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Around the World in Eighty Days. Junior Deluxe Edition

by Jules Verne · English · Gutenberg #2154 · 386,837 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Around the World in Eighty Days. Junior Deluxe Edition

Author: Jules Verne


        
Release date: April 1, 2000 [eBook #2154]
                Most recently updated: September 11, 2012

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2154

Credits: Produced by Bill Stoddard


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS. JUNIOR DELUXE EDITION ***




Produced by Bill Stoddard










AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS

By JULES VERNE

Junior Deluxe Edition




CONTENTS


Chapter 1

In Which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Accept Each Other,
the One as Master, the Other as Man


Chapter 2

In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has
at Last Found His Ideal


Chapter 3

In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems
Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly


Chapter 4

In Which Phileas Fogg Astounds Passepartout


Chapter 5

In Which a New Security Appears on the London Exchange


Chapter 6

In Which Fix, the Detective, Betrays a Very Natural Impatience


Chapter 7

Which Once More Demonstrates the Uselessness
of Passports as Aids to Detectives


Chapter 8

In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More,
Perhaps, than Is Prudent


Chapter 9

In Which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean Prove
Propitious to the Designs of Phileas Fogg


Chapter 10

In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad
to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes


Chapter 11

In Which Phileas Fogg Buys a Curious
Means of Conveyance at a Fabulous Price


Chapter 12

In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture
across the Indian Forests, and What Follows


Chapter 13

In Which Passepartout Receives a New Proof
That Fortune Favors the Brave


Chapter 14

In Which Phileas Fogg Descends the Whole Length of the
Beautiful Valley of the Ganges without Ever Thinking of Seeing It


Chapter 15

In Which the Bag of Banknotes Disgorges
Some Thousands of Pounds More


Chapter 16

In Which Fix Does Not Seem to Understand
in the Least What is Said to Him


Chapter 17

Showing What Happened on the Voyage from Singapore to Hong Kong


Chapter 18

In Which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout and Fix
Go Each about His Business


Chapter 19

In Which Passepartout Takes a Too Great Interest in His Master,
and What Comes of It


Chapter 20

In Which Fix Comes Face to Face with Phileas Fogg


Chapter 21

In Which the Master of the Tankadere Runs Great Risk
of Losing a Reward of Two Hundred Pounds


Chapter 22

In Which Passepartout Finds Out That, Even at the Antipodes,
It Is Convenient to Have Some Money in One's Pocket


Chapter 23

In Which Passepartout's Nose Becomes Outrageously Long


Chapter 24

During Which Mr. Fogg and Party Cross the Pacific Ocean


Chapter 25

In Which a Slight Glimpse Is Had of San Francisco


Chapter 26

In Which Phileas Fogg and Party Travel by the Pacific Railroad


Chapter 27

In Which Passepartout Undergoes, at a Speed of
Twenty Miles an Hour, a Course of Mormon History


Chapter 28

In Which Passepartout Does Not Succeed
in Making Anybody Listen to Reason


Chapter 29

In Which Certain Incidents Are Narrated Which
Are Only to Be Met with on American Railroads


Chapter 30

In Which Phileas Fogg Simply Does His Duty


Chapter 31

Fix the Detective Considerably Furthers
the Interests of Phileas Fogg


Chapter 32

In Which Phileas Fogg Engages in a
Direct Struggle with Bad Fortune


Chapter 33

In Which Phileas Fogg Shows Himself Equal to the Occasion


Chapter 34

In Which Phileas Fogg at Last Reaches London


Chapter 35

In Which Phileas Fogg Does Not Have to
Repeat His Orders to Passepartout Twice


Chapter 36

In Which Phileas Fogg's Name Is Once More
at a Premium on the Market


Chapter 37

In Which It Is Shown That Phileas Fogg Gained Nothing
by His Tour around the World Except Happiness




Chapter 1

In Which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Accept Each Other,
the One as Master, the Other as Man


Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No.7, Saville Row, Burlington
Gardens. He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform
Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention. This
Phileas Fogg was a puzzling gentleman, about whom little was
known, except that he was a polished man of the world. People
said that he resembled the poet Byron--at least that his head
was Byronic; but he was a bearded, peaceful Byron, who might live
on a thousand years without growing old.

Certainly Phileas Fogg was an Englishman, but it was more
doubtful whether he was a Londoner. He was never seen on 'Change,
nor at the Bank, nor in the counting-rooms of the "City"; no
ships ever came into London docks of which he was the owner; he
had no public employment; he had never been entered at any of the
Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln's Inn, or Gray's
Inn. Nor had he ever pleaded in the Court of Chancery, or in the
Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench, or the Ecclesiastical Courts. He
certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he a merchant or a
gentleman farmer. His name was strange to the scientific and
learned societies, and he never was known to take part in the
sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London
Institution, the Artisan's Association, or the Institution of
Arts and Sciences. He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous
societies which swarm in the English capital.

Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all. The
way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple
enough.

He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open
credit. His checks were regularly paid at sight from his account
current, which was always flush.

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

Had he traveled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know the
world more familiarly. There was no spot so secluded that he did
not appear to have an intimate acquaintance with it.  He often
corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures
advanced by members of the club as to lost and unheard-of
travelers, pointing out the true probabilities, and seeming as if
gifted with a sort of second sight, so often did events justify
his predictions. He must have traveled everywhere, at least in
the spirit.

It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not been away from
London for many years. Those who were honored by a better
acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could
pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else. His sole pastimes
were reading the papers and playing whist. He often won at this
game, which, as a quiet one, harmonized with his nature; but his
winnings never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for
his charities. Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of
playing. The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a
difficulty, yet a motionless, unwearying struggle, congenial to
his tastes.

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which
may happen to the most honest people; neither relatives nor near
friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his
house in Saville Row, where none ever entered. A single servant
sufficed to serve him. He breakfasted and dined at the club, at
hours mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table,
never taking his meals with other members, much less bringing a
guest with him. He went home at exactly midnight, only to retire
at once to bed. He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform
provides for its favored members. He passed ten hours out of the
twenty-four in Saville Row, either in sleeping or making his
toilet. When he chose to take a walk it was with a regular step
in the entrance hall with its mosaic flooring, or in the circular
gallery with its dome supported by twenty red Ionic
columns, and illumined by blue painted windows. When he
breakfasted or dined all the resources of the club--its
kitchens and pantries, its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his
table with their most succulent foods. He was served by the
gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles,
who presented the viands in special porcelain, and on the finest
linen. Club decanters, of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his
port, and his cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were
refreshingly cooled with ice, brought at great cost from the
American lakes.

If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed
that there is something good in eccentricity.

The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly
comfortable. The habits of its occupant were such as to demand
but little from the sole servant, but Phileas Fogg required him
to be almost superhumanly prompt and regular. On this very 2nd of
October he had dismissed James Forster, because that luckless
youth had brought him shaving-water at eighty-four degrees
Fahrenheit instead of eighty-six; and he was awaiting his successor,
who was due at the house between eleven and half-past eleven.

Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close
together like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting
on his knees, his body straight, his head erect. He was steadily
watching a complicated clock which indicated the hours, the
minutes, the seconds, the days, the months and the years. At
exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would, according to his daily
habit, quit Saville Row, and go to the Reform.

A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment
where Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed
servant, appeared.

"The new servant," said he.

A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.

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

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

"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg. "You are well
recommended to me. I hear a good report of you. You know my
conditions?"

"Yes, monsieur.

"Good! What time is it?"

"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout,
drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.

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

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

"You are four minutes too slow. No matter. It's enough to mention
the error. Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after
eleven, A.M., this Wednesday, the 2nd of October, you are in my
service."

Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his
head with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.

Passepartout heard the street door shut once. It was his new
master going out. He heard it shut again. It was his predecessor,
James Forster, departing in his turn. Passepartout remained alone
in the house in Saville Row.




Chapter 2

In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has
at Last Found His Ideal


"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen
people at Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!"

Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are
much visited in London. Speech is all that is wanting to make
them human.

During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been
carefully observing him. He appeared to be a man about forty
years of age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall,
well-shaped figure. His hair and whiskers were light, his
forehead compact and unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teeth
magnificent. His countenance possessed in the highest degree what
physiognomists call "repose in action," a quality of those who
act rather than talk. Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear eye, Mr.
Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure which
Angelica Kauffmann has so skillfully represented on canvas. Seen
in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of
being perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy
chronometer. Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified,
and this was betrayed even in the expression of his very hands and
feet; for in men, as well as in animals, the limbs themselves are
expressive of the passions.

He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready,
and was economical alike of his steps and his motions. He never
took one step too many, and always went to his destination by the
shortest cut. He made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen
to be moved or agitated. He was the most deliberate person in the
world, yet always reached his destination at the exact moment.

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

As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris. Since he
had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a
valet, he had in vain searched for a master after his own heart.
Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by
Moliere, with a bold gaze and a nose held high in the air. He
was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face, lips a trifle
protruding, soft-mannered and serviceable, with a good round
head, such as one likes to see on the shoulders of a friend. His
eyes were blue, his complexion rosy, his figure full and
well-built, his body muscular, and his physical powers fully
developed by the exercises of his younger days. His brown hair
was somewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors are said
to have known eighteen methods of arranging Minerva's tresses,
Passepartout was familiar with but one way of fixing his own:
three strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.

It would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature
would agree with Mr. Fogg. It was impossible to tell whether the
new servant would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master
required. Experience alone could solve the question. Passepartout
had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned
for repose; but so far he had failed to find it, though he had
already served in ten English houses. But he could not take root
in any of these; with annoyance, he found his masters invariably
whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country, or
on the lookout for adventure. His last master, young Lord
Longferry, Member of Parliament, after passing his nights in the
Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home in the morning on
policemen's shoulders. Passepartout, desirous of respecting the
gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild remark on such conduct;
but when it was ill-received, he took his leave. Hearing that Mr.
Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was one
of unbroken regularity, that he neither traveled nor stayed from
home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was
after. He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.

At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in
the house in Saville Row. He began its inspection without delay,
scouring it from cellar to garret. So clean, well-arranged,
solemn a mansion pleased him. It seemed to him like a snail's
shell, lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these
purposes. When Passepartout reached the second story he
recognized at once the room which he was to inhabit, and he was
well satisfied with it. Electric bells and speaking-tubes
afforded communication with the lower stories. On the mantel
stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's
bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant.
"That's good, that'll do," said Passepartout to himself.

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

Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was completely supplied and in the best
taste. Each pair of trousers, coat and vest bore a number,
indicating the time of year and season at which they were in turn
to be laid out for wearing. The same system was applied to the
master's shoes. In short, the house in Saville Row, which must
have been a very temple of disorder and unrest under the
illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness, comfort and
method idealized. There was no study, nor were there books, which
would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform Club
two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law and
politics, were at his service. A moderate-sized safe stood in his
bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but
Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere.
Everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceful habits.

Having examined the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his
hands, a broad smile spread over his features, and he said
joyfully, "This is just what I wanted!  Ah, we shall get on
together, Mr. Fogg and I! What a domestic and regular gentleman!
A real machine. Well, I don't mind serving a machine."




Chapter 3

In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems
Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly


Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past
eleven, and having put his right foot before his left five
hundred and seventy-five times, and his left foot before his
right five hundred and seventy-six times, reached the Reform
Club, an imposing edifice in Pall Mall, which could not have cost
less than three millions.

He repaired at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which
opened upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already
gilded with an autumn coloring; and took his place at the
habitual table, the cover of which had already been laid for him.
His breakfast consisted of a side-dish, a broiled fish with
Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef garnished with
mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel of
Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with several cups of
tea, for which the Reform is famous.

He rose at thirteen minutes to one, and walked towards the large
hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly framed
paintings. A porter handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded
to cut with a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate
operation. The reading of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until
a quarter before four, while the Standard, his next task,
occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner passed as breakfast had
done, and Mr. Fogg reappeared in the reading-room and sat down to
the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six.

Half an hour later several members of the Reform Club came in and
drew up to the fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning.
They were Mr. Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an
engineer; John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas
Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of
the Bank of England--all rich and highly respectable persons,
even in a club which comprises the princes of English trade and
finance.

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

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

"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands
on the robber. Skillful detectives have been sent to all the
principal ports of America and the Continent, and he'll be a
clever fellow if he slips through their fingers."

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

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

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

"No."

"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then."

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

It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his
newspapers, who made this remark. He bowed to his friends, and
entered into the conversation. The affair which formed its
subject, and which was town talk, had occurred three days before
at the Bank of England. A package of banknotes, to the value of
fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken from the principal
cashier's table, while he was engaged in registering the receipt
of three shillings and sixpence. Of course, he could not have his
eyes everywhere. Let it be observed that the Bank of England has
a touching confidence in the honesty of the public. There are
neither guards nor gratings to protect its treasures; gold,
silver, banknotes are freely exposed, at the mercy of the first
comer. A keen observer of English customs relates that, being in
one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the curiosity to
examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds. He took
it up, scrutinized it, passed it to his neighbor, he to the next
man, and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was
transferred to the end of a dark entry; nor did it return to its
place for half an hour. Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as
raised his head. But in the present instance things had not gone
so smoothly. The package of notes not being found when five
o'clock sounded from the ponderous clock in the "drawing office,"
the amount was passed to the account of profit and loss. As soon
as the robbery was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to
Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York and other
ports, inspired by the promised reward of two thousand pounds,
and five per cent on the sum that might be recovered. Detectives
were also charged with narrowly watching those who arrived at or
left London by rail, and a judicial examination was at once
entered upon.

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

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

"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favor of the
thief, who must be a shrewd fellow."

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

"Pshaw!"

"Where could he go, then?"

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

"It was once," said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone. "Cut, sir," he
added, handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.

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

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

"Certainly," returned Ralph. "I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world
has grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more
quickly than a hundred years ago. And that is why the search for
this thief will be more likely to succeed."

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

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

But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand
was finished, he said eagerly: "You have a strange way, Ralph, of
proving that the world has grown smaller. So, because you can go
round it in three months--"

"In eighty days," interrupted Phileas Fogg.

"That is true, gentlemen," added John Sullivan. "Only eighty
days, now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the
Great Indian Peninsula Railway, has been opened. Here is the
estimate made by the Daily Telegraph:

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

    Total: 80 days"

"Yes, in eighty days!" exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement
made a false deal. "But that doesn't take into account bad
weather, contrary winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so
on."

"All included," returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite
the discussion.

"But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails," replied
Stuart. "Suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage vans,
and scalp the passengers!"

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

Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on:
"You are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically--"

"Practically also, Mr. Stuart."

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

"It depends on you. Shall we go?"

"Heaven preserve me! But I would wager four thousand pounds that
such a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible."

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

"Well, make it, then!"

"The journey round the world in eighty days?"

"Yes."

"I should like nothing better."

"When?"

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

"It's absurd!" cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at
the persistency of his friend. "Come, let's go on with the game."

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

Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand. Then he suddenly
put them down again.

"Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall be so. I will wager the
four thousand on it."

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

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

"All right," said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he
continued: "I have a deposit of twenty thousand at Baring's which
I will willingly risk upon it."

"Twenty thousand pounds!" cried Sullivan. "Twenty thousand
pounds, which you would lose by a single accidental delay!"

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

"But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least
possible time in which the journey can be made."

"A well-used minimum suffices for everything."

"But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically
from the trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon the
trains again."

"I will jump--mathematically."

"You are joking."

"A true Englishman doesn't joke when he is talking about so
serious a thing as a wager," replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly. "I
will bet twenty thousand pounds against anyone who wishes that I
will make the tour of the world in eighty days or less; in
nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or a hundred and fifteen
thousand two hundred minutes. Do you accept?"

"We accept," replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan,
Flanagan and Ralph, after consulting each other.

"Good," said Mr. Fogg. "The train leaves for Dover at a quarter
before nine. I will take it."

"This very evening?" asked Stuart.

"This very evening," returned Phileas Fogg. He took out and
consulted a pocket almanac, and added, "As today is Wednesday,
the 2nd of October, I shall be due in London, in this very room
of the Reform Club, on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a
quarter before nine P.M.; or else the twenty thousand pounds, now
deposited in my name at Baring's, will belong to you, in fact and
in right, gentlemen. Here is a check for the amount."

A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by the
six parties, during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical
composure. He certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked
the twenty thousand pounds, half of his fortune, because he
foresaw that he might have to expend the other half to carry out
this difficult, not to say unattainable, project. As for his
antagonists, they seemed much agitated; not so much by the value
of their stake, as because they had some scruples about betting
under conditions so difficult to their friend.

The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the game
so that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for departure.

"I am quite ready now," was his tranquil response. "Diamonds are
trumps. Be so good as to play, gentlemen."




Chapter 4

In Which Phileas Fogg Astounds Passepartout


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

Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the program of his
duties, was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the
inexactness of appearing at this unaccustomed hour. According to
rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.

Mr. Fogg went to his bedroom, and called out, "Passepartout!"

Passepartout did not reply. It could not be he who was called. It
was not the right hour.

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

Passepartout made his appearance.

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

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

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

A puzzled grin spread over Passepartout's round face. Clearly he
had not comprehended his master.

"Monsieur is going to leave home?"

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

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up
his hands, and seemed about to collapse, so overcome was he with
stupefied astonishment.

"Round the world!" he murmured.

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

"But the trunks?" gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his
head from  right to left.

"We'll have no trunks. Only a carpetbag, with two shirts and
three pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you. We'll buy
our clothes on the way. Bring down my mackintosh and
traveling-cloak, and some stout shoes, though we shall do little
walking. Make haste!"

Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out, mounted
to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered: "That's good,
that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!"

He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure.
Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a fool? No. Was
this a joke, then? They were going to Dover. Good! To Calais.
Good again! After all, Passepartout, who had been away from
France five years, would not be sorry to set foot on his native
soil again. Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would
do his eyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a gentleman
so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt--but, then, it
was none the less true that he was going away, this former
homebody.

By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpetbag,
containing the wardrobes of his master and himself. Then, still
troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and
descended to Mr. Fogg.

Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have been observed
a red-bound copy of Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit
and General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and
departure of steamers and railways. He took the carpetbag, opened
it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes,
which would pass wherever he might go.

"You have forgotten nothing?" he asked.

"Nothing, monsieur."

"My mackintosh and cloak?"

"Here they are.

"Good! Take this carpetbag," handing it to Passepartout. "Take
good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it."

Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand
pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.

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

Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist,
and handed them to the beggar, saying, "Here, my good woman. I'm
glad that I met you"; and passed on.

Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes. His master's
action touched his susceptible heart.

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

"Well, gentlemen," he said, "I'm off, you see; and, if you will
examine my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge
whether I have accomplished the journey agreed upon."

"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph
politely. "We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honor."

"You do not forget when you are due in London again?" asked
Stuart. "In eighty days. On Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872,
at a quarter before nine P.M. Good-by, gentlemen."

Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class
carriage at twenty minutes before nine. Five minutes later the
whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out of the station.

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling. Phileas
Fogg, leaning back in his corner, did not open his lips.
Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung
mechanically to the carpetbag, with its enormous treasure.

Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout
suddenly uttered a cry of despair.

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

"Alas! In my hurry--I--I forgot-"

"What?"

"To turn off the gas in my room!"

"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg, coolly,
"it will burn--at your expense."




Chapter 5

In Which a New Security Appears on the London Exchange


Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London
would create a lively sensation at the West End. The news of the
bet spread through the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting
topic of conversation to its members. From the club it soon got
into the papers throughout England. The boasted "tour of the
world" was talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as
if the subject were another Alabama claim. Some took sides with
Phileas Fogg, but the large majority shook their heads and
declared against him. It was absurd, impossible, they declared,
that the tour of the world could be made, except theoretically
and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the existing
means of traveling. The Times, Standard, Morning Post and Daily
News, and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.
Fogg's project as madness. The Daily Telegraph alone hesitatingly
supported him. People in general thought him a lunatic, and
blamed his Reform Club friends for having accepted a wager which
betrayed the mental aberration of its proposer.

Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the
question, for geography is one of the pet subjects of the
English; and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg's venture were
eagerly devoured by all classes of readers. At first some rash
individuals, principally of the gentler sex, espoused his cause,
which became still more popular when the Illustrated London News
came out with his portrait, copied from a photograph in the
Reform Club. A few readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to
say, "Why not, after all? Stranger things have come to pass."

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

Everything, it said, was against the travelers, every obstacle
imposed alike by man and by nature. A miraculous agreement of the
times of departure and arrival, which was impossible, was
absolutely necessary to his success. He might, perhaps, reckon on
the arrival of trains at the designated hours, in Europe, where
the distances were relatively moderate; but when he calculated
upon crossing India in three days, and the United States in
seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon accomplishing his
task? There were accidents to machinery, the liability of trains
to run off the line, collisions, bad weather, the blocking up by
snow--were not all these against Phileas Fogg? Would he not find
himself, when traveling by steamer in winter, at the mercy of the
winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be
two or three days behind time? But a single delay would suffice
to fatally break the chain of communication. Should Phileas Fogg
once miss, even by an hour, a steamer, he would have to wait
for the next, and that would irrevocably render his attempt
vain.

This article made a great deal of noise, and, being copied into
all the papers, seriously depressed the advocates of the rash
tourist.

Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who are
of a higher class than mere gamblers. To bet is in the English
temperament. Not only the members of the Reform, but the general
public, made heavy wagers for or against Phileas Fogg, who was
set down in the betting books as if he were a race horse. Bonds
were issued, and made their appearance on the Exchange. "Phileas
Fogg bonds" were offered at par or at a premium, and a great
business was done in them. But five days after the article in the
bulletin of the Geographical Society appeared, the demand began
to subside. "Phileas Fogg" declined. They were offered by
packages, at first of five, then of ten, until at last nobody
would take less than twenty, fifty, a hundred!

Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only
advocate of Phileas Fogg left. This noble lord, who was confined
to his chair, would have given his fortune to be able to make the
tour of the world, if it took ten years; and he bet five
thousand pounds on Phileas Fogg. When the folly as well as the
uselessness of the adventure was pointed out to him, he
contented himself with replying, "If the thing is feasible, the
first to do it ought to be an Englishman."

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

The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine
o'clock one evening, when the following telegraphic despatch was
put into his hands:

    Suez to London

    ROWAN, COMMISSIONER OF POLICE, SCOTLAND YARD:

    I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send without delay
    warrant of arrest to Bombay. FIX, Detective

The effect of this despatch was instantaneous. The polished
gentleman disappeared to give place to the bank robber. His
photograph, which was hung with those of the rest of the members
of the Reform Club, was minutely examined, and it betrayed,
feature by feature, the description of the robber which had been
provided to the police. The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg
were recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden departure; and it
seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour round the world on the
pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in view than to elude
the detectives, and throw them off his track.




Chapter 6

In Which Fix, the Detective, Betrays a Very Natural Impatience


The circumstances under which this telegraphic despatch about
Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:

The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental
Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons
burden, and five hundred horsepower, was due at eleven o'clock
A.M. on Wednesday, the 9th of October, at Suez. The Mongolia
plied regularly between Brindisi and Bombay via the Suez Canal,
and was one of the fastest steamers belonging to the company,
always making more than ten knots an hour between Brindisi and
Suez, and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.

Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd
of natives and strangers who were sojourning at this once
straggling village--now, thanks to the enterprise of M.
Lesseps, a fast-growing town. One was the British consul at Suez,
who, despite the prophecies of the English Government, and the
unfavorable predictions of Stephenson, was in the habit of
seeing, from his office window, English ships daily passing to
and fro on the great canal, by which the old roundabout route
from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was cut by at
least a half. The other was a small, slight-built person, with a
nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering out from under
eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching. He was just now
manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing up
and down, and unable to stand still for a moment. This was Fix,
one of the detectives who had been despatched from England in
search of the bank robber. It was his task to narrowly watch
every passenger who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who
seemed to be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the
description of the criminal, which he had received two days
before from the police headquarters at London. The detective was
evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining the splendid reward
which would be the prize of success, and awaited with a feverish
impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the steamer
Mongolia.

"So you say, consul," he asked for the twentieth time, "that this
steamer is never behind time?"

"No, Mr. Fix," replied the consul. "She was signaled yesterday at
Port Said, and the rest of the way is of no account to such a
craft. I repeat that the Mongolia has been in advance of the time
required by the company's regulations, and gained the prize
awarded for excess of speed."

"Does she come directly from Brindisi?"

"Directly from Brindisi. She takes on the Indian mails there, and
she left there Saturday at five P.M. Have patience, Mr. Fix. She
will not be late. But really, I don't see how, from the
description you have, you will be able to recognize your man,
even if he is on board the Mongolia."

"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than
recognizes them. You must have a scent for them, and a scent is
like a sixth sense which combines hearing, seeing, and smelling.
I've arrested more than one of these gentlemen in my time, and,
if my thief is on board, I'll answer for it. He'll not slip
through my fingers."

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

"A magnificent robbery, consul. Fifty-five thousand pounds! We
don't often have such windfalls. Burglars are getting to be so
contemptible nowadays! A fellow gets hung for a handful of
shillings!"

"Mr. Fix," said the consul, "I like your way of talking, and hope
you'll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from easy. Don't
you see, the description which you have there has a singular
resemblance to an honest man?"

"Consul," remarked the detective, dogmatically, "great robbers
always resemble honest folks. Fellows who have rascally faces
have only one course to take, and that is to remain honest;
otherwise they would be arrested offhand. The artistic thing is
to unmask honest countenances. It's no light task, I admit, but a
real art."

Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a tinge of self-conceit.

Little by little the scene on the quay became more animated.
Sailors of various nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters,
fellahs, bustled to and fro as if the steamer were immediately
expected. The weather was clear, and slightly chilly. The
minarets of the town loomed above the houses in the pale rays of
the sun. A jetty pier, some two thousand yards along, extended
into the roadstead. A number of fishing smacks and coasting
boats, some retaining the fantastic fashion of ancient galleys,
were discernible on the Red Sea.

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

It was now half-past ten.

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

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

"How long will she stop at Suez?"

"Four hours. Long enough to get in her coal. It is thirteen
hundred and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the
Red Sea, and she has to take in a fresh coal supply."

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

"Without putting in anywhere."

"Good!" said Fix. "If the robber is on board he will no doubt get
off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies
in Asia by some other route. He ought to know that he would not
be safe an hour in India, which is English soil."

"Unless," objected the consul, "he is exceptionally shrewd. An
English criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London
than anywhere else."

This observation furnished the detective food for thought, and
meanwhile the consul went away to his office. Fix, left alone,
was more impatient than ever, having a presentiment that the
robber was on board the Mongolia. If he had indeed left London
intending to reach the New World, he would naturally take the
route via India, which was less watched and more difficult to
watch than that of the Atlantic. But Fix's reflections were soon
interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which announced
the arrival of the Mongolia. The porters and fellahs rushed down
the quay, and a dozen boats pushed off from the shore to go and
meet the steamer. Soon her gigantic hull appeared passing along
between the banks, and eleven o'clock struck as she anchored in
the road. She brought an unusual number of passengers, some of
whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama of the
town, while the greater part disembarked in the boats, and landed
on the quay.

Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face and
figure which made its appearance. Presently one of the
passengers, after vigorously pushing his way through the
importunate crowd of porters, came up to him and politely asked
if he could point out the English consulate, at the same time
showing a passport which he wished to have visaed. Fix
instinctively took the passport, and with a rapid glance read the
description of its bearer. An involuntary motion of surprise
nearly escaped him, for the description in the passport was
identical with that of the hank robber which he had received from
Scotland Yard.

"Is this your passport?" he asked.

"No, it's my master's."

"And your master is--"

"He stayed on board."

"But he must go to the consul's in person, so as to establish his
identity."

"Oh, is that necessary?"

"Quite indispensable."

"And where is the consulate?"

"There, on the corner of the square," said Fix, pointing to a
house two hundred steps off.

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

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




Chapter 7

Which Once More Demonstrates the Uselessness
of Passports as Aids to Detectives


The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to
the consul's office, where he was at once admitted to the
presence of that official.

"Consul," he said, without preamble, "I have strong reasons for
believing that my man is a passenger on the Mongolia." And he
narrated what had just passed concerning the passport.

"Well, Mr. Fix," replied the consul, "I shall not be sorry to see
the rascal's face, but perhaps he won't come here--that is, if
he is the person you suppose him to be. A robber doesn't quite
like to leave traces of his flight behind him; and, besides, he
is not obliged to have his passport countersigned."

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

"To have his passport visaed?"

"Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks, and
aiding in the flight of rogues. I assure you it will be quite the
thing for him to do; but I hope you will not visa the passport."

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

"Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to
arrest him from London."

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

The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock
was heard at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was
the servant whom Fix had met on the quay. The other, who was his
master, held out his passport with the request that the consul
would do him the favor to visa it. The consul took the document
and carefully read it, while Fix observed, or rather devoured,
the stranger with his eyes from a corner of the room.

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

"I am."

"And this man is your servant?"

"He is, a Frenchman, named Passepartout."

"You are from London?"

"Yes."

"And you are going--"

"To Bombay."

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

"I know it, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, "but I wish to prove, by
your visa, that I came by Suez."

"Very well, sir."

The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after which
he added his official seal. Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee,
coldly bowed, and went out, followed by his servant.

"Well?" queried the detective.

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

"Possibly; but that is not the question. Do you think, consul,
that this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature, the
robber whose description I have received?"

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

"I'll make certain of it," interrupted Fix. "The servant seems to
me less mysterious than the master; besides, he's a Frenchman,
and can't help talking. Excuse me for a little while, consul."

Fix started off in search of Passepartout.

Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the
quay, gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to the Mongolia
in a boat, and descended to his cabin. He took up his notebook,
which contained the following memoranda:

    "Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8:45 P.M.
    "Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7:20 A.M.
    "Left Paris, Thursday, at 8:40 A.M.
    "Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6:35 AM.
    "Left Turin, Friday, at 7:20 A.M.
    "Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October 5th, at 4 P.M.
    "Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 P.M.
    "Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 A.M.
    "Total of hours spent, 158-1/2; or, in days, six days and a half."

These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns,
indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the
stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point--Paris,
Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama,
San Francisco, New York and London--from the 2nd of October to
the 21st of December; and giving a space for setting down the
gain made or the loss suffered on arrival at each locality. This
methodical record thus contained an account of everything needed,
and Mr. Fogg always knew whether he was behind or in advance of
his time. On this Friday, October 9th, he noted his arrival at
Suez, and observed that he had as yet neither gained nor lost. He
sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never once thinking
of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who are
wont to see foreign countries through the eyes of their servants.




Chapter 8

In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More,
Perhaps, than Is Prudent


Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking
about on the quay, as if he did not feel that he, at least, was
obliged not to see anything.

"Well, my friend," said the detective, coming up with him, "is
your passport visaed?"

"Ah, it's you, is it, monsieur?" responded Passepartout.
"Thanks, yes, the passport is all right."

"And you are looking about you?"

"Yes, but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a
dream. So this is Suez?"

"Yes."

"In Egypt?"

"Certainly, in Egypt."

"And in Africa?"

"In Africa."

"In Africa!" repeated Passepartout. "Just think, monsieur, I had
no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw
of Paris was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes
before nine in the morning, between the Northern and the Lyons
stations, through the windows of a car, and in a driving rain!
How I regret not having seen once more Pere la Chaise and the
circus in the Champs Elysees!"

"You are in a great hurry, then?"

"I am not, but my master is. By the way, I must buy some shoes
and shirts. We came away without trunks, only with a carpetbag."

"I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you
want."

"Really, monsieur, you are very kind."

And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as
they went along.

"Above all," he said; "don't let me lose the steamer."

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

Passepartout pulled out his big watch. "Twelve!" he exclaimed.
"Why, it's only eight minutes before ten."

"Your watch is slow."

"My watch? A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from my
great-grandfather! It doesn't vary five minutes in the year. It's
a perfect chronometer, look you.

"I see how it is," said Fix. "You have kept London time, which is
two hours behind that of Suez. You ought to regulate your watch
at noon in each country."

"I regulate my watch? Never!"

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

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

And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a
defiant gesture. After a few minutes' silence, Fix resumed: "You
left London hastily, then?"

"I rather think so! Last Friday at eight o'clock in the evening,
Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three-quarters of an
hour afterwards we were off."

"But where is your master going?"

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

"Round the world?" cried Fix.

"Yes, and in eighty days! He says it is on a wager; but, between
us, I don't believe a word of it. That wouldn't be common sense.
There's something else in the wind."

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

"I should say he was."

"Is he rich?"

"No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in
brand-new banknotes with him. And he doesn't spare the money on
the way, either. He has offered a large  reward to the engineer
of the Mongolia if he gets us to Bombay well in advance of time."

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

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

The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious and
excited detective may be imagined. The hasty departure from
London soon after the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr. Fogg;
his eagerness to reach distant countries; the pretext of an
eccentric and foolhardy bet--all confirmed Fix in his theory. He
continued to pump poor Passepartout, and learned that he really
knew little or nothing of his master, who lived a solitary
existence in London, was said to be rich, though no one knew from
where his riches came, and was mysterious and impenetrable in his
affairs and habits. Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg would not
land at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.

"Is Bombay far from here?" asked Passepartout.

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

"And in what country is Bombay?"

"India."

"In Asia?"

"Certainly."

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

"What burner?"

"My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this
moment burning--at my expense. I have calculated, monsieur, that
I lose two shillings every four and twenty hours, exactly
sixpence more than I earn; and you will understand that the
longer our journey--"

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

"Consul," said he, "I have no longer any doubt. I have spotted my
man. He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round the
world in eighty days."

"Then he's a sharp fellow," returned the consul, "and counts on
returning to London after putting the police of the two countries
off his track."

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

"But are you not mistaken?"

"I am not mistaken."

"Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa, that he
had passed through Suez?"

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

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

"In short," said the consul, "appearances are wholly against this
man. And what are you going to do?"

"Send a despatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be
despatched instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the
Mongolia, follow my rogue to India, and there, on English ground,
arrest him politely, with my warrant in my hand, and my hand on
his shoulder."

Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the
detective took leave of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph
office, where he sent the despatch which we have seen to the
London police office. A quarter of an hour later found Fix, with
a small bag in his hand, proceeding on board the Mongolia; and,
before many more moments, the noble steamer rode out at full
steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.




Chapter 9

In Which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean Prove
Propitious to the Designs of Phileas Fogg


The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred
and ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the
steamers one hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse
it. The Mongolia, thanks to the vigorous exertions of the
engineer, seemed likely, so rapid was her speed, to reach her
destination considerably within that time. The greater part of
the passengers from Brindisi were bound for India--some for
Bombay, others for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the nearest route
there, now that a railway crosses the Indian peninsula.

Among the passengers was a number of officials and military
officers of various grades, the latter being either attached to
the regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops, and
receiving high salaries ever since the central government has
assumed the powers of the East India Company.

What with the military men, a number of rich young Englishmen on
their travels, and the hospitable efforts of the purser, the time
passed quickly on the Mongolia. The best of fare was spread upon
the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch, dinner and the eight
o'clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously changed their attire
twice a day. The hours were whirled away, when the sea was
tranquil, with music, dancing and games.

But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like
most long and narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African
or Asian coast the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled
fearfully. Then the ladies speedily disappeared below; the pianos
were silent; singing and dancing suddenly ceased. Yet the good
ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind or wave, towards
the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. What was Phileas Fogg doing all
this time? It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would be
constantly watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly
raging of the billows--every change, in short, which might force
the Mongolia to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his
journey. But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not
betray the fact by any outward sign.

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no
incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship's chronometers,
and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he
passed through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold
indifference. He did not care to recognize the historic towns and
villages which, along its borders, raised their picturesque
outlines against the sky; and betrayed no fear of the dangers of
the Arabic Gulf, which the old historians always spoke of with
horror, and upon which the ancient navigators never ventured
without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices. How did this
eccentric personage pass his time on the Mongolia? He made his
four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent
rolling and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played
whist indefatigably, for he had found partners as enthusiastic in
the game as himself. A tax-collector, on the way to his post at
Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith, returning to his parish at Bombay;
and a brigadier-general of the English army, who was about to
rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party, and, with Mr.
Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence.

As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped seasickness, and took
his meals conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed
the voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great
interest in the scenes through which they were passing, and
consoled himself with the delusion that his master's whim would
end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day after leaving Suez, to
find on deck the obliging person with whom he had walked and
chatted on the quays.

"If I am not mistaken," he said, approaching this person, with
his most amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly
volunteered to guide me at Suez?"

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

"Just so, monsieur--"

"Fix."

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

"Like you, to Bombay."

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

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

"Then you know India?"

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

"A curious place, this India?"

"Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas,
tigers, snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see
the sights."

"I hope so, Monsieur Fix. You see, a man of sound sense ought not
to spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train,
and from a railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make
the tour of the world in eighty days! No, all these gymnastics,
you may be sure, will cease at Bombay."

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

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

"But I never see your master on deck."

"Never. He hasn't the least curiosity."

"Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in
eighty days may conceal some secret errand--perhaps a
diplomatic mission?"

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

After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of
chatting together, the latter making it a point to gain the
worthy man's confidence. He frequently offered him a glass of
whiskey or pale ale in the steamer bar-room, which Passepartout
never failed to accept with graceful alacrity, mentally
pronouncing Fix the best of good fellows.

Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly. On the 13th,
Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls where date-trees were
growing, was sighted, and on the mountains beyond vast
coffee-fields were seen. Passepartout was ravished to behold this
celebrated place, and thought that, with its circular walls and
dismantled fort, it looked like an immense coffee-cup and saucer.

The following night they passed through the Strait of
Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic "The Bridge of Tears," and
the next day they put in at Steamer Point, northwest of Aden
harbor, to take in coal. This matter of fueling steamers is a
serious one at such distances from the coal-mines. It costs the
Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a year. In
these distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds sterling a
ton.

The Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to
traverse before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four
hours at Steamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was
foreseen, did not affect Phileas Fogg's program; besides, the
Mongolia, instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th,
when she was due, arrived there on the evening of the 14th, a
gain of fifteen hours.

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the
passport again visaed. Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa
procured, Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits;
while Passepartout, according to custom, sauntered about among
the mixed population of Somanlis, Banyas, Parsees, Jews, Arabs
and Europeans who comprise the twenty-five thousand inhabitants
of Aden. He gazed with wonder upon the fortifications which make
this place the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast
cisterns where the English engineers were still at work, two
thousand years after the engineers of Solomon.

"Very curious, very curious," said Passepartout to himself, on
returning to the steamer. "I see that it is by no means useless
to travel, if a man wants to see something new."

At six P.M. the Mongolia slowly moved out of the roadstead, and
was soon once more on the Indian Ocean. She had a hundred and
sixty-eight hours in which to reach Bombay, and the sea was
favorable, the wind being in the north-west, and all sails aiding
the engine. The steamer rolled but little; the ladies, in fresh
dresses, reappeared on deck; and the singing and dancing were
resumed. The trip was being accomplished most successfully, and
Passepartout was enchanted with the congenial companion which
chance had secured him in the person of the delightful Fix.

On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they came in sight of the
Indian coast. Two hours later the pilot came on board. A range of
hills lay against the sky in the horizon, and soon the rows of
palms which adorn Bombay came distinctly into view. The steamer
entered the road formed by the islands in the bay, and at
half-past four she hauled up at the quays of Bombay.

Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber
of the voyage, and his partner and himself having, by a bold
stroke, captured all thirteen of the tricks, concluded this fine
campaign with a brilliant victory.

The Mongolia was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the
20th. This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his
departure from London, and he calmly entered the fact in the
itinerary, in the column of gains.




Chapter 10

In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad
to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes


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

But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven
hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one
hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A
considerable portion of India is still free from British
authority; and there are certain ferocious rajahs in the interior
who are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company
was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a
foothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down to
the time of the great Sepoy insurrection. It gradually annexed
province after province, purchasing them of the native chiefs,
whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and his
subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has
now passed away, leaving the British possessions in India
directly under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the
country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, is
daily changing.

Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old unwieldy
methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or
unwieldy coaches. Now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the
Ganges, and a great railway, with branch lines joining the main
line at many points on its route, traverses the peninsula from
Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in a
direct line across India. The distance between Bombay and
Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one thousand to eleven
hundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase this
distance by more than a third.

The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as
follows: Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to
the continent opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western
Ghauts, runs thence northeast as far as Burhampoor, skirts the
nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to
Allahabad, turns towards the east, meeting the Ganges at Benares,
then departs from the river a little, and, descending
southeastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor,
ends at Calcutta.

The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half-past four P.M.
At exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.

Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-by to his whist partners, left the
steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon
him to be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his
regular step, which beat to the second, like an astronomical
clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for
the wonders of Bombay--its famous city hall, its splendid
library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues,
its Armenian churches and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with
its two polygonal towers--he cared not a straw to see them. He
would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or
the mysterious hypogea, concealed southeast from the docks, or
those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian
grottoes of the island of Salcette.

Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas
Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered
dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord
especially recommended a certain giblet of "native rabbit," on
which he prided himself.

Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced
sauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord,
and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, "Is
this rabbit, Sir?"

"Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly replied, "rabbit from the
jungles."

"And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?"

"Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew! I swear to you--"

"Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats
were formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a
good time."

"For the cats, my lord?"

"Perhaps for the travelers as well."

After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.

Meanwhile Fix had gone on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his
first destination was the headquarters of the Bombay police. He
made himself known as a London detective, told his business at
Bombay, and the position of affairs relative to the supposed
robber, and nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London.
It had not reached the office; indeed, there had not yet been
time for it to arrive. Fix was very disappointed, and tried to
obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police.
But the director refused, as the matter concerned the London
office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did
not insist, and resigned himself to await the arrival of the
important document. But he was determined not to lose sight of
the mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay. He did not
doubt for a moment, any more than Passepartout, that Phileas
Fogg would remain there, at least until it was time for the
warrant to arrive.

Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master's orders on
leaving the Mongolia than he saw at once that they were to leave
Bombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey
would be extended at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond
that place. He began to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg
talked about was not really in good earnest, and whether his fate
was not in truth forcing him, despite his love of repose, around
the world in eighty days!

Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a
leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of
many nationalities--Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas
with round turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with
black mitres and long-robed Armenians--were collected. It
happened to be the day of a Parsee festival. These descendants of
the sect of Zoroaster--the most thrifty, civilized, intelligent
and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted the
richest native merchants of Bombay--were celebrating a sort of
religious carnival, with processions and shows, in the midst of
which Indian dancing-girls, clothed in rose-colored gauze, looped
up with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect modesty,
to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines. It is
needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious
ceremonies with staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his
countenance was that of the greenest booby imaginable.

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

Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple
tourist, and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin
ornamentation which everywhere met his eyes, when suddenly he
found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up to
behold three enraged priests, who fell upon him, tore off his
shoes and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations. The
agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in
knocking down two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists
and vigorous kicks. Then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as
his legs could carry him, he escaped the third priest by mingling
with the crowd in the streets.

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

Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he
was really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform.
He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and
farther, if necessary. Passepartout did not observe the
detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix heard him
relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.

"I hope that this will not happen again," said Phileas Fogg
coldly, as he got into the train. Poor Passepartout, quite
crest-fallen, followed his master without a word. Fix was on the
point of entering another carriage, when an idea struck him which
induced him to alter his plan.

"No, I'll stay," muttered he. "An offence has been committed on
Indian soil. I've got my man."

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




Chapter 11

In Which Phileas Fogg Buys a Curious
Means of Conveyance at a Fabulous Price


The train had started punctually. Among the passengers were a
number of officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo
merchants, whose business called them to the eastern coast.

Passepartout rode in the same carriage with his master, and a
third passenger occupied a seat opposite to them. This was
Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr. Fogg's whist partners on the
Mongolia, now on his way to join his corps at Benares.

Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty, who had greatly
distinguished himself in the last Sepoy revolt. He made India his
home, only paying brief visits to England at rare intervals; and
was almost as familiar as a native with the customs, history and
character of India and its people. But Phileas Fogg, who was not
traveling, but only describing a circumference, took no pains to
inquire into these subjects. He was a solid body, traversing an
orbit around the terrestrial globe, according to the laws of
rational mechanics. He was at this moment calculating in his mind
the number of hours spent since his departure from London, and,
had it been in his nature to make a useless demonstration, would
have rubbed his hands for satisfaction.

Sir Francis Cromarty had observed the oddity of his traveling
companion--although the only opportunity he had for studying him
had been while he was dealing the cards, and between two
rubbers--and questioned himself whether a human heart really beat
beneath this cold exterior, and whether Phileas Fogg had any
sense of the beauties of nature. The brigadier-general was free
to mentally confess that, of all the eccentric persons he had
ever met, none was comparable to this product of the exact
sciences.

Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his design of
going round the world, nor the circumstances under which he set
out; and the general only saw in the wager a useless eccentricity
and a lack of sound common sense. In the way this strange
gentleman was going on, he would leave the world without having
done any good to himself or anybody else.

An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts
and the Island of Salcette, and had traveled into the open
country. At Callyan they reached the junction of the branch line
which descends towards southeastern India by Kandallah and
Pounah; and, passing Pauwell, they entered the defiles of the
mountains, with their basalt bases, and their summits crowned
with thick and verdant forests. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis
Cromarty exchanged a few words from time to time, and now Sir
Francis, reviving the conversation, observed, "Some years ago,
Mr. Fogg, you would have met with a delay at this point which
would probably have lost you your wager."

"How so, Sir Francis?"

"Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains, and
the passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on ponies
to Kandallah, on the other side."

"Such a delay would not have spoiled my plans in the least," said
Mr. Fogg. "I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of
certain obstacles."

"But, Mr. Fogg," pursued Sir Francis, "you run the risk of having
some difficulty about this worthy fellow's adventure at the
pagoda." Passepartout, his feet comfortably wrapped in his
traveling blanket, was sound asleep and did not dream that
anybody was talking about him. "The Government is very severe
about that kind of offence. It takes particular care that the
religious customs of the Indians should be respected, and if your
servant were caught--"

"Very well, Sir Francis," replied Mr. Fogg; "if he had been
caught he would have been condemned and punished,
and then would have quietly returned to Europe. I don't
see how this affair could have delayed his master."

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

Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realize that
he was actually crossing India in a railway train. The
locomotive, guided by an English engineer and fed with English
coal, threw out its smoke upon cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove and
pepper plantations, while the steam curled in spirals around
groups of palm-trees, in the midst of which were seen
picturesque bungalows, viharis (like abandoned monasteries) and
marvelous temples enriched by the exhaustless ornamentation of
Indian architecture.

Then they came upon vast tracts extending to the horizon, with
jungles inhabited by snakes and tigers, which fled at the noise
of the train; succeeded by forests penetrated by the railway, and
still haunted by elephants which, with pensive eyes, gazed at the
train as it passed. The travelers crossed, beyond Milligaum, the
fatal country so often stained with blood by the sectaries of the
goddess Kali. Not far off rose Ellora, with its graceful pagodas,
and the famous Aurungabad, capital of the ferocious Aureng-Zeb,
now the chief town of one of the detached provinces of the
kingdom of the Nizam. It was thereabouts that Feringhea, the
Thuggee chief, king of the stranglers, held his sway. These
ruffians, united by a secret bond, strangled victims of every age
in honor of the goddess Death, without ever shedding blood. There
was a period when this part of the country could scarcely be
traveled over without corpses being found in every direction. The
English Government has succeeded in greatly diminishing these
murders, though the Thuggees still exist, and pursue the exercise
of their horrible rites.

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

Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie. Up to his
arrival at Bombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey
would end there; but, now that they were plainly whirling across
India at full speed, a sudden change had come over the spirit of
his dreams. His old vagabond nature returned to him. The
fantastic ideas of his youth once more took possession of him. He
came to regard his master's project as intended in good earnest,
believed in the reality of the bet, and therefore in the tour of
the world and the necessity of making it without fail within the
designated period. Already he began to worry about possible
delays, and accidents which might happen on the way. He
recognized himself as being personally interested in the wager,
and trembled at the thought that he might have been the means of
losing it by his unpardonable folly of the night before. Being
much less cool-headed than Mr. Fogg, he was much more restless,
counting and recounting the days passed over, uttering
maledictions when the train stopped, and accusing it of
sluggishness, and mentally blaming Mr. Fogg for not having bribed
the engineer. The worthy fellow was ignorant that, while it was
possible by such means to hasten the rate of a steamer, it could
not be done on the railway.

The train entered the defiles of the Sutpour Mountains, which
separate the Khandeish from Bundelcund, towards evening. The next
day Sir Francis Cromarty asked Passepartout what time it was; to
which, on consulting his watch, he replied that it was three in
the morning. This famous timepiece, always regulated on the
Greenwich meridian, which was now some seventy-seven degrees
westward, was at least four hours slow. Sir Francis corrected
Passepartout's time. But Passepartout made the same remark that
he had done to Fix; and upon the general insisting that the watch
should be regulated in each new meridian, since he was constantly
going eastward, that is in the face of the sun, and therefore the
days were shorter by four minutes for each degree gone over,
Passepartout obstinately refused to alter his watch, which he
kept at London time. It was an innocent delusion which could harm
no one.

The train stopped at eight o'clock in the midst of a glade some
fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows,
and workmen's cabins. The conductor, passing along the
carriages, shouted, "Passengers will get out here!"

Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation;
but the general did not know why a halt had been called in the
midst of this forest of dates and acacias.

Passepartout, not less surprised, rushed out and speedily
returned, crying: "Monsieur, no more railway!"

"What do you mean?" asked Sir Francis.

"I mean to say that the train isn't going on."

The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly
followed him, and they proceeded together to the conductor.

"Where are we?" asked Sir Francis.

"At the hamlet of Kholby."

"Do we stop here?"

"Certainly. The railway isn't finished."

"What! Not finished?"

"No. There's still a matter of fifty miles to be laid from here
to Allahabad, where the line begins again."

"But the papers announced the opening of the railway throughout."

"What would you have, officer? The papers were mistaken."

"Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta," retorted Sir
Francis, who was growing warm.

"No doubt," replied the conductor; "but the passengers know that
they must provide means of transportation for themselves from
Kholby to Allahabad."

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

"Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg quietly, "we will, if you please,
look about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad."

"Mr. Fogg, this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage."

"No, Sir Francis; it was foreseen."

"What! You knew that the way--"

"Not at all; but I knew that some obstacle or other would sooner
or later arise on my route. Nothing, therefore, is lost. I have
two days, which I have already gained, to sacrifice. A steamer
leaves Calcutta for Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th. This is the
22nd, and we shall reach Calcutta in time."

There was nothing to say to so confident a response.

It was but too true that the railway came to a termination at
this point. The papers were like some watches, which have a way
of running too fast, and had been premature in their announcement
of the completion of the line. The greater part of the travelers
were aware of this interruption, and, leaving the train, they
began to engage such vehicles as the village could
provide--four-wheeled palkigharis, wagons drawn by zebus, carriages
that looked like perambulating pagodas, palanquins, ponies, and what
not.

Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, after searching the village
from end to end, came back without having found anything.

"I shall go afoot," said Phileas Fogg.

Passepartout, who had now rejoined his master, made a wry
grimace, as he thought of his magnificent, but too frail Indian
shoes. Happily he too had been looking about him, and, after a
moment's hesitation, said, "Monsieur, I think I have found a
means of conveyance."

"What?"

"An elephant! An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives but
a hundred steps from here."

"Let's go and see the elephant," replied Mr. Fogg.

They soon reached a small hut, near which, enclosed within some
high palings, was the animal in question. An Indian came out
of the hut, and, at their request, conducted them within
the enclosure. The elephant, which its owner had reared,
not for a beast of burden, but for warlike purposes, was half
domesticated. The Indian had begun already, by often irritating
him, and feeding him every three months on sugar and butter, to
impart to him a ferocity not in his nature, this method being
often employed by those who train the Indian elephants for
battle. Happily, however, for Mr. Fogg, the animal's instruction
in this direction had not gone far, and the elephant still
preserved his natural gentleness.

Kiouni--this was the name of the beast--could doubtless travel
rapidly for a long time, and, without any other means of
conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him. But elephants are far
from cheap in India, where they are becoming scarce; the males,
which alone are suitable for circus shows, are much sought,
especially as but few of them are domesticated. When therefore
Mr. Fogg proposed to the Indian to hire Kiouni, he refused
point-blank.

Mr. Fogg persisted, offering the excessive sum of ten pounds an
hour for the loan of the beast to Allahabad. Refused. Twenty
pounds? Refused also. Forty pounds? Still refused. Passepartout
jumped at each advance; but the Indian declined to be tempted.
Yet the offer was an alluring one, for, supposing it took the
elephant fifteen hours to reach Allahabad, his owner would
receive no less than six hundred pounds sterling.

Phileas Fogg, without getting in the least flurried, then
proposed to purchase the animal outright, and at first offered a
thousand pounds for him. The Indian, perhaps thinking he was
going to make a great bargain, still refused.

Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr. Fogg aside, and begged him to
reflect before he went any further. Mr. Fogg replied that he was
not in the habit of acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand
pounds was at stake, that the elephant was absolutely necessary
to him, and that he would secure him if he had to pay twenty
times his value. Returning to the Indian, whose small, sharp
eyes, glistening with avarice, betrayed that with him it was only
a question of how great a price he could obtain. Mr. Fogg offered
first twelve hundred, then fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two
thousand pounds. Passepartout, usually so ruddy, was fairly white
with suspense.

At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.

"What a price, good heavens!" cried Passepartout, "for an
elephant!"

It only remained now to find a guide, which was comparatively
easy. A young Parsee, with an intelligent face, offered his
services, which Mr. Fogg accepted, promising so generous a reward
as to materially stimulate his zeal. The elephant was led out and
equipped. The Parsee, who was an accomplished elephant driver,
covered his back with a sort of saddle-cloth, and attached to
each of his flanks some curiously uncomfortable howdahs.

Phileas Fogg paid the Indian with some banknotes which he
extracted from the famous carpetbag, a proceeding that seemed to
deprive poor Passepartout of his vitals. Then he offered to carry
Sir Francis to Allahabad, which the brigadier gratefully
accepted, as one traveler the more would not be likely to fatigue
the gigantic beast. Provisions were purchased at Kholby, and,
while Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg took the howdahs on either side,
Passepartout got astride the saddle-cloth between them. The
Parsee perched himself on the elephant's neck, and at nine
o'clock they set out from the village, the animal marching off
through the dense forest of palms by the shortest cut.




Chapter 12

In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture
across the Indian Forests, and What Follows


In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of
the line where the railway was still in process of being built.
This line, owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia
Mountains, did not pursue a straight course. The Parsee, who was
quite familiar with the roads and paths in the district, declared
that they would gain twenty miles by striking directly through
the forest.

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the
peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the
swift trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by the
skillful Parsee. But they endured the discomfort with true
British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catch a
glimpse of each other.

As for Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast's back, and
received the direct force of each concussion as he walked along,
he was very careful, in accordance with his master's advice, to
keep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise
have been bitten off short. The worthy fellow bounced from the
elephant's neck to his rump, and vaulted like a clown on a
spring-board; yet he laughed in the midst of his bouncing, and
from time to time took a piece of sugar out of his pocket, and
inserted it in Kiouni's trunk, who received it without in the
least slackening his regular trot.

After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an
hour for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at
a neighboring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs
round about him. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted the
delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief. "Why, he's
made of iron!" exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on
Kiouni.

"Of forged iron," replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing
a hasty breakfast.

At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country soon
presented a very savage aspect. Copses of dates and dwarf-palms
succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains, dotted with
scanty shrubs, and sown with great blocks of syenite. All this
portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented by travelers,
is inhabited by a fanatical population, hardened in the most
horrible practices of the Hindoo faith. The English have not been
able to secure complete dominion over this territory, which is
subjected to the influence of rajahs, whom it is almost
impossible to reach in their inaccessible mountain retreats. The
travelers several times saw bands of ferocious Indians, who, when
they perceived the elephant striding across-country, made angry
and threatening motions. The Parsee avoided them as much as
possible. Few animals were observed on the route. Even the
monkeys hurried from their path with contortions and grimaces
which convulsed Passepartout with laughter.

In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the
worthy servant. What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he
got to Allahabad? Would he carry him on with him? Impossible! The
cost of transporting him would make him ruinously expensive.
Would he sell him, or set him free? The estimable beast certainly
deserved some consideration. Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him,
Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much
embarrassed. These thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long
time.

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

The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a
few dry branches, and the warmth was much appreciated. Provisions
purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travelers ate
ravenously. The conversation, beginning with a few disconnected
phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores. The guide
watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself against
the trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to
disturb the slumberers, although occasional growls from panthers
and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the more formidable
beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against the
occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily, like an
honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in
uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg,
he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene
mansion in Saville Row.

The journey was resumed at six in the morning. The guide hoped to
reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would only
lose a part of the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning of
the tour. Kiouni, resuming his rapid gait, soon descended the
lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noon they passed by the
village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches of the
Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer to
keep the open country, which lies along the first depressions of
the basin of the great river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles
to the northeast They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit
of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was
eaten and appreciated.

At two o'clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended
several miles. He preferred to travel under cover of the woods.
They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the
journey seemed on the point of being successfully accomplished,
when the elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped.

It was then four o'clock.

"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.

"I don't know, officer," replied the Parsee, listening
attentively to a confused murmur which came through the thick
branches.

The murmur soon became more distinct. It now seemed like a
distant concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments.
Passepartout was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg patiently waited
without a word. The Parsee jumped to the ground, fastened the
elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket. He soon
returned, saying: "A procession of Brahmins is coming this way.
We must prevent their seeing us, if possible."

The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at
the same time asking the travelers not to stir. He held himself
ready to bestride the animal at a moment's notice, should flight
become necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession of
the faithful would pass without perceiving them amid the thick
foliage, in which they were wholly concealed.

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

Sir Francis, recognizing the statue, whispered, "The goddess
Kali. The goddess of love and death."

"Of death, perhaps," muttered Passepartout, "but of love--that
ugly old hag? Never!"

The Parsee made a motion to keep silent.

A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round
the statue. They were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts
whence their blood issued drop by drop--stupid fanatics, who, in
the great Indian ceremonies, still throw themselves under the
wheels of Juggernaut. Some Brahmins, clad in all the
sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman who
faltered at every step, followed. This woman was young, and as
fair as an European. Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms,
hands and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems--with
bracelets, earrings and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold,
and covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her
form.

The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent
contrast to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at
their waists, and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse
on a palanquin. It was the body of an old man, gorgeously
arrayed in the dress of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban
embroidered with pearls, a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a
scarf of cashmere sewed with diamonds and the magnificent weapons
of a Hindoo prince. Next came the musicians and a rearguard of
capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the noise of the
instruments. These closed the procession.

Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and,
turning to the guide, said, "A suttee."

The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession
slowly wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared
in the depths of the wood. The songs gradually died away.
Occasionally cries were heard in the distance, until at last all
was silence again.

Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the
procession had disappeared, asked: "What is a suttee?"

"A suttee," returned the general, "is a human sacrifice, but a
voluntary one. The woman you have just seen will be burned
tomorrow at the dawn of day."

"Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who could not repress
his indignation.

"And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"Is that of the prince, her husband," said the guide. "An
independent rajah of Bundelcund."

"Is it possible," resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not
the least emotion, "that these barbarous customs still exist in
India, and that the English have been unable to put a stop to
them?"

"These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India,"
replied Sir Francis; "but we have no power over these savage
territories, and especially here in Bundelcund. The whole
district north of the Vindhias is the theatre of incessant
murders and pillage."

"The poor wretch!" exclaimed Passepartout. "To be burned alive!"

"Yes," returned Sir Francis, "burned alive. And, if she were not,
you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit
to from her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her on
a scanty allowance of rice, treat her with contempt. She would be
looked upon as an unclean creature, and would die in some corner,
like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful an existence
drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice much more than love
or religious fanaticism. Sometimes, however, the sacrifice is
really voluntary, and it requires the active interference of the
Government to prevent it. Several years ago, when I was living at
Bombay, a young widow asked permission of the governor to be
burned along with her husband's body; but, as you may imagine, he
refused. The woman left the town, took refuge with an independent
rajah, and there carried out her self-devoted purpose."

While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several
times, and now said: "The sacrifice which will take place
tomorrow at dawn is not a voluntary one."

"How do you know?"

"Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund."

"But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any
resistance," observed Sir Francis.

"That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and
opium."

"But where are they taking her?"

"To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here. She will pass the
night there."

"And the sacrifice will take place--"

"Tomorrow, at the first light of dawn."

The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped
upon his neck. Just at the moment that he was about to urge
Kiouni forward with a peculiar whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him,
and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said, "Suppose we save this
woman."

"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!"

"I have yet twelve hours to spare. I can devote them to that."

"Why, you are a man of heart!"

"Sometimes," replied Phileas Fogg, quietly, "when I have the
time."




Chapter 13

In Which Passepartout Receives a New Proof
That Fortune Favors the Brave


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

As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be
proposed. His master's idea charmed him. He perceived a heart, a
soul, under that icy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.

There remained the guide. What course would he adopt? Would he
not take part with the Indians? In default of his assistance, it
was necessary to be assured of his neutrality. Sir Francis
frankly put the question to him.

"Officer," replied the guide, "I am a Parsee, and this woman is a
Parsee. Command me as you will."

"Excellent!" said Mr. Fogg.

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

"That is foreseen," replied Mr. Fogg. "I think we must wait till
night before acting."

"I think so," said the guide. The worthy Indian then gave some
account of the victim, who, he said, was a celebrated beauty of
the Parsee race, and the daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant.
She had received a thoroughly English education in that city,
and, from her manners and intelligence, would be thought an
European. Her name was Aouda. Left an orphan, she was married
against her will to the old rajah of Bundelcund; and, knowing the
fate that awaited her, she escaped, was retaken, and devoted by
the rajah's relatives, who had an interest in her death, to the
sacrifice from which it seemed she could not escape.

The Parsee's narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions
in their generous design. It was decided that the guide should
direct the elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he
accordingly approached as quickly as possible. They halted, half
an hour afterwards, in a copse, some five hundred feet from the
pagoda, where they were well concealed. But they could hear the
groans and cries of the fakirs distinctly.

They then discussed the means of rescuing the victim. The guide
was familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he
declared, the young woman was imprisoned. Could they enter any of
its doors while the whole party of Indians was plunged in a
drunken sleep, or was it safer to attempt to make a hole in the
walls? This could only be determined at the moment and the place.
But it was certain that the abduction must be made that night,
and not when, at break of day, the victim was led to her funeral
pyre. Then no human intervention could save her.

As soon as night fell, about six o'clock, they decided to make a
reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were
just ceasing. The Indians were in the act of plunging themselves
into the drunkenness caused by liquid opium mingled with hemp, and
it might be possible to slip between them to the temple itself.

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

"Come!" whispered the guide.

He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush, followed
by his companions. The silence around was only broken by the low
murmuring of the wind among the branches.

Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was
lit up by the torches. The ground was covered by groups of the
Indians, motionless in their drunken sleep. It seemed a
battlefield strewn with the dead. Men, women and children lay
together.

In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji loomed
distinctly. Much to the guide's disappointment, the guards of the
rajah, lighted by torches, were watching at the doors and
marching to and fro with naked sabres. Probably the priests, too,
were watching within.

The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force an
entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his
companions back again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty also
saw that nothing could be attempted in that direction. They
stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy.

"It is only eight now," said the brigadier, "and these guards may
also go to sleep."

"It is not impossible," returned the Parsee.

They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.

The time seemed long. The guide ever and anon left them to take
an observation on the edge of the wood, but the guards watched
steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim light crept
through the windows of the pagoda.

They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the
guards, and it became apparent that their yielding to sleep could
not be counted on. The other plan must be carried out. An opening
in the walls of the pagoda must be made. It remained to ascertain
whether the priests were watching by the side of their victim as
assiduously as were the soldiers at the door.

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

The night was dark. The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the
horizon, and was covered with heavy clouds. The height of the
trees deepened the darkness.

It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must be
accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had their
pocket-knives. Happily the temple walls were built of brick and
wood, which could be penetrated with little difficulty; after one
brick had been taken out, the rest would yield easily.

They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side and
Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks so as to
make an aperture two feet wide. They were getting on rapidly,
when suddenly a cry was heard in the interior of the temple,
followed almost instantly by other cries replying from the
outside. Passepartout and the guide stopped. Had they been
heard? Was the alarm being given? Common prudence urged them to
retire, and they did so, followed by Phileas Fogg and Sir
Francis. They again hid themselves in the wood, and waited till
the disturbance, whatever it might be, ceased, holding
themselves ready to resume their attempt without delay. But,
awkwardly enough, the guards now appeared at the rear of the
temple, and there installed themselves, in readiness to prevent a
surprise.

It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the
party, thus interrupted in their work. They could not now reach
the victim; how, then, could they save her? Sir Francis shook his
fists, Passepartout was beside himself, and the guide gnashed his
teeth with rage. The tranquil Fogg waited, without betraying any
emotion.

"We have nothing to do but to go away," whispered Sir Francis.

"Nothing but to go away," echoed the guide.

"Stop," said Fogg. "I am only due at Allahabad tomorrow before
noon."

"But what can you hope to do?" asked Sir Francis. "In a few hours
it will be daylight, and--"

"The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last
moment."

Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg's eyes. What
was this cool Englishman thinking of? Was he planning to make a
rush for the young woman at the very moment of the sacrifice, and
boldly snatch her from her executioners? This would be utter
folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg was such a fool. Sir
Francis consented, however, to remain to the end of this
terrible drama. The guide led them to the rear of the glade,
where they were able to observe the sleeping groups.

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

He had commenced by saying to himself, "What folly!" and then he
repeated, "Why not, after all? It's a chance--perhaps the only
one; and with such sots!" Thinking thus, he slipped, with the
suppleness of a serpent, to the lowest branches, the ends of
which bent almost to the ground.

The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the
approach of day, though it was not yet light. This was the
moment. The slumbering multitude became animated, the tambourines
sounded, songs and cries arose; the hour of the sacrifice had
come. The doors of the pagoda swung open, and a bright light
escaped from its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir
Francis saw the victim. She seemed, having shaken off the stupor
of intoxication, to be striving to escape from her executioner.
Sir Francis's heart throbbed; and, convulsively seizing Mr.
Fogg's hand, found in it an open knife. Just at this moment the
crowd began to move. The young woman had again fallen into a
stupor caused by the fumes of hemp, and passed among the fakirs,
who escorted her with their wild, religious cries.

Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of
the crowd, followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of
the stream, and stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which
still lay the rajah's corpse. In the semi-obscurity they saw the
victim, quite senseless, stretched out beside her husband's body.
Then a torch was brought, and the wood, heavily soaked with oil,
instantly took fire.

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

The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden, like
a spectre, took up his wife in his arms, and descended from the
pyre in the midst of the clouds of smoke, which only heightened
his ghostly appearance.

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

The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which
supported her, and which she did not seem in the least to burden.
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head,
and Passepartout was, no doubt, scarcely less stupefied.

The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, and,
in an abrupt tone, said, "Let us be off!"

It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the
midst of the smoke and, profiting by the still over-hanging
darkness, had delivered the young woman from death! It was
Passepartout who, playing his part with a happy audacity, had
passed through the crowd amid the general terror.

A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the
woods, and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace.
But the cries and noise, and a ball which whizzed through
Phileas Fogg's hat, told them that the trick had been
discovered.

The old rajah's body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre;
and the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an
abduction had taken place. They hastened into the forest,
followed by the soldiers, who fired a volley after the fugitives;
but the latter rapidly increased the distance between them, and
ere long found themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and
arrows.




Chapter 14

In Which Phileas Fogg Descends the Whole Length of the
Beautiful Valley of the Ganges without Ever Thinking of Seeing It


The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour
Passepartout laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed
the worthy fellow's hand, and his master said, "Well done!"
which, from him, was high commendation; to which Passepartout
replied that all the credit of the affair belonged to Mr. Fogg.
As for him, he had only been struck with a "queer" idea; and he
laughed to think that for a few moments he, Passepartout, the
ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse of a
charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the young
Indian woman, she had been unconscious throughout of what was
passing, and now, wrapped up in a traveling blanket, was
reposing in one of the howdahs.

The elephant, thanks to the skillful guidance of the Parsee, was
advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour
after leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain.

They made a halt at seven o'clock, the young woman being still in
a state of complete prostration. The guide made her drink a
little brandy and water, but the drowsiness which stupefied her
could not yet be shaken off. Sir Francis, who was familiar with
the effects of the intoxication produced by the
fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on her account. But he
was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate. He told
Phileas Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would
inevitably fall again into the hands of her executioners. These
fanatics were scattered throughout the country, and would,
despite the English police, recover their victim at Madras,
Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by quitting India
forever.

Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.

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

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

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a
good look at the city. It was formerly defended by a noble fort,
which has since become a state prison. Its commerce has dwindled
away, and Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar
as he used to frequent in Regent Street. At last he came upon an
elderly, crusty Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom
he purchased a dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle and a fine
otter-skin pelisse, for which he did not hesitate to pay
seventy-five pounds. He then returned triumphantly to the
station.

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

When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the
queen of Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus: "Her shining tresses,
divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious contour of her
white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow and freshness.
Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama, the
god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest
reflections and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of
Himalaya, in the black pupils of her great clear eyes. Her teeth,
fine, equal and white, glitter between her smiling lips like
dewdrops in a passion-flower's half-enveloped breast. Her
delicately formed ears, her vermilion hands, her little feet,
curved and tender as the lotus-bud, glitter with the brilliancy
of the loveliest pearls of Ceylon, the most dazzling diamonds of
Golconda. Her narrow and supple waist, which a hand may clasp
around, sets forth the outline of her rounded figure and the
beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower displays the
wealth of its treasures; and beneath the silken folds of her
tunic she seems to have been modeled in pure silver by the
godlike hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor."

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

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

"Parsee," he said to the guide, "you have been serviceable and
devoted. I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion.
Would you like to have this elephant? He is yours."

The guide's eyes glistened.

"Your honor is giving me a fortune!" he cried.

"Take him, guide," returned Mr. Fogg, "and I shall still be your
debtor."

"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout. "Take him, friend. Kiouni is a
brave and faithful beast." And, going up to the elephant, he gave
him several lumps of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, here, here."

The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping
Passepartout around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high
as his head. Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the
animal, which replaced him gently on the ground. Soon after,
Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty and Passepartout, installed in
a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were whirling at
full speed towards Benares. It was a run of eighty miles, and was
accomplished in two hours.

During the journey, the young woman fully recovered her senses.
What was her astonishment to find herself in this carriage, on
the railway, dressed in European clothes, and with travelers who
were quite strangers to her! Her companions first set about fully
reviving her with a little liquor, and then Sir Francis narrated
to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with which
Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and
recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of
Passepartout's rash idea. Mr. Fogg said nothing; while
Passepartout, abashed, kept repeating that "it wasn't worth
telling."

Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than
words. Her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her
lips. Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene of the
sacrifice, and recalled the dangers which still menaced her, she
shuddered with terror.

Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda's mind, and
offered, in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong,
where she might remain safely until the affair was hushed up--an
offer which she eagerly and gratefully accepted. She had, it
seems, a Parsee relation, who was one of the principal merchants
of Hong Kong, which is wholly an English city, though on an
island on the Chinese coast.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin
legends assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient
Casi, which, like Mahomet's tomb, was once suspended between
heaven and earth. But the Benares of today, which the
Orientalists call the Athens of India, stands quite unpoetically
on solid earth. Passepartout caught glimpses of its brick houses
and clay huts, giving an aspect of desolation to the place, as
the train entered it.

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination. The troops he was
rejoining were encamped some miles northward of the city. He bade
adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing
the hope that he would come that way again in a less original but
more profitable fashion. Mr. Fogg lightly pressed him by the
hand. The parting of Aouda, who did not forget what she owed to
Sir Francis, betrayed more warmth. As for Passepartout, he
received a hearty shake of the hand from the gallant general.

The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the
valley of the Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage the
travelers had glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar,
with its mountains clothed in verdure, its fields of barley,
wheat and corn, its jungles peopled with green alligators, its
neat villages and its still thickly-leaved forests. Elephants
were bathing in the waters of the sacred river, and groups of
Indians, despite the advanced season and chilly air, were
performing solemnly their pious ablutions. These were fervent
Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities being
Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural
forces and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators.
What would these divinities think of India? Anglicized as it is
today, with steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges,
frightening the gulls which float upon its surface, the turtles
swarming along its banks and the faithful dwelling upon its
borders?

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the
steam concealed it fitfully from the view. The travelers could
scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles southwestward
from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or
Ghazipur and its famous rose-waterfactories; or the tomb of Lord
Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of the Ganges; the fortified
town of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing and trading-place,
where is held the principal opium market of India; or Monghir, a
more than European town, for it is as English as Manchester or
Birmingham, with its iron foundries, edge-tool factories and high
chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke heavenward.

Night came on. The train passed on at full speed, in the midst of
the roaring of the tigers, bears and wolves which fled before the
locomotive. The marvels of Bengal, Golconda, ruined Gour,
Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly and the French
town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to
see his country's flag flying, were hidden from their view in the
darkness.

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

According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of
October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival. He
was therefore neither behind nor ahead of time. The two days
gained between London and Bombay had been lost, as has been seen,
in the journey across India. But it is not to be supposed that
Phileas Fogg regretted them.




Chapter 15

In Which the Bag of Banknotes Disgorges
Some Thousands of Pounds More


The train entered the station. Passepartout jumped out first,
followed by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend.
Phileas Fogg intended to proceed at once to the Hong Kong
steamer, in order to get Aouda comfortably settled for the
voyage. He was unwilling to leave her while they were still on
dangerous ground.

Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him,
and said, "Mr. Phileas Fogg?"

"I am he."

"Is this man your servant?" added the policeman, pointing to
Passepartout.

"Yes."

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

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

"May this young lady go with us?" he asked. "She may," replied the
policeman.

Mr. Fogg, Aouda and Passepartout were conducted to a  palkighari,
a sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses. They took
their places and were driven away. No one spoke during the twenty
minutes which elapsed before they reached their destination.

They first passed through the "black town," with its narrow
streets, its miserable, dirty huts and squalid population; then
through the "European town," which presented a relief in its
bright brick mansions, shaded by coconut-trees and bristling with
masts, where, although it was early morning, elegantly dressed
horsemen and handsome equipages were passing back and forth.

The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which,
however, did not have the appearance of a private mansion. The
policeman having requested his prisoners--for so, truly, they
might be called--to descend, conducted them into a room with
barred windows, and said: "You will appear before Judge Obadiah
at half-past eight."

He then retired, and closed the door.

"Why, we are prisoners!" exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a
chair.

Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg:
"Sir, you must leave me to my fate! It is on my account that you
receive this treatment. It is for having saved me!"

Phileas Fogg contented himself with saying that it was
impossible. It was quite unlikely that he should be arrested for
preventing a suttee. The complainants would not dare present
themselves with such a charge. There was some mistake. Moreover,
he would not, in any event, abandon Aouda, but would escort her
to Hong Kong.

"But the steamer leaves at noon!" observed Passepartout,
nervously.

"We shall be on board by noon," replied his master, placidly. It
was said so positively that Passepartout could not help muttering
to himself, "Parbleu that's certain! Before noon we shall be on
board." But he was by no means reassured.

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

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

"The first case," he said. Then, putting his hand to his head, he
exclaimed, "Heh! This is not my wig!"

"No, your worship," returned the clerk, "it is mine."

"My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence in
a clerk's wig?"

The wigs were exchanged.

Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of
the big clock over the judge seemed to go around with terrible
rapidity.

"The first case," repeated Judge Obadiah.

"Phileas Fogg?" demanded Oysterpuff.

"I am here," replied Mr. Fogg.

"Passepartout?"

"Present," responded Passepartout.

"Good," said the judge. "You have been looked for, prisoners, for
two days on the trains from Bombay."

"But of what are we accused?" asked Passepartout, impatiently.

"You are about to be informed."

"I am an English subject, sir," said Mr. Fogg, "and I have the
right--"

"Have you been ill-treated?"

"Not at all."

"Very well. Let the complainants come in."

A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian
priests entered.

"That's it," muttered Passepartout. "These are the rogues who
were going to burn our young lady."

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

"You hear the charge?" asked the judge.

"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, "and I admit
it."

"You admit it?"

"I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their
turn, what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji."

The priests looked at each other. They did not seem to understand
what was said.

"Yes," cried Passepartout, warmly; "at the pagoda of Pillaji,
where they were on the point of burning their victim."

The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were
stupefied.

"What victim?" said Judge Obadiah. "Burn whom? In Bombay itself?"

"Bombay?" cried Passepartout.

"Certainly, we are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of
the pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay."

"And as a proof," added the clerk, "here are the desecrator's
very shoes, which he left behind him."

Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.

"My shoes!" cried Passepartout, in his surprise permitting this
imprudent exclamation to escape him.

The confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the
affair at Bombay, for which they were now detained at Calcutta,
may be imagined.

Fix, the detective, had foreseen the advantage which
Passepartout's escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for
twelve hours, had consulted the priests of Malabar Hill. Knowing
that the English authorities dealt very severely with this kind
of misdemeanor, he promised them a goodly sum in damages, and
sent them forward to Calcutta by the next train. Owing to the
delay caused by the rescue of the young widow, Fix and the
priests reached the Indian capital before Mr. Fogg and his
servant. The magistrates had been already warned by a despatch to
arrest them should they arrive. Fix's disappointment when he
learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his appearance in Calcutta
may be imagined. He made up his mind that the robber had stopped
somewhere on the route and taken refuge in the southern
provinces. For twenty-four hours Fix watched the station with
feverish anxiety. At last he was rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and
Passepartout arrive, accompanied by a young woman, whose
presence he was wholly at a loss to explain. He hastened for a
policeman, and this was how the party came to be arrested and
brought before Judge Obadiah.

Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have
seen the detective settled in a corner of the courtroom, watching
the proceedings with an interest easily understood; for the
warrant had failed to reach him at Calcutta, as it had done at
Bombay and Suez.

Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout's rash
exclamation, which the poor fellow would have given the world to
recall.

"The facts are admitted?" asked the judge.

"Admitted," replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.

"Inasmuch," resumed the judge, "as the English law protects
equally and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as
the man Passepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred
pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay, on the 20th of October, I
condemn the said Passepartout to imprisonment for fifteen days
and a fine of three hundred pounds."

"Three hundred pounds!" cried Passepartout, startled at the
largeness of the sum.

"Silence!" shouted the constable.

"And inasmuch," continued the judge, "as it is not proved that
the act was not done by the connivance of the master with the
servant, and as the master in any case must be held responsible
for the acts of his paid servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a
week's imprisonment and a fine of one hundred and fifty pounds."

Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction. If Phileas Fogg
could be detained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than time
for the warrant to arrive. Passepartout was stupefied. This
sentence ruined his master. A wager of twenty thousand pounds
lost, because he, like a precious fool, had gone into that
abominable pagoda!

Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not in the
least concern him, did not even lift his eyebrows while it was
being pronounced. Just as the clerk was calling the next case, he
rose, and said, "I offer bail."

"You have that right," returned the judge. Fix's blood ran cold,
but he resumed his composure when he heard the judge announce
that the bail required for each prisoner would be one thousand
pounds.

"I will pay it at once," said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank
bills from the carpetbag, which Passepartout had by him, and
placing them on the clerk's desk.

"This sum will be restored to you upon your release from
prison," said the judge. "Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail."

"Come!" said Phileas Fogg to his servant.

"But let them at least give me back my shoes!" cried Passepartout
angrily.

"Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!" he muttered, as they were
handed to him. "More than a thousand pounds apiece. Besides,
they pinch my feet."

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

The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbor. Its signal
of departure was hoisted at the masthead. Eleven o'clock was
striking. Mr. Fogg was an hour in advance of time. Fix saw them
leave the carriage and push off in a boat for the steamer, and
stamped his feet with disappointment.

"The rascal is off, after all!" he exclaimed. "Two thousand
pounds sacrificed! He's as prodigal as a thief! I'll follow him
to the end of the world if necessary; but, at the rate he is
going on, the stolen money will soon be exhausted."

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




Chapter 16

In Which Fix Does Not Seem to Understand
in the Least What is Said to Him


The Rangoon--one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company's boats
plying in the Chinese and Japanese seas--was a screw steamer,
built of iron, weighing about seventeen hundred and seventy tons,
and with engines of four hundred horsepower. She was as fast, but
not as well fitted up, as the Mongolia, and Aouda was not as
comfortably provided for on board her as Phileas Fogg could have
wished. However, the trip from Calcutta to Hong Kong only
comprised some three thousand five hundred miles, occupying from
ten to twelve days, and the young woman was not difficult to
please.

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

Aouda confirmed the Parsee guide's narrative of her touching
history. She did, indeed, belong to the highest of the native
races of India. Many of the Parsee merchants have made great
fortunes there by dealing in cotton. One of them, Sir Jametsee
Jeejeebhoy, was made a baronet by the English government. Aouda
was a relative of this great man, and it was his cousin, Jeejeeh,
whom she hoped to join at Hong Kong. Whether she would find a
protector in him she could not tell; but Mr. Fogg tried to calm
her anxieties, and to assure her that everything would be
mathematically--he used the very word--arranged. Aouda fastened
her great eyes, "clear as the sacred lakes of the Himalaya," upon
him; but the intractable Fogg, as reserved as ever, did not seem
at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.

The first few days of the voyage passed happily, amid favorable
weather and propitious winds, and the ship soon came in sight of
the great Andaman, the principal of the islands in the Bay of
Bengal, with its picturesque Saddle Peak, two thousand four
hundred feet high, looming above the waters. The steamer passed
along near the shores, but the savage Papuans, who are in the
lowest scale of humanity, but are not, as has been asserted,
cannibals, did not make their appearance.

The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was superb.
Vast forests of palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic
mimosa and tree-like ferns covered the foreground. Behind, the
graceful outlines of the mountains were traced against the sky;
and along the coasts swarmed thousands of the precious swallows
whose nests furnish a luxurious dish to the tables of the
Celestial Empire. The varied landscape afforded by the Andaman
Islands was soon passed, however, and the Rangoon rapidly
approached the Straits of Malacca, which give access to the China
seas.

What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to
country, doing all this while? He had managed to embark on the
Rangoon at Calcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after
leaving orders that, if the warrant should arrive, it should be
forwarded to him at Hong Kong; and he hoped to conceal his
presence to the end of the voyage. It would have been difficult
to explain why he was on board without awakening Passepartout's
suspicions, who thought him still at Bombay. But necessity
impelled him, nevertheless, to renew his acquaintance with the
worthy servant, as will be seen.

All the detective's hopes and wishes were now centered on Hong
Kong; for the steamer's stay at Singapore would be too brief to
enable him to take any steps there. The arrest must be made at
Hong Kong, or the robber would probably escape him forever. Hong
Kong was the last English ground on which he would set foot.
Beyond, China, Japan, America offered to Fogg an almost certain
refuge. If the warrant should at last make its appearance at Hong
Kong, Fix could arrest him and be no further trouble. But beyond
Hong Kong? a simple warrant would be of no avail. An extradition
warrant would be necessary, and that would result in delays and
obstacles, of which the rascal would take advantage to elude
justice.

Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours which
he spent in his cabin, and kept repeating to himself, "Now,
either the warrant will be at Hong Kong, in which case I shall
arrest my man, or it will not be there. This time it is
absolutely necessary that I should delay his departure. I have
failed at Bombay, and I have failed at Calcutta. If I fail at
Hong Kong, my reputation is lost. Cost what it may, I must
succeed! But how shall I prevent his departure, if that should
turn out to be my last resource?"

Fix made up his mind that, if worst came to worst, he would make
a confidant of Passepartout, and tell him what kind of a fellow
his master really was. That Passepartout was not Fogg's
accomplice, he was very certain. The servant, enlightened by his
disclosure, and afraid of being himself implicated in the crime,
would doubtless become an ally of the detective. But this method
was a dangerous one, only to be employed when everything else had
failed. A word from Passepartout to his master would ruin all.
The detective was therefore in a sore strait. But suddenly a new
idea struck him. The presence of Aouda on the Rangoon, in company
with Phileas Fogg, gave him new material for reflection.

Who was this woman? What combination of events had made her
Fogg's traveling companion? They had evidently met somewhere
between Bombay and Calcutta; but where? Had they met
accidentally, or had Fogg gone into the interior purposely in
quest of this charming damsel? Fix was fairly puzzled. He asked
himself whether there had not been a wicked elopement. This idea
so impressed itself upon his mind that he determined to make use
of the supposed intrigue. Whether the young woman were married or
not, he would be able to create such difficulties for Mr. Fogg at
Hong Kong that he could not escape by paying any amount of money.
But could he even wait till they reached Hong Kong? Fogg had an
abominable way of jumping from one boat to another, and, before
anything could be effected, might get full under weigh again for
Yokohama.

Fix decided that he must warn the English authorities, and signal
the Rangoon before her arrival. This was easy to do, since the
steamer stopped at Singapore, where there is a telegraphic wire
to Hong Kong. He finally resolved, moreover, before acting more
positively, to question Passepartout. It would not be difficult
to make him talk. As there was no time to lose, Fix prepared to
make himself known.

It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the
Rangoon was due at Singapore.

Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck. Passepartout was
promenading up and down in the forward part of the steamer. The
detective rushed forward with every appearance of extreme
surprise, and exclaimed, "You here, on the Rangoon?"

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

"No, no," replied Fix. "I shall stop at Hong Kong--at least for
some days."

"Hum!" said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed.
"But how is it I have not seen you on board since we left
Calcutta?"

"Oh, a trifle of seasickness--I've been staying in my berth. The
Gulf of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian
Ocean. And how is Mr. Fogg?"

"As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time! But,
Monsieur Fix, you don't know that we have a young lady with us."

"A young lady?" replied the detective, not seeming to comprehend
what was said.

Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda's history, the affair at
the Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two thousand
pounds, the rescue, the arrest and sentence of the Calcutta
court, and the restoration of Mr. Fogg and himself to liberty on
bail. Fix, who was familiar with the last events, seemed to be
equally ignorant of all that Passepartout related; and the latter
was charmed to find so interested a listener.

"But does your master propose to carry this young woman to
Europe?"

"Not at all. We are simply going to place her under the
protection of one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong
Kong."

"Nothing to be done there," said Fix to himself, concealing his
disappointment. "A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?"

"Willingly, Monsieur Fix. We must at least have a friendly glass
on board the Rangoon."




Chapter 17

Showing What Happened on the Voyage from Singapore to Hong Kong


The detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this
interview, though Fix was reserved, and did not attempt to induce
his companion to divulge any more facts concerning Mr. Fogg. He
caught a glimpse of that mysterious gentleman once or twice. But
Mr. Fogg usually confined himself to the cabin, where he kept
Aouda company, or, according to his inveterate habit, took a hand
at whist.

Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange
chance kept Fix still on the route that his master was pursuing.
It was really worth considering why this certainly very amiable
and complacent person, whom he had first met at Suez, had then
encountered on board the Mongolia, who disembarked at Bombay,
which he announced as his destination, and now turned up so
unexpectedly on the Rangoon, was following Mr. Fogg's tracks
step by step. What was Fix's object? Passepartout was ready to
wager his Indian shoes--which he religiously preserved--that
Fix would also leave Hong Kong at the same time with them, and
probably on the same steamer.

Passepartout might have cudgeled his brain for a century without
hitting upon the real object which the detective had in view. He
never could have imagined that Phileas Fogg was being tracked as
a robber around the globe. But, as it is in human nature to
attempt the solution of every mystery, Passepartout suddenly
discovered an explanation of Fix's movements, which was in truth
far from unreasonable. Fix, he thought, could only be an agent of
Mr. Fogg's friends at the Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and
to ascertain that he really went round the world as had been
agreed upon.

"It's clear!" repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud of
his shrewdness. "He's a spy sent to keep us in view! That isn't
quite the thing, either, to be spying on Mr. Fogg, who is so
honorable a man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you
dear!"

Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say
nothing to his master, lest he should be justly offended at this
mistrust on the part of his adversaries. But he determined to
chaff Fix, when he had the chance, with mysterious allusions,
which, however, need not betray his real suspicions.

During the afternoon of Wednesday, 30th October, the Rangoon
entered the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula of
that name from Sumatra. The mountainous and craggy islets
intercepted the beauties of this noble island from the view of
the travelers. The Rangoon weighed anchor at Singapore the next
day at four A.M., to receive coal, having gained half a day on
the prescribed time of her arrival. Phileas Fogg noted this gain
in his journal, and then, accompanied by Aouda, who betrayed a
desire for a walk on shore, disembarked.

Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg's every movement, followed them
cautiously, without being himself perceived; while Passepartout,
laughing in his sleeve at Fix's maneuvers, went about his usual
errands.

The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are
no mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions. It
is a park checkered by pleasant highways and avenues. A handsome
carriage, drawn by a sleek pair of New Holland horses, carried
Phileas Fogg and Aouda into the midst of rows of palms with
brilliant foliage, and of clover-trees, whereof the cloves form
the head of a half-open flower. Pepper plants replaced the
prickly hedges of European fields. Sago-bushes, large ferns with
gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of this tropical clime.
Nutmeg trees in full foliage filled the air with a penetrating
perfume. Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skipped about in the
trees, nor were tigers wanting in the jungles.

After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr.
Fogg returned to the town, which is a vast collection of
heavy-looking, irregular houses, surrounded by charming gardens
rich in tropical fruits and plants. At ten o'clock they
re-embarked, closely followed by the detective, who had kept them
constantly in sight.

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

At eleven o'clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbor, and
in a few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their forests,
inhabited by the most beautifully furred tigers in the world,
were lost to view. Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred
miles from the island of Hong Kong, which is a little English
colony near the Chinese coast. Phileas Fogg hoped to accomplish
the journey in six days, so as to be in time for the steamer
which would leave on the 6th of November for Yokohama, the
principal Japanese port.

The Rangoon had a large quota of passengers, many of whom
disembarked at Singapore, among them a number of Indians,
Ceylonese, Chinamen, Malays and Portuguese, mostly second-class
travelers.

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the last
quarter of the moon. The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at
intervals rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from the
southwest, and thus aided the steamer's progress. The captain as
often as possible put up his sails, and under the double action
of steam and sail the vessel made rapid progress along the coast
of Anam and Cochin China. Owing to the defective construction of
the Rangoon, however, unusual precautions became necessary in
unfavorable weather; but the loss of time which resulted from
this cause, while it nearly drove Passepartout out of his senses,
did not seem to affect his master in the least. Passepartout
blamed the captain, the engineer and the crew, and
consigned all who were connected with the ship to the land where
the pepper grows. Perhaps the thought of the gas, which was
remorselessly burning at his expense in Saville Row, had
something to do with his hot impatience.

"You are in a great hurry, then," said Fix to him one day, "to
reach Hong Kong?"

"A very great hurry!"

"Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for
Yokohama?"

"Terribly anxious."

"You believe in this journey around the world, then?"

"Absolutely. Don't you, Mr. Fix?"

"I? I don't believe a word of it."

"You're a sly dog!" said Passepartout, winking at him.

This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why.
Had the Frenchman guessed his real purpose? He knew not what to
think. But how could Passepartout have discovered that he was a
detective? Yet, in speaking as he did, the man evidently meant
more than he expressed.

Passepartout went still further the next day. He could not hold
his tongue.

"Mr. Fix," said he, in a bantering tone, "shall we be so
unfortunate as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?"

"Why," responded Fix, a little embarrassed, "I don't know;
perhaps--"

"Ah, if you would only go on with us! An agent of the Peninsular
Company, you know, can't stop on the way! You were only going to
Bombay, and here you are in China. America is not far off, and
from America to Europe is only a step."

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

"Yes, and no," returned Fix. "There is good and bad luck in such
things. But you must understand that I don't travel at my own
expense."

"Oh, I am quite sure of that!" cried Passepartout, laughing
heartily.

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

Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last
resolved to deal plainly with Passepartout. If he did not find it
practicable to arrest Fogg at Hong Kong, and if Fogg made
preparations to leave that last foothold of English territory,
he, Fix, would tell Passepartout all. Either the servant was the
accomplice of his master, and in this case the master knew of his
operations, and he should fail; or else the servant knew nothing
about the robbery, and then his interest would be to abandon the
robber.

Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout. Meanwhile
Phileas Fogg moved about above them in the most majestic and
unconscious indifference. He was passing methodically in his
orbit around the world, regardless of the lesser stars which
gravitated around him. Yet there was near by what the astronomers
would call a disturbing star, which might have produced an
agitation in this gentleman's heart. But no! The charms of Aouda
failed to act, to Passepartout's great surprise; and the
disturbances, if they existed, would have been more difficult to
calculate than those of Uranus which led to the discovery of
Neptune.

It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read
in Aouda's eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master.
Phileas Fogg, though brave and gallant, must be, he thought,
quite heartless. As to the sentiment which this journey might
have awakened in him, there was clearly no trace of such a thing;
while poor Passepartout existed in perpetual reveries.

One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine room, and was
observing the engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer threw
the screw out of the water. The steam came hissing out of the
valves; and this made Passepartout indignant.

"The valves are not sufficiently charged!" he exclaimed. "We are
not going. Oh, these English! If this was an American craft, we
should blow up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!"




Chapter 18

In Which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout and Fix
Go Each about His Business


The weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The
wind, obstinately remaining in the northwest, blew a gale, and
retarded the steamer. The Rangoon rolled heavily and the
passengers became impatient of the long, monstrous waves which
the wind raised before their path. A sort of tempest arose on the
3rd of November, the squall knocking the vessel about with fury,
and the waves running high. The Rangoon reefed all her sails, and
even the rigging proved too much, whistling and shaking amid the
squall. The steamer was forced to proceed slowly, and the captain
estimated that she would reach Hong Kong twenty hours behind
time, and more if the storm lasted.

Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be
struggling especially to delay him, with his habitual
tranquillity. He never changed countenance for an instant, though
a delay of twenty hours, by making him too late for the Yokohama
boat, would almost inevitably cause the loss of the wager. But
this man of nerve manifested neither impatience nor annoyance. It
seemed as if the storm were a part of his program, and had been
foreseen. Aouda was amazed to find him as calm as he had been
from the first time she saw him.

Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light. The
storm greatly pleased him. His satisfaction would have been
complete had the Rangoon been forced to retreat before the
violence of wind and waves. Each delay filled him with hope, for
it became more and more probable that Fogg would be obliged to
remain some days at Hong Kong; and now the heavens themselves
became his allies, with the gusts and squalls. It mattered not
that they made him seasick--he made nothing of this
inconvenience; and, while his body was writhing under their
effects, his spirit bounded with hopeful joy.

Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious
weather. Everything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had
seemed to be at his master's service. Steamers and railways
obeyed him. Wind and steam united to speed his journey. Had the
hour of adversity come? Passepartout was as much excited as if
the twenty thousand pounds were to come from his own pocket. The
storm exasperated him, the gale made him furious, and he longed
to lash the obstinate sea into obedience. Poor fellow! Fix
carefully concealed from him his own satisfaction, for, had he
betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely have restrained himself
from personal violence.

Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted,
being unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head
to aid the progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew.
He overwhelmed the captain, officers and sailors, who could not
help laughing at his impatience, with all sorts of questions. He
wanted to know exactly how long the storm was going to last. He
was referred to the barometer, which seemed to have no intention
of rising. Passepartout shook it, but with no perceptible effect;
for neither shaking nor maledictions could prevail upon if to
change its mind.

On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm
lessened its violence. The wind veered southward, and was once
more favorable. Passepartout cleared up with the weather. Some of
the sails were unfurled, and the Rangoon resumed its most rapid
speed. The time lost could not, however, be regained. Land was
not signaled until five o'clock on the morning of the 6th. The
steamer was due on the 5th. Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours
behind, and the Yokohama steamer would, of course, be missed.

The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge,
to guide the Rangoon through the channels to the port of Hong
Kong. Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for
Yokohama; but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark
of hope, which still remained till the last moment. He had
confided his anxiety to Fix who--the sly rascal--tried to
console him by saying that Mr. Fogg would be in time if he took
the next boat. This only put Passepartout in a passion.

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

"At high tide tomorrow morning," answered the pilot.

"Ah!" said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.

Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have
embraced the pilot, while Fix would have been glad to twist his
neck.

"What is the steamer's name?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"The Carnatic."

"Ought she not to have gone yesterday?"

"Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her
departure was postponed till tomorrow."

"Thank you," returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the
saloon.

Passepartout clasped the pilot's hand and shook it heartily in
his delight, exclaiming, "Pilot, you are the best of good
fellows!"

The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses
won him this enthusiastic greeting. He remounted the bridge, and
guided the steamer through the flotilla of junks, tankas and
fishing boats which crowded the harbor of Hong Kong.

At one o'clock the Rangoon was at the quay, and the passengers
were going ashore.

Chance had strangely favored Phileas Fogg, for if the Carnatic
had not been forced to lie over for repairing her boiler, she
would have left on the 6th of November, and the passengers for
Japan would have been obliged to wait a week for the sailing of
the next steamer. Mr. Fogg was, it is true, twenty-four hours
behind his time; but this could not seriously imperil the
remainder of his tour.

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

The Carnatic was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the next
morning. Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to his
business there, which was to deposit Aouda safely with her
wealthy relative.

On landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they
repaired to the Club Hotel. A room was engaged for the young
woman, and Mr. Fogg, after seeing that she wanted for nothing,
set out in search of her cousin Jeejeeh. He instructed
Passepartout to remain at the hotel until his return, that Aouda
might not be left entirely alone.

Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt,
everyone would know so wealthy and considerable a person as the
Parsee merchant. Meeting a broker, he made the inquiry, to learn
that Jeejeeh had left China two years before, and, retiring from
business with an immense fortune, had taken up his residence in
Europe--in--Holland the broker thought, with the merchants of
which country he had principally traded. Phileas Fogg returned to
the hotel, begged a moment's conversation with Aouda, and,
without more ado, told her that Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong
Kong, but probably in Holland.

Aouda at first said nothing. She passed her hand across her
forehead, and reflected a few moments. Then, in her sweet, soft
voice, she said: "What ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?"

"It is very simple," responded the gentleman. "Co on to Europe."

"But I cannot intrude--"

"You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my
project. Passepartout!"

"Monsieur."

"Go to the Carnatic, and engage three cabins."

Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very
gracious to him, was going to continue the journey with them,
went off at a brisk gait to obey his master's order.




Chapter 19

In Which Passepartout Takes a Too Great Interest in His Master,
and What Comes of It


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

Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the
Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and
other modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese
and Europeans who passed to and fro in the streets. Hong Kong
seemed to him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta and Singapore, since,
like them, it betrayed everywhere the evidence of English
supremacy. At the Victoria port he found a confused mass of ships
of all nations: English, French, American and Dutch, men-of-war
and trading vessels, Japanese and Chinese junks, sempas, tankas
and flower-boats, which formed so many floating parterres.
Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the natives who
seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into a
barber's to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all
at least eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to
wear yellow, which is the Imperial color. Passepartout, without
exactly knowing why, thought this very funny.

On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the Carnatic,
he was not astonished to find Fix walking up and down. The
detective seemed very much disturbed and disappointed.

"This is bad," muttered Passepartout, "for the gentlemen of the
Reform Club!" He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had
not perceived that gentleman's chagrin. The detective had,
indeed, good reasons to inveigh against the bad luck which
pursued him. The warrant had not come! It was certainly on the
way, but as certainly it could not now reach Hong Kong for
several days. This being the last English territory on Mr. Fogg's
route, the robber would escape, unless he could manage to detain
him.

"Well, Monsieur Fix," said Passepartout, "have you decided to go
with us as far as America?"

"Yes," returned Fix, through his set teeth.

"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily. "I knew you
could not persuade yourself to separate from us. Come and engage
your berth."

They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four
persons. The clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them
that, the repairs on the Carnatic having been completed, the
steamer would leave that very evening, and not next morning, as
had been announced.

"That will suit my master all the better," said Passepartout. "I
will go and let him know."

Fix now decided to make a bold move. He resolved to tell
Passepartout all. It seemed to be the only possible means of
keeping Phileas Fogg several days longer at Hong Kong. He
accordingly invited his companion into a tavern which caught his
eye on the quay. On entering, they found themselves in a large
room handsomely decorated, at the end of which was a large
campbed furnished with cushions. Several persons lay upon this
bed in a deep sleep. At the small tables which were arranged
about the room some thirty customers were drinking English beer,
porter, gin and brandy; smoking, the while, long red clay pipes
stuffed with little balls of opium mingled with essence of rose.
From time to time one of the smokers, overcome with the
narcotic, would slip under the table, whereupon the waiters,
taking him by the head and feet, carried and laid him upon the
bed. The bed already supported twenty of these stupefied sots.

Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking house
haunted by those wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures to whom
the English merchants sell every year the miserable drug called
opium, to the amount of one million four hundred thousand
pounds--thousands devoted to one of the most despicable vices which
afflict humanity! The Chinese government has in vain attempted to
deal with the evil by stringent laws. It passed gradually from
the rich, to whom it was at first exclusively reserved, to the
lower classes, and then its ravages could not be arrested. Opium
is smoked everywhere, at all times, by men and women, in the
Celestial Empire. Once accustomed to it, the victims cannot
dispense with it, except by suffering horrible bodily contortions
and agonies. A great smoker can smoke as many as eight pipes a
day, but he dies in five years. It was in one of these dens that
Fix and Passepartout, in search of a friendly glass, found
themselves. Passepartout had no money, but willingly accepted
Fix's invitation in the hope of returning the obligation at some
future time.

They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did
ample justice, while Fix observed him with close attention. They
chatted about the journey, and Passepartout was especially merry
at the idea that Fix was going to continue it with them. When the
bottles were empty, however, he rose to go and tell his master of
the change in the time of the sailing of the Carnatic.

Fix caught him by the arm, and said, "Wait a moment."

"What for, Mr. Fix?"

"I want to have a serious talk with you."

"A serious talk!" cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine
that was left in the bottom of his glass. "Well, we'll talk about
it tomorrow. I haven't time now."

"Stay! What I have to say concerns your master."

Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion. Fix's
face seemed to have a singular expression. He resumed his seat.

"What is it that you have to say?"

Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout's arm, and, lowering his
voice, said, "You have guessed who I am?"

"Parbleu!" said Passepartout, smiling.

"Then I'm going to tell you everything--"

"Now that I know everything, my friend! Ah! that's very good. But
go on, go on. First, though, let me tell you that those gentlemen
have put themselves to a useless expense."

"Useless!" said Fix. "You speak confidently. It's clear that you
don't know how large the sum is."

"Of course I do," returned Passepartout. "Twenty thousand
pounds."

"Fifty-five thousand!" answered Fix, pressing his companion's
hand.

"What!" cried the Frenchman. "Has Monsieur Fogg dared--fifty-five
thousand pounds! Well, there's all the more reason for
not losing an instant," he continued, getting up hastily.

Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed:
"Fifty-five thousand pounds, and if I succeed, I get two thousand
pounds. If you'll help me, I'll let you have five hundred of
them."

"Help you?" cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide
open.

"Yes, help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days."

"Why, what are you saying? Those gentlemen are not satisfied with
following my master and suspecting his honor, but they must try
to put obstacles in his way! I blush for them!"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery. They might as
well waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!"

"That's just what we count on doing."

"It's a conspiracy, then," cried Passepartout, who became more
and more excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank
without perceiving it. "A real conspiracy! And gentlemen, too.
Bah!"

Fix began to be puzzled.

"Members of the Reform Club!" continued Passepartout. "You must
know, Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that,
when he makes a wager, he tries to win it fairly!"

"But who do you think I am?" asked Fix, looking at him intently.

"Parbleu! An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out
here to interrupt my master's journey. But, though I found you
out some time ago, I've taken good care to say nothing about it
to Mr. Fogg."

"He knows nothing, then?"

"Nothing," replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass. The
detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before
he spoke again. What should he do? Passepartout's mistake seemed
sincere, but it made his design more difficult. It was evident
that the servant was not the master's accomplice, as Fix had been
inclined to suspect.

"Well," said the detective to himself, "as he is not an
accomplice, he will help me."

He had no time to lose. Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he
resolved to make a clean breast of it.

"Listen to me," said Fix abruptly. "I am not, as you think, an
agent of the members of the Reform Club--"

"Bah!" retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.

"I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office."

"You, a detective?"

"I will prove it. Here is my commission."

Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed
this document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.

"Mr. Fogg's wager," resumed Fix, "is only a pretext, of which you
and the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes. He had a motive for
securing your innocent complicity."

"But why?"

"Listen. On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five
thousand pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person
whose description was fortunately secured. Here is this
description. It answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg."

"What nonsense!" cried Passepartout, striking the table with his
fist. "My master is the most honorable of men!"

"How can you tell? You know scarcely anything about him. You went
into his service the day he came away; and he came away on a
foolish pretext, without trunks, and carrying a large amount in
banknotes. And yet you are bold enough to assert that he is an
honest man!"

"Yes, yes," repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.

"Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?"

Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head
between his hands, and did not dare to look at the detective.
Phileas Fogg, the saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous man,
a robber! And yet how many presumptions there were against him!
Passepartout tried to reject the suspicions which forced
themselves upon his mind. He did not wish to believe that his
master was guilty.

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

"See here," replied Fix, "I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place,
but as yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for
which I sent to London. You must help me to keep him here in Hong
Kong--"



"I! But I--"

"I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by
the Bank of England."

"Never!" replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,
exhausted in mind and body.

"Mr. Fix," he stammered, "even should what you say be true--if
my master is really the robber you are seeking for--which I deny--I
have been, am, in his service. I have seen his generosity and
goodness; and I will never betray him--not for all the gold in
the world. I come from a village where they don't eat that kind
of bread!"

"You refuse?"

"I refuse."

"Consider that I've said nothing," said Fix, "and let us drink."

"Yes, let us drink!"

Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects
of the liquor. Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be
separated from his master, wished to entirely overcome him. Some
pipes full of opium lay upon the table. Fix slipped one into
Passepartout's hand. He took it, put it between his lips, lit it,
drew several puffs, and his head, becoming heavy under the
influence of the narcotic, fell upon the table.

"At last!" said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious. "Mr. Fogg
will not be informed of the Carnatic's departure, and, if he is,
he will have to go without this cursed Frenchman!"

And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern.




Chapter 20

In Which Fix Comes Face to Face with Phileas Fogg


While these events were passing at the opium house, Mr. Fogg,
unconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was
quietly escorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter,
making the necessary purchases for the long voyage before them.
It was all very well for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the
tour of the world with a carpetbag; a lady could not be expected
to travel comfortably under such conditions. He acquitted his
task with characteristic serenity, and invariably replied to the
objections of his fair companion, who was confused by his
patience and generosity. "It is in the interest of my journey--a
part of my program."

The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined
at a sumptuously served table-d'hote; after which Aouda, shaking
hands with her protector after the English fashion, retired to
her room for rest. Mr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout the
evening in the perusal of The Times and Illustrated London News.

Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would
have been not to see his servant return at bedtime. But, knowing
that the steamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next
morning, he did not disturb himself about the matter. When
Passepartout did not appear the next morning to answer his
master's bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying the least vexation,
contented himself with taking his carpetbag, calling Aouda, and
sending for a palanquin.

It was then eight o'clock; at half-past nine, it being then high
tide, the Carnatic would leave the harbor. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got
into the palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a
wheelbarrow, and half an hour later stepped upon the quay where
they were to embark. Mr. Fogg then learned that the Carnatic had
sailed the evening before. He had expected to find not only the
steamer, but his servant, and was forced to give up both; but no
sign of disappointment appeared on his face, and he merely
remarked to Aouda, "It is an accident, madam, nothing more."

At this moment a man who had been observing him attentively
approached. It was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: "Were
you not, like me, sir, a passenger on the Rangoon, which arrived
yesterday?"

"I was, sir," replied Mr. Fogg coldly. "But I have not the honor
-"

"Pardon me. I thought I should find your servant here."

"Do you know where he is, sir?" asked Aouda anxiously.

"What!" responded Fix, feigning surprise. "Is he not with you?"

"No," said Aouda. "He has not made his appearance since
yesterday. Could he have gone on board the Carnatic without us?"

"Without you, madam?" answered the detective. "Excuse me, did you
intend to sail in the Carnatic?"

"Yes, sir."

"So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed. The
Carnatic, its repairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve
hours before the stated time, without any notice being given. We
must now wait a week for another steamer."

As he said "a week" Fix felt his heart leap for joy. Fogg
detained at Hong Kong for a week! There would be time for the
warrant to arrive, and fortune at last favored the representative
of the law. His horror may be imagined when he heard Mr. Fogg
say, in his placid voice, "But there are other vessels besides
the Carnatic, it seems to me, in the harbor of Hong Kong."

And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps towards the
docks in search of some craft about to start. Fix, stupefied,
followed. It seemed as if he were attached to Mr. Fogg by an
invisible thread. Chance, however, appeared really to have
abandoned the man it had hitherto served so well. For three
hours Phileas Fogg wandered about the docks, with the
determination, if necessary, to charter a vessel to carry him to
Yokohama; but he could only find vessels which were loading or
unloading, and which could not therefore set sail. Fix began to
hope again.

But Mr. Fogg, far from being discouraged, was continuing his
search, resolved not to stop if he had to resort to Macao, when
he was accosted by a sailor on one of the wharves.

"Is your honor looking for a boat?"

"Have you a boat ready to sail?"

"Yes, your honor; a pilot boat--No. 43--the best in the
harbor."

"Does she go fast?"

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

"Yes."

"Your honor will be satisfied with her. Is it for a sea
excursion?"

"No, for a voyage."

"A voyage?"

"Yes, will you agree to take me to Yokohama?"

The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said,
"Is your honor joking?"

"No. I have missed the Carnatic, and I must get to Yokohama by
the 14th at the latest, to take the boat for San Francisco.

"I am sorry," said the sailor, "but it is impossible."

"I offer you a hundred pounds per day, and an additional reward
of two hundred pounds if I reach Yokohama in time."

"Are you in earnest?"

"Very much so."

The pilot walked away a little distance, and gazed out to sea,
evidently struggling between the anxiety to gain a large sum and
the fear of venturing so far. Fix was in mortal suspense.

Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, "You would not be afraid,
would you, madam?"

"Not with you, Mr. Fogg," was her answer. The pilot now returned,
shuffling his hat in his hands.

"Well, pilot?" said Mr. Fogg.

"Well, your honor," replied he, "I could not risk myself, my men,
or my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage at
this time of year. Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in time,
for it is sixteen hundred and sixty miles from Hong Kong."

"Only sixteen hundred," said Mr. Fogg.

"It's the same thing."

Fix breathed more freely.

"But," added the pilot, "it might be arranged another way." Fix
ceased to breathe at all.

"How?" asked Mr. Fogg.

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

"Pilot," said Mr. Fogg, "I must take the American steamer at
Yokohama, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki."

"Why not?" returned the pilot. "The San Francisco steamer does
not start from Yokohama. It puts in at Yokohama and Nagasaki, but
it starts from Shanghai."

"You are sure of that?"

"Perfectly."

"And when does the boat leave Shanghai?"

"On the 11th, at seven in the evening. We have, therefore, four
days before us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time, if we
had good luck and a southwest wind, and the sea was calm, we
could make those eight hundred miles to Shanghai."

"And you could go--"

"In an hour. As soon as provisions could be got aboard and the
sails put up."

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

"Yes, John Bunsby, master of the Tankadere."

"Would you like some money?"

"If it would not put your honor out--"

"Here are two hundred pounds on account, sir," added Phileas
Fogg, turning to Fix, "if you would like to take advantage--"

"Thanks, sir; I was about to ask the favor."

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

"But poor Passepartout?" urged Aouda, who was much disturbed by
the servant's disappearance.

"I shall do all I can to find him," replied Phileas Fogg.

While Fix, in a feverish, nervous state, repaired to the pilot
boat, the others directed their course to the police-station at
Hong Kong. Phileas Fogg there gave Passepartout's description,
and left a sum of money to be spent in the search for him. The
same formalities having been gone through at the French
consulate, and the palanquin having stopped at the hotel for the
luggage, which had been sent back there, they returned to the
wharf.

It was now three o'clock; and pilot boat No.43, with its crew on
board, and its provisions stored away, was ready for departure.

The Tankadere was a neat little craft of twenty tons, as
gracefully built as if she were a racing yacht. Her shining
copper sheathing, her galvanized iron-work, her deck, white as
ivory, betrayed the pride taken by John Bunsby in making her
presentable. Her two masts leaned a trifle backward. She carried
brigantine, foresail, storm-jib and standing-jib, and was well
rigged for running before the wind; and she seemed capable of
brisk speed, which, indeed, she had already proved by gaining
several prizes in pilot-boat races. The crew of the Tankadere was
composed of John Bunsby, the master, and four hardy mariners, who
were familiar with the Chinese seas. John Bunsby, himself, a man
of forty-five or thereabouts, vigorous, sunburnt, with a
sprightly expression of the eye, and energetic and self-reliant
countenance, would have inspired confidence in the most timid.

Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix
already installed. Below deck was a square cabin, of which the
walls bulged out in the form of cots, above a circular divan; in
the center was a table provided with a swinging lamp. The
accommodation was confined, but neat.

"I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you," said Mr. Fogg
to Fix, who bowed without responding.

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

"It's certain," thought he, "though rascal he is, he is a polite
one!"

The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past
three. Mr. Fogg and Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a last
glance at the quay, in the hope of seeing Passepartout. Fix was
not without his fears lest chance should direct the steps of the
unfortunate servant, whom he had so badly treated, in this
direction. In that case an explanation the reverse of
satisfactory to the detective would have been necessary. But the
Frenchman did not appear, and, without doubt, was still lying
under the stupefying influence of the opium. At length John
Bunsby, master, gave the order to start, and the Tankadere,
taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail and standing-jib,
bounded briskly forward over the waves.




Chapter 21

In Which the Master of the Tankadere Runs Great Risk
of Losing a Reward of Two Hundred Pounds


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

It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry his
passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day.
But he would have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was
imprudent even to attempt to reach Shanghai. But John Bunsby
believed in the Tankadere, which rode on the waves like a
seagull; and perhaps he was not wrong.

Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of
Hong Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favorable winds,
conducted herself admirably.

"I do not need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, when they got into the
open sea, "to advise you to use all possible speed."

"Trust me, your honor. We are carrying all the sail the wind will
let us. The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we
are going into port."

"It's your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."

Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing like
a sailor, gazed without staggering at the swelling waters. The
young woman, who was seated aft, was profoundly affected as she
looked out upon the ocean, darkening now with the twilight, on
which she had ventured in so frail a vessel. Above her head
rustled the white sails, which seemed like great white wings. The
boat, carried forward by the wind, seemed to be flying in the
air.

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

The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in
these seas crowded with vessels bound landward. Collisions are
not uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the
least shock would shatter the gallant little craft.

Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept
apart from his fellow-travelers, knowing Mr. Fogg's taciturn
tastes. Besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose
favors he had accepted. He was thinking, too, of the future. It
seemed certain that Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would at
once take the boat for San Francisco; and the vast extent of
America would ensure him impunity and safety. Fogg's plan
appeared to him the simplest in the world.

Instead of sailing directly from England to the United States,
like a common villain, he had traveled three quarters of the
globe, so as to gain the American continent more surely. There,
after throwing the police off his track, he would quietly enjoy
himself with the fortune stolen from the bank. But, once in the
United States, what should he, Fix, do? Should he abandon this
man? No, a hundred times no! Until he had secured his
extradition, he would not lose sight of him for an hour. It was
his duty, and he would fulfill it to the end. At all events,
there was one thing to be thankful for. Passepartout was not with
his master; and it was above all important, after the confidences
Fix had imparted to him, that the servant should never have
speech with his master.

Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so
strangely disappeared. Looking at the matter from every point of
view, it did not seem to him impossible that, by some mistake,
the man might have embarked on the Carnatic at the last moment.
This was also Aouda's opinion, who regretted very much the loss
of the worthy fellow to whom she owed so much. They might then
find him at Yokohama, for, if the Carnatic was carrying him
thither, it would be easy to ascertain if he had been on board.

A brisk breeze arose about ten o'clock; but, though it might have
been prudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after carefully
examining the heavens, let the craft remain rigged as before. The
Tankadere bore sail admirably, as she drew a great deal of water,
and everything was prepared for high speed in case of a gale.

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

At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had
made more than one hundred miles. The log indicated a mean speed
of between eight and nine miles. The Tankadere still carried all
sail, and was accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If
the wind held as it was, the chances would be in her favor.
During the day she kept along the coast, where the currents were
favorable. The coast, regular in profile, and visible sometimes
across the clearings, was at most five miles distant. The sea was
less violent, since the wind came off land--a fortunate
circumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owing to its small
tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.

The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the
southwest. The pilot put up his poles, but took them down again
within two hours, as the wind freshened up anew.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the
sea, ate with a good appetite. Fix was invited to share their
repast, and he accepted with secret chagrin. To travel at this
man's expense and live upon his provisions was not palatable to
him. Still, he was obliged to eat, and so he ate.

When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said,
"sir"--this "sir" scorched his lips, and he had to control himself to
avoid collaring this "gentleman"--"sir, you have been very kind
to give me a passage on this boat. But, though my means will not
admit of my expending them as freely as you, I must ask to pay my
share--"

"Let us not speak of that, sir," replied Mr. Fogg.

"But, if I insist--"

"No, sir," repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a
reply. "This enters into my general expenses."

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

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

By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had
been accomplished from Hong Kong. Mr. Fogg might hope that he
would be able to reach Yokohama without recording any delay in
his journal; in which case, the many misadventures which had
overtaken him since he left London would not seriously affect
his journey.

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

At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens
seemed to predict a gale. The barometer announced a speedy
change, the mercury rising and falling capriciously. The sea
also, in the southeast, raised long surges which indicated a
tempest. The sun had set the evening before in a red mist, in the
midst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.

John Bunsby examined the threatening aspect of the heavens,
muttering indistinctly between his teeth. At last he said in a
low voice to Mr. Fogg, "Shall I speak out to your honor?"

"Of course."

"Well, we are going to have a squall."

"Is the wind north or south?" asked Mr. Fogg quietly.

"South. Look! A typhoon is coming up."

"Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us
forward."

"Oh, if you take it that way," said John Bunsby, "I've nothing
more to say." John Bunsby's suspicions were confirmed. At a less
advanced season of the year the typhoon, according to a famous
meteorologist, would have passed away like a luminous cascade of
electric flame; but in the winter equinox it was to be feared
that it would burst upon them with great violence.

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

John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but this
imprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the boat
bouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant. Neither Mr. Fogg,
Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the deck. The storm of rain and
wind descended upon them towards eight o'clock. With but its bit
of sail, the Tankadere was lifted like a feather by a wind, an
idea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To compare her
speed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam
would be below the truth.

The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on by
monstrous waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal to
theirs. Twenty times she seemed almost to be submerged by these
mountains of water which rose behind her, but the adroit
management of the pilot saved her. The passengers were often
bathed in spray, but they submitted to it philosophically. Fix
cursed it, but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector,
whose coolness amazed her, showed herself worthy of him, and
bravely weathered the storm. As for Phileas Fogg, it seemed just
as if the typhoon were a part of his program.

Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to the
north; but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore
down from the northwest. The boat, now lying in the trough of the
waves, shook and rolled terribly. The sea struck her with fearful
violence. At night the tempest increased in violence. John Bunsby
saw the approach of darkness and the rising of the storm with
dark misgivi

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