Chapter XX

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.

The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined. Then Aouda, shaking hands with her protector, retired to her room for rest.

Knowing that the steamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, Fogg did not disturb himself about the matter. When Passepartout did not appear the next morning to answer his master’s bell, Mr. Fogg took his carpet-bag, called Aouda, and sent for a palanquin.

It was then eight o’clock; at half-past nine, the Carnatic would leave the harbour. Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into the palanquin, and half an hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark. Mr. Fogg then learned that the Carnatic had sailed the evening before. He had expected to find not only the steamer, but his servant; 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 approached. It was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg: “Were you not, like me, sir, a passenger by the Rangoon, which arrived yesterday?”

“I was, sir,” replied Mr. Fogg coldly. “But I have not the honour—”

“Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, sir.”

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

As he said “a week” Fix felt his heart leap for joy. Fogg detained at Hong Kong for a week! There would be time for the warrant to arrive. But he heard Mr. Fogg say, in his placid voice,

“But there are other vessels besides the Carnatic, it seems to me, in the harbour of Hong Kong.”

And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps toward the docks in search of some craft about to start. Fix, stupefied, followed.

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.

Suddenly Mr. Fogg was asked by a sailor on one of the wharves.

“Is your honour looking for a boat?”

“Have you a boat ready to sail?”

“Yes, your honour; a pilot-boat—No. 43—the best in the harbour.”

“Does it go fast?”

“Between eight and nine knots the hour. Will you look at it?”

“Yes.”

“Your honour will be satisfied with it. Is it for a sea excursion?”

“No; for a voyage.”

“A voyage?”

“Yes, will you agree to take me to Yokohama?”

The sailor opened his eyes wide, and said, “Is your honour joking?”

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

“I am sorry,” said the sailor; “but it is impossible.”

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

“Are you serious?”

“Very much so.”

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

Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her,

“You would not be afraid, would you, madam?”

“Not with you, Mr. Fogg,” was her answer.

The pilot now returned, shuffling his hat in his hands.

“Well, pilot?” said Mr. Fogg.

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

“Only sixteen hundred,” said Mr. Fogg.

“It’s the same thing.”

Fix breathed more freely.

“But,” added the pilot, “it might be arranged another way.”

Fix ceased to breathe at all.

“How?” asked Mr. Fogg.

“By going to Nagasaki, at the extreme south of Japan, or even to Shanghai, which is only eight hundred miles from here.”

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

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

“You are sure of that?”

“Perfectly.”

“And when does the boat leave Shanghai?”

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

“And you could go—”

“In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard and the sails put up.”

“It is a bargain. Here are two hundred pounds on account sir,” added Phileas Fogg, turning to Fix, “if you would like to take advantage—”

“Thanks, sir; I was about to ask the favour.”

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

“But poor Passepartout?” urged Aouda, who was much disturbed by the servant’s disappearance.

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

The Tankadere was a neat little craft of twenty tons. It seemed capable of brisk speed.

Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix already installed. Below deck was a square cabin; in the centre was a table provided with a swinging lamp. The accommodation was confined, but neat.

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

“It’s certain,” thought the detective, “though rascal as he is, he is a polite one!”

The Tankadere bounded briskly forward over the waves.

Chapter XXI

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; and it was now early November.

The Tankadere rode on the waves like a seagull. They passed through the capricious channels of Hong Kong.

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

“Trust me, your honour.”

“I confide in you.”

Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing like a sailor, gazed at the swelling waters. The young woman looked out upon the ocean. Above her head rustled the white sails, which seemed like great white wings. The boat seemed to be flying in the air.

Night came. Clouds were rising from the east. Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept apart from his fellow-travellers, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose favours he had accepted. He was thinking, too, of the future. It seemed certain that Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the boat for San Francisco. But, once in the United States, what should he, Fix, do? Should he abandon this man? No, a hundred times no! He will not lose sight of him for an hour. It was his duty, and he would fulfil it to the end. At all events, there was one thing to be thankful for; Passepartout was not with his master; and it was important.

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

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 Tankadere was accomplishing its greatest capacity of speed. During the day it kept along the coast, where the currents were favourable; the coast was at most five miles distant.

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

When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said,

“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.

Fix did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.

Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and the pilot several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would reach Shanghai in time; to which that gentleman responded that he counted upon it. There was not a sheet which was not tightened, not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted.

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 its course, whilst it became very difficult to stand on deck.

At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens seemed to predict a gale. The barometer announced a speedy change, the sea raised long surges which indicated a tempest. The captain said in a low voice to Mr. Fogg,

“Shall I speak out to your honour?”

“Of course.”

“Well, we are going to have a squall.”

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

“South. A typhoon is coming up.”

“Glad it’s a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us forward.”

The pilot took his precautions in advance. Then they waited.

The captain 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, nor Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the deck.

The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o’clock. The Tankadere was lifted like a feather by a wind, an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given.

Twenty times the boat seemed almost to be submerged by great mountains of water which rose behind it; but the adroit management of the pilot saved her. The passengers were often bathed in spray, but they submitted to it philosophically. Fix cursed it, no doubt; but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector, whose coolness amazed her, showed herself worthy of him. As for Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of his programme.

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. The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft did not founder. Aouda was exhausted, but did not utter a complaint. More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect her from the violence of the waves.

Day reappeared. The tempest still raged with undiminished fury; but the wind now returned to the south-east. It was a favourable change, and the Tankadere again bounded forward. From time to time the coast was visible through the broken mist, but no vessel was in sight. The Tankadere was alone upon the sea.

There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became more distinct as the sun descended toward the horizon. The tempest had been as brief as terrific. The passengers, thoroughly exhausted, could now eat a little, and take some repose.

The night was comparatively quiet. The next morning at dawn they saw the coast, and the captain was able to assert that they were one hundred miles from Shanghai. A hundred miles, and only one day to traverse them! That very evening Mr. Fogg was due at Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss the steamer to Yokohama.