Chapter XXXI

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

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

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

“Quite seriously.”

“Is it absolutely necessary,” continued Fix, “that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o’clock in the evening, the time that the steamer leaves for Liverpool?”

“It is absolutely necessary.”

“And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians, you would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?”

“Yes; with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left.”

“Good! You are therefore twenty hours behind. Twelve from twenty leaves eight. You must regain eight hours. Do you wish to try to do so?”

“On foot?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“No; on a sledge,” replied Fix. “On a sledge with sails. A man has proposed such a method to me.”

Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix, having pointed out the man, who was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg went up to him. An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American entered a hut built just below the fort.

There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long beams, a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon which there was room for five or six persons. A high mast was fixed on the frame, held firmly by metallic lashings, to which was attached a large brigantine sail. It was a sledge rigged like a sloop. During the winter, when the trains are blocked up by the snow, these sledges make extremely rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one station to another.

At eight o’clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers took their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in their travelling-cloaks. The two great sails were hoisted, and under the pressure of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened snow with a velocity of forty miles an hour.

The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha is at most two hundred miles. This distance might be traversed in five hours; if no accident happened the sledge might reach Omaha by one o’clock.

What a journey! The travellers could not speak for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were going. The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves.

The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight line, was as flat as a sea. It seemed like a vast frozen lake. The sledge, shortening the route, took a chord of the arc described by the railway. The road was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to fear—an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind.

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by the hand. He remembered that it was the detective who procured the sledge. One thing, however, Passepartout would never forget, and that was the sacrifice which Mr. Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the Sioux. Mr. Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No! His servant would never forget that!

The sledge flew past over the vast carpet of snow. Fields and streams disappeared under the uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted. Neither village, station, nor fort appeared.

About noon the American perceived by certain landmarks that he was now within twenty miles of Omaha. The sledge stopped at last, and he, pointing to a mass of roofs white with snow, said:

“We have got there!”

Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication, by numerous trains, with the Atlantic seaboard!

Passepartout and Fix jumped off, stretched their stiffened limbs, and aided Mr. Fogg and the young woman to descend from the sledge. The party directed their steps to the Omaha railway station.

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

The next day, which was the 10th, at four o’clock in the evening, the train reached Chicago. Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York. The locomotive left at full speed, as if it fully comprehended that that gentleman had no time to lose. It traversed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey like a flash. At a quarter-past eleven in the evening of the 11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of the river.

The China, for Liverpool, had started three-quarters of an hour before!

Chapter XXXII

The China, in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas Fogg’s last hope. None of the other steamers were able to serve his projects. The Pereire, of the French Transatlantic Company, whose admirable steamers are equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave until the 14th; the Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or London, but to Havre.

Passepartout was crushed. It was his fault, for, instead of helping his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles in his path! Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him; and, only said:

“We will consult about what is best tomorrow. Come.”

The party drove in a carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were engaged, and the night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg, who slept profoundly, but very long to Aouda and the others, whose agitation did not permit them to rest.

The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning of the 12th to a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st there were nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes. If Phileas Fogg had left in the China, one of the fastest steamers on the Atlantic, he would have reached Liverpool, and then London, within the period agreed upon.

Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant’s notice. He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about among the vessels, for any that were about to depart.

He saw a trading vessel, with a screw, well-shaped, whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke, indicated that it was getting ready for departure.

Phileas Fogg ascended to the deck, and asked for the captain, who forthwith presented himself. He was a man of fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big eyes, red hair and thick neck, and a growling voice.

“The captain?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“I am the captain.”

“I am Phileas Fogg, of London. You are going to put to sea?”

“In an hour.”

“You are bound for—”

“Bordeaux.”

“And your cargo?”

“No cargo.”

“Have you any passengers?”

“No passengers. Never have passengers.”

“Is your vessel a swift one?”

“Between eleven and twelve knots.”

“Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?”

“To Liverpool? Why not to China?”

“I said Liverpool.”

“No!”

“No?”

“No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux.”

“Money is no object?”

“None.”

The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply.

“But the owners—” resumed Phileas Fogg.

“The owners are myself,” replied the captain. “The vessel belongs to me.”

“I will freight it for you.”

“No.”

“I will buy it of you.”

“No.”

The situation was a grave one. Money failed. Phileas Fogg said to the captain:

“Well, will you carry me to Bordeaux?”

“No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars.”

“I offer you two thousand.”

“Apiece?”

“Apiece.”

“And there are four of you?”

“Four.”

Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There were eight thousand dollars to gain, without changing his route. Besides, passengers at two thousand dollars are no longer passengers, but valuable merchandise.

“I start at nine o’clock,” said Captain simply. “Are you and your party ready?”

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

Chapter XXXIII

What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished to go to Liverpool, but the captain would not carry him there. Then Phileas Fogg had taken passage for Bordeaux, and, during the thirty hours he had been on board, had so shrewdly managed with his banknotes that the sailors and stokers, who were only an occasional crew, and were not on the best terms with the captain, went over to him in a body. Soon Phileas Fogg was in command instead of Captain. It was very clear that Mr. Fogg had been a sailor.

Passepartout was delighted. His master’s last exploit enchanted him. Never had the crew seen so jolly and dexterous a fellow. He formed warm friendships with the sailors, and amazed them with his acrobatic feats. He thought they managed the vessel like gentlemen. He had forgotten the past, its vexations and delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished.

Fix understood nothing of what was going on. The conquest of the vessel, the bribery of the crew, amazed and confused him. He did not know what to think. For, after all, a man who began by stealing fifty-five thousand pounds might end by stealing a vessel.

As for Captain, he howled and growled in his cabin; and carried him his meals.

On the 13th the barometer had indicated an approaching change in the atmosphere; and during the night the temperature varied, the cold became sharper, and the wind veered to the south-east.

This was a misfortune. The vessel’s speed slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long waves of which broke against the stern. It pitched violently, and this slowed her progress. The breeze little by little swelled into a tempest, and it was to be feared that the vessel might not be able to maintain itself upright on the waves.

The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg’s departure from London. Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worst localities had been passed. In summer, success would have been certain. In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad season. On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and began to speak earnestly with him. Passepartout managed to catch a few words, and was sure he heard his master say “You are certain of what you tell me?”

“Certain, sir,” replied the engineer. “We had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to Bordeaux, but we haven’t enough to go with all steam from New York to Liverpool.”

“I will consider,” replied Mr. Fogg.

And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt? It was difficult to imagine. In the evening he sent for the engineer, and said to him:

“Feed all the fires until the coal is exhausted.”

In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the poop-deck. The bomb was the Captain. “Where are we?” were the first words his anger permitted him to utter.

“Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool,” replied Mr. Fogg, with imperturbable calmness.

“Pirate!” cried Captain Speedy.

“I have sent for you, sir, to ask you to sell me your vessel.”

“No! By all the devils, no!”

“But I shall be obliged to burn it.”

“Burn it!”

“Yes; at least the upper part of her. The coal has given out.”

“Burn my vessel!” cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely pronounce the words. “A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!”

“Here are sixty thousand,” replied Phileas Fogg, handing the captain a roll of bank-bills. This had a prodigious effect on him.

“Is it agreed?” asked Fogg.

“Agreed.”

And the Captain, seizing the banknotes, counted them and consigned them to his pocket.

“Don’t let this astonish you, sir,” Mr. Fogg said to him. “You must know that I shall lose twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a quarter before nine on the evening of the 21st of December. I missed the steamer at New York, and as you refused to take me to Liverpool—”

“And I did well!” cried the Captain.

“The vessel now belongs to me?”

“Certainly.”

“Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled down, and burn them.”

Phileas Fogg disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at twenty minutes before twelve, 21st December. He was only six hours distant from London.

But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg’s shoulder, and, showing his warrant, said, “You are really Phileas Fogg?”

“I am.”

“I arrest you in the Queen’s name!”