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Chapter XXXI
IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE,
CONSIDERABLY FURTHERS THE INTERESTS OF PHILEAS FOGG
Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time.
Passepartout, the involuntary cause of this delay, was desperate.
He had ruined his master!
At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and,
looking him intently in the face, said:
"Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?"
"Quite seriously."
"I have a purpose in asking," resumed Fix. "Is it absolutely
necessary that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o'clock
in the evening, the time that the steamer leaves for Liverpool?"
"It is absolutely necessary."
"And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians,
you would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?"
"Yes; with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left."
"Good! you are therefore twenty hours behind. Twelve from twenty
leaves eight. You must regain eight hours. Do you wish to try to do so?"
"On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"No; on a sledge," replied Fix. "On a sledge with sails.
A man has proposed such a method to me."
It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and
whose offer he had refused.
Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix, having pointed out the man,
who was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg went up to him.
An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose name was Mudge,
entered a hut built just below the fort.
There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long beams,
a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon which there
was room for five or six persons. A high mast was fixed on the frame, held
firmly by metallic lashings, to which was attached a large brigantine sail.
This mast held an iron stay upon which to hoist a jib-sail. Behind, a sort
of rudder served to guide the vehicle. It was, in short, a sledge rigged
like a sloop. During the winter, when the trains are blocked up by the snow,
these sledges make extremely rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one
station to another. Provided with more sails than a cutter, and with the wind
behind them, they slip over the surface of the prairies with a speed equal
if not superior to that of the express trains.
Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this land-craft.
The wind was favourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west.
The snow had hardened, and Mudge was very confident of being able
to transport Mr. Fogg in a few hours to Omaha. Thence the trains
eastward run frequently to Chicago and New York. It was not impossible
that the lost time might yet be recovered; and such an opportunity
was not to be rejected.
Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling
in the open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout
at Fort Kearney, the servant taking upon himself to escort her
to Europe by a better route and under more favourable conditions.
But Aouda refused to separate from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout
was delighted with her decision; for nothing could induce him
to leave his master while Fix was with him.
It would be difficult to guess the detective's thoughts. Was this
conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg's return, or did he still regard him
as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world completed,
would think himself absolutely safe in England? Perhaps Fix's opinion
of Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was nevertheless resolved
to do his duty, and to hasten the return of the whole party to England
as much as possible.
At eight o'clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers
took their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely
in their travelling-cloaks. The two great sails were hoisted,
and under the pressure of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened
snow with a velocity of forty miles an hour.
The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly,
is at most two hundred miles. If the wind held good, the distance
might be traversed in five hours; if no accident happened the sledge
might reach Omaha by one o'clock.
What a journey! The travellers, huddled close together, could not speak
for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were going.
The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves. When the breeze
came skimming the earth the sledge seemed to be lifted off the ground
by its sails. Mudge, who was at the rudder, kept in a straight line,
and by a turn of his hand checked the lurches which the vehicle
had a tendency to make. All the sails were up, and the jib
was so arranged as not to screen the brigantine. A top-mast was hoisted,
and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other sails.
Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge could not
be going at less than forty miles an hour.
"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
south-west to the north-west by Great Island, Columbus,
an important Nebraska town, Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha.
It followed throughout the right bank of the Platte River.
The sledge, shortening this route, took a chord of the arc
described by the railway. Mudge was not afraid of being stopped
by the Platte River, because it was frozen. The road, then, was quite
clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to fear--
an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind.
But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to
bend the mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly.
These lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument,
resounded as if vibrated by a violin bow. The sledge slid along
in the midst of a plaintively intense melody.
"Those chords give the fifth and the octave," said Mr. 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 disc
when it sets in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled the biting air.
With his natural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope again.
They would reach New York on the evening, if not on the morning,
of the 11th, and there was still some 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 past over the vast carpet of snow.
The creeks it passed over were not perceived. Fields and streams
disappeared under the uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted.
Between the Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney
with Saint Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island.
Neither village, station, nor fort appeared. From time to time
they sped by some phantom-like tree, whose white skeleton twisted
and rattled in the wind. Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose,
or bands of gaunt, famished, ferocious prairie-wolves ran howling
after the sledge. Passepartout, revolver in hand, held himself ready
to fire on those which came too near. Had an accident then happened
to the sledge, the travellers, attacked by these beasts, would have been
in the most terrible danger; but it held on its even course, soon gained
on the wolves, and ere long left the howling band at a safe distance behind.
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.
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.
The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council Bluffs,
Des Moines, and Iowa City. During the night it crossed the Mississippi
at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois. The next day,
which was the 10th, at four o'clock in the evening, it reached Chicago,
already risen from its ruins, and more proudly seated than ever
on the borders of its beautiful Lake Michigan.
Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains
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!
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 trans-Atlantic steamers.
Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat
by three-quarters of an hour. It was his fault, for,
instead of helping his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles
in his path! And when he recalled all the incidents of the tour,
when he counted up the sums expended in pure loss and on his own account,
when he thought that the immense stake, added to the heavy charges
of this useless journey, would completely ruin Mr. Fogg,
he overwhelmed himself with bitter self-accusations. Mr. Fogg,
however, did not reproach him; and, on leaving the Cunard pier,
only said: "We will consult about what is best to-morrow. Come."
The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat,
and drove in a carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway.
Rooms were engaged, and the night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg,
who slept profoundly, but very long to Aouda and the others,
whose agitation did not permit them to rest.
The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning
of the 12th to a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st
there were nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes.
If Phileas Fogg had left in the China, one of the fastest steamers
on the Atlantic, he would have reached Liverpool, and then London,
within the period agreed upon.
Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions
to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant's notice.
He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about among the vessels
moored or anchored in the river, for any that were about to depart.
Several had departure signals, and were preparing to put to sea
at morning tide; for in this immense and admirable port there is not one day
in a hundred that vessels do not set out for every quarter of the globe.
But they were mostly sailing vessels, of which, of course, Phileas Fogg
could make no use.
He seemed about to give up all hope, when he 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 oxidised copper,
red hair and thick neck, and a growling voice.
"The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"I am the captain."
"I am Phileas Fogg, of London."
"And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff."
"You are going to put to sea?"
"In an hour."
"You are bound for--"
"Bordeaux."
"And your cargo?"
"No freight. Going in ballast."
"Have you any passengers?"
"No passengers. Never have passengers. Too much in the way."
"Is your vessel a swift one?"
"Between eleven and twelve knots. The Henrietta, well known."
"Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?"
"To Liverpool? Why not to China?"
"I said Liverpool."
"No!"
"No?"
"No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux."
"Money is no object?"
"None."
The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply.
"But the owners of the Henrietta--" resumed Phileas Fogg.
"The owners are myself," replied the captain. "The vessel belongs to me."
"I will freight it for you."
"No."
"I will buy it of you."
"No."
Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the
situation was a grave one. It was not at New York as at Hong Kong,
nor with the captain of the Henrietta as with the captain of the Tankadere.
Up to this time money had smoothed away every obstacle. Now money failed.
Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat,
unless by balloon--which would have been venturesome,
besides not being capable of being put in practice.
It seemed that Phileas Fogg had an idea, for he said to the captain,
"Well, will you carry me to Bordeaux?"
"No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars."
"I offer you two thousand."
"Apiece?"
"Apiece."
"And there are four of you?"
"Four."
Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There 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, passenger's
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.
As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would certainly
not come out of this affair well indemnified. When they reached England,
even if Mr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls of bank-bills into the sea,
more than seven thousand pounds would have been spent!
Chapter 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 the
vessel's position. It might be thought that this was Captain Speedy.
Not the least in the world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire.
As for Captain Speedy, he was shut up in his cabin under lock and key,
and was uttering loud cries, which signified an anger at once pardonable
and excessive.
What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished
to go to Liverpool, but the captain would not carry him there.
Then Phileas Fogg had taken passage for Bordeaux, and, during
the thirty hours he had been on board, had so shrewdly managed
with his banknotes that the sailors and stokers, who were only
an occasional crew, and were not on the best terms with the captain,
went over to him in a body. This was why Phileas Fogg was in command
instead of Captain Speedy; why the captain was a prisoner in his cabin;
and why, in short, the Henrietta was directing her course towards Liverpool.
It was very clear, to see Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had been a sailor.
How the adventure ended will be seen 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.
If, then--for there were "ifs" still--the sea did not become
too boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east,
if no accident happened to the boat or its machinery, the Henrietta
might cross the three thousand miles from New York to Liverpool
in the nine days, between the 12th and the 21st of December.
It is true that, once arrived, the affair on board the Henrietta,
added to that of the Bank of England, might create more difficulties
for Mr. Fogg than he imagined or could desire.
During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea was
not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the north-east,
the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed across the waves
like a real trans-Atlantic steamer.
Passepartout was delighted. His master's last exploit, the consequences
of which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had the crew seen so jolly
and dexterous a fellow. He formed warm friendships with the sailors,
and amazed them with his acrobatic feats. He thought they managed
the vessel like gentlemen, and that the stokers fired up like heroes.
His loquacious good-humour infected everyone. He had forgotten the past,
its vexations and delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished;
and sometimes he boiled over with impatience, as if heated by the furnaces
of the Henrietta. Often, also, the worthy fellow revolved around Fix,
looking at him with a keen, distrustful eye; but he did not speak to him,
for their old intimacy no longer existed.
Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going on.
The conquest of the Henrietta, the bribery of the crew, Fogg managing
the boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him. He did not know
what to think. For, after all, a man who began by stealing fifty-five thousand
pounds might end by stealing a vessel; and Fix was not unnaturally inclined
to conclude that the Henrietta under Fogg's command, was not going to Liverpool
at all, but to some part of the world where the robber, turned into a pirate,
would quietly put himself in safety. The conjecture was at least a plausible
one, and the detective began to seriously regret that he had embarked
on the affair.
As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his cabin;
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.
On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland,
a dangerous locality; during the winter, especially, there are
frequent fogs and heavy gales of wind. Ever since the evening
before the barometer, suddenly falling, had indicated an approaching
change in the atmosphere; and during the night the temperature varied,
the cold became sharper, and the wind veered to the south-east.
This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his course,
furled his sails and increased the force of the steam; but the vessel's speed
slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long waves of which broke against
the stern. She pitched violently, and this retarded her progress.
The breeze little by little swelled into a tempest, and it was to be feared
that the Henrietta might not be able to maintain herself upright on the waves.
Passepartout's visage darkened with the skies, and for two days the poor
fellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg was a bold mariner,
and knew how to maintain headway against the sea; 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.
Sometinies 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 south-east, rendering the sails useless.
The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg's
departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet been seriously delayed.
Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worst localities
had been passed. In summer, success would have been well-nigh certain.
In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad season. Passepartout
said nothing; but he cherished hope in secret, and comforted himself
with the reflection that, if the wind failed them, they might still
count on the steam.
On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and
began to speak earnestly with him. Without knowing why it was
a presentiment, perhaps Passepartout became vaguely uneasy.
He would have given one of his ears to hear with the other what
the engineer was saying. He finally managed to catch a few words,
and was sure he heard his master say, "You are certain of what you tell me?"
"Certain, sir," replied the engineer. "You must remember that,
since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces,
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?"
"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 vomited forth torrents
of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam on;
but on the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced
that the coal would give out in the course of the day.
"Do not let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg.
"Keep them up to the last. Let the valves be filled."
Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position,
called Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy.
It was as if the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger.
He went to the poop, saying to himself, "He will be like a madman!"
In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the poop-deck.
The bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that he was on the point
of bursting. "Where are we?" were the first words his anger permitted
him to utter. Had the poor man be an apoplectic, he could never have
recovered from his paroxysm of wrath.
"Where are we?" he repeated, with purple face.
"Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool,"
replied Mr. Fogg, with imperturbable calmness.
"Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy.
"I have sent for you, sir--"
"Pickaroon!"
"--sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel."
"No! By all the devils, no!"
"But I shall be obliged to burn her."
"Burn the Henrietta!"
"Yes; at least the upper part of her. The coal has given out."
"Burn my vessel!" cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely
pronounce the words. "A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!"
"Here are sixty thousand," replied Phileas Fogg, handing the
captain a roll of bank-bills. This had a prodigious effect
on Andrew Speedy. An American can scarcely remain unmoved
at the sight of sixty thousand dollars. The captain forgot
in an instant his anger, his imprisonment, and all his grudges
against his passenger. The Henrietta was twenty years old;
it was a great bargain. The bomb would not go off after all.
Mr. Fogg had taken away the match.
"And I shall still have the iron hull," said the captain in a softer tone.
"The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?"
"Agreed."
And Andrew Speedy, seizing the banknotes, counted them
and consigned them to his pocket.
During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet,
and Fix seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit.
Nearly twenty thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg
left the hull and engine to the captain, that is,
near the whole value of the craft! It was true, however,
that fifty-five thousand pounds had been stolen from the Bank.
When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him,
"Don't let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I shall
lose twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by
a quarter before nine 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?"
"Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts--all the wood, that is."
"Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled down,
and burn them."
It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up
to the adequate pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins,
bunks, and the spare deck were sacrificed. On the next day,
the 19th of December, the masts, rafts, and spars were burned;
the crew worked lustily, keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed, cut,
and sawed away with all his might. There was a perfect rage for demolition.
The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides
disappeared on the 20th, and the Henrietta was now only a flat hulk.
But on this day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light.
By ten in the evening they were passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg
had only twenty-four hours more in which to get to London;
that length of time was necessary to reach Liverpool, with all steam on.
And the steam was about to give out altogether!
"Sir," said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in
Mr. Fogg's project, "I really commiserate you. Everything is
against you. We are only opposite Queenstown."
"Ah," said Mr. Fogg, "is that place where we see the lights Queenstown?"
"Yes."
"Can we enter the harbour?"
"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.
Queenstown is the Irish port at which the trans-Atlantic steamers
stop to put off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin
by express trains always held in readiness to start; from Dublin
they are sent on to Liverpool by the most rapid boats,
and thus gain twelve hours on the Atlantic steamers.
Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way.
Instead of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the Henrietta,
he would be there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach London
before a quarter before nine in the evening.
The Henrietta entered Queenstown Harbour at one o'clock in the morning,
it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being grasped heartily
by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on the levelled hulk
of his craft, which was still worth half what he had sold it for.
The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted
to arrest Mr. Fogg on the spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle
was going on within him? Had he changed his mind about "his man"?
Did he understand that he had made a grave mistake? He did not,
however, abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got upon the train, which was
just ready to start, at half-past one; at dawn of day they were
in Dublin; and they lost no time in embarking on a steamer which,
disdaining to rise upon the waves, invariably cut through them.
Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay,
at twenty minutes before twelve, 21st December. He was only
six hours distant from London.
But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg's shoulder,
and, showing his warrant, said, "You are really Phileas Fogg?"
"I am."
"I arrest you in the Queen's name!"
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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 he transferred to London the next day.
Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have
fallen upon Fix had he not been held back by some policemen.
Aouda was thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which
she could not understand. Passepartout explained to her how
it was that the honest and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber.
The young woman's heart revolted against so heinous a charge,
and when she saw that she could attempt to do nothing to save
her protector, she wept bitterly.
As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty,
whether Mr. Fogg 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.
That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment
when he was about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal.
Having arrived at Liverpool at twenty minutes before
twelve on the 21st of December, he had till a quarter before nine
that evening to reach the Reform Club, that is, nine hours and a quarter;
the journey from Liverpool to London was six hours.
If anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House,
he would have found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without
apparent anger, upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true,
resigned; but this last blow failed to force him into an outward
betrayal of any emotion. Was he being devoured by one of those
secret rages, all the more terrible because contained, and which
only burst forth, with an irresistible force, at the last moment?
No one could tell. There he sat, calmly waiting--for what?
Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe, now that the door
of this prison was closed upon him, that he would succeed?
However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch
upon the table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word
escaped his lips, but his look was singularly set and stern.
The situation, in any event, was a terrible one, and might be
thus stated: if Phileas Fogg was honest he was ruined; if he
was a knave, he was caught.
Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were
any practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping
from it? Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room.
But the door was locked, and the window heavily barred with
iron rods. He sat down again, and drew his journal from his pocket.
On the line where these words were written, "21st December,
Saturday, Liverpool," he added, "80th day, 11.40 a.m.," and waited.
The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his watch
was two hours too fast.
Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an
express train, he could reach London and the Reform Club
by a quarter before nine, p.m. His forehead slightly wrinkled.
At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise outside,
then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout's voice was audible,
and immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg's eyes brightened
for an instant.
The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix,
who hurried towards him.
Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not speak.
"Sir," he stammered, "sir--forgive me--most-- unfortunate resemblance--
robber arrested three days ago--you are free!"
Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him steadily
in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever made in his life,
or which he ever would make, drew back his arms, and with the precision
of a machine knocked Fix down.
"Well hit!" cried Passepartout, "Parbleu! that's what
you might call a good application of English fists!"
Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word.
He had only received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout
left the Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a few
moments descended at the station.
Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train
about to leave for London. It was forty minutes past two.
The express train had left thirty-five minutes before.
Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.
There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway arrangements
did not permit the special train to leave until three o'clock.
At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by
the offer of a generous reward, at last set out towards London
with Aouda and his faithful servant.
It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half;
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 behind-hand
five minutes. He had lost the wager!
Chapter XXXV
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO
REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE
The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day,
if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home.
His doors and windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible.
After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions
to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his 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 honour's sake
than for the stake proposed. But this wager totally ruined him.
Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what remained
for him to do.
A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda,
who was overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune.
From the words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was
meditating some serious project.
Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort
to the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch
upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so doing.
First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had extinguished
the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days. He had found
in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he thought it more
than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had been doomed to bear.
The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep?
Aouda did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched
all night, like a faithful dog, at his master's door.
Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get
Aouda's breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself.
He desired Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner,
as his time would be absorbed all day in putting his affairs to rights.
In the evening he would ask permission to have a few moment's
conversation with the young lady.
Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey them.
He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring his mind
to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured by remorse;
for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the cause
of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg,
and had betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would certainly
not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then--
Passepartout could hold in no longer.
"My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried, "why do you not curse me?
It was my fault that--"
"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness. "Go!"
Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda,
to whom he delivered his master's message.
"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself--nothing!
I have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps--"
"What influence could I have?" replied Aouda. "Mr. Fogg
is influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude
to him is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend,
he must not be left alone an instant! You say he is going to
speak with me this evening?"
"Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in England."
"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.
Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if uninhabited,
and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in that house,
did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck half-past eleven.
Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer expected
him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on the
evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine),
he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that he should go to
his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists already
had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out
and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their credit.
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.
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."
"So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me
from a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure
my comfort in a foreign land?"
"Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me.
Still, I beg to place the little I have left at your service."
"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"
"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need of nothing."
"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?"
"As I am in the habit of doing."
"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you.
Your friends--"
"I have no friends, madam."
"Your relatives--"
"I have no longer any relatives."
"I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing,
with no heart to which to confide your griefs. They say,
though, that misery itself, shared by two sympathetic souls,
may be borne with patience."
"They say so, madam."
"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, "do you wish
at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?"
Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted
light in his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips.
Aouda looked into his face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness,
and sweetness of this soft glance of a noble woman, who could dare
all to save him to whom she owed all, at first astonished,
then penetrated him. He shut his eyes for an instant,
as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again,
"I love you!" he said, simply. "Yes, by all that is holiest,
I love you, and I am entirely yours!"
"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.
Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg
still held Aouda's hand in his own; Passepartout understood,
and his big, round face became as radiant as the tropical sun
at its zenith.
Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify
the Reverend Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.
Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said,
"Never too late."
It was five minutes past eight.
"Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?"
"For to-morrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.
"Yes; for to-morrow, Monday," she replied.
Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
Main Table of Contents Page
Chapters 36 and 37
IN WHICH FIX, THE DETECTIVE,
CONSIDERABLY FURTHERS THE INTERESTS OF PHILEAS FOGG
Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time.
Passepartout, the involuntary cause of this delay, was desperate.
He had ruined his master!
At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and,
looking him intently in the face, said:
"Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?"
"Quite seriously."
"I have a purpose in asking," resumed Fix. "Is it absolutely
necessary that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o'clock
in the evening, the time that the steamer leaves for Liverpool?"
"It is absolutely necessary."
"And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians,
you would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?"
"Yes; with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left."
"Good! you are therefore twenty hours behind. Twelve from twenty
leaves eight. You must regain eight hours. Do you wish to try to do so?"
"On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"No; on a sledge," replied Fix. "On a sledge with sails.
A man has proposed such a method to me."
It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and
whose offer he had refused.
Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix, having pointed out the man,
who was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg went up to him.
An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose name was Mudge,
entered a hut built just below the fort.
There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long beams,
a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon which there
was room for five or six persons. A high mast was fixed on the frame, held
firmly by metallic lashings, to which was attached a large brigantine sail.
This mast held an iron stay upon which to hoist a jib-sail. Behind, a sort
of rudder served to guide the vehicle. It was, in short, a sledge rigged
like a sloop. During the winter, when the trains are blocked up by the snow,
these sledges make extremely rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one
station to another. Provided with more sails than a cutter, and with the wind
behind them, they slip over the surface of the prairies with a speed equal
if not superior to that of the express trains.
Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this land-craft.
The wind was favourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west.
The snow had hardened, and Mudge was very confident of being able
to transport Mr. Fogg in a few hours to Omaha. Thence the trains
eastward run frequently to Chicago and New York. It was not impossible
that the lost time might yet be recovered; and such an opportunity
was not to be rejected.
Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling
in the open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout
at Fort Kearney, the servant taking upon himself to escort her
to Europe by a better route and under more favourable conditions.
But Aouda refused to separate from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout
was delighted with her decision; for nothing could induce him
to leave his master while Fix was with him.
It would be difficult to guess the detective's thoughts. Was this
conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg's return, or did he still regard him
as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world completed,
would think himself absolutely safe in England? Perhaps Fix's opinion
of Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was nevertheless resolved
to do his duty, and to hasten the return of the whole party to England
as much as possible.
At eight o'clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers
took their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely
in their travelling-cloaks. The two great sails were hoisted,
and under the pressure of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened
snow with a velocity of forty miles an hour.
The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly,
is at most two hundred miles. If the wind held good, the distance
might be traversed in five hours; if no accident happened the sledge
might reach Omaha by one o'clock.
What a journey! The travellers, huddled close together, could not speak
for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were going.
The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves. When the breeze
came skimming the earth the sledge seemed to be lifted off the ground
by its sails. Mudge, who was at the rudder, kept in a straight line,
and by a turn of his hand checked the lurches which the vehicle
had a tendency to make. All the sails were up, and the jib
was so arranged as not to screen the brigantine. A top-mast was hoisted,
and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other sails.
Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge could not
be going at less than forty miles an hour.
"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
south-west to the north-west by Great Island, Columbus,
an important Nebraska town, Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha.
It followed throughout the right bank of the Platte River.
The sledge, shortening this route, took a chord of the arc
described by the railway. Mudge was not afraid of being stopped
by the Platte River, because it was frozen. The road, then, was quite
clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to fear--
an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind.
But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to
bend the mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly.
These lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument,
resounded as if vibrated by a violin bow. The sledge slid along
in the midst of a plaintively intense melody.
"Those chords give the fifth and the octave," said Mr. 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 disc
when it sets in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled the biting air.
With his natural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope again.
They would reach New York on the evening, if not on the morning,
of the 11th, and there was still some 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 past over the vast carpet of snow.
The creeks it passed over were not perceived. Fields and streams
disappeared under the uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted.
Between the Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney
with Saint Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island.
Neither village, station, nor fort appeared. From time to time
they sped by some phantom-like tree, whose white skeleton twisted
and rattled in the wind. Sometimes flocks of wild birds rose,
or bands of gaunt, famished, ferocious prairie-wolves ran howling
after the sledge. Passepartout, revolver in hand, held himself ready
to fire on those which came too near. Had an accident then happened
to the sledge, the travellers, attacked by these beasts, would have been
in the most terrible danger; but it held on its even course, soon gained
on the wolves, and ere long left the howling band at a safe distance behind.
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.
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.
The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council Bluffs,
Des Moines, and Iowa City. During the night it crossed the Mississippi
at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois. The next day,
which was the 10th, at four o'clock in the evening, it reached Chicago,
already risen from its ruins, and more proudly seated than ever
on the borders of its beautiful Lake Michigan.
Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains
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!
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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 trans-Atlantic steamers.
Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat
by three-quarters of an hour. It was his fault, for,
instead of helping his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles
in his path! And when he recalled all the incidents of the tour,
when he counted up the sums expended in pure loss and on his own account,
when he thought that the immense stake, added to the heavy charges
of this useless journey, would completely ruin Mr. Fogg,
he overwhelmed himself with bitter self-accusations. Mr. Fogg,
however, did not reproach him; and, on leaving the Cunard pier,
only said: "We will consult about what is best to-morrow. Come."
The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat,
and drove in a carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway.
Rooms were engaged, and the night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg,
who slept profoundly, but very long to Aouda and the others,
whose agitation did not permit them to rest.
The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning
of the 12th to a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st
there were nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes.
If Phileas Fogg had left in the China, one of the fastest steamers
on the Atlantic, he would have reached Liverpool, and then London,
within the period agreed upon.
Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions
to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant's notice.
He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about among the vessels
moored or anchored in the river, for any that were about to depart.
Several had departure signals, and were preparing to put to sea
at morning tide; for in this immense and admirable port there is not one day
in a hundred that vessels do not set out for every quarter of the globe.
But they were mostly sailing vessels, of which, of course, Phileas Fogg
could make no use.
He seemed about to give up all hope, when he 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 oxidised copper,
red hair and thick neck, and a growling voice.
"The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"I am the captain."
"I am Phileas Fogg, of London."
"And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff."
"You are going to put to sea?"
"In an hour."
"You are bound for--"
"Bordeaux."
"And your cargo?"
"No freight. Going in ballast."
"Have you any passengers?"
"No passengers. Never have passengers. Too much in the way."
"Is your vessel a swift one?"
"Between eleven and twelve knots. The Henrietta, well known."
"Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?"
"To Liverpool? Why not to China?"
"I said Liverpool."
"No!"
"No?"
"No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux."
"Money is no object?"
"None."
The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply.
"But the owners of the Henrietta--" resumed Phileas Fogg.
"The owners are myself," replied the captain. "The vessel belongs to me."
"I will freight it for you."
"No."
"I will buy it of you."
"No."
Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the
situation was a grave one. It was not at New York as at Hong Kong,
nor with the captain of the Henrietta as with the captain of the Tankadere.
Up to this time money had smoothed away every obstacle. Now money failed.
Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat,
unless by balloon--which would have been venturesome,
besides not being capable of being put in practice.
It seemed that Phileas Fogg had an idea, for he said to the captain,
"Well, will you carry me to Bordeaux?"
"No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars."
"I offer you two thousand."
"Apiece?"
"Apiece."
"And there are four of you?"
"Four."
Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There 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, passenger's
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.
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!
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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 the
vessel's position. It might be thought that this was Captain Speedy.
Not the least in the world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire.
As for Captain Speedy, he was shut up in his cabin under lock and key,
and was uttering loud cries, which signified an anger at once pardonable
and excessive.
What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished
to go to Liverpool, but the captain would not carry him there.
Then Phileas Fogg had taken passage for Bordeaux, and, during
the thirty hours he had been on board, had so shrewdly managed
with his banknotes that the sailors and stokers, who were only
an occasional crew, and were not on the best terms with the captain,
went over to him in a body. This was why Phileas Fogg was in command
instead of Captain Speedy; why the captain was a prisoner in his cabin;
and why, in short, the Henrietta was directing her course towards Liverpool.
It was very clear, to see Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had been a sailor.
How the adventure ended will be seen 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.
If, then--for there were "ifs" still--the sea did not become
too boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east,
if no accident happened to the boat or its machinery, the Henrietta
might cross the three thousand miles from New York to Liverpool
in the nine days, between the 12th and the 21st of December.
It is true that, once arrived, the affair on board the Henrietta,
added to that of the Bank of England, might create more difficulties
for Mr. Fogg than he imagined or could desire.
During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea was
not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the north-east,
the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed across the waves
like a real trans-Atlantic steamer.
Passepartout was delighted. His master's last exploit, the consequences
of which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had the crew seen so jolly
and dexterous a fellow. He formed warm friendships with the sailors,
and amazed them with his acrobatic feats. He thought they managed
the vessel like gentlemen, and that the stokers fired up like heroes.
His loquacious good-humour infected everyone. He had forgotten the past,
its vexations and delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished;
and sometimes he boiled over with impatience, as if heated by the furnaces
of the Henrietta. Often, also, the worthy fellow revolved around Fix,
looking at him with a keen, distrustful eye; but he did not speak to him,
for their old intimacy no longer existed.
Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going on.
The conquest of the Henrietta, the bribery of the crew, Fogg managing
the boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him. He did not know
what to think. For, after all, a man who began by stealing fifty-five thousand
pounds might end by stealing a vessel; and Fix was not unnaturally inclined
to conclude that the Henrietta under Fogg's command, was not going to Liverpool
at all, but to some part of the world where the robber, turned into a pirate,
would quietly put himself in safety. The conjecture was at least a plausible
one, and the detective began to seriously regret that he had embarked
on the affair.
As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his cabin;
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.
On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland,
a dangerous locality; during the winter, especially, there are
frequent fogs and heavy gales of wind. Ever since the evening
before the barometer, suddenly falling, had indicated an approaching
change in the atmosphere; and during the night the temperature varied,
the cold became sharper, and the wind veered to the south-east.
This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his course,
furled his sails and increased the force of the steam; but the vessel's speed
slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long waves of which broke against
the stern. She pitched violently, and this retarded her progress.
The breeze little by little swelled into a tempest, and it was to be feared
that the Henrietta might not be able to maintain herself upright on the waves.
Passepartout's visage darkened with the skies, and for two days the poor
fellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg was a bold mariner,
and knew how to maintain headway against the sea; 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.
Sometinies 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 south-east, rendering the sails useless.
The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg's
departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet been seriously delayed.
Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worst localities
had been passed. In summer, success would have been well-nigh certain.
In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad season. Passepartout
said nothing; but he cherished hope in secret, and comforted himself
with the reflection that, if the wind failed them, they might still
count on the steam.
On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and
began to speak earnestly with him. Without knowing why it was
a presentiment, perhaps Passepartout became vaguely uneasy.
He would have given one of his ears to hear with the other what
the engineer was saying. He finally managed to catch a few words,
and was sure he heard his master say, "You are certain of what you tell me?"
"Certain, sir," replied the engineer. "You must remember that,
since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces,
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?"
"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 vomited forth torrents
of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam on;
but on the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced
that the coal would give out in the course of the day.
"Do not let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg.
"Keep them up to the last. Let the valves be filled."
Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position,
called Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy.
It was as if the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger.
He went to the poop, saying to himself, "He will be like a madman!"
In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the poop-deck.
The bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that he was on the point
of bursting. "Where are we?" were the first words his anger permitted
him to utter. Had the poor man be an apoplectic, he could never have
recovered from his paroxysm of wrath.
"Where are we?" he repeated, with purple face.
"Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool,"
replied Mr. Fogg, with imperturbable calmness.
"Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy.
"I have sent for you, sir--"
"Pickaroon!"
"--sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel."
"No! By all the devils, no!"
"But I shall be obliged to burn her."
"Burn the Henrietta!"
"Yes; at least the upper part of her. The coal has given out."
"Burn my vessel!" cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely
pronounce the words. "A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!"
"Here are sixty thousand," replied Phileas Fogg, handing the
captain a roll of bank-bills. This had a prodigious effect
on Andrew Speedy. An American can scarcely remain unmoved
at the sight of sixty thousand dollars. The captain forgot
in an instant his anger, his imprisonment, and all his grudges
against his passenger. The Henrietta was twenty years old;
it was a great bargain. The bomb would not go off after all.
Mr. Fogg had taken away the match.
"And I shall still have the iron hull," said the captain in a softer tone.
"The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?"
"Agreed."
And Andrew Speedy, seizing the banknotes, counted them
and consigned them to his pocket.
During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet,
and Fix seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit.
Nearly twenty thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg
left the hull and engine to the captain, that is,
near the whole value of the craft! It was true, however,
that fifty-five thousand pounds had been stolen from the Bank.
When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him,
"Don't let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I shall
lose twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by
a quarter before nine 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?"
"Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts--all the wood, that is."
"Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled down,
and burn them."
It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up
to the adequate pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins,
bunks, and the spare deck were sacrificed. On the next day,
the 19th of December, the masts, rafts, and spars were burned;
the crew worked lustily, keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed, cut,
and sawed away with all his might. There was a perfect rage for demolition.
The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides
disappeared on the 20th, and the Henrietta was now only a flat hulk.
But on this day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light.
By ten in the evening they were passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg
had only twenty-four hours more in which to get to London;
that length of time was necessary to reach Liverpool, with all steam on.
And the steam was about to give out altogether!
"Sir," said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in
Mr. Fogg's project, "I really commiserate you. Everything is
against you. We are only opposite Queenstown."
"Ah," said Mr. Fogg, "is that place where we see the lights Queenstown?"
"Yes."
"Can we enter the harbour?"
"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.
Queenstown is the Irish port at which the trans-Atlantic steamers
stop to put off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin
by express trains always held in readiness to start; from Dublin
they are sent on to Liverpool by the most rapid boats,
and thus gain twelve hours on the Atlantic steamers.
Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way.
Instead of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the Henrietta,
he would be there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach London
before a quarter before nine in the evening.
The Henrietta entered Queenstown Harbour at one o'clock in the morning,
it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being grasped heartily
by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on the levelled hulk
of his craft, which was still worth half what he had sold it for.
The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted
to arrest Mr. Fogg on the spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle
was going on within him? Had he changed his mind about "his man"?
Did he understand that he had made a grave mistake? He did not,
however, abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got upon the train, which was
just ready to start, at half-past one; at dawn of day they were
in Dublin; and they lost no time in embarking on a steamer which,
disdaining to rise upon the waves, invariably cut through them.
Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay,
at twenty minutes before twelve, 21st December. He was only
six hours distant from London.
But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg's shoulder,
and, showing his warrant, said, "You are really Phileas Fogg?"
"I am."
"I arrest you in the Queen's name!"
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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 he transferred to London the next day.
Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have
fallen upon Fix had he not been held back by some policemen.
Aouda was thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which
she could not understand. Passepartout explained to her how
it was that the honest and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber.
The young woman's heart revolted against so heinous a charge,
and when she saw that she could attempt to do nothing to save
her protector, she wept bitterly.
As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty,
whether Mr. Fogg 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.
That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment
when he was about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal.
Having arrived at Liverpool at twenty minutes before
twelve on the 21st of December, he had till a quarter before nine
that evening to reach the Reform Club, that is, nine hours and a quarter;
the journey from Liverpool to London was six hours.
If anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House,
he would have found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without
apparent anger, upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true,
resigned; but this last blow failed to force him into an outward
betrayal of any emotion. Was he being devoured by one of those
secret rages, all the more terrible because contained, and which
only burst forth, with an irresistible force, at the last moment?
No one could tell. There he sat, calmly waiting--for what?
Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe, now that the door
of this prison was closed upon him, that he would succeed?
However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch
upon the table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word
escaped his lips, but his look was singularly set and stern.
The situation, in any event, was a terrible one, and might be
thus stated: if Phileas Fogg was honest he was ruined; if he
was a knave, he was caught.
Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were
any practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping
from it? Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room.
But the door was locked, and the window heavily barred with
iron rods. He sat down again, and drew his journal from his pocket.
On the line where these words were written, "21st December,
Saturday, Liverpool," he added, "80th day, 11.40 a.m.," and waited.
The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his watch
was two hours too fast.
Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an
express train, he could reach London and the Reform Club
by a quarter before nine, p.m. His forehead slightly wrinkled.
At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise outside,
then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout's voice was audible,
and immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg's eyes brightened
for an instant.
The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix,
who hurried towards him.
Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not speak.
"Sir," he stammered, "sir--forgive me--most-- unfortunate resemblance--
robber arrested three days ago--you are free!"
Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him steadily
in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever made in his life,
or which he ever would make, drew back his arms, and with the precision
of a machine knocked Fix down.
"Well hit!" cried Passepartout, "Parbleu! that's what
you might call a good application of English fists!"
Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word.
He had only received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout
left the Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a few
moments descended at the station.
Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train
about to leave for London. It was forty minutes past two.
The express train had left thirty-five minutes before.
Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.
There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway arrangements
did not permit the special train to leave until three o'clock.
At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by
the offer of a generous reward, at last set out towards London
with Aouda and his faithful servant.
It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half;
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 behind-hand
five minutes. He had lost the wager!
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Chapter XXXV
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DOES NOT HAVE TO
REPEAT HIS ORDERS TO PASSEPARTOUT TWICE
The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day,
if they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home.
His doors and windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible.
After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions
to purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his 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 honour's sake
than for the stake proposed. But this wager totally ruined him.
Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what remained
for him to do.
A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda,
who was overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune.
From the words which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was
meditating some serious project.
Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort
to the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch
upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so doing.
First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had extinguished
the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days. He had found
in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he thought it more
than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had been doomed to bear.
The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep?
Aouda did not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched
all night, like a faithful dog, at his master's door.
Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get
Aouda's breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself.
He desired Aouda to excuse him from breakfast and dinner,
as his time would be absorbed all day in putting his affairs to rights.
In the evening he would ask permission to have a few moment's
conversation with the young lady.
Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey them.
He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring his mind
to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured by remorse;
for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the cause
of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg,
and had betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would certainly
not have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then--
Passepartout could hold in no longer.
"My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried, "why do you not curse me?
It was my fault that--"
"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness. "Go!"
Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda,
to whom he delivered his master's message.
"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself--nothing!
I have no influence over my master; but you, perhaps--"
"What influence could I have?" replied Aouda. "Mr. Fogg
is influenced by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude
to him is overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend,
he must not be left alone an instant! You say he is going to
speak with me this evening?"
"Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in England."
"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.
Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if uninhabited,
and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in that house,
did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck half-past eleven.
Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer expected
him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on the
evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine),
he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that he should go to
his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists already
had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out
and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their credit.
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.
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."
"So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me
from a terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure
my comfort in a foreign land?"
"Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me.
Still, I beg to place the little I have left at your service."
"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"
"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need of nothing."
"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?"
"As I am in the habit of doing."
"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you.
Your friends--"
"I have no friends, madam."
"Your relatives--"
"I have no longer any relatives."
"I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing,
with no heart to which to confide your griefs. They say,
though, that misery itself, shared by two sympathetic souls,
may be borne with patience."
"They say so, madam."
"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, "do you wish
at once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?"
Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted
light in his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips.
Aouda looked into his face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness,
and sweetness of this soft glance of a noble woman, who could dare
all to save him to whom she owed all, at first astonished,
then penetrated him. He shut his eyes for an instant,
as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again,
"I love you!" he said, simply. "Yes, by all that is holiest,
I love you, and I am entirely yours!"
"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.
Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg
still held Aouda's hand in his own; Passepartout understood,
and his big, round face became as radiant as the tropical sun
at its zenith.
Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify
the Reverend Samuel Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.
Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said,
"Never too late."
It was five minutes past eight.
"Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?"
"For to-morrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.
"Yes; for to-morrow, Monday," she replied.
Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.
You are now at the end of the section:
"Around the World in 80 Days,
Chapters 31-35"
