well rigged for               
running before the wind; and she seemed capable of brisk speed, which,      
indeed, she had already proved by gaining several prizes in pilot-boat      
races. The crew of the Tankadere was composed of John Bunsby, the           
master, and four hardy mariners, who were familiar with the Chinese         
seas. John Bunsby himself, a man forty-five or thereabouts,                 
vigorous, sunburnt, with a sprightly expression of the eye, and             
energetic and self-reliant countenance, would have inspired confidence      
in the most timid.                                                          
  Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix already        
installed. Below deck was a square cabin, of which the walls bulged         
out in the form of cots, above a circular divan; in the center was a        
table provided with a swinging lamp. The accommodation was confined,        
but neat.                                                                   
  "I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you," said Mr. Fogg to        
Fix, who bowed without responding.                                          
  The detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting by           
the kindness of Mr. Fogg.                                                   
  "It's certain," thought he, "though rascal as he is, he is a              
polite one!"                                                                
                                                       {CH_XX ^paragraph 70}
  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.                       
                                                                            
CH_XXI                                                                      
  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 we 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 sea gull;         
and perhaps he was not wrong.                                               
  Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of            
Hong Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favorable winds, conducted        
herself admirably.                                                          
  "I do not need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, when they got into the         
open sea, "to advise you to use all possible speed."                        
                                                       {CH_XXI ^paragraph 5}
  "Trust me, your honor. We are carrying all the sail the wind will         
let us. The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we are          
going into port."                                                           
  "It's your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."                 
  Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing like a        
sailor, gazed without staggering at the swelling waters. The young          
woman, who was seated aft, was profoundly affected as she looked out        
upon the ocean, darkening now with the twilight, on which she had           
ventured in so frail a vessel. Above her head rustled the white sails,      
which seemed like great white wings. The boat, carried forward by           
the wind, seemed to be flying in the air.                                   
  Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter, and her              
insufficient light would soon die out in the mist on the horizon.           
Clouds were rising from the east, and already overcast a part of the        
heavens.                                                                    
  The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in these      
seas crowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions are not            
uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the least shock      
would shatter the gallant little craft.                                     
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 10}
  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 favors he           
had accepted. He was thinking, too, of the future. It seemed certain        
that Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the            
boat for San Francisco; and the vast extent of America would insure         
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 November 8th, the boat had made        
more than one hundred miles. The log indicated a mean speed of between      
eight and nine miles. The Tankadere still carried all sail, and was         
accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind held as it        
was, the chances would be in her favor. During the day she kept             
along the coast, where the currents were favorable; the coast,              
irregular in profile, and visible sometimes 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.                    
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 15}
  The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the            
southwest. The pilot put up his poles, but took them down again within      
two hours, as the wind freshened up anew.                                   
  Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the            
sea, ate with a good appetite, Fix 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.                        
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 20}
  "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, off 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 the 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 only misadventure which had overtaken           
him since he left London would not seriously affect his journey.            
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 25}
  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, 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               
southeast, raised long surges which indicated a tempest. The sun had        
set the evening before in a red mist, in the midst of the                   
phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.                                 
  John Bunsby 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 honor?"                       
  "Of course."                                                              
  "Well, we are going to have a squall."                                    
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 30}
  "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.            
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 35}
  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 northwest. The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves,         
shook and rolled terribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence.        
At night the tempest increased in violence. John Bunsby saw the             
approach of darkness and the rising of the storm with dark misgivings.      
He thought awhile, and then asked his crew if it was not time to            
slacken speed. After a consultation he approached Mr. Fogg, and             
said, "I think, your honor, that we should do well to make for one          
of the ports on the coast."                                                 
  "I think so too."                                                         
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 40}
  "Ah!" said the pilot. "But which one?"                                    
  "I know of but one," returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly.                        
  "And that is-"                                                            
  "Shanghai."                                                               
  The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend; he could scarcely        
realize so much determination and tenacity. Then he cried, "Well -yes!      
Your honor is right. To Shanghai."                                          
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 45}
  So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.                    
  The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft         
did not founder. Twice it would have been all over with her, if the         
crew had not been constantly on the watch. Aouda was exhausted, but         
did not utter a complaint. More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect        
her from the violence of the waves.                                         
  Day reappeared. The tempest still with with undiminished fury; but        
the wind now returned to the southeast. It was a favorable change, and      
the Tankadere again bounded forward on this mountainous sea, though         
the waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and 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 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.           
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 50}
  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 Shanghai. There remained yet six hours in which to         
accomplish that distance. All on board feared that it could not be          
done; and everyone-Phileas Fogg, no doubt, excepted -felt his heart         
beat with impatience. The boat must keep up an average of nine miles        
an hour, and the wind was becoming calmer every moment! It was a            
capricious breeze, coming from the coast, and after it passed the           
sea became smooth. Still, the Tankadere was so light and her fine           
sails caught the fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the          
current, John Bunsby found himself at six O'clock not more than ten         
miles from the mouth of Shanghai River. Shanghai itself is situated at      
least twelve miles up the stream. At seven they were still three miles      
from Shanghai. The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward of two             
hundred pounds was evidently on the point of escaping him. He looked        
at Mr. Fogg. Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil; 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!"                                                    
                                                      {CH_XXI ^paragraph 55}
  The flag was run up at halfmast, 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.                                                       
                                                                            
CH_XXII                                                                     
  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        
staterooms 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 !"                                                                 
                                                      {CH_XXII ^paragraph 5}
  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 senses, 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      
apologize for his singular behavior.                                        
  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."               
                                                     {CH_XXII ^paragraph 10}
  He descended to the saloon. Mr. Fogg was not there. Passepartout had      
only, however, to ask the purser the number of his master's stateroom.      
The purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of        
Fogg.                                                                       
  "I beg your pardon," said Passepartout persistently. "He is a tall        
gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young          
lady-"                                                                      
  "There is no young lady on board," interrupted the purser. "Here          
is a list of the passengers; you may see for yourself."                     
  Passepartout scanned the list, his master's name was not upon it.         
All at once an idea struck him.                                             
  "Ah! am I on the Carnatic?"                                               
                                                     {CH_XXII ^paragraph 15}
  "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!                          
                                                     {CH_XXII ^paragraph 20}
  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 way-station 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 favor him in the European quarter,          
he penetrated that inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if         
necessary, to push on to Yeddo.                                             
  The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess      
of the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about. There             
Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of         
a singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos           
and reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar trees, 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.                       
                                                     {CH_XXII ^paragraph 25}
  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         
doublets, hauberks, and coats of mail; and numbers of military folk of      
all ranks -for the military profession is as much respected in Japan        
as it is despised in China -went hither and thither in groups and           
pairs. Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims, and      
simple civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads,          
long busts, slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying            
from copper color to a dead white, but never yellow, like 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 colors 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 symbolize 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 odorless.                  
                                                     {CH_XXII ^paragraph 30}
  "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 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-colored 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 harbor, which was lit up by the             
rosin 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!"          
                                                                            
CH_XXIII                                                                    
  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 utilize the               
strong, if not melodious voice which nature had bestowed upon him.          
He knew several French and English songs, and resolved to try them          
upon the Japanese, who must be lovers of music, since they were             
forever pounding on their cymbals, tam-tams, and tambourines, 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 in 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!"                
                                                     {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 5}
  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 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:                             
                                                                            
  (See illustration.)                                                       
                                                                            
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 10}
  "The United States!" said Passepartout; "that's just what I want!"        
  He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the            
Japanese quarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a large      
cabin, adorned with several clusters of streamers, the exterior             
walls of which were designed to represent, in violent colors and            
without perspective, a company of jugglers.                                 
  This was the Honorable William Batulcar's establishment. That             
gentleman was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe of                 
mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and gymnasts,        
who, according to the placard, was giving his last performances before      
leaving the Empire of the Sun for the States of the Union.                  
  Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway          
appeared in person.                                                         
  "What do you want want?" said he to Passepartout, whom he at first        
took for a native.                                                          
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 15}
  "Would you like a servant, sir?" asked Passepartout.                      
  "A servant!" cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick gray 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! should so like to cross the Pacific with you!"                
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 20}
  "Ah!" said the Honorable Mr. Batulcar. "You are no more a Japanese        
than I am a monkey! Why are you dressed up in that way?"                    
  "A man dresses as he can."                                                
  "That's true. You are a Frenchman, aren't you?"                           
  "Yes; a Parisian of Paris."                                               
  "Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?"                            
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 25}
  "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."                                           
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 30}
  "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 Honorable William Batulcar.               
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 35}
  The engagement was concluded there and then.                              
  Passepartout had at last found something to do. He was engaged to         
act in the celebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a very dignified          
position, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco.        
  The performance, so noisily announced by the Honorable Mr. Batulcar,      
was to commence at three o'clock, and soon the deafening instruments        
of a Japanese orchestra resounded at the door. Passepartout, though he      
had not been able to study or rehearse a part, was designated to            
lend the aid of his sturdy shoulders in the great exhibition of the         
"human pyramid," executed by the Long Noses of the god Tingou. This         
great attraction was to close the performance.                              
  Before three o'clock the large shed was 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, tambourines, bones, 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.        
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 40}
  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 pipestems, the      
edges of sabres, wires, and even hairs stretched across the stage;          
they turned around on the edges of large glasses, crossed bamboo            
ladders, dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange               
musical effects by the combination of their various pitches of tone.        
The jugglers tossed them in the air, threw them like shuttlecocks with      
wooden battledores, and yet they kept on spinning; they put them            
into their pockets, and took them out still whirling as before.             
  It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the             
acrobats and gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls,                
barrels, etc., was executed with wonderful precision.                       
  But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a      
show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.                                  
  The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage        
of the god Tingou. Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages,            
they bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what           
especially distinguished them was the long noses which were fastened        
to their faces, and the uses which they made of them. These noses were      
made of bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long, some            
straight, others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation           
warts upon them. It was upon these appendages fixed tightly on their        
real noses, that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen          
of these sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while               
others, dressed to represent lightning rods, came and frolicked on          
their noses, jumping from one to another, and performing the most           
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 happened 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.             
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 45}
  The poor fellow really felt sad when -melancholy reminiscence of his      
youth! -he donned his costume, adorned with vari-colored wings, and         
fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he          
cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning him something to      
eat.                                                                        
  He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who            
were to compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all                 
stretched themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the              
ceiling. A second group of artists 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."                                                                 
                                                    {CH_XXIII ^paragraph 50}
  "Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!"                    
  Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the         
theatre to the outside, where they encountered the Honorable Mr.            
Batulcar, furious with rage. He demanded damages for the "breakage" of      
the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful          
of bank notes.                                                              
  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.                      
                                                                            
CH_XXIV                                                                     
  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            
halfmast, had directed his course towards the little craft. Phileas         
Fogg, after paying the stipulated price of his passage to John Bunsby,      
and rewarding that worthy with the additional sum of five hundred           
and fifty pounds, ascended the steamer with and they started at once        
for Nagasaki and Yokohama.                                                  
  They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of              
November. Phileas Fogg lost no time in going on board the Carnatic,         
where he learned, to Aouda's great delight, and perhaps to his own,         
though he betrayed no emotion, that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had          
really arrived on her the day before.                                       
  The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very                
evening, and it became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible,         
without delay. Mr. Fogg applied in vain to the French and English           
consuls, and, after wandering through the streets a long time, began        
to despair of finding his missing servant. Chance, or perhaps a kind        
of presentiment, at last led him into the Honorable Mr. Batulcar's          
theatre. He certainly would not have recognized Passepartout in the         
eccentric mountebank's costume; but the latter, lying on his back,          
perceived his master in the gallery. He could not help starting, which      
so changed the position of his nose as to bring the "pyramid"               
pell-mell upon the stage.                                                   
  All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him            
what had taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the        
Tankadere, in company with one Mr. Fix.                                     
                                                      {CH_XXIV ^paragraph 5}
  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        
Pacific in twenty 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 civilized places again. A railway train from San Francisco to        
New York, and a transatlantic steamer from New York to Liverpool,           
would doubtless bring them to the end of this impossible journey round      
the world within the period agreed upon.                                    
                                                     {CH_XXIV ^paragraph 10}
  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 halfway by the difference of meridians, he had           
really gone over two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had been           
obliged to make long circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to             
Bombay, from Calcutta to Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama.         
Could he have followed without deviation the fiftieth parallel,             
which is that of London, the whole distance would only have been about      
twelve thousand miles; whereas he would be forced, by the irregular         
methods of locomotion, to 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?                                             
                                                     {CH_XXIV ^paragraph 15}
  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           
recognized Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise. He quickly        
concealed himself in his cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation, and        
hoped -thanks to the number of passengers -to remain unperceived by         
Mr. Fogg's servant.                                                         
  On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on the        
forward deck. The latter, without a word, made a rush for him, grasped      
him by the throat, and, much to the amusement of a group of Americans,      
who immediately began to bet on him, administered to the detective a        
perfect volley of blows, which proved the great superiority of              
French over English pugilistic skill.                                       
                                                     {CH_XXIV ^paragraph 20}
  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 interest."                                              
                                                     {CH_XXIV ^paragraph 25}
  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.                                 
                                                     {CH_XXIV ^paragraph 30}
  "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.                                     
                                                     {CH_XXIV ^paragraph 35}
  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.                        
                                                                            
CH_XXV                                                                      
  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,          
Chile, 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 wormeaten 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, 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              
California 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,                  
horsecars, and upon the sidewalks, 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.                          
                                                       {CH_XXV ^paragraph 5}
  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             
honored to behold once more the gentleman to whom he owed so much, and      
as his business recalled him to Europe, he should be delighted to           
continue the in such pleasant company.                                      
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 10}
  Mr. Fogg replied that the honor would be his; and the detective -who      
was determined not to lose sight of him -begged permission to               
accompany them in their walk about San Francisco -a request which           
Mr. Fogg readily granted.                                                   
  They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great crowd      
was collected; the sidewalks, 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. the crowd.      
There may be danger in it."                                                 
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 15}
  "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 is settled."                                     
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 20}
  "Perhaps," replied Mr. Fogg simply.                                       
  "At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the         
Honorable Mr. Camerfield and the Honorable Mr. Mandiboy."                   
  Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg's arm, observed the tumultuous scene         
with surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all      
was. Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs           
and excited shouts were heard; the staffs of the banners began to be        
used as offensive weapons; and fists flew about in every direction.         
Thumps were exchanged from the tops of the carriages and omnibuses          
which had been blocked up in the crowd. Boots and shoes went                
whirling through the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack      
of revolvers mingling in the din. The rout approached the stairway,         
and flowed over the lower step. One of the parties had evidently            
been repulsed; but the mere 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 recognized, I fear it would go hard with us."                   
  "An English subject-" began Mr. Fogg.                                     
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 25}
  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."                                                        
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 30}
  "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.                                                               
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 35}
  "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.                  
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 40}
  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 honor 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 today in San Francisco?"                                            
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 45}
  "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."                                     
                                                      {CH_XXV ^paragraph 50}
    Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.       
                                                                            
CH_XXVI                                                                     
  CHAPTER XXVI                                                              
  In which Phileas Fogg and party travel by the Pacific Railroad            
-                                                                           
  "From Ocean to Ocean" -so say the Amerians; 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 Uion Pacific,             
between Ogden and Omaha. Five main lines connect Omaha with New York.       
  New York and San Francisco are thus united by an uninterrupted metal      
ribbon, which measures no less than three thousand seven hundred and        
eighty-six miles. Between Omaha and the Pacific the railway crosses         
a territory which is still infested by Indians and wild beasts, and         
a large tract which the Mormons, after they were driven from                
Illinois in 1845, began to colonize.                                        
  The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly, under      
the most favorable 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.                                       
                                                      {CH_XXVI ^paragraph 5}
  The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in lowa,               
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.                                                        
                                                     {CH_XXVI ^paragraph 10}
  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 coul 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 grayish 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 northeasterly direction,         
along the American River, which empties into San Pablo Bay. The one         
hundred and twenty miles between these cities were accomplished in six      
hours, 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.                             
                                                     {CH_XXVI ^paragraph 15}
  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 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.                                 
                                                     {CH_XXVI ^paragraph 20}
  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.          
                                                                            
CH_XXVII                                                                    
  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 southeasterly      
for about fifty: miles; then rose an equal distance in a northeasterly      
direction, towards the Great Salt Lake.                                     
  Passepartout, about nine o'clock, went out upon the platform to take      
the air. The weather was cold, the heavens gray, 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 moustaches, 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.                          
                                                     {CH_XXVII ^paragraph 5}
  "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, emphasizing 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              
Morom; 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 and how,      
in short, the celestial messenger appeared to him in an illuminated         
forest, and gave him the annals of the Lord.                                
                                                    {CH_XXVII ^paragraph 10}
  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" which,          
adopted not only in America, but in England, Norway 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 and honored than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the      
chief of a flourishing colony of three thousand disciples, and his          
pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and retirement 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 1839 in 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, 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      
expectation.                                                                
  "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 eye upon his single         
auditor, "will you not plant yours there, too, under the shadow of our      
flag?"                                                                      
                                                    {CH_XXVII ^paragraph 15}
  "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 1170,        
and, after being distilled, 1000. 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 milkwort, 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 checkerboard, "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.                
                                                    {CH_XXVII ^paragraph 20}
  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 courthouse, and the arsenal, blue-brick          
houses with verandas and porches, surrounded by gardens bordered            
with acacias, palms, and locusts. A clay and pebble wall, built in          
1853, surrounded the town; 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 one(              
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.                                                                      
                                                    {CH_XXVII ^paragraph 25}
  "One, sir," replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward,-             
"one, and that was enough!"                                                 
                                                                            
CH_XXVIII                                                                   
  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, December 7th, 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.                                                            
                                                    {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 5}
  "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 recognized Colonel Stamp      
Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the           
San Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognized, the young woman        
drew back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery. She         
was attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily                 
evidences of the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend,            
perhaps, the depth of the sentiment with which her protector                
inspired her, which she called gratitude, but which, though she was         
unconscious of it, was really more than that. Her heart sank within         
her when she recognized the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or            
later, to call to account for his conduct. Chance alone, it was clear,      
had brought Colonel Proctor on this train; but there he was, and it         
was necessary, at all hazards, that Phileas Fogg should not perceive        
his adversary.                                                              
  Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep, to tell Fix and           
Passepartout whom she had seen.                                             
  "That Proctor on this train!" cried Fix. "Well, reassure yourself,        
madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg, he has got to deal with me! It      
seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two."                       
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 10}
  "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      
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?"                                                                   
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 15}
  "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."                                                                  
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 20}
  "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 know whist. It is part        
of an English education."                                                   
  "I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well, here        
are three of us, and a dummy-"                                              
  "As you please, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to              
resume his favorite pastime, -even on the railway.                          
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 25}
  Passepartout was despatched in search of the steward, and soon            
returned with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf          
covered with cloth.                                                         
  The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and         
even received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg. As for         
the detective, he was 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 semicircular curtain             
which is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the         
highest being Laramie Peak. Between it 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.               
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 30}
  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 signalman, whom the                 
stationmaster 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 signalman 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 signalman, it was      
a ruinous condition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it         
was impossible to risk the passage. He did not in an 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.                                                              
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 35}
  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 in        
less than six hours."                                                       
  "Six hours!" cried Passepartout.                                          
  "Certainly," returned the conductor. "Besides it will take us as          
long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot."                                
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 40}
  "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 bank could not remove.                       
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 45}
  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?"                                                         
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 50}
  "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.                                       
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 55}
  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.         
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 60}
  "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-"            
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 65}
  "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.                                        
                                                   {CH_XXVIII ^paragraph 70}
  "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 any one 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.       
                                                                            
CH_XXIX                                                                     
  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 Cheyenne Pass, and reaching Evans           
Pass.The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey,           
eight thousand and ninety-one 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 behindhand.                                                             
  During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole          
Creek ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the          
territories 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 civilization, thrown across the desert, and      
destined to link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The      
whistle of the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion's lyre, was           
about to bid them rise from American soil.                                  
                                                      {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 5}
  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 favored that gentleman. Trumps and honors        
were showered up 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               
diamond."                                                                   
  Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel           
Proctor.                                                                    
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 10}
  Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognized each other at once.             
  "Ah! it's you, is it, Englishman?" cried the colonel; "it's you           
who are going to play a spade!"                                             
  "And who plays it," replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the        
ten of spades.                                                              
  "Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds," replied Colonel                
Proctor, in an insolent tone.                                               
  He made a movement as if to seize the card which had been played,         
adding, "You don't understand anything about whist."                        
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 15}
  "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 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."                                                
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 20}
  Aouda in vain attempted retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective      
endeavor to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the          
colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master 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 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!"                                                                 
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 25}
  "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?"                                   
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 30}
  "No."                                                                     
  "To Chicago?"                                                             
  "No."                                                                     
  "To Omaha?"                                                               
  "What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?"                   
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 35}
  "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.                                 
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 40}
  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."                     
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 45}
  "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.                         
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 50}
  "Well, we are really in America," thought Passepartout, "and the          
conductor is a gentleman of the first order!"                               
  So muttering, he followed his master.                                     
  The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed               
through the cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only            
occupied by a dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if        
they would not be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments,          
as two gentlemen had an affair of honor to settle. The passengers           
granted the request with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on           
the platform.                                                               
  The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for          
their purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle,      
and fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr.            
Fogg and Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-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.                             
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 55}
  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.                                         
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 60}
  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."                        
                                                     {CH_XXIX ^paragraph 65}
  Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a            
door unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the            
car; and while the struggle continued, and the balls whizzed across         
each other over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience,      
and with amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on          
to the chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes,        
creeping from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus            
gaining the forward end of the train.                                       
  There, suspended by one hand between the baggage car and the tender,      
with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the             
traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking            
bar, had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train,           
now detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the          
locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.                             
  Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved           
for several minutes; but the brakes were worked, and at last they           
stopped, less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.                     
  The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the         
Sioux had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train        
entirely stopped.                                                           
  But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform        
several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman,          
whose devotion had ust saved them.                                          
                                                                            
CH_XXX                                                                      
  CHAPTER XXX                                                               
  In which Phileas Fogg simply does his duty                                
-                                                                           
  Three passengers -including Passepartout -had disappeared. Had            
they been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the          
Sioux? It was impossible to tell.                                           
  There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was           
one of the men most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a            
ball had entered his groin. He was carried into the station with the        
other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as could be of          
avail.                                                                      
  Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of         
the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the      
arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down           
Aouda's cheeks.                                                             
  All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which          
were stained with blood. From the tires and spokes hung ragged              
pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain           
behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing in        
the south, along the banks of Republican River.                             
                                                       {CH_XXX ^paragraph 5}
  Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious         
decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without           
speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner,        
ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians? "I          
will find him, living or dead," said he quietly to Aouda.                   
  "Ah, Mr. -Mr. Fogg!" cried she, clasping his hands and covering them      
with tears.                                                                 
  "Living," added Mr. Fogg, "if we do not lose a moment."                   
  Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself,          
he pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him        
lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost. But      
as he thought, "It is my duty," he did not hesitate.                        
  The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his        
soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station,         
should the Sioux attack it.                                                 
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 10}
  "Sir," said Mr. Fogg to the captain, "three passengers have               
disappeared."                                                               
  "Dead?" asked the captain.                                                
  "Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do      
you propose to pursue the Sioux?"                                           
  "That's a serious thing to do, sir," returned the captain. "These         
Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the fort        
unprotected."                                                               
  "The lives of three men are question, sir," said Phileas Fogg.            
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 15}
  "Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?"         
  "I don't know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so."              
  "Nobody here," returned the other, "has a right to teach me my            
duty."                                                                      
  "Very well," said Mr. Fogg, coldly. "I will go alone."                    
  "You, sir!" cried Fix coming up; "you go alone in pursuit of the          
Indians?"                                                                   
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 20}
  "Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish, -him to whom         
every one present owes his life? I shall go."                               
  "No, sir, you shall not go alone," cried the captain, touched in          
spite of himself. "No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!" he          
added, turning to the soldiers.                                             
  The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to        
pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at             
their head. "Thanks, captain," said Mr. Fogg.                               
  "Will you let me go with you?" asked Fix.                                 
  "Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favor, you will        
remain in with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me-"                
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 25}
  A sudden pallor overspread the detective's face. Separate himself         
from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step!             
Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr.      
Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was             
going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank         
look.                                                                       
  "I will stay," said he.                                                   
  A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman's hand, and,        
having confided to her his precious carpetbag, went off with the            
sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said to the        
soldiers, "My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among            
you, if we save the prisoners."                                             
  It was then a little past noon.                                           
  Aouda retired to a waiting room, and there she waited alone,              
thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of        
Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his        
life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence.                        
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 30}
  Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his        
agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon          
resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which he had         
been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This man, whom he had just      
followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself            
from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were          
director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his         
greenness.                                                                  
  "I have been an idiot!" he thought, "and this man will see it. He         
has gone, and won't come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who have          
in my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him?      
Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!"                                        
  So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too               
slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell        
Aouda all; but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive         
his confidences. What course should he take? He thought of pursuing         
Fogg across the vast white plain; it did not seem impossible that he        
might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the snow! But          
soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.                    
  Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing          
to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney             
station, and pursue his journey homeward in peace.                          
  Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard,          
long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow,         
preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger           
through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was            
expected from the east neither had there been time for the succor           
asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San               
Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon               
explained.                                                                  
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 35}
  The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening               
whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train, had          
continued its route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off the           
unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles, when, the        
fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it         
had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort            
Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after           
remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The         
train had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the          
desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what had happened.      
He could not imagine how the locomotive had become separated from           
the train; but he did not doubt that the train left behind was in           
distress.                                                                   
  He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on        
to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which           
the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he           
began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again                
mounted, and the locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort             
Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist.                       
  The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at        
the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so terribly      
interrupted.                                                                
  Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station,      
and asked the engineer, "Are you going to start?"                           
  "At once, madam."                                                         
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 40}
  "But the prisoners -our unfortunate fellow travellers-"                   
  "I cannot interrupt the trip," replied the engineer. "We are already      
three hours behind time."                                                   
  "And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?"               
  "Tomorrow evening, madam."                                                
  "Tomorrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait-"           
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 45}
  "It is impossible," responded the engineer. "If you wish to go,           
please get in."                                                             
  "I will not go," said Aouda.                                              
  Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there        
was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his            
mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to      
start, and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible         
influence held him back. The station platform burned his feet, and          
he could not stir. The conflict in his mind again began; anger and          
failure stifled him. He wished to struggle on to the end.                   
  Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel      
Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the         
train. The buzzing of the overheated boiler was heard, and the steam        
was escaping from the valves. The engineer whistled, the train              
started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the            
eddies of the densely falling snow.                                         
  The detective had remained behind.                                        
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 50}
  Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very             
cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been      
thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the            
waiting room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through         
the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the            
horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound.           
She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through,          
to issue out again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in          
vain.                                                                       
  Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they      
be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with        
them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander of the      
fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions. As          
night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became             
intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither              
flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.              
  Through the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart               
stifled with anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains. Her        
imagination carried her far off, and showed her innumerable dangers.        
What she suffered through the long hours it would be impossible to          
describe.                                                                   
  Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep. Once a      
man approached and spoke to him, and the detective merely replied by        
shaking his head.                                                           
  Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disk of the         
sun rose above a misty horizon; but it was now possible to recognize        
objects two miles off Phileas Fogg and the squad had gone southward;        
in the south all was still vacancy. It was then seven o'clock.              
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 55}
  The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course to          
take. Should he send another detachment to the rescue of the first?         
Should he sacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those           
already sacrificed His hesitation did not last long, however.               
Calling one of his lieutenants, he was on the point of ordering a           
reconnoissance, when gunshots were heard. Was it a signal? The              
soldiers rushed out of the fort, and half a mile off they perceived         
a little band returning in good order.                                      
  Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were             
Passepartout and the other two travellers, rescued from the Sioux.          
  They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort Kearney.      
Shortly before the detachment arrived, Passepartout and his companions      
had begun to struggle with their captors, three of whom the                 
Frenchman had felled with his fists, when his master and the                
soldiers hastened up to their relief All were welcomed with joyful          
cries. Phileas Fogg distributed the reward he had promised to the           
soldiers, while Passepartout, not without reason, muttered to himself,      
"It must certainly be confessed that I cost my master dear."                
  Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have         
been difficult to analyze the thoughts which struggled within him.          
As for Aouda, she took her protector's hand and pressed it in her own,      
too much moved to speak.                                                    
  Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he               
thought should find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and he hoped        
that the time lost might be regained.                                       
                                                      {CH_XXX ^paragraph 60}
  "The train! the train!" cried he.                                         
  "Gone," replied Fix.                                                      
  "And when does the next train pass here?" asked Phileas Fogg.             
  "Not till this evening."                                                  
  "Ah!" returned the impassible gentleman quietly.                          
                                                                            
CH_XXXI                                                                     
  CHAPTER XXXI                                                              
  In which Fix the defective considerably furthers the interests of         
Phileas Fogg                                                                
-                                                                           
  Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time. Passepartout,        
the involuntary cause of this delay, was desperate. He had ruined           
his master!                                                                 
  At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and, looking him        
intently in the face, said,-                                                
  "Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?"                                 
  "Quite seriously."                                                        
                                                      {CH_XXXI ^paragraph 5}
  "I have a purpose in asking," resumed Fix. "Is it absolutely              
necessary that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine           
o'clock in the evening, the time that the steamer leaves for                
Liverpool?"                                                                 
  "It is absolutely necessary."                                             
  "And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians, you      
would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?"                    
  "Yes; with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left."                
  "Good! you are therefore twenty hours behind. Twelve from twenty          
leaves eight. You must regain eight hours. Do you wish to try to do         
so?"                                                                        
                                                     {CH_XXXI ^paragraph 10}
  "On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg.                                                
  "No; on a sledge," replied Fix. "On a sledge with sails. A man has        
proposed such a method to me."                                              
  It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose          
offer he had refused.                                                       
  Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix having pointed out the        
man, who was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg          
went up to him. An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose          
name was Mudge, entered a hut built just below the fort.                    
  There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two         
long beams, a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and      
upon which there was room for five or six persons. A high mast was          
fixed on the frame, held firmly by metallic lashings, to which was          
attached a large brigantine sail. This mast held an iron stay upon          
which to hoist a jib sail. Behind, a sort of rudder served to guide         
the vehicle. It was, in short, a sledge rigged like a sloop. During         
the winter, when the trains are blocked up by the snow, these               
sledges make extremely rapid journeys across the frozen plains from         
one station to another. Provided with more sail than a cutter, and          
with the wind behind them, they slip over the surface of the                
prairies with a speed equal if not superior to that of the express          
trains.                                                                     
                                                     {CH_XXXI ^paragraph 15}
  Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this landcraft.         
The wind was favorable, being fresh, and blowing from the west. The         
snow had hardened, and Mudge was very confident of being able to            
transport Mr. Fogg in a few hours to Omaha. Thence the trains eastward      
run frequently to Chicago and New York. It was not impossible that the      
lost time might yet be recovered; and such an opportunity was not to        
be rejected.                                                                
  Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling in           
the open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout at Fort      
Kearney, the servant taking upon himself to escort her to Europe by         
a better route and under more favorable conditions. But Aouda               
refused to separate from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout was delighted with      
her decision; for nothing could induce him to leave his master while        
Fix was with him.                                                           
  It would be difficult to guess the detective's thoughts. Was his          
conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg's return, or did he still regard him      
as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world           
completed, would think himself absolutely safe in England? Perhaps          
Fix's opinion of Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but was                
nevertheless resolved to do his duty, and to hasten the return of           
the whole party to England as much as possible.                             
  At eight o'clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers            
took their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in their         
travelling cloaks. The two great sails were hoisted, and under the          
pressure re of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened snow with         
a velocity of forty miles an hour.                                          
  The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly, is at      
most two hundred miles. If the wind held good, the distance might           
traversed in five hours; if no accident happened, the sledge might          
reach Omaha by one o'clock.                                                 
                                                     {CH_XXXI ^paragraph 20}
  What a journey! The travellers, huddled close together, could not         
speak for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were          
going. The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves. When         
the breeze came, skimming the earth, the sledge seemed to be lifted         
off the ground by its sails. Mudge, who was at the rudder, kept in a        
straight line, and by a turn of his hand checked the lurches which the      
vehicle had a tendency to make. All the sails were up, and the jib was      
so arranged as not to screen the brigantine. A topmast was hoisted,         
and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other         
sails. Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge        
could not be going less than forty miles an hour.                           
  "If nothing breaks," said Mudge, "we shall get there!"                    
  Mr. Fogg had made it for Mudge's interest to reach Omaha within           
the time agreed on, by the offer of a handsome reward.                      
  The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight             
line, was as flat as a sea. It seemed like a vast frozen lake. The          
railroad which ran through this section ascended from the southwest to      
the northwest by Great Island, Columbus, an important Nebraska town,        
Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha. It followed throughout the right bank      
of the Platte River. The sledge, shortening this route, took the chord      
of the arc described by the railway. Mudge was not afraid of being          
stopped by the Platte River, because it was frozen. The road, then,         
was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to        
fear, -an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind.         
  But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to bend the      
mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly. These              
lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument, resounded as if         
vibrated by a violin bow. The sledge slid along in the midst of a           
plaintively intense melody.                                                 
                                                     {CH_XXXI ^paragraph 25}
  "Those chords give the fifth and the octave," said Mr. Fogg.              
  These were the only words he uttered during the journey. Aouda,           
cosily packed in furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as possible         
from the attacks of the freezing wind. As for Passepartout, his face        
was as red as the sun's disk when it sets in the mist, and he               
laboriously inhaled the biting air. With his natural buoyancy of            
spirits, he began to hope again. They would reach New York on the           
evening, if not on the morning, of the and there were still some            
chances that it would be before the steamer sailed for Liverpool.           
  Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by         
the hand. He remembered that it was the detective who procured the          
sledge, the only means of reaching Omaha in time; but, checked by some      
presentiment, he kept his usual reserve. One thing, however,                
Passepartout would never forget, and that was the sacrifice which           
Mr. Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the Sioux.        
Mr. Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No! His servant would         
never forget that!                                                          
  While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different,         
the sledge flew fast over the vast carpet of snow. The creeks it            
passed over were not perceived. Fields and streams disappeared under        
the uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted. Between           
the Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney with             
Saint Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island. Neither village,         
station, nor fort appeared. From time to time they sped by some             
phantomlike tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the           
wind. Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt,               
famished, ferocious prairie wolves ran howling after the sledge.            
Passepartout, revolver in hand, held himself ready to fire on those         
which came too near. Had an accident then happened to the sledge,           
the travellers, attacked by these beasts, would have been in the            
most terrible danger; but it held on its even course, gained on the         
wolves, and ere long left the howling band at a safe distance behind.       
  About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was crossing      
the Platte River. He said nothing, but he felt certain that he was now      
within twenty miles of Omaha. In less than an hour he left the              
rudder and furled his sails, whilst the sledge, carried forward by the      
great impetus the wind had given it, went on half a mile further            
with its sails unspread.                                                    
                                                     {CH_XXXI ^paragraph 30}
  It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white          
with snow, said, "We have got there!"                                       
  Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication,          
by numerous trains, with the Atlantic seaboard!                             
  Passepartout and Fix jumped off, stretched their stiffened limbs,         
and aided Mr. Fogg and the young woman to descend from the sledge.          
Phileas Fogg generously rewarded Mudge, whose hand Passepartout warmly      
grasped, and the party directed their steps to the Omaha railway            
station.                                                                    
  The Pacific Railroad proper finds its terminus at this important          
Nebraska town. Omaha is connected with Chicago by the Chicago and Rock      
Island Railroad, which runs directly east, and passes fifty stations.       
  A train was ready to start when Mr. Fogg and his party reached the        
station, and they only had time to get into the cars. They had seen         
nothing of Omaha; but Passepartout confessed to himself that this           
was not to be regretted, as they were not travelling to see the             
sights.                                                                     
                                                     {CH_XXXI ^paragraph 35}
  The train passed rapidly across the State of lowa, by Council             
Bluffs, Des Moines, and lowa City. During the night it crossed the          
Mississippi at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois. The          
next day, which was the 10th, at four in the evening, it reached            
Chicago, already risen from its ruins, and more proudly seated than         
ever on the borders of its beautiful Lake Michigan.                         
  Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains are        
not wanting at Chicago. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one to the other,      
and the locomotive of the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, and Chicago               
Railway left at full speed, as if it fully comprehended that that           
gentleman had no time to lose. It traversed Indiana, Ohio,                  
Pennsylvania, and New Jersey like a flash, rushing through towns            
with antique names, some of which had streets and car tracks, but as        
yet no houses. At last the Hudson came into view; and at a quarter          
past eleven in the evening of the 11th, the train stopped in the            
station on the right bank of the river, before the very pier of the         
Cunard line.                                                                
  The China, for Liverpool, had started three quarters of an hour           
before!                                                                     
                                                                            
CH_XXXII                                                                    
  CHAPTER XXXII                                                             
  In which Phileas Fogg engages in a direct struggle with bad fortune       
-                                                                           
  The China in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas Fogg's last      
hope. None of the other steamers were able to serve his projects.           
The Pereire of the French Transatlantic Company, whose admirable            
steamers are equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave until         
the 14th; the Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or             
London, but to Havre; and the additional trip from Havre to                 
Southampton would render Phileas Fogg's last efforts of no avail.           
The Inman steamer did not depart till the next day, and could not           
cross the Atlantic in time to save the wager.                               
  Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his Bradshaw, which gave him      
the daily movements of the transatlantic steamers.                          
  Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat by          
three quarters of an hour. It was his fault, for, instead of helping        
his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles in his path! And            
when he recalled all the incidents of the tour, when he counted up the      
sums expended in pure loss and on his own account, when he thought          
that the immense stake, added to the heavy charges of this useless          
journey, would completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himself with        
bitter self-accusations. Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him; and,      
on leaving the Cunard pier, only said, "We will consult about what          
is best tomorrow. Come."                                                    
  The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat, and drove      
in a carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were            
engaged, and the night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg, who slept           
profoundly, but very long to Aouda and the others, whose agitation did      
not permit them to rest.                                                    
                                                     {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 5}
  The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning          
of the 12th, to a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st,           
there were nine days, thirteen hours, and forty five minutes. If            
Phileas Fogg had left in the China, one of the fastest steamers on the      
Atlantic, he would have reached Liverpool, and then London, within the      
period agreed upon.                                                         
  Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout                  
instructions to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an        
instant's notice. He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and              
looked about among the vessels moored or anchored in the river, for         
any that were about to depart. Several had departure signals, and were      
preparing to put to sea at morning tide; for in this immense and            
admirable port, there is not one day in a hundred that vessels do           
not set out for every quarter of the globe. But they were mostly            
sailing vessels, of which, of course, Phileas Fogg could make no use.       
  He seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored at the      
Battery, a cable's length off at most, a trading vessel, with a screw,      
well-shaped, whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke, indicated that         
she was getting ready for departure.                                        
  Phileas Fogg hailed a boat, got into it, and soon found himself on        
board the Henrietta, iron-hulled, wood-built above. He ascended to the      
deck, and asked for the captain, who forthwith presented himself. He        
was a man of fifty, a sort of sea wolf, with big eyes, a complexion of      
oxidized copper, red hair and thick neck, and a growling voice.             
  "The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.                                            
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 10}
  "I am the captain."                                                       
  "I am Phileas Fogg, of London."                                           
  "And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff."                                     
  "You are going to put to sea?"                                            
  "In an hour."                                                             
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 15}
  "You are bound for-"                                                      
  "Bordeaux."                                                               
  "And your cargo?"                                                         
  "No freight. Going in ballast."                                           
  "Have you any passengers?"                                                
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 20}
  "No passengers. Never have passengers. Too much in the way."              
  "Is your vessel a swift one?"                                             
  "Between eleven and twelve knots. The Henrietta, well known."             
  "Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?"                 
  "To Liverpool? Why not to China?"                                         
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 25}
  "I said Liverpool."                                                       
  "No!"                                                                     
  "No?"                                                                     
  "No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux."            
  "Money is no object?"                                                     
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 30}
  "None."                                                                   
  The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply.               
  "But the owners of the Henrietta-" resumed Phileas Fogg.                  
  "The owners are myself," replied the captain. "The vessel belongs to      
me."                                                                        
  "I will freight it for you."                                              
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 35}
  "No."                                                                     
  "I will buy it of you."                                                   
  "No."                                                                     
  Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the             
situation was a grave one. It was not at New York as at Hong Kong, nor      
with the captain of the Henrietta as with the captain of the                
Tankadere. Up to this time money had smoothed away every obstacle. Now      
money failed.                                                               
  Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat,          
unless by balloon, -which would have been venturesome, besides not          
being capable of being put in practice. It seemed that Phileas Fogg         
had an idea, for he said to the captain, "Well, will you carry me to        
Bordeaux?"                                                                  
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 40}
  "No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars."                             
  "I offer you two thousand."                                               
  "Apiece?"                                                                 
  "Apiece."                                                                 
  "And there are four of you?"                                              
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 45}
  "Four."                                                                   
  Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There were eight                
thousand dollars to gain, without changing his route; for which it was      
well worth conquering the repugnance he had for all kinds of                
passengers. Besides, passengers at two thousand dollars are no              
longer passengers, but valuable merchandise. "I start at nine               
o'clock," said Captain Speedy, simply. "Are you and your party ready?"      
  "We will be on board at nine o'clock," replied, no less simply,           
Mr.Fogg.                                                                    
  It was half-past eight. To disembark from the Henrietta, jump into a      
hack, hurry to the St. Nicholas, and return with Aouda,                     
Passepartout, and even the inseparable Fix, was the work of a brief         
time, and was performed by Mr. Fogg with the coolness which never           
abandoned him. They were on board when the Henrietta made ready to          
weigh anchor.                                                               
  When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to cost,          
he uttered a prolonged "Oh!" which extended throughout his vocal            
gamut.                                                                      
                                                    {CH_XXXII ^paragraph 50}
  As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would             
certainly not come out of this affair well indemnified. When they           
reached England, even if Mr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls of            
bank bills into the sea, more than seven thousand pounds would have         
been spent!                                                                 
                                                                            
CH_XXXIII                                                                   
  CHAPTER XXXIII                                                            
  In which Phileas Fogg shows himself equal to the occasion                 
-                                                                           
  An hour after, the Henrietta passed the lighthouse which marks the        
entrance of the Hudson, turned the point of Sandy Hook, and put to          
sea. During the day she skirted Long Island, passed Fire Island, and        
directed her course rapidly eastward.                                       
  At noon the next day, a man mounted the bridge to ascertain vessel's      
position. It might be thought that this was Speedy. Not the least in        
the world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire. As for Captain Speedy, he was      
shut up in his cabin under lock and key, and was uttering loud              
cries, which signified an anger at once pardonable and excessive.           
  What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished to go to           
Liverpool, but the captain would not carry him there. Then Phileas          
Fogg had taken passage for Bordeaux, and during the thirty hours he         
had been on board, had so shrewdly managed with his bank notes that         
the sailors and stokers, who were only an occasional crew, and were         
not on the best terms with the captain, went over to him in a body.         
This was why Phileas Fogg was in command instead of Captain Speedy;         
why the captain was a prisoner in his cabin; and why, in short, the         
Henrietta was directing her course towards Liverpool. It was very           
clear, to see Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had been a sailor.         
  How the adventure ended will be seen anon. Aouda was anxious, though      
she said nothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr. Fogg's manoeuvre      
simply glorious. The captain had said "between eleven and twelve            
knots," and the Henrietta confirmed his prediction.                         
                                                    {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 5}
  If, then -for there were "ifs" still -the sea did not become too          
boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east, if no accident      
happened to the boat or its machinery, the Henrietta might cross the        
three thou sand miles from New York to Liverpool in the nine days,          
between the 12th and the 21st of December. It is true that, once            
arrived, the affair on board the Henrietta, added to that of the            
Bank of England, might create more difficulties for Mr. Fogg than he        
imagined or could desire.                                                   
  During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea           
was not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the                
northeast, the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed across        
the waves like a real transatlantic steamer.                                
  Passepartout was delighted. His master's last exploit, the                
consequences of which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had the crew         
seen so jolly and dexterous a fellow. He formed warm friendships            
with the sailors, and amazed them with his acrobatic feats. He thought      
they managed the vessel like gentlemen, and that the stokers fired          
up like heroes. His loquacious good humor infected every one. He had        
forgotten the past, its vexations and delays. He only thought of the        
end, so nearly accomplished; and sometimes he boiled with                   
impatience, as if heated by the furnaces of the Henrietta. Often,           
also, the worthy fellow revolved around Fix, looking at him with a          
keen, distrustful eye; but he did not speak to him, for their old           
intimacy no longer existed.                                                 
  Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going           
on. The conquest of the Henrietta, the bribery of the crew, Fogg            
managing the boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him. He        
did not know what to think. For, after all, a man who began by              
stealing fifty-five thousand pounds might end by stealing a vessel;         
and Fix was not unnaturally inclined to conclude that the Henrietta,        
under Fogg's command, was not going to Liverpool at all, but to some        
part of the world where the robber, turned into a pirate, would             
quietly put himself in safety. The conjecture was at least a plausible      
one, and the detective began to seriously regret that he had                
embarked in the affair.                                                     
  As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his              
cabin; and Passepartout, whose duty it was to carry him his meals,          
courageous as he was, took the greatest precautions. Mr. Fogg did           
not seem even to know that there was a captain on board.                    
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 10}
  On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland, a          
dangerous locality; during the winter, especially, there are                
frequent fogs and heavy gales of wind. Ever since the evening before        
the barometer, suddenly falling, had indicated an approaching change        
in the atmosphere; and during the night the temperature varied, the         
cold became sharper, and the wind veered to the southeast.                  
  This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his         
course, furled his sails and increased the force of the steam; but the      
vessel's speed slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long           
waves of which broke against the stern. She pitched violently, and          
this retarded her progress. The breeze little by little swelled into a      
tempest, and it was to be feared that the Henrietta might not be            
able to maintain herself upright on the waves.                              
  Passenpartout's visage darkened with the skies, and for two days the      
poor fellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg was a bold        
mariner, and knew how to maintain headway against the sea; and he kept      
on his course, without even decreasing his steam. The Henrietta,            
when she could not rise upon the waves, crossed them, swamping her          
deck, but passing safely. Sometimes the screw rose out of the water,        
beating its protruding end, when a mountain of water raised the             
stern above the waves; but the craft always kept straight ahead.            
  The wind, however, did not grow as boisterous as might have been          
feared; it was not one of those tempests which burst, and rush on with      
a speed of ninety miles an hour. It continued fresh, but, unhappily,        
it remained obstinately in the southeast, rendering the sails useless.      
  The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas              
Fogg's departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet been            
seriously delayed. Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the      
worst localities had been passed. In summer, success would have been        
well-nigh certain. In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad             
season. Passepartout said nothing; but he cherished hope in secret,         
and comforted himself with the reflection that, if the wind failed          
them, they might still count on the steam.                                  
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 15}
  On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and           
began to speak earnestly with him. Without knowing why -it was a            
presentiment, perhaps -Passepartout became vaguely uneasy. He would         
have given one of his ears to hear with the other what the engineer         
was saying. He finally managed to catch a few words, and was sure he        
heard his master say, "You are certain of what you tell me?"                
  "Certain, sir," replied the engineer. "You must remember that, since      
we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces, and              
though we had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to             
Bordeaux, we haven't enough to go with all steam from New York to           
Liverpool."                                                                 
  "I will consider," replied Mr. Fogg.                                      
  Passepartout understood it all; he was seized with mortal anxiety.        
The coal was giving out! "Ah, if my master can get over that,"              
muttered he, "he'll be a famous man!" He could not help imparting to        
Fix what he had overheard.                                                  
  "Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?"                 
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 20}
  "Of course."                                                              
  "Ass!" replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning on      
his heel.                                                                   
  Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the epithet,        
the reason of which he could not for the life of him comprehend; but        
he reflected that the unfortunate Fix was probably very much                
disappointed and humiliated in his self-esteem, after having so             
awkwardly followed a false scent around the world, and refrained.           
  And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt? It was difficult to         
imagine. Nevertheless he seemed to have decided upon one, for that          
evening he sent for the engineer, and said to him, "Feed all the fires      
until the coal is exhausted."                                               
  A few moments after, the funnel of the Henrietta vomitted forth           
torrents of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam           
on; but on the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced that      
the coal would give out in the course of the day.                           
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 25}
  "Do not let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg. "Keep them up to        
the last. Let the valves be filled."                                        
  Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position, called      
Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy. It was as if        
the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger. He went to         
the poop, saying to himself, "He will be like a madman!"                    
  In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the            
poop deck. The bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that he was on         
the point of bursting. "Where are we?" were the first words his             
anger permitted him to utter. Had the poor man been apoplectic, he          
could never have recovered from his paroxysm of wrath.                      
  "Where are we we?" he repeated, with purple face.                         
  "Seven hundred and seventy miles to Liverpool," replied Mr. Fogg,         
with imperturbable calmness.                                                
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 30}
  "Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy.                                           
  "I have sent for you, sir-"                                               
  "Pickaroon!"                                                              
  "-Sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel."          
  "No! By all the devils, no!"                                              
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 35}
  "But I shall be obliged to burn her."                                     
  "Burn the Henrietta!"                                                     
  "Yes; at least the upper part of her. The coal has given out."            
  "Burn my vessel!" cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely pronounce      
the words. "A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!"                         
  "Here are sixty thousand," replied Phileas Fogg, handing the captain      
a roll of bank bills. This had a prodigious effect on Andrew Speedy.        
An American can scarcely remain unmoved at the sight of sixty thousand      
dollars. The captain forgot in an instant his anger, his imprisonment,      
and all his grudges against his passenger. The Henrietta was twenty         
years old; it was a great bargain. The bomb would not go off after          
all. Mr. Fogg had taken away the match.                                     
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 40}
  "And I shall still have the iron hull," said the captain in a softer      
tone.                                                                       
  "The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?"                             
  "Agreed."                                                                 
  And Andrew Speedy, seizing the bank notes, counted them, and              
consigned them to his pocket.                                               
  During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and           
Fix seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit. Nearly twenty          
thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg left the hull and engine        
to the captain, that is, near the whole value of the craft! It is           
true, however, that fifty-five thousand pounds had been stolen from         
the bank.                                                                   
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 45}
  When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him,          
"Don't let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I shall lose          
twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a quarter              
before nine on the evening of the 21st of December. I missed the            
steamer at New York, and as you refused to take me to Liverpool -"          
  "And I did well!" cried Andrew Speedy; "for I have gained at least        
forty thousand dollars by it!" He added, more sedately, "Do you know        
one thing, Captain-"                                                        
  "Fogg."                                                                   
  "Captain Fogg, you've got something of the Yankee about you."             
  And, having paid his passenger what he considered a high compliment,      
he was going away, when Mr. Fogg said, "The vessel now belongs to me?"      
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 50}
  "Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts,-all the wood,        
that is."                                                                   
  "Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled             
down, and burn them."                                                       
  It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the             
adequate pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks, and the         
spare deck were sacrificed. On the next day, the 19th of December, the      
masts, rafts, and spars were burned; the crew worked lustily,               
keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed, cut, and sawed away with all      
his might. There was a perfect rage for demolition.                         
  The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top             
sides disappeared on the 20th, and was now only a flat hulk. But on         
this day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light. By ten in the      
evening they were passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had only                 
twenty-four hours more in which to get to London; that length of            
time was necessary to reach Liverpool, with all steam on. And the           
steam was about to give out altogether!                                     
  "Sir," said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in Mr.          
Fogg's project, "I really commiserate you. Everything is against            
you. We are only opposite Queenstown."                                      
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 55}
  "Ah," said Mr. Fogg, "is that place where we see the lights               
Queenstown?"                                                                
  "Yes."                                                                    
  "Can we enter the harbor?"                                                
  "Not under three hours. Only at high tide."                               
  "Stay," replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his features        
that by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt once more to          
conquer ill fortune.                                                        
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 60}
  Queenstown is the Irish port at which the transatlantic steamers          
stop to put off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin by             
express trains always held in readiness to start; from Dublin they are      
sent on to Liverpool by the most rapid boats, and thus gain twelve          
hours on the Atlantic steamers.                                             
  Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way.             
Instead of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the Henrietta, he      
would be there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach              
London before a quarter before nine in the evening.                         
  The Henrietta entered Queenstown harbor at one o'clock in the             
morning, it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being             
grasped heartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on      
the levelled hulk of his craft, which was still worth half what he had      
sold it for.                                                                
  The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted to arrest        
Mr. Fogg on the spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle was going          
on within him? Had he changed his mind about "his man?" Did he              
understand that he had made a grave mistake? He did not, however,           
abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got upon the train, which was just ready to      
start, at halfpast one; at dawn of day they were in Dublin; and they        
lost no time in embarking on a steamer which, disdaining to rise            
upon the waves, invariably cut through them.                                
  Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at twenty         
minutes before twelve, December 21st. He was only six hours distant         
from London.                                                                
                                                   {CH_XXXIII ^paragraph 65}
  But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg's              
shoulder, and, showing his warrant, said, "You are really Phileas           
Fogg?"                                                                      
  "I am."                                                                   
  "I arrest you in the Queen's name!"                                       
                                                                            
CH_XXXIV                                                                    
  CHAPTER XXXIV                                                             
  In which Phileas Fogg at last reaches London                              
-                                                                           
  Phileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House,      
and he was to be transferred to London, the next day. Passepartout,         
when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon Fix, had he         
not been held back by some policeman. Aouda was thunderstruck at the        
suddenness of an event which she could not understand. Passepartout         
explained to her how it was that the honest and courageous Fogg was         
arrested as a robber. The young woman's heart revolted against so           
heinous a charge, and when she saw that she could attempt or do             
nothing to save her protector, wept bitterly.                               
  As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty,             
whether Mr. Fogg were guilty or not.                                        
  The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of            
this new misfortune! Had he not concealed Fix's errand from his             
master? When Fix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he        
not told Mr. Fogg? If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt         
have given Fix proof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his             
mistake; at least, Fix would not have continued his journey at the          
expense and on the heels of his master, only to arrest him the              
moment he set foot on English soil. Passepartout wept till he was           
blind, and felt like blowing his brains out.                                
  Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of         
the Custom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious      
to see Mr. Fogg again.                                                      
                                                     {CH_XXXIV ^paragraph 5}
  That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was      
about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at           
Liverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December,          
he had till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform          
Club, that is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool to      
London was six hours.                                                       
  If any one, at this moment, had entered the Custom House he would         
have found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent          
anger, upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this      
last blow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any emotion.      
Was he being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the more            
terrible because contained, and which only burst forth, with an             
irresistible force, at the last moment? No one could tell. There he         
sat, calmly waiting -for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still      
believe, now that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he      
would succeed?                                                              
  However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon         
the table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his         
lips, but his look was singularly set and stern. The situation, in any      
event, was a terrible one, and might be thus stated: If Phileas Fogg        
was honest, he was ruined. If he was a knave, he was caught.                
  Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were              
practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping from           
it? Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room. But the            
door was locked, and the window heavily barred with iron rods. He           
sat down again, and drew his journal from his pocket. On the line           
where these words were written, "December 21, Saturday, Liverpool," he      
added, "80th day, 11:40 a.m.," and waited.                                  
  The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his             
watch was two hours too fast.                                               
                                                    {CH_XXXIV ^paragraph 10}
  Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express         
train, he could reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter before        
nine, p.m. His forehead slightly wrinkled.                                  
  At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise                
outside, then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout's voice was            
audible, and immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg's eyes             
brightened for an instant.                                                  
  The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who         
hurried towards him.                                                        
  Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not         
speak. "Sir," he stammered, "sir -forgive me -a most unfortunate            
resemblance -robber arrested three days ago -you -are free!"                
  Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him             
steadily in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever            
made in his life, or which he ever would make, drew back his arms, and      
with the precision of a machine, knocked Fix down.                          
                                                    {CH_XXXIV ^paragraph 15}
  "Well hit!" cried Passepartout. "Parbleu! That's what you might call      
a good application of English fists!"                                       
  Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word.                
  He had only received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and                    
Passepartout left the Custom House without delay, got into a cab,           
and in a few moments descended at the station.                              
  Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave           
for London. It was forty minutes past two. The express train had            
left thirty-five minutes before.                                            
  Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.                                
                                                    {CH_XXXIV ^paragraph 20}
  There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway             
arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until three          
o'clock.                                                                    
  At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by the          
offer of a generous reward, at last set out towards London with             
Aouda and his faithful servant.                                             
  It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half; and        
this would have been easy on a clear road throughout. But there were        
forced delays, and when Mr. Fogg stepped from the train at the              
terminus, all the clocks in London were striking ten minutes before         
nine.                                                                       
  Having made the tour of the world, he was behindhand five minutes.        
He had lost the wager!                                                      
                                                                            
CH_XXXV                                                                     
  CHAPTER XXXV                                                              
  In which Phileas Fogg does not have fo repeat his orders to               
Passepartout twice                                                          
-                                                                           
  The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised, the next day,      
if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors        
and windows were still closed; no appearance of change was visible.         
  After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions        
to purchase some provisions, and quietly went quietly went to his           
domicile.                                                                   
  He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And        
by the blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed         
that long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many                
dangers, and still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near      
the goal by a sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and            
against which he was unarmed; it was terrible! But a few pounds were        
left of the large sum he had carried with him. There only remained          
of his fortune the twenty thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and         
this amount he owed to his friends of the Reform Club. So great had         
been the expense of his tour, that, even had he won, it would not have      
enriched him; and it is probable that he had not sought to enrich           
himself, being a man who rather laid wagers for honor's sake than           
for the stake proposed. But this wager totally ruined him.                  
  Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what          
remained for him to do.                                                     
                                                      {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 5}
  A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who           
was overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune. From the          
words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some           
serious project.                                                            
  Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to      
the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch        
upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so         
doing.                                                                      
  First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had          
extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days.        
He had found in the letter box a bill from the gas company, and he          
thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he           
had been doomed to bear.                                                    
  The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda           
did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a         
faithful dog, at his master's door.                                         
  Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda's           
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda        
to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed      
all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the evening he would           
ask permission to have a few moments' conversation with the young           
lady.                                                                       
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 10}
  Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey      
them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely             
bring his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience         
tortured by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of      
being the cause of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned        
Mr. Fogg, and had betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would          
certainly not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then-      
  Passepartout could hold in no longer.                                     
  "My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried, "why do you not curse me? It was my      
fault that-"                                                                
  "I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness.           
"Go!"                                                                       
  Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he            
delivered his master's message.                                             
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 15}
  "Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself -nothing! I have no           
influence over my master; but you, perhaps-"                                
  "What influence could I have?" replied Aouda. "Mr. Fogg is                
influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to           
him is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must           
not be left alone an instant! You say he is going to speak with me          
this evening?"                                                              
  "Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort          
in England."                                                                
  "We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.                 
  Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if           
uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived        
in that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock          
struck half past eleven.                                                    
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 20}
  Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer        
expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon          
on the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter         
before nine), he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that he      
should go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his            
antagonists already had his check in their hands, and they had only to      
fill it out and send it to the Barings to have the amount                   
transferred to their credit.                                                
  Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained      
at home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting         
his affairs in order. Passepartout continually ascended and                 
descended the stairs. The hours were long for him. He listened at           
his master's door, and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a           
perfect right so to do, and as if he feared that something terrible         
might happen at any moment. Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer      
in anger. Fix, like all the world, had been mistaken in Phileas             
Fogg, and had only done his duty in tracking and arresting him;             
while he, Passepartout-. This thought haunted him, and he never ceased      
cursing his miserable folly.                                                
  Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at               
Aouda's door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in      
a corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still           
pensive.                                                                    
  About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if             
Aouda would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone        
with her.                                                                   
  Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite      
Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly        
the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same               
impassibility.                                                              
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 25}
  He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on        
Aouda, "Madam," said he, "will you pardon me for bringing you to            
England?"                                                                   
  "I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.       
  "Please let me finish," returned Mr. Fogg. "When I decided to             
bring you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was      
rich, and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal;      
then your existence would have been free and happy. But now I am            
ruined."                                                                    
  "I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda; "and I ask you, in my turn,         
will you forgive me for having followed you, and who knows; -for            
having, perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your ruin?"           
  "Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be      
assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could      
not take you."                                                              
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 30}
  "So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me a            
terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a        
foreign land?"                                                              
  "Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg to      
place the little I have left at your service."                              
  "But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"                                  
  "As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need of        
nothing."                                                                   
  "But how do you look upon the fate which awaits you?"                     
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 35}
  "As I am in the habit of doing."                                          
  "At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you.         
Your friends-"                                                              
  "I have no friends, madam."                                               
  "Your relatives-"                                                         
  "I have no longer any relatives."                                         
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 40}
  "I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no         
heart to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that misery        
itself, shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience."       
  "They say so, madam."                                                     
  "Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising, and seizing his hand, "do you wish        
at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?"            
  Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light          
in his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his      
face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft        
glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she         
owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He shut his eyes        
for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again, "I      
love you!" he said, simply. "Yes, by all that is holiest, I love            
you, and I am entirely yours!"                                              
  "Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.                        
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 45}
  Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg still        
held Aouda's hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big,         
round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.             
  Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend          
Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone Parish, that evening.                          
  Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, "Never too           
late."                                                                      
  It was five minutes past eight.                                           
  "Will it be for tomorrow, Monday?"                                        
                                                     {CH_XXXV ^paragraph 50}
  "For Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.                            
  "Yes; for Monday," she replied.                                           
  Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.             
                                                                            
CH_XXXVI                                                                    
  CHAPTER XXXVI                                                             
  In which Phileas Fogg's name is once more at a premium on 'Change         
-                                                                           
  It is time to relate what a change took place in English public           
opinion, when it transpired that the real bank robber, a certain James      
Strand, had been arrested, on the 17th of December, at Edinburgh.           
Three days before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being          
desperately followed up by the police; now he was an honorable              
gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the          
world.                                                                      
  The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who        
had laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by         
magic; the "Phileas Fogg bonds" again became negotiable, and many           
new wagers were made. Phileas Fogg's name was once more at a premium        
on 'Change.                                                                 
  His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a          
state of feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had               
forgotten, reappear before their eyes! Where was he at this moment?         
The 17th of December, the day of James Strand's arrest, was the             
seventy-sixth since Phileas Fogg's departure, and no news of him had        
been received. Was he dead? Had he abandoned the effort, or was he          
continuing his journey along the route agreed upon? And would he            
appear on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine          
in the evening, on the threshold of the Reform Club saloon?                 
  The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot      
be described. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of           
Phileas Fogg. Messengers were despatched to the house in Saville Row        
morning and evening. No news. The police were ignorant what had become      
of the detective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed up a false         
scent. Bets increased, nevertheless, in number and value. Phileas           
Fogg, like a racehorse, was drawing near his last turning point. The        
bonds were quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at      
ten, and at five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his          
favor.                                                                      
                                                     {CH_XXXVI ^paragraph 5}
  A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighboring streets      
on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently      
established around the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and            
everywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were           
going on. The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd,        
and as the hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement        
rose to its highest pitch.                                                  
  The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon          
of the club. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew        
Stuart, the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of           
England, and Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited                
anxiously.                                                                  
  When the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart         
got up, saying, "Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon          
between Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired."                          
  "What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?" asked Thomas        
Flanagan.                                                                   
  "At twenty-three minutes past seven," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and        
the next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve."                    
                                                    {CH_XXXVI ^paragraph 10}
  "Well, gentlemen," resumed Andrew Stuart, "if Phileas Fogg had            
come in the 7.23 train, he would have got here by this time. We can         
therefore regard the bet as won."                                           
  "Wait; don't let us be too hasty," replied Samuel Fallentin. "You         
know that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well known;        
he never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not be                 
surprised if he appeared before us at the last minute."                     
  "Why," said Andrew Stuart nervously, "if I should see him, I              
should not believe it was he."                                              
  "The fact is," resumed Thomas Flanagan, "Mr. Fogg's project was           
absurdly foolish. Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent the        
delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three        
days would be fatal to his tour."                                           
  "Observe, too," added John Sullivan, "that we have received no            
intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along         
his route."                                                                 
                                                    {CH_XXXVI ^paragraph 15}
  "He has lost, gentlemen," said Andrew Stuart,- "he has a hundred          
times lost! You know, besides, that the China -the only steamer he          
could have taken from New York to get here in time -arrived yesterday.      
I have seen a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Fogg          
is not among them. Even if we admit that fortune has favored him, he        
can scarcely have reached America. I think he will be at least              
twenty days behindhand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool            
five thousand."                                                             
  "It is clear," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and we have nothing to do         
but to present Mr. Fogg's check at Barings tomorrow."                       
  At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty             
minutes to nine.                                                            
  "Five minutes more," said Andrew Stuart.                                  
  The five gentlemen looked at each other. Their anxiety was                
becoming intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily assented      
to Mr. Fallentin's proposal of a rubber.                                    
                                                    {CH_XXXVI ^paragraph 20}
  "I wouldn't give up my four thousand of the bet," said Andrew             
Stuart, as he took his seat, "for three thousand nine hundred and           
ninety-nine."                                                               
  The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.                             
  The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off        
the clock. Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never           
seemed so long to them!                                                     
  "Seventeen minutes to nine," said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the          
cards which Ralph handed to him.                                            
  Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly        
quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and        
then a shrill cry. The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player         
eagerly counted, as he listened, with mathematical regularity.              
                                                    {CH_XXXVI ^paragraph 25}
  "Sixteen minutes to nine!" said John Sullivan, in a voice which           
betrayed his emotion.                                                       
  One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his        
partners suspended their game. They left their cards, and counted           
the seconds.                                                                
  At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.          
  At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed          
by applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.                               
  The players rose from their seats.                                        
                                                    {CH_XXXVI ^paragraph 30}
  At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the        
pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg                 
appeared, followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way             
through the club doors, and in his calm voice, said, "Here I am,            
gentlemen!"                                                                 
                                                                            
CH_XXXVII                                                                   
  CHAPTER XXXVII                                                            
  In which it is shown that Phileas Fogg gained nothing by his tour         
around the world, unless it were happiness                                  
-                                                                           
  Yes; Phileas Fogg in person. The reader will remember that at five        
minutes past eight in the evening, about five and twenty hours after        
the arrival of the travellers in London, Passepartout had been sent by      
his master to engage the services of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a        
certain marriage ceremony, which was to take place the next day.            
  Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached the            
clergyman's house, but found him not at home. Passepartout waited a         
good twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman, it was        
thirty-five minutes past eight. But in what a state he was! With his        
hair in disorder, and without his hat, he ran along the street as           
never man was seen to run before, overturning passers-by, rushing over      
the sidewalk like a waterspout.                                             
  In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered               
breathless into Mr. Fogg's room.                                            
  He could not speak.                                                       
                                                    {CH_XXXVII ^paragraph 5}
  "What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.                                     
  "My master!" gasped Passepartout, -"marriage -impossible-"                
  "Impossible?"                                                             
  "Impossible -for tomorrow."                                               
  "Why so?"                                                                 
                                                   {CH_XXXVII ^paragraph 10}
  "Because tomorrow -is Sunday!"                                            
  "Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.                                               
  "No -today -is Saturday."                                                 
  "Saturday? Impossible!"                                                   
  "Yes, yes, yes, yes!" cried Passepartout. "You have made a mistake        
of one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time; but there           
are only ten minutes left!"                                                 
                                                   {CH_XXXVII ^paragraph 15}
  Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging        
him along with irresistible force.                                          
  Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left his      
house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the cabman,          
and, having run over two dogs and overturned five carriages, reached        
the Reform Club.                                                            
  The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the         
great saloon.                                                               
  Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in              
eighty days!                                                                
  Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!                 
                                                   {CH_XXXVII ^paragraph 20}
  How was that a man so exact and fastidious could have made this           
error of a day? How came he to think that he had arrived in London          
on Saturday, the twenty-first day of December, when it was really           
Friday, the twentieth, the seventy-ninth day only from his departure?       
  The cause of the error is very simple.                                    
  Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his            
journey, and this merely because he had travelled constantly eastward;      
he would, on the contrary, have lost a day, had he gone in the              
opposite direction, that is, westward.                                      
  In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days          
therefore diminished for him as many times four minutes as lie crossed      
degrees in this direction. There are three hundred and sixty degrees        
on the circumference of the earth; and these three hundred and sixty        
degrees, multiplied by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four hours      
-that is, the day unconsciously gained. In other words, while               
Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty          
times, his friends in London only saw it pass the meridian                  
seventy-nine times. This is why they awaited him at the Reform Club on      
Saturday, and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.                              
                                                   {CH_XXXVII ^paragraph 25}
  And Passepartout's famous family watch, which had always kept London      
time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as well      
as the hours and minutes!                                                   
  Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but as he had             
spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary gain was           
small. His object was, however, to be victorious, and not to win            
money. He divided the one thousand pounds that remained between             
Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix, against whom he cherished no          
grudge. He deducted, however, from Passepartout's share the cost of         
the gas which had burned in his room for nineteen hundred and twenty        
hours, for the sake of regularity.                                          
  That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said          
to Aouda, "Is our marriage still agreeable to you?"                         
  "Mr. Fogg," replied she, "it is for me to ask that question. You          
were ruined, but now you are rich again."                                   
  "Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you. If you had not              
suggested our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the Reverend      
Samuel Wilson's, I should not have been apprised of my error, and-"         
                                                   {CH_XXXVII ^paragraph 30}
  "Dear Mr. Fogg!" said the young woman.                                    
  "Dear Aouda!" replied Phileas Fogg.                                       
  It need not be said that marriage took place forty-eight hours            
after, and that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave the bride          
away. Had he not saved her, and was he not entitled to this honor?          
  The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped                
vigorously at his master's door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked,             
"What's the matter, Passepartout?"                                          
  "What is it, sir? Why, I've just this instant found out-"                 
                                                   {CH_XXXVII ^paragraph 35}
  "What?"                                                                   
  "That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eight      
days."                                                                      
  "No doubt," returned Mr. Fogg, "by not crossing India. But if I           
had not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she would not         
have been my wife, and-"                                                    
  Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.                                           
  Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around           
the world in eighty days. To do this, he had employed every means of        
conveyance -steamers, railways, carriages, yachts, trading vessels,         
sledges, elephants. The eccentric gentleman had throughout displayed        
all his marvellous qualities of coolness and exactitude. But what           
then? What had he really gained by all this trouble? What had he            
brought back from this long and weary journey?                              
                                                   {CH_XXXVII ^paragraph 40}
  Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who,          
strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!                     
  Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the          
world?                                                                      
-                                                                           
-                                                                           
                            -THE END-                                       
                                                                            
                                                                            

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