Around the World in Eighty Days

Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington
Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814.  He was one of the
most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always to
avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage, about whom little
was known, except that he was a polished man of the world.  People said
that he resembled Byron--at least that his head was Byronic; but he was
a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without
growing old.

Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg was
a Londoner.  He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank, nor in the
counting-rooms of the "City"; no ships ever came into London docks of
which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been
entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln's
Inn, or Gray's Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of
Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench, or the
Ecclesiastical Courts.  He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he
a merchant or a gentleman farmer.  His name was strange to the
scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part
in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London
Institution, the 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, from the Harmonic to that of the
Entomologists, founded mainly for the purpose of abolishing pernicious
insects.

Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all.

The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple
enough.

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

Was Phileas Fogg rich?  Undoubtedly.  But those who knew him best could
not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last
person to whom to apply for the information.  He was not lavish, nor,
on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was
needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it
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 travelled?  It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world
more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear
to have an intimate acquaintance with it.  He often corrected, with a
few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the
club as to lost and unheard-of travellers, pointing out the true
probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so
often did events justify his predictions.  He must have travelled
everywhere, at least in the spirit.

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

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which may
happen to the most honest people; either relatives or near friends,
which is certainly more unusual.  He lived alone in his house in
Saville Row, whither none penetrated.  A single domestic sufficed to
serve him.  He breakfasted and dined at the club, at hours
mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table, never taking
his meals with other members, much less bringing a guest with him; and
went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed.  He never
used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured
members.  He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row,
either in sleeping or making his toilet.  When he chose to take a walk
it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic
flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome supported by twenty
red porphyry 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 stores; he was served by the gravest waiters,
in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered the
viands in special porcelain, and 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 domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be
almost superhumanly prompt and regular.  On this very 2nd of October he
had dismissed James Forster, because that 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.

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 repair
to the Reform.

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

"The new servant," said he.

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
quitted France five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of
domestic life, took service as a valet here in England.  Finding myself
out of place, and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact
and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in
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, 2nd 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.

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

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

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

He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was
economical alike of his steps and his motions.  He never took one step
too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut; he
made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or
agitated.  He was the 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 rubicund,
his figure almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his
physical powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days.
His brown hair was somewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors
are said to have known eighteen methods of arranging Minerva's tresses,
Passepartout was familiar with but one of dressing his own: three
strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.

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

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

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

Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste.  Each
pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of
year and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing;
and the same system was applied to the 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 idealised.  There was no study, nor were there
books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the
Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law
and politics, were at his service.  A moderate-sized safe stood in his
bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but
Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere;
everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.

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

Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven,
and having put his right foot before his left five hundred and
seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right five hundred and
seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall
Mall, which could not have cost less than three millions.  He repaired
at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open upon a
tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with an autumn
colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover of which
had already been laid for him.  His breakfast consisted of a side-dish,
a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef
garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel
of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with several cups of
tea, for which the Reform is famous.  He rose at thirteen minutes to
one, and directed his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous
apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings.  A flunkey handed him
an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with a skill which betrayed
familiarity with this delicate operation.  The perusal of this paper
absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst the Standard,
his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour.  Dinner passed as
breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the reading-room and
sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six.  Half an hour
later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the
fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning.  They were Mr.
Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John
Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and
Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England--all rich
and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises the
princes of English trade and finance.

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

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

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

"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, that functionary being at the
moment engaged in registering the receipt of three shillings and
sixpence.  Of course, he could not have his eyes everywhere.  Let it be
observed that the Bank of England reposes a touching confidence in the
honesty of the public.  There are neither guards nor gratings to
protect its treasures; gold, silver, 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, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the
next man, and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was
transferred to the end of a dark entry; nor did it return to its place
for half an hour.  Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as raised his
head.  But in the present instance things had not gone so smoothly.
The package of notes not being found when five o'clock sounded from the
ponderous clock in the "drawing office," the amount was passed to the
account of profit and loss.  As soon as the robbery was discovered,
picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez,
Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the proffered reward
of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum that might be
recovered.  Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching those
who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination was
at once entered upon.

There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said,
that the thief did not belong to 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; and the Reform Club was
especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.

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

"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favour 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, 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  "
  From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail ...................  3  "
  From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer ............. 13  "
  From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer .....  6  "
  From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer ......... 22  "
  From San Francisco to New York, by rail ............. 7  "
  From New York to London, by steamer and rail ........ 9  "
                                                       ------
    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 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 cheque
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."

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

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

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

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

"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 overspread Passepartout's round face; clearly he had not
comprehended his master.

"Monsieur is going to leave home?"

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

Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up his
hands, and seemed about to collapse, so overcome was he with 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 carpet-bag, 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 so domestic person hitherto!

By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag,
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 carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped
into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes, which would pass
wherever he might go.

"You have forgotten nothing?" asked he.

"Nothing, monsieur."

"My mackintosh and cloak?"

"Here they are."

"Good!  Take this carpet-bag," 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, her naked feet smeared
with mud, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a
tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl,
approached, and mournfully asked for alms.

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

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

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

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

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

"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-bye, gentlemen."

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

The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling.  Phileas Fogg,
snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips.  Passepartout,
not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the
carpet-bag, 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."

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

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

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

Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed
alike by man and by nature.  A miraculous agreement of the times of
departure and 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 travelling by steamer in winter, at the mercy of
the winds and fogs?  Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be
two or three days behind time?  But a single delay would suffice to
fatally break the chain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once
miss, even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next,
and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.

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

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

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

The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against him,
and the bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one; and a
week after his departure an incident occurred 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 dispatch was put into his
hands:

Suez to London.

Rowan, Commissioner of Police, Scotland Yard:

I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg.  Send with out delay warrant
of arrest to Bombay.

Fix, Detective.

The effect of this dispatch 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 at 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.

The circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch 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 horse-power, 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 unfavourable predictions of
Stephenson, was in the habit of seeing, from his office window, English
ships daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old
roundabout route from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was
abridged by at least a half.  The other was a small, slight-built
personage, with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering
out from under eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching.  He was
just now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing
up and down, and unable to stand still for a moment.  This was Fix, one
of the detectives who had been dispatched from England in search of the
bank robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every passenger who
arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to be suspicious
characters, or bore a resemblance to the description of the criminal,
which he had received two days before from the police headquarters at
London.  The detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining
the splendid reward which would be the prize of success, and awaited
with a feverish impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the
steamer Mongolia.

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

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

"Does she come directly from Brindisi?"

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

"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than
recognises 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 off-hand.  The artistic thing is, to unmask honest
countenances; it's no light task, I admit, but a real art."

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

Little by little the scene on the quay became more animated; sailors of
various nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters, fellahs, bustled to
and fro as if the steamer were immediately expected.  The weather was
clear, and slightly chilly.  The minarets of the town loomed above the
houses in the pale rays of the sun.  A jetty pier, some two thousand
yards 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, scrutinised
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 bank robber which he had received from Scotland Yard.

"Is this your passport?" asked he.

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

"And your master is--"

"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.

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

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

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

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

"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
favour to visa it.  The consul took the document and carefully read it,
whilst Fix observed, or rather devoured, the stranger with his eyes
from a corner of the room.

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

"I am."

"And this man is your servant?"

"He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout."

"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 note-book, 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 a.m.
"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+; 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-hand 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 domestics.

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 carpet-bag."

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

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

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

"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 whence came his riches, and was mysterious and impenetrable in
his affairs and habits.  Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg would not land
at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.

"Is Bombay far from here?" asked Passepartout.

"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 dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched
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, whence
he sent the dispatch which we have seen to the London police office.  A
quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small bag in his hand,
proceeding on board the Mongolia; and, ere many moments longer, the
noble steamer rode out at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.

The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and
ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the steamers one
hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it.  The Mongolia,
thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so
rapid was her speed, to reach her destination considerably within that
time.  The greater part of the passengers from Brindisi were bound for
India some for Bombay, others for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the
nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses the Indian peninsula.
Among the passengers was a number of officials and military officers of
various grades, the latter being either attached to the regular British
forces or commanding the Sepoy troops, and receiving high salaries ever
since the central government has assumed the powers of the East India
Company: for the sub-lieutenants get 280 pounds, brigadiers, 2,400
pounds, and generals of divisions, 4,000 pounds.  What with the
military men, a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and
the hospitable efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the
Mongolia.  The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at
breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the eight o'clock supper, and the ladies
scrupulously changed their toilets twice a day; and the hours were
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 chance, in short, which might
force the Mongolia to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his
journey.  But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not betray
the fact by any outward sign.

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no incident
could surprise, as unvarying as the ship's chronometers, and seldom
having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed through the
memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference; did not care to
recognise 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 sea-sickness, 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," said he, approaching this person, with his most
amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered to
guide me at Suez?"

"Ah!  I quite recognise 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 whereon date-trees were growing, was
sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.
Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought
that, with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an
immense coffee-cup and saucer. The following night they passed through
the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic The Bridge of Tears,
and the next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of Aden
harbour, to take in coal.  This matter of fuelling 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 programme; besides, the Mongolia, instead of reaching
Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due, arrived there on the
evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport again
visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them.  The visa procured, Mr. Fogg
returned on board to resume his former habits; while Passepartout,
according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed population of
Somalis, Banyans, 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 favourable, the wind being in the
north-west, and all sails aiding the engine.  The steamer rolled but
little, the ladies, in fresh toilets, 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.

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

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

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

The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows:
Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent
opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts, runs thence
north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly independent
territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly,
meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs from the river a little,
and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and the French town of
Chandernagor, has its terminus 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-bye to his whist partners, left the
steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to
be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which
beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, directed his steps to
the passport office.  As for the wonders of Bombay--its famous city
hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques,
synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on 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 south-east 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 travellers as well!"

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

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

Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a
leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of many
nationalities--Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas with round
turbans, 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, civilised, 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-coloured
gauze, looped up with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect
modesty, to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines.  It is
needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with
staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance was that of the
greenest booby imaginable.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 travelling, but
only describing a circumference, took no pains to inquire into these
subjects; he was a solid body, traversing an orbit around the
terrestrial globe, according to the laws of rational mechanics.  He was
at this moment calculating in his mind the number of hours spent since
his departure from London, and, had it been in his nature to make a
useless demonstration, would have rubbed his hands for satisfaction.
Sir Francis Cromarty had observed the oddity of his travelling
companion--although the only opportunity he had for studying him had
been while he was dealing the cards, and between two rubbers--and
questioned himself whether a human heart really beat beneath this cold
exterior, and whether Phileas Fogg had any sense of the beauties of
nature.  The brigadier-general was free to mentally confess that, of
all the eccentric persons he had ever met, none was comparable to this
product of the exact sciences.

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

An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts and the
Island of Salcette, and had got into the open country.  At Callyan they
reached the junction of the branch line which descends towards
south-eastern 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, which the
passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on ponies to
Kandallah, on the other side."

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

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

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

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

Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realise 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 (sort of abandoned
monasteries), and marvellous temples enriched by the exhaustless
ornamentation of Indian architecture.  Then they came upon vast tracts
extending to the horizon, with jungles inhabited by snakes and tigers,
which fled at the noise of the train; succeeded by forests penetrated
by the railway, and still haunted by elephants which, with pensive
eyes, gazed at the train as it passed.  The travellers crossed, beyond
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 honour of the
goddess Death, without ever shedding blood; there was a period when
this part of the country could scarcely be travelled over without
corpses being found in every direction.  The English Government has
succeeded in greatly diminishing these murders, though the Thuggees
still exist, and pursue the exercise of their horrible rites.

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

Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie.  Up to his arrival
at Bombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey would end there;
but, now that they were plainly whirling across India at full speed, a
sudden change had come over the spirit of his dreams.  His old vagabond
nature returned to him; the fantastic ideas of his youth once more took
possession of him.  He came to regard his master's project as intended
in good earnest, believed in the reality of the bet, and therefore in
the tour of the world and the necessity of making it without fail
within the designated period.  Already he began to worry about possible
delays, and accidents which might happen on the way.  He recognised
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, whereupon the
latter made the same remark that he had done to Fix; and upon the
general insisting that the watch should be regulated in each new
meridian, since he was constantly going eastward, that is in the face
of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter by four minutes for
each degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately refused to alter his
watch, which he kept at London time.  It was an innocent delusion which
could harm no one.

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

Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation; but the
general could not tell what meant a halt in the midst of this forest of
dates and acacias.

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

"What do you mean?" asked Sir Francis.

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

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

"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 getting
too fast, and had been premature in their announcement of the
completion of the line.  The greater part of the travellers were aware
of this interruption, and, leaving the train, they began to engage such
vehicles as the village could provide four-wheeled palkigharis, waggons
drawn by zebus, carriages that looked like perambulating pagodas,
palanquins, ponies, and what not.

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

"I shall go afoot," said Phileas Fogg.

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, in default of any other
means of conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him.  But elephants are
far from cheap in India, where they are becoming scarce, the males,
which alone are suitable for circus shows, are much sought, especially
as but few of them are domesticated.  When therefore Mr. Fogg proposed
to the Indian to hire Kiouni, he refused point-blank.  Mr. Fogg
persisted, offering the excessive sum of ten pounds an hour for the
loan of the beast to Allahabad.  Refused.  Twenty pounds?  Refused
also.  Forty pounds?  Still refused.  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; to which that gentleman replied that he was
not in the habit of acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand pounds
was at stake, that the elephant was absolutely necessary to him, and
that he would secure him if he had to pay twenty times his value.
Returning to the Indian, whose small, sharp eyes, glistening with
avarice, betrayed that with him it was only a question of how great a
price he could obtain.  Mr. Fogg offered first twelve hundred, then
fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds.  Passepartout,
usually so rubicund, was fairly white with suspense.

At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.

"What a price, good 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 carpet-bag, a
proceeding that seemed to deprive poor Passepartout of his vitals.
Then he offered to carry Sir Francis to Allahabad, which the brigadier
gratefully accepted, as one traveller the more would not be likely to
fatigue the gigantic beast.  Provisions were purchased at Kholby, and,
while Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg took the howdahs on either side,
Passepartout got astride the 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.

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

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the
peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the swift
trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by the skilful Parsee;
but they endured the discomfort with true British phlegm, talking
little, and scarcely able to catch a glimpse of each other.  As for
Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast's back, and received the
direct force of each concussion as he trod along, he was very careful,
in accordance with his master's advice, to keep his tongue from between
his teeth, as it would otherwise have been bitten off short.  The
worthy fellow bounced from the elephant's neck to his rump, and vaulted
like a clown on a 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
neighbouring 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 travellers, is inhabited by a
fanatical population, hardened in the most horrible practices of the
Hindoo faith.  The English have not been able to secure complete
dominion over this territory, which is subjected to the influence of
rajahs, whom it is almost impossible to reach in their inaccessible
mountain fastnesses. The travellers several times saw bands of
ferocious Indians, who, when they perceived the elephant striding
across-country, made angry and threatening motions.  The Parsee avoided
them as much as possible.  Few animals were observed on the route; even
the monkeys hurried from their path with contortions and grimaces which
convulsed Passepartout with laughter.

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

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

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

The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped to reach
Allahabad by evening.  In that case, Mr. Fogg would only lose a part of
the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning of the tour.  Kiouni,
resuming his rapid gait, soon descended the lower spurs of the
Vindhias, and towards noon they 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 north-east.  They stopped
under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and
as succulent as cream, was amply partaken of and appreciated.

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 travellers not to stir.  He held himself ready to
bestride the animal at a moment's notice, should flight become
necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession of the faithful
would pass without perceiving them amid the thick foliage, in which
they were wholly concealed.

The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer, and now
droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals.
The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees, a hundred
paces away; and the strange figures who performed the religious
ceremony were easily distinguished through the branches.  First came
the priests, with mitres on their heads, and clothed in long lace
robes.  They were surrounded by men, women, and children, who sang a
kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals by the
tambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn a car with large
wheels, the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each
other.  Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus,
stood a hideous statue with four arms, the body coloured 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, recognising the statue, whispered, "The goddess Kali; the
goddess of love and death."

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

The Parsee made a motion to keep silence.

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

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

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

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 to-morrow
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 to-morrow 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--"

"To-morrow, 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."

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.

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

As soon as night fell, about six o'clock, they decided to make a
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 espied 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 overhanging darkness, had
delivered the young woman from death!  It was Passepartout who, playing
his part with a happy audacity, had passed through the crowd amid the
general terror.

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

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

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

The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was
advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour after
leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain.  They made a halt at
seven o'clock, the young woman being still in a state of complete
prostration.  The guide made her drink a little brandy and water, but
the drowsiness which stupefied her could not yet be shaken off.  Sir
Francis, who was familiar with the effects of the intoxication produced
by the fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on her account.  But he
was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate.  He told Phileas
Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall
again into the hands of her executioners.  These fanatics were
scattered throughout the county, and would, despite the English police,
recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta.  She would only be
safe by quitting India for ever.

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

Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a good
look at the city.  It was formerly defended by a noble fort, which has
since become a state prison; its commerce has dwindled away, and
Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar as he used to
frequent in Regent Street.  At last he came upon an elderly, crusty
Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom 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 modelled 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 acceptation of the
phrase.  She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had not
exaggerated in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed by her
bringing up.

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

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

The guide's eyes glistened.

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

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

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

The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout
around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head.
Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the animal, which
replaced him gently on the ground.

Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout,
installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were
whirling at full speed towards Benares.  It was a run of eighty miles,
and was accomplished in two hours.  During the journey, the young woman
fully recovered her senses.  What was her astonishment to find herself
in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European habiliments, and
with travellers who were quite strangers to her!  Her companions first
set about fully reviving her with a little liquor, and then Sir Francis
narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with which
Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and
recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of
Passepartout's rash idea.  Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout,
abashed, kept repeating that "it wasn't worth telling."

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

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;
though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of
India, stands quite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout
caught glimpses of its brick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of
desolation to the place, as the train entered it.

Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination, the troops he was
rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city.  He bade
adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all 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; and, as for Passepartout, he received a hearty
shake of the hand from the gallant general.

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

The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the steam
concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could scarcely
discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward from Benares,
the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or Ghazipur and its
famous rose-water factories; or the tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on
the left bank of the Ganges; the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a
large manufacturing and trading-place, where is held the principal
opium market of India; or Monghir, a more than European town, for it is
as English as Manchester or Birmingham, with its iron foundries,
edgetool 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; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour,
Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and the French town
of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see his
country's flag flying, were hidden from their view in the darkness.

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

According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of
October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival.  He was
therefore neither behind-hand 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.

The train entered the station, and Passepartout jumping out first, was
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?" asked he.

"She may," replied the policeman.

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palkigahri, a
sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in which they took
their places and were driven away.  No one spoke during the twenty
minutes which elapsed before they reached their destination.  They
first passed through the "black town," with its narrow streets, its
miserable, dirty huts, and squalid population; then through the
"European town," which presented a relief in its bright brick mansions,
shaded by 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 court-room, 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," said he.  Then, putting his hand to his head, he
exclaimed, "Heh!  This is not my wig!"

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

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

The wigs were exchanged.

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 misdemeanour, he
promised them a goodly sum in damages, and sent them forward to
Calcutta by the next train.  Owing to the delay caused by the rescue of
the young widow, Fix and the priests reached the Indian capital before
Mr. Fogg and his servant, the magistrates having been already warned by
a dispatch to arrest them should they arrive.  Fix's disappointment
when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his appearance in
Calcutta may be imagined.  He made up his mind that the robber had
stopped somewhere on the route and taken refuge in the southern
provinces.  For twenty-four hours Fix watched the station with feverish
anxiety; at last he was rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and Passepartout
arrive, accompanied by a young woman, whose presence he was wholly at a
loss to explain.  He hastened for a policeman; and this was how the
party came to be arrested and brought before Judge Obadiah.

Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have espied
the detective ensconced in a corner of the court-room, 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 carpet-bag, 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 harbour, its signal of
departure hoisted at the mast-head.  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 travelling expenses, bribes, the purchase of
the elephant, bails, and fines, Mr. Fogg had already spent more than
five thousand pounds on the way, and the percentage of the sum
recovered from the bank robber promised to the detectives, was rapidly
diminishing.

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 horse-power.  She was as fast, but not as well fitted up,
as the Mongolia, and Aouda was not as comfortably provided for on board
of her as Phileas Fogg could have wished.  However, the trip from
Calcutta to Hong Kong only comprised some three thousand five hundred
miles, occupying from ten to twelve days, and the young woman was not
difficult to please.

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

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

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

The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was superb.  Vast
forests of palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic mimosa, and
tree-like ferns covered the foreground, while behind, the graceful
outlines of the mountains were traced against the sky; and along the
coasts swarmed by thousands the precious swallows whose nests furnish a
luxurious dish to the tables of the Celestial Empire.  The varied
landscape afforded by the Andaman Islands was soon passed, however, and
the Rangoon rapidly approached the Straits of Malacca, which gave
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 centred 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 for ever.  Hong Kong was the last
English ground on which he would set foot; beyond, China, Japan,
America offered to Fogg an almost certain refuge.  If the warrant
should at last make its appearance at Hong Kong, Fix could arrest him
and give him into the hands of the local police, and there would be no
further trouble.  But beyond Hong Kong, a simple warrant would be of no
avail; an extradition warrant would be necessary, and that would result
in delays and obstacles, of which the rascal would take advantage to
elude justice.

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

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

Who was this woman?  What combination of events had made her Fogg's
travelling companion?  They had evidently met somewhere between Bombay
and Calcutta; but where?  Had they met accidentally, or had Fogg gone
into the interior purposely in quest of this charming damsel?  Fix was
fairly puzzled.  He asked himself whether there had not been a wicked
elopement; and this idea so impressed itself upon his mind that he
determined to make use of the supposed intrigue.  Whether the young
woman 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 way again for Yokohama.

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

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

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, recognising his crony of the Mongolia.  "Why, I left you
at Bombay, and here you are, on the way to Hong Kong!  Are you going
round the world too?"

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

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

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

"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 later 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."

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

"It's clear!" repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud of his
shrewdness.  "He's a spy sent to keep us in view!  That isn't quite the
thing, either, to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is so honourable 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 travellers.  The Rangoon weighed
anchor at Singapore the next day at four a.m., to receive coal, having
gained half a day on the prescribed time of her arrival.  Phileas Fogg
noted this gain in his journal, and then, accompanied by Aouda, who
betrayed a desire for a walk on shore, disembarked.

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

The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are no
mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions.  It is a park
checkered by pleasant highways and avenues.  A handsome carriage, drawn
by a sleek pair of New Holland horses, carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda
into the midst of rows of palms with brilliant foliage, and of
clove-trees, whereof the cloves form the heart of a half-open flower.
Pepper plants replaced the prickly hedges of European fields;
sago-bushes, large ferns with gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of
this tropical clime; while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the air
with a penetrating perfume.  Agile 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; and at ten o'clock they re-embarked, closely
followed by the detective, who had kept them constantly in sight.

Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes--a fruit
as large as good-sized apples, of a dark-brown colour 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 harbour, 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 travellers.

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the last
quarter of the moon.  The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at intervals
rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from the south-west, and thus
aided the steamer's progress.  The captain as often as possible put up
his sails, and under the double action of steam and sail the vessel
made rapid progress along the coasts of Anam and Cochin China.  Owing
to the defective construction of the Rangoon, however, unusual
precautions became necessary in unfavourable 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!"

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

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

Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light.  The storm
greatly pleased him.  His satisfaction would have been complete had the
Rangoon been forced to retreat before the violence of wind and waves.
Each 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 sea-sick--he made no account of this
inconvenience; and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects,
his spirit bounded with hopeful exultation.

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

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

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

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

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

"At high tide to-morrow 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 to-morrow."

"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
crowd the harbour of Hong Kong.

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

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

The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco
made a direct connection with that from Hong Kong, and it could not
sail until the latter reached Yokohama; and if Mr. Fogg was twenty-four
hours late on reaching Yokohama, this time would no doubt be easily
regained in the voyage of twenty-two days across the Pacific.  He found
himself, then, about twenty-four hours behind-hand, 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, every one
would know so wealthy and considerable a personage 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, apprised 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.  "Go on to Europe."

"But I cannot intrude--"

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

"Monsieur."

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

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.

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 colonising 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, macadamised 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 colour.  Passepartout, without exactly knowing
why, thought this very funny.

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

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

"Well, Monsieur Fix," said Passepartout, "have you decided to go with
us so 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 camp-bed furnished with cushions.  Several persons
lay upon this bed in a deep sleep.  At the small tables which were
arranged about the room some thirty customers were drinking English
beer, porter, gin, and brandy; smoking, the while, long red clay pipes
stuffed with little balls of opium mingled with essence of rose.  From
time to time one of the smokers, overcome with the narcotic, would slip
under the table, whereupon the waiters, taking him by the head and
feet, carried and laid him upon the bed.  The bed already supported
twenty of these stupefied sots.

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

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

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

"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
to-morrow; 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 honour, 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 his 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 honourable 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 essayed 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?" said he, at last, with an effort.

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

"I!  But I--"

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

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

"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.

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 carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to travel comfortably under
such conditions.  He acquitted his task with characteristic serenity,
and invariably replied to the remonstrances of his fair companion, who
was confused by his patience and generosity:

"It is in the interest of my journey--a part of my programme."

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

Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been
not to see his servant return at 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 carpet-bag,
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 harbour.  Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into the
palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and half
an hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark.  Mr.
Fogg then learned that the Carnatic had sailed the evening before.  He
had expected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was
forced to give up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his
face, and he merely remarked to Aouda, "It is an accident, madam;
nothing more."

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

"I was, sir," replied Mr. Fogg coldly.  "But I have not the 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,
and fortune at last favoured 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
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; 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 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 she go fast?"

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

"Yes."

"Your honour 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 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 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 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.  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 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.  Are you the master of the boat?"

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

"Would you like some earnest-money?"

"If it would not put your honour 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 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.

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
galvanised 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 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.

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

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

The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past three.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a last glance at the
quay, in the hope of espying Passepartout.  Fix was not without his
fears lest chance should direct the steps of the unfortunate servant,
whom he had so badly treated, in this direction; in which case an
explanation the reverse of satisfactory to the detective must have
ensued.  But the Frenchman did not appear, and, without doubt, was
still lying under the stupefying influence of the opium.

John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start, and the
Tankadere, taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail, and
standing-jib, bounded briskly forward over the waves.

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

It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry his
passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day; but he
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 favourable 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 honour.  We are carrying all the sail the wind will let
us.  The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we are going
into port."

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

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

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

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

Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation.  He kept apart
from his fellow-travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg's taciturn tastes;
besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose 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; 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 traversed three quarters of the globe, so as to
gain the American continent more surely; and there, after throwing the
police off his track, he would quietly enjoy himself with the fortune
stolen from the bank.  But, once in the United States, what should he,
Fix, do?  Should he abandon this man?  No, a hundred times no!  Until
he had secured his extradition, he would not lose sight of him for an
hour.  It was his duty, and he would fulfil it to the end.  At all
events, there was one thing to be thankful for; Passepartout was not
with his master; and it was above all important, after the confidences
Fix had imparted to him, that the servant should never have speech with
his master.

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

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

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

At sunrise the next day, which was 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 favour.  During the day she kept along
the coast, where the currents were favourable; the coast, irregular in
profile, and visible sometimes across the clearings, was at most five
miles distant.  The sea was less boisterous, since the wind came off
land--a fortunate circumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owing
to its small tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.

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

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

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

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

"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, and 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, whilst it became very difficult to stand on deck.

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

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

"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, no doubt; but
Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector, whose coolness amazed
her, showed herself worthy of him, and bravely weathered the storm.  As
for Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of his
programme.

Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to the north;
but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore down from
the north-west.  The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves, shook
and rolled terribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence.  At
night the tempest increased in violence.  John Bunsby saw the approach
of darkness and the rising of the storm with dark misgivings.  He
thought awhile, and then asked his crew if it was not time to slacken
speed.  After a consultation he approached Mr. Fogg, and said, "I
think, your honour, that we should do well to make for one of the ports
on the coast."

"I think so too."

"Ah!" said the pilot.  "But which one?"

"I know of but one," returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly.

"And that is--"

"Shanghai."

The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend; he could scarcely
realise so much determination and tenacity.  Then he cried, "Well--yes!
Your honour is right.  To Shanghai!"

So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.

The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft did
not founder.  Twice it could have been all over with her if the crew
had not been constantly on the watch.  Aouda was exhausted, but did not
utter a complaint.  More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect her from
the violence of the waves.

Day reappeared.  The tempest still raged with undiminished fury; but
the wind now returned to the south-east.  It was a favourable change,
and the Tankadere again bounded forward on this mountainous sea, though
the waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and counter-shocks
which would have crushed a craft less solidly built.  From time to time
the coast was visible through the broken mist, but no vessel was in
sight.  The Tankadere was alone upon the sea.

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

The night was comparatively quiet.  Some of the sails were again
hoisted, and the speed of the boat was very good.  The next morning at
dawn they espied the coast, and John Bunsby was able to assert that
they were not one hundred miles from Shanghai.  A hundred miles, and
only one day to traverse them!  That very evening Mr. Fogg was due at
Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss the steamer to Yokohama.  Had
there been no storm, during which several hours were lost, they would
be at this moment within thirty miles of their destination.

The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it.  All
sails were now hoisted, and at noon the Tankadere was within forty-five
miles of Shanghai.  There remained yet six hours in which to accomplish
that distance.  All on board feared that it could not be done, and
every one--Phileas Fogg, no doubt, excepted--felt his heart beat with
impatience.  The boat must keep up an average of nine miles an hour,
and the wind was becoming calmer every moment!  It was a capricious
breeze, coming from the coast, and after it passed the sea became
smooth.  Still, the Tankadere was so light, and her fine sails caught
the fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the currents John
Bunsby found himself at six o'clock not more than ten miles from the
mouth of Shanghai River.  Shanghai itself is situated at least twelve
miles up the stream.  At seven they were still three miles from
Shanghai.  The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward of two hundred
pounds was evidently on the point of escaping him.  He looked at Mr.
Fogg.  Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil; and yet his whole fortune was
at this moment at stake.

At this moment, also, a long black funnel, crowned with wreaths of
smoke, appeared on the edge of the waters.  It was the American
steamer, leaving for Yokohama at the appointed time.

"Confound her!" cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder with a
desperate jerk.

"Signal her!" said Phileas Fogg quietly.

A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the Tankadere, for
making signals in the fogs.  It was loaded to the muzzle; but just as
the pilot was about to apply a red-hot coal to the touchhole, Mr. Fogg
said, "Hoist your flag!"

The flag was run up at half-mast, and, this being the signal of
distress, it was hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it, would
change her course a little, so as to succour the pilot-boat.

"Fire!" said Mr. Fogg.  And the booming of the little cannon resounded
in the air.

The Carnatic, setting sail from Hong Kong at half-past six on the 7th
of November, directed her course at full steam towards Japan.  She
carried a large cargo and a well-filled cabin of passengers.  Two
state-rooms in the rear were, however, unoccupied--those which had been
engaged by Phileas Fogg.

The next day a passenger with a half-stupefied eye, staggering gait,
and disordered hair, was seen to emerge from the second cabin, and to
totter to a seat on deck.

It was Passepartout; and what had happened to him was as follows:
Shortly after Fix left the opium den, two waiters had lifted the
unconscious Passepartout, and had carried him to the bed reserved for
the smokers.  Three hours later, pursued even in his dreams by a fixed
idea, the poor fellow awoke, and struggled against the stupefying
influence of the narcotic.  The thought of a duty unfulfilled shook off
his torpor, and he hurried from the abode of drunkenness.  Staggering
and holding himself up by keeping against the walls, falling down and
creeping up again, and irresistibly impelled by a kind of instinct, he
kept crying out, "The Carnatic! the Carnatic!"

The steamer lay puffing alongside the quay, on the point of starting.
Passepartout had but few steps to go; and, rushing upon the plank, he
crossed it, and fell unconscious on the deck, just as the Carnatic was
moving off.  Several sailors, who were evidently accustomed to this
sort of scene, carried the poor Frenchman down into the second cabin,
and Passepartout did not wake until they were one hundred and fifty
miles away from China.  Thus he found himself the next morning on the
deck of the Carnatic, and eagerly inhaling the exhilarating sea-breeze.
The pure air sobered him.  He began to collect his sense, which he
found a difficult task; but at last he recalled the events of the
evening before, Fix's revelation, and the opium-house.

"It is evident," said he to himself, "that I have been abominably
drunk!  What will Mr. Fogg say?  At least I have not missed the
steamer, which is the most important thing."

Then, as Fix occurred to him: "As for that rascal, I hope we are well
rid of him, and that he has not dared, as he proposed, to follow us on
board the Carnatic.  A detective on the track of Mr. Fogg, accused of
robbing the Bank of England!  Pshaw!  Mr. Fogg is no more a robber than
I am a murderer."

Should he divulge Fix's real errand to his master?  Would it do to tell
the part the detective was playing?  Would it not be better to wait
until Mr. Fogg reached London again, and then impart to him that an
agent of the metropolitan police had been following him round the
world, and have a good laugh over it?  No doubt; at least, it was worth
considering.  The first thing to do was to find Mr. Fogg, and apologise
for his singular behaviour.

Passepartout got up and proceeded, as well as he could with the rolling
of the steamer, to the after-deck.  He saw no one who resembled either
his master or Aouda.  "Good!"  muttered he; "Aouda has not got up yet,
and Mr. Fogg has probably found some partners at whist."

He descended to the saloon.  Mr. Fogg was not there.  Passepartout had
only, however, to ask the purser the number of his master's state-room.
The purser replied that he did not know any passenger by the name of
Fogg.

"I beg your pardon," said Passepartout persistently.  "He is a tall
gentleman, quiet, and not very talkative, and has with him a young
lady--"

"There is no young lady on board," interrupted the purser.  "Here is a
list of the passengers; you may see for yourself."

Passepartout scanned the list, but his master's name was not upon it.
All at once an idea struck him.

"Ah! am I on the Carnatic?"

"Yes."

"On the way to Yokohama?"

"Certainly."

Passepartout had for an instant feared that he was on the wrong boat;
but, though he was really on the Carnatic, his master was not there.

He fell thunderstruck on a seat.  He saw it all now.  He remembered
that the time of sailing had been changed, that he should have informed
his master of that fact, and that he had not done so.  It was his
fault, then, that Mr. Fogg and Aouda had missed the steamer.  Yes, but
it was still more the fault of the traitor who, in order to separate
him from his master, and detain the latter at Hong Kong, had inveigled
him into getting drunk!  He now saw the detective's trick; and at this
moment Mr. Fogg was certainly ruined, his bet was lost, and he himself
perhaps arrested and imprisoned!  At this thought Passepartout tore his
hair.  Ah, if Fix ever came within his reach, what a settling of
accounts there would be!

After his first depression, Passepartout became calmer, and began to
study his situation.  It was certainly not an enviable one.  He found
himself on the way to Japan, and what should he do when he got there?
His pocket was empty; he had not a solitary shilling, not so much as a
penny.  His passage had fortunately been paid for in advance; and he
had five or six days in which to decide upon his future course.  He
fell to at meals with an appetite, and ate for Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and
himself.  He helped himself as generously as if Japan were a desert,
where nothing to eat was to be looked for.

At dawn on the 13th the Carnatic entered the port of Yokohama.  This is
an important port of call in the Pacific, where all the mail-steamers,
and those carrying travellers between North America, China, Japan, and
the Oriental islands put in.  It is situated in the bay of Yeddo, and
at but a short distance from that second capital of the Japanese
Empire, and the residence of the Tycoon, the civil Emperor, before the
Mikado, the spiritual Emperor, absorbed his office in his own.  The
Carnatic anchored at the quay near the custom-house, in the midst of a
crowd of ships bearing the flags of all nations.

Passepartout went timidly ashore on this so curious territory of the
Sons of the Sun.  He had nothing better to do than, taking chance for
his guide, to wander aimlessly through the streets of Yokohama.  He
found himself at first in a thoroughly European quarter, the houses
having low fronts, and being adorned with verandas, beneath which he
caught glimpses of neat peristyles.  This quarter occupied, with its
streets, squares, docks, and warehouses, all the space between the
"promontory of the Treaty" and the river.  Here, as at Hong Kong and
Calcutta, were mixed crowds of all races, Americans and English,
Chinamen and Dutchmen, mostly merchants ready to buy or sell anything.
The Frenchman felt himself as much alone among them as if he had
dropped down in the midst of Hottentots.

He had, at least, one resource,--to call on the French and English
consuls at Yokohama for assistance.  But he shrank from telling the
story of his adventures, intimately connected as it was with that of
his master; and, before doing so, he determined to exhaust all other
means of aid.  As chance did not favour him in the European quarter, he
penetrated that inhabited by the native Japanese, determined, if
necessary, to push on to Yeddo.

The Japanese quarter of Yokohama is called Benten, after the goddess of
the sea, who is worshipped on the islands round about.  There
Passepartout beheld beautiful fir and cedar groves, sacred gates of a
singular architecture, bridges half hid in the midst of bamboos and
reeds, temples shaded by immense cedar-trees, holy retreats where were
sheltered Buddhist priests and sectaries of Confucius, and interminable
streets, where a perfect harvest of rose-tinted and red-cheeked
children, who looked as if they had been cut out of Japanese screens,
and who were playing in the midst of short-legged poodles and yellowish
cats, might have been gathered.

The streets were crowded with people.  Priests were passing in
processions, beating their dreary tambourines; police and custom-house
officers with pointed hats encrusted with lac and carrying two sabres
hung to their waists; soldiers, clad in blue cotton with white stripes,
and bearing guns; the Mikado's guards, enveloped in silken doubles,
hauberks and coats of mail; and numbers of military folk of all
ranks--for the military profession is as much respected in Japan as it
is despised in China--went hither and thither in groups and pairs.
Passepartout saw, too, begging friars, long-robed pilgrims, and simple
civilians, with their warped and jet-black hair, big heads, long busts,
slender legs, short stature, and complexions varying from copper-colour
to a dead white, but never yellow, like the Chinese, from whom the
Japanese widely differ.  He did not fail to observe the curious
equipages--carriages and palanquins, barrows supplied with sails, and
litters made of bamboo; nor the women--whom he thought not especially
handsome--who took little steps with their little feet, whereon they
wore canvas shoes, straw sandals, and clogs of worked wood, and who
displayed tight-looking eyes, flat chests, teeth fashionably blackened,
and gowns crossed with silken scarfs, tied in an enormous knot behind
an ornament which the modern Parisian ladies seem to have borrowed from
the dames of Japan.

Passepartout wandered for several hours in the midst of this motley
crowd, looking in at the windows of the rich and curious shops, the
jewellery establishments glittering with quaint Japanese ornaments, the
restaurants decked with streamers and banners, the tea-houses, where
the odorous beverage was being drunk with saki, a liquor concocted from
the fermentation of rice, and the comfortable smoking-houses, where
they were puffing, not opium, which is almost unknown in Japan, but a
very fine, stringy tobacco.  He went on till he found himself in the
fields, in the midst of vast rice plantations.  There he saw dazzling
camellias expanding themselves, with flowers which were giving forth
their last colours and perfumes, not on bushes, but on trees, and
within bamboo enclosures, cherry, plum, and apple trees, which the
Japanese cultivate rather for their blossoms than their fruit, and
which queerly-fashioned, grinning scarecrows protected from the
sparrows, pigeons, ravens, and other voracious birds.  On the branches
of the cedars were perched large eagles; amid the foliage of the
weeping willows were herons, solemnly standing on one leg; and on every
hand were crows, ducks, hawks, wild birds, and a multitude of cranes,
which the Japanese consider sacred, and which to their minds symbolise
long life and prosperity.

As he was strolling along, Passepartout espied some violets among the
shrubs.

"Good!" said he; "I'll have some supper."

But, on smelling them, he found that they were odourless.

"No chance there," thought he.

The worthy fellow had certainly taken good care to eat as hearty a
breakfast as possible before leaving the Carnatic; but, as he had been
walking about all day, the demands of hunger were becoming importunate.
He observed that the butchers stalls contained neither mutton, goat,
nor pork; and, knowing also that it is a sacrilege to kill cattle,
which are preserved solely for farming, he made up his mind that meat
was far from plentiful in Yokohama--nor was he mistaken; and, in
default of butcher's meat, he could have wished for a quarter of wild
boar or deer, a partridge, or some quails, some game or fish, which,
with rice, the Japanese eat almost exclusively.  But he found it
necessary to keep up a stout heart, and to postpone the meal he craved
till the following morning.  Night came, and Passepartout re-entered
the native quarter, where he wandered through the streets, lit by
vari-coloured lanterns, looking on at the dancers, who were executing
skilful steps and boundings, and the astrologers who stood in the open
air with their telescopes.  Then he came to the harbour, which was lit
up by the resin torches of the fishermen, who were fishing from their
boats.

The streets at last became quiet, and the patrol, the officers of
which, in their splendid costumes, and surrounded by their suites,
Passepartout thought seemed like ambassadors, succeeded the bustling
crowd.  Each time a company passed, Passepartout chuckled, and said to
himself: "Good! another Japanese embassy departing for Europe!"

The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself
that he must get something to eat at all hazards, and the sooner he did
so the better.  He might, indeed, sell his watch; but he would have
starved first.  Now or never he must use the strong, if not melodious
voice which nature had bestowed upon him.  He knew several French and
English songs, and resolved to try them upon the Japanese, who must be
lovers of music, since they were for ever pounding on their cymbals,
tam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate European talent.

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert, and
the audience prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not
possibly pay their entertainer with coin bearing the Mikado's features.
Passepartout therefore decided to wait several hours; and, as he was
sauntering along, it occurred to him that he would seem rather too well
dressed for a wandering artist.  The idea struck him to change his
garments for clothes more in harmony with his project; by which he
might also get a little money to satisfy the immediate cravings of
hunger.  The resolution taken, it remained to carry it out.

It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a native
dealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange.  The man
liked the European costume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his
shop accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban,
faded with long use.  A few small pieces of silver, moreover, jingled
in his pocket.

"Good!" thought he.  "I will imagine I am at the Carnival!"

His first care, after being thus "Japanesed," was to enter a tea-house
of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, to
breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved.

"Now," thought he, when he had eaten heartily, "I mustn't lose my head.
I can't sell this costume again for one still more Japanese.  I must
consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I shall not
retain the most delightful of memories, as quickly as possible."

It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave for
America.  He would offer himself as a cook or servant, in payment of
his passage and meals.  Once at San Francisco, he would find some means
of going on.  The difficulty was, how to traverse the four thousand
seven hundred miles of the Pacific which lay between Japan and the New
World.

Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed
his steps towards the docks.  But, as he approached them, his project,
which at first had seemed so simple, began to grow more and more
formidable to his mind.  What need would they have of a cook or servant
on an American steamer, and what confidence would they put in him,
dressed as he was?  What references could he give?

As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense
placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets.  This
placard, which was in English, read as follows:

          ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE,
   HONOURABLE WILLIAM BATULCAR, PROPRIETOR,
           LAST REPRESENTATIONS,
PRIOR TO THEIR DEPARTURE TO THE UNITED STATES,
                  OF THE
        LONG NOSES!   LONG NOSES!
UNDER THE DIRECT PATRONAGE OF THE GOD TINGOU!
           GREAT ATTRACTION!

"The United States!" said Passepartout; "that's just what I want!"

He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the Japanese
quarter.  A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a large cabin,
adorned with several clusters of streamers, the exterior walls of which
were designed to represent, in violent colours and without perspective,
a company of jugglers.

This was the Honourable William Batulcar's establishment.  That
gentleman was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe of
mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and gymnasts,
who, according to the placard, was giving his last performances before
leaving the Empire of the Sun for the States of the Union.

Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway
appeared in person.

"What do you want?" said he to Passepartout, whom he at first took for
a native.

"Would you like a servant, sir?" asked Passepartout.

"A servant!" cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beard which
hung from his chin.  "I already have two who are obedient and faithful,
have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment and here they
are," added he, holding out his two robust arms, furrowed with veins as
large as the strings of a bass-viol.

"So I can be of no use to you?"

"None."

"The devil!  I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!"

"Ah!" said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar.  "You are no more a Japanese
than I am a monkey!  Who are you dressed up in that way?"

"A man dresses as he can."

"That's true.  You are a Frenchman, aren't you?"

"Yes; a Parisian of Paris."

"Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?"

"Why," replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his nationality should
cause this question, "we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces, it is
true but not any better than the Americans do."

"True.  Well, if I can't take you as a servant, I can as a clown.  You
see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in foreign
parts French clowns."

"Ah!"

"You are pretty strong, eh?"

"Especially after a good meal."

"And you can sing?"

"Yes," returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to sing in the
streets.

"But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on your
left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?"

"Humph!  I think so," replied Passepartout, recalling the exercises of
his younger days.

"Well, that's enough," said the Honourable William Batulcar.

The engagement was concluded there and then.

Passepartout had at last found something to do.  He was engaged to act
in the celebrated Japanese troupe.  It was not a very dignified
position, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco.

The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr. Batulcar,
was to commence at three o'clock, and soon the deafening instruments of
a Japanese orchestra resounded at the door.  Passepartout, though he
had not been able to study or rehearse a part, was designated to lend
the aid of his sturdy shoulders in the great exhibition of the "human
pyramid," executed by the Long Noses of the god Tingou.  This "great
attraction" was to close the performance.

Before three o'clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators,
comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women and
children, who precipitated themselves upon the narrow benches and into
the boxes opposite the stage.  The musicians took up a position inside,
and were vigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams, flutes, bones,
tambourines, and immense drums.

The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be
confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world.

One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful trick of
the butterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air, with the
odorous smoke of his pipe, a series of blue words, which composed a
compliment to the audience; while a third juggled with some lighted
candles, which he extinguished successively as they passed his lips,
and relit again without interrupting for an instant his juggling.
Another reproduced the most singular combinations with a spinning-top;
in his hands the revolving tops seemed to be animated with a life of
their own in their interminable whirling; they ran over pipe-stems, the
edges of sabres, wires and even hairs stretched across the stage; they
turned around on the edges of large glasses, crossed bamboo ladders,
dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange musical effects by
the combination of their various pitches of tone.  The jugglers tossed
them in the air, threw them like shuttlecocks with wooden battledores,
and yet they kept on spinning; they put them into their pockets, and
took them out still whirling as before.

It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats
and gymnasts.  The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, &c., was
executed with wonderful precision.

But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a
show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.

The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage of
the god Tingou.  Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages, they
bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what especially
distinguished them was the long noses which were fastened to their
faces, and the uses which they made of them.  These noses were made of
bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long, some straight,
others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation warts upon
them.  It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their real noses,
that they performed their gymnastic exercises.  A dozen of these
sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others, dressed to
represent lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their noses, jumping
from one to another, and performing the most skilful leapings and
somersaults.

As a last scene, a "human pyramid" had been announced, in which fifty
Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut.  But, instead of
forming a pyramid by mounting each other's shoulders, the artists were
to group themselves on top of the noses.  It happened that the
performer who had hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the
troupe, and as, to fill this part, only strength and adroitness were
necessary, Passepartout had been chosen to take his place.

The poor fellow really felt sad when--melancholy reminiscence of his
youth!--he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, and
fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long.  But he
cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning him something to
eat.

He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who were to
compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut.  They all stretched
themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the ceiling.  A second
group of artists disposed themselves on these long appendages, then a
third above these, then a fourth, until a human monument reaching to
the very cornices of the theatre soon arose on top of the noses.  This
elicited loud applause, in the midst of which the orchestra was just
striking up a deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, the balance was
lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the human
monument was shattered like a castle built of cards!

It was Passepartout's fault.  Abandoning his position, clearing the
footlights without the aid of his wings, and, clambering up to the
right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators,
crying, "Ah, my master! my master!"

"You here?"

"Myself."

"Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!"

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the
theatre to the outside, where they encountered the Honourable Mr.
Batulcar, furious with rage.  He demanded damages for the "breakage" of
the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful of
banknotes.

At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda,
followed by Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings, and
nose six feet long, stepped upon the American steamer.

What happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai will be
easily guessed.  The signals made by the Tankadere had been seen by the
captain of the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag at half-mast,
had directed his course towards the little craft.  Phileas Fogg, after
paying the stipulated price of his passage to John Busby, and rewarding
that worthy with the additional sum of five hundred and fifty pounds,
ascended the steamer with Aouda and Fix; and they started at once for
Nagasaki and Yokohama.

They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of November.
Phileas Fogg lost no time in going on board the Carnatic, where he
learned, to Aouda's great delight--and perhaps to his own, though he
betrayed no emotion--that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived
on her the day before.

The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening, and
it became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay.
Mr. Fogg applied in vain to the French and English consuls, and, after
wandering through the streets a long time, began to despair of finding
his missing servant.  Chance, or perhaps a kind of presentiment, at
last led him into the Honourable Mr. Batulcar's theatre.  He certainly
would not have recognised Passepartout in the eccentric mountebank's
costume; but the latter, lying on his back, perceived his master in the
gallery.  He could not help starting, which so changed the position of
his nose as to bring the "pyramid" pell-mell upon the stage.

All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him what had
taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the Tankadere,
in company with one Mr. Fix.

Passepartout did not change countenance on hearing this name.  He
thought that the time had not yet arrived to divulge to his master what
had taken place between the detective and himself; and, in the account
he gave of his absence, he simply excused himself for having been
overtaken by drunkenness, in smoking opium at a tavern in Hong Kong.

Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then
furnished his man with funds necessary to obtain clothing more in
harmony with his position.  Within an hour the Frenchman had cut off
his nose and parted with his wings, and retained nothing about him
which recalled the sectary of the god Tingou.

The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San Francisco
belonged to the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was named the
General Grant.  She was a large paddle-wheel steamer of two thousand
five hundred tons; well equipped and very fast.  The massive
walking-beam rose and fell above the deck; at one end a piston-rod
worked up and down; and at the other was a connecting-rod which, in
changing the rectilinear motion to a circular one, was directly
connected with the shaft of the paddles.  The General Grant was rigged
with three masts, giving a large capacity for sails, and thus
materially aiding the steam power.  By making twelve miles an hour, she
would cross the ocean in twenty-one days.  Phileas Fogg was therefore
justified in hoping that he would reach San Francisco by the 2nd of
December, New York by the 11th, and London on the 20th--thus gaining
several hours on the fatal date of the 21st of December.

There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them English,
many Americans, a large number of coolies on their way to California,
and several East Indian officers, who were spending their vacation in
making the tour of the world.  Nothing of moment happened on the
voyage; the steamer, sustained on its large paddles, rolled but little,
and the Pacific almost justified its name.  Mr. Fogg was as calm and
taciturn as ever.  His young companion felt herself more and more
attached to him by other ties than gratitude; his silent but generous
nature impressed her more than she thought; and it was almost
unconsciously that she yielded to emotions which did not seem to have
the least effect upon her protector.  Aouda took the keenest interest
in his plans, and became impatient at any incident which seemed likely
to retard his journey.

She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive the
state of the lady's heart; and, being the most faithful of domestics,
he never exhausted his eulogies of Phileas Fogg's honesty, generosity,
and devotion.  He took pains to calm Aouda's doubts of a successful
termination of the journey, telling her that the most difficult part of
it had passed, that now they were beyond the fantastic countries of
Japan and China, and were fairly on their way to civilised places
again.  A railway train from San Francisco to New York, and a
transatlantic steamer from New York to Liverpool, would doubtless bring
them to the end of this impossible journey round the world within the
period agreed upon.

On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed
exactly one half of the terrestrial globe.  The General Grant passed,
on the 23rd of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and
was at the very antipodes of London.  Mr. Fogg had, it is true,
exhausted fifty-two of the eighty days in which he was to complete the
tour, and there were only twenty-eight left.  But, though he was only
half-way by the difference of meridians, he had really gone over
two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had been obliged to make long
circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay, from Calcutta to
Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama.  Could he have followed
without deviation the fiftieth parallel, which is that of London, the
whole distance would only have been about twelve thousand miles;
whereas he would be forced, by the irregular methods of locomotion, to
traverse twenty-six thousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of November,
accomplished seventeen thousand five hundred.  And now the course was a
straight one, and Fix was no longer there to put obstacles in their way!

It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout made a
joyful discovery.  It will be remembered that the obstinate fellow had
insisted on keeping his famous family watch at London time, and on
regarding that of the countries he had passed through as quite false
and unreliable.  Now, on this day, though he had not changed the hands,
he found that his watch exactly agreed with the ship's chronometers.
His triumph was hilarious.  He would have liked to know what Fix would
say if he were aboard!

"The rogue told me a lot of stories," repeated Passepartout, "about the
meridians, the sun, and the moon!  Moon, indeed!  moonshine more
likely!  If one listened to that sort of people, a pretty sort of time
one would keep!  I was sure that the sun would some day regulate itself
by my watch!"

Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had been
divided into twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, he would have
no reason for exultation; for the hands of his watch would then,
instead of as now indicating nine o'clock in the morning, indicate nine
o'clock in the evening, that is, the twenty-first hour after midnight
precisely the difference between London time and that of the one
hundred and eightieth meridian.  But if Fix had been able to explain
this purely physical effect, Passepartout would not have admitted, even
if he had comprehended it.  Moreover, if the detective had been on
board at that moment, Passepartout would have joined issue with him on
a quite different subject, and in an entirely different manner.

Where was Fix at that moment?

He was actually on board the General Grant.

On reaching Yokohama, the detective, leaving Mr. Fogg, whom he expected
to meet again during the day, had repaired at once to the English
consulate, where he at last found the warrant of arrest.  It had
followed him from Bombay, and had come by the Carnatic, on which
steamer he himself was supposed to be.  Fix's disappointment may be
imagined when he reflected that the warrant was now useless.  Mr. Fogg
had left English ground, and it was now necessary to procure his
extradition!

"Well," thought Fix, after a moment of anger, "my warrant is not good
here, but it will be in England.  The rogue evidently intends to return
to his own country, thinking he has thrown the police off his track.
Good!  I will follow him across the Atlantic.  As for the money, heaven
grant there may be some left!  But the fellow has already spent in
travelling, rewards, trials, bail, elephants, and all sorts of charges,
more than five thousand pounds.  Yet, after all, the Bank is rich!"

His course decided on, he went on board the General Grant, and was
there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived.  To his utter amazement, he
recognised Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise.  He quickly
concealed himself in his cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation, and
hoped--thanks to the number of passengers--to remain unperceived by Mr.
Fogg's servant.

On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on the
forward deck.  The latter, without a word, made a rush for him, grasped
him by the throat, and, much to the amusement of a group of Americans,
who immediately began to bet on him, administered to the detective a
perfect volley of blows, which proved the great superiority of French
over English pugilistic skill.

When Passepartout had finished, he found himself relieved and
comforted.  Fix got up in a somewhat rumpled condition, and, looking at
his adversary, coldly said, "Have you done?"

"For this time--yes."

"Then let me have a word with you."

"But I--"

"In your master's interests."

Passepartout seemed to be vanquished by Fix's coolness, for he quietly
followed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of the passengers.

"You have given me a thrashing," said Fix.  "Good, I expected it.  Now,
listen to me.  Up to this time I have been Mr. Fogg's adversary.  I am
now in his game."

"Aha!" cried Passepartout; "you are convinced he is an honest man?"

"No," replied Fix coldly, "I think him a rascal.  Sh! don't budge, and
let me speak.  As long as Mr. Fogg was on English ground, it was for my
interest to detain him there until my warrant of arrest arrived.  I did
everything I could to keep him back.  I sent the Bombay priests after
him, I got you intoxicated at Hong Kong, I separated you from him, and
I made him miss the Yokohama steamer."

Passepartout listened, with closed fists.

"Now," resumed Fix, "Mr. Fogg seems to be going back to England.  Well,
I will follow him there.  But hereafter I will do as much to keep
obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time to put them in
his path.  I've changed my game, you see, and simply because it was for
my interest to change it.  Your interest is the same as mine; for it is
only in England that you will ascertain whether you are in the service
of a criminal or an honest man."

Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced that
he spoke with entire good faith.

"Are we friends?" asked the detective.

"Friends?--no," replied Passepartout; "but allies, perhaps.  At the
least sign of treason, however, I'll twist your neck for you."

"Agreed," said the detective quietly.

Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the General Grant entered
the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San Francisco.

Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day.

It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout set
foot upon the American continent, if this name can be given to the
floating quay upon which they disembarked.  These quays, rising and
falling with the tide, thus facilitate the loading and unloading of
vessels.  Alongside them were clippers of all sizes, steamers of all
nationalities, and the steamboats, with several decks rising one above
the other, which ply on the Sacramento and its tributaries.  There were
also heaped up the products of a commerce which extends to Mexico,
Chili, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific islands.

Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent,
thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine
style; but, tumbling upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them.
Put out of countenance by the manner in which he thus "set foot" upon
the New World, he uttered a loud cry, which so frightened the
innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are always perched upon these
movable quays, that they flew noisily away.

Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the
first train left for New York, and learned that this was at six o'clock
p.m.; he had, therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian
capital.  Taking a carriage at a charge of three dollars, he and Aouda
entered it, while Passepartout mounted the box beside the driver, and
they set out for the International Hotel.

From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity the
wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon Gothic
churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden and brick warehouses,
the numerous conveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the
side-walks, not only Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and Indians.
Passepartout was surprised at all he saw.  San Francisco was no longer
the legendary city of 1849--a city of banditti, assassins, and
incendiaries, who had flocked hither in crowds in pursuit of plunder; a
paradise of outlaws, where they gambled with gold-dust, a revolver in
one hand and a bowie-knife in the other: it was now a great commercial
emporium.

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama of the
streets and avenues, which cut each other at right-angles, and in the
midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares, while beyond
appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly imported from the Celestial
Empire in a toy-box.  Sombreros and red shirts and plumed Indians were
rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats and black coats everywhere
worn by a multitude of nervously active, gentlemanly-looking men.  Some
of the streets--especially Montgomery Street, which is to San Francisco
what Regent Street is to London, the Boulevard des Italiens to Paris,
and Broadway to New York--were lined with splendid and spacious
stores, which exposed in their windows the products of the entire world.

When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not seem to
him as if he had left England at all.

The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar, a sort of
restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might partake of dried
beef, oyster soup, biscuits, and cheese, without taking out their
purses.  Payment was made only for the ale, porter, or sherry which was
drunk.  This seemed "very American" to Passepartout.  The hotel
refreshment-rooms were comfortable, and Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing
themselves at a table, were abundantly served on diminutive plates by
negroes of darkest hue.

After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for the
English consulate to have his passport visaed.  As he was going out, he
met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not be well, before taking
the train, to purchase some dozens of Enfield rifles and Colt's
revolvers.  He had been listening to stories of attacks upon the trains
by the Sioux and Pawnees.  Mr. Fogg thought it a useless precaution,
but told him to do as he thought best, and went on to the consulate.

He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, "by the greatest
chance in the world," he met Fix.  The detective seemed wholly taken by
surprise.  What!  Had Mr. Fogg and himself crossed the Pacific
together, and not met on the steamer!  At least Fix felt honoured to
behold once more the gentleman to whom he owed so much, and, as his
business recalled him to Europe, he should be delighted to continue the
journey in such pleasant company.

Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the detective--who
was determined not to lose sight of him--begged permission to accompany
them in their walk about San Francisco--a request which Mr. Fogg
readily granted.

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great crowd
was collected; the side-walks, street, horsecar rails, the shop-doors,
the windows of the houses, and even the roofs, were full of people.
Men were going about carrying large posters, and flags and streamers
were floating in the wind; while loud cries were heard on every hand.

"Hurrah for Camerfield!"

"Hurrah for Mandiboy!"

It was a political meeting; at least so Fix conjectured, who said to
Mr. Fogg, "Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd.  There may
be danger in it."

"Yes," returned Mr. Fogg; "and blows, even if they are political are
still blows."

Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see without
being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a
flight of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street.
Opposite them, on the other side of the street, between a coal wharf
and a petroleum warehouse, a large platform had been erected in the
open air, towards which the current of the crowd seemed to be directed.

For what purpose was this meeting?  What was the occasion of this
excited assemblage?  Phileas Fogg could not imagine.  Was it to
nominate some high official--a governor or member of Congress?  It was
not improbable, so agitated was the multitude before them.

Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass.  All
the hands were raised in the air.  Some, tightly closed, seemed to
disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries--an energetic way, no
doubt, of casting a vote.  The crowd swayed back, the banners and flags
wavered, disappeared an instant, then reappeared in tatters.  The
undulations of the human surge reached the steps, while all the heads
floundered on the surface like a sea agitated by a squall.  Many of the
black hats disappeared, and the greater part of the crowd seemed to
have diminished in height.

"It is evidently a meeting," said Fix, "and its object must be an
exciting one.  I should not wonder if it were about the Alabama,
despite the fact that that question is settled."

"Perhaps," replied Mr. Fogg, simply.

"At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the
Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy."

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg's arm, observed the tumultuous scene with
surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all was.
Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and
excited shouts were heard; the staffs of the banners began to be used
as offensive weapons; and fists flew about in every direction.  Thumps
were exchanged from the tops of the carriages and omnibuses which had
been blocked up in the crowd.  Boots and shoes went whirling through
the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack of revolvers
mingling in the din, the rout approached the stairway, and flowed over
the lower step.  One of the parties had evidently been repulsed; but
the mere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or Camerfield had
gained the upper hand.

"It would be prudent for us to retire," said Fix, who was anxious that
Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until they got back to
London.  "If there is any question about England in all this, and we
were recognised, I fear it would go hard with us."

"An English subject--" began Mr. Fogg.

He did not finish his sentence; for a terrific hubbub now arose on the
terrace behind the flight of steps where they stood, and there were
frantic shouts of, "Hurrah for Mandiboy!  Hip, hip, hurrah!"

It was a band of voters coming to the rescue of their allies, and
taking the Camerfield forces in flank.  Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix found
themselves between two fires; it was too late to escape.  The torrent
of men, armed with loaded canes and sticks, was irresistible.  Phileas
Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled in their attempts to protect their
fair companion; the former, as cool as ever, tried to defend himself
with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of every
Englishman's arm, but in vain.  A big brawny fellow with a red beard,
flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief of the
band, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, whom he would have
given a crushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received it in his
stead.  An enormous bruise immediately made its appearance under the
detective's silk hat, which was completely smashed in.

"Yankee!" exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at the
ruffian.

"Englishman!" returned the other.  "We will meet again!"

"When you please."

"What is your name?"

"Phileas Fogg.  And yours?"

"Colonel Stamp Proctor."

The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who speedily got
upon his feet again, though with tattered clothes.  Happily, he was not
seriously hurt.  His travelling overcoat was divided into two unequal
parts, and his trousers resembled those of certain Indians, which fit
less compactly than they are easy to put on.  Aouda had escaped
unharmed, and Fix alone bore marks of the fray in his black and blue
bruise.

"Thanks," said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were out of
the crowd.

"No thanks are necessary," replied.  Fix; "but let us go."

"Where?"

"To a tailor's."

Such a visit was, indeed, opportune.  The clothing of both Mr. Fogg and
Fix was in rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged in the
contest between Camerfield and Mandiboy.  An hour after, they were once
more suitably attired, and with Aouda returned to the International
Hotel.

Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen
six-barrelled revolvers.  When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows; but
Aouda having, in a few words, told him of their adventure, his
countenance resumed its placid expression.  Fix evidently was no longer
an enemy, but an ally; he was faithfully keeping his word.

Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and their
luggage to the station drew up to the door.  As he was getting in, Mr.
Fogg said to Fix, "You have not seen this Colonel Proctor again?"

"No."

"I will come back to America to find him," said Phileas Fogg calmly.
"It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself to be
treated in that way, without retaliating."

The detective smiled, but did not reply.  It was clear that Mr. Fogg
was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate duelling at
home, fight abroad when their honour is attacked.

At a quarter before six the travellers reached the station, and found
the train ready to depart.  As he was about to enter it, Mr. Fogg
called a porter, and said to him: "My friend, was there not some
trouble to-day in San Francisco?"

"It was a political meeting, sir," replied the porter.

"But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in the streets."

"It was only a meeting assembled for an election."

"The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"No, sir; of a justice of the peace."

Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.

"From ocean to ocean"--so say the Americans; and these four words
compose the general designation of the "great trunk line" which crosses
the entire width of the United States.  The Pacific Railroad is,
however, really divided into two distinct lines: the Central Pacific,
between San Francisco and Ogden, and the Union Pacific, between Ogden
and Omaha.  Five main lines connect Omaha with New York.

New York and San Francisco are thus united by an uninterrupted metal
ribbon, which measures no less than three thousand seven hundred and
eighty-six miles.  Between Omaha and the Pacific the railway crosses a
territory which is still infested by Indians and wild beasts, and a
large tract which the Mormons, after they were driven from Illinois in
1845, began to colonise.

The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly, under
the most favourable conditions, at least six months.  It is now
accomplished in seven days.

It was in 1862 that, in spite of the Southern Members of Congress, who
wished a more southerly route, it was decided to lay the road between
the forty-first and forty-second parallels.  President Lincoln himself
fixed the end of the line at Omaha, in Nebraska.  The work was at once
commenced, and pursued with true American energy; nor did the rapidity
with which it went on injuriously affect its good execution.  The road
grew, on the prairies, a mile and a half a day.  A locomotive, running
on the rails laid down the evening before, brought the rails to be laid
on the morrow, and advanced upon them as fast as they were put in
position.

The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in Iowa, Kansas,
Colorado, and Oregon.  On leaving Omaha, it passes along the left bank
of the Platte River as far as the junction of its northern branch,
follows its southern branch, crosses the Laramie territory and the
Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great Salt Lake, and reaches Salt Lake
City, the Mormon capital, plunges into the Tuilla Valley, across the
American Desert, Cedar and Humboldt Mountains, the Sierra Nevada, and
descends, via Sacramento, to the Pacific--its grade, even on the Rocky
Mountains, never exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the mile.

Such was the road to be traversed in seven days, which would enable
Phileas Fogg--at least, so he hoped--to take the Atlantic steamer at
New York on the 11th for Liverpool.

The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight wheels,
and with no compartments in the interior.  It was supplied with two
rows of seats, perpendicular to the direction of the train on either
side of an aisle which conducted to the front and rear platforms.
These platforms were found throughout the train, and the passengers
were able to pass from one end of the train to the other.  It was
supplied with saloon cars, balcony cars, restaurants, and smoking-cars;
theatre cars alone were wanting, and they will have these some day.

Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and cigars, who
seemed to have plenty of customers, were continually circulating in the
aisles.

The train left Oakland station at six o'clock.  It was already night,
cold and cheerless, the heavens being overcast with clouds which seemed
to threaten snow.  The train did not proceed rapidly; counting the
stoppages, it did not run more than twenty miles an hour, which was a
sufficient speed, however, to enable it to reach Omaha within its
designated time.

There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of the
passengers were overcome with sleep.  Passepartout found himself beside
the detective; but he did not talk to him.  After recent events, their
relations with each other had grown somewhat cold; there could no
longer be mutual sympathy or intimacy between them.  Fix's manner had
not changed; but Passepartout was very reserved, and ready to strangle
his former friend on the slightest provocation.

Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow, however,
which happily could not obstruct the train; nothing could be seen from
the windows but a vast, white sheet, against which the smoke of the
locomotive had a greyish aspect.

At eight o'clock a steward entered the car and announced that the time
for going to bed had arrived; and in a few minutes the car was
transformed into a dormitory.  The backs of the seats were thrown back,
bedsteads carefully packed were rolled out by an ingenious system,
berths were suddenly improvised, and each traveller had soon at his
disposition a comfortable bed, protected from curious eyes by thick
curtains.  The sheets were clean and the pillows soft.  It only
remained to go to bed and sleep which everybody did--while the train
sped on across the State of California.

The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very hilly.
The Central Pacific, taking Sacramento for its starting-point, extends
eastward to meet the road from Omaha.  The line from San Francisco to
Sacramento runs in a north-easterly direction, along the American
River, which empties into San Pablo Bay.  The one hundred and twenty
miles between these cities were accomplished in six hours, and towards
midnight, while fast asleep, the travellers passed through Sacramento;
so that they saw nothing of that important place, the seat of the State
government, with its fine quays, its broad streets, its noble hotels,
squares, and churches.

The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction, Roclin,
Auburn, and Colfax, entered the range of the Sierra Nevada.  'Cisco was
reached at seven in the morning; and an hour later the dormitory was
transformed into an ordinary car, and the travellers could observe the
picturesque beauties of the mountain region through which they were
steaming.  The railway track wound in and out among the passes, now
approaching the mountain-sides, now suspended over precipices, avoiding
abrupt angles by bold curves, plunging into narrow defiles, which
seemed to have no outlet.  The locomotive, its great funnel emitting a
weird light, with its sharp bell, and its cow-catcher extended like a
spur, mingled its shrieks and bellowings with the noise of torrents and
cascades, and twined its smoke among the branches of the gigantic pines.

There were few or no bridges or tunnels on the route.  The railway
turned around the sides of the mountains, and did not attempt to
violate nature by taking the shortest cut from one point to another.

The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley about
nine o'clock, going always northeasterly; and at midday reached Reno,
where there was a delay of twenty minutes for breakfast.

From this point the road, running along Humboldt River, passed
northward for several miles by its banks; then it turned eastward, and
kept by the river until it reached the Humboldt Range, nearly at the
extreme eastern limit of Nevada.

Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places in
the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded itself as
they passed along the vast prairies, the mountains lining the horizon,
and the creeks, with their frothy, foaming streams.  Sometimes a great
herd of buffaloes, massing together in the distance, seemed like a
moveable dam.  These innumerable multitudes of ruminating beasts often
form an insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the trains; thousands
of them have been seen passing over the track for hours together, in
compact ranks.  The locomotive is then forced to stop and wait till the
road is once more clear.

This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was travelling.
About twelve o'clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffalo
encumbered the track.  The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to
clear the way with its cow-catcher; but the mass of animals was too
great.  The buffaloes marched along with a tranquil gait, uttering now
and then deafening bellowings.  There was no use of interrupting them,
for, having taken a particular direction, nothing can moderate and
change their course; it is a torrent of living flesh which no dam could
contain.

The travellers gazed on this curious spectacle from the platforms; but
Phileas Fogg, who had the most reason of all to be in a hurry, remained
in his seat, and waited philosophically until it should please the
buffaloes to get out of the way.

Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and longed to
discharge his arsenal of revolvers upon them.

"What a country!" cried he.  "Mere cattle stop the trains, and go by in
a procession, just as if they were not impeding travel!  Parbleu!  I
should like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap in his programme!
And here's an engineer who doesn't dare to run the locomotive into this
herd of beasts!"

The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was wise.  He
would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with the cow-catcher;
but the locomotive, however powerful, would soon have been checked, the
train would inevitably have been thrown off the track, and would then
have been helpless.

The best course was to wait patiently, and regain the lost time by
greater speed when the obstacle was removed.  The procession of
buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it was night before the track
was clear.  The last ranks of the herd were now passing over the rails,
while the first had already disappeared below the southern horizon.

It was eight o'clock when the train passed through the defiles of the
Humboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated Utah, the region
of the Great Salt Lake, the singular colony of the Mormons.

During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-easterly
for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a north-easterly
direction, towards the Great Salt Lake.

Passepartout, about nine o'clock, went out upon the platform to take
the air.  The weather was cold, the heavens grey, but it was not
snowing.  The sun's disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring
of gold, and Passepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value
in pounds sterling, when he was diverted from this interesting study by
a strange-looking personage who made his appearance on the platform.

This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark,
with black moustache, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black
waistcoat, black trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves.  He
might have been taken for a clergyman.  He went from one end of the
train to the other, and affixed to the door of each car a notice
written in manuscript.

Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated
that Elder William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking advantage of his
presence on train No. 48, would deliver a lecture on Mormonism in car
No. 117, from eleven to twelve o'clock; and that he invited all who
were desirous of being instructed concerning the mysteries of the
religion of the "Latter Day Saints" to attend.

"I'll go," said Passepartout to himself.  He knew nothing of Mormonism
except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation.

The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about one
hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the notice,
ensconced themselves in car No. 117.  Passepartout took one of the
front seats.  Neither Mr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend.

At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated
voice, as if he had already been contradicted, said, "I tell you that
Joe Smith is a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that the
persecutions of the United States Government against the prophets will
also make a martyr of Brigham Young.  Who dares to say the contrary?"

No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone
contrasted curiously with his naturally calm visage.  No doubt his
anger arose from the hardships to which the Mormons were actually
subjected.  The government had just succeeded, with some difficulty, in
reducing these independent fanatics to its rule.  It had made itself
master of Utah, and subjected that territory to the laws of the Union,
after imprisoning Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion and polygamy.
The disciples of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and
resisted, by words at least, the authority of Congress.  Elder Hitch,
as is seen, was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains.

Then, emphasising his words with his loud voice and frequent gestures,
he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical times: how that, in
Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals of
the new religion, and bequeathed them to his son Mormon; how, many
centuries later, a translation of this precious book, which was written
in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith, junior, a Vermont farmer, who
revealed himself as a mystical prophet in 1825; and how, in short, the
celestial messenger appeared to him in an illuminated forest, and gave
him the annals of the Lord.

Several of the audience, not being much interested in the missionary's
narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch, continuing his lecture,
related how Smith, junior, with his father, two brothers, and a few
disciples, founded the church of the "Latter Day Saints," which,
adopted not only in America, but in England, Norway and Sweden, and
Germany, counts many artisans, as well as men engaged in the liberal
professions, among its members; how a colony was established in Ohio, a
temple erected there at a cost of two hundred thousand dollars, and a
town built at Kirkland; how Smith became an enterprising banker, and
received from a simple mummy showman a papyrus scroll written by
Abraham and several famous Egyptians.

The Elder's story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience grew
gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers.  But this
did not disconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with the story of
Joseph Smith's bankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined creditors gave
him a coat of tar and feathers; his reappearance some years afterwards,
more honourable and honoured than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the
chief of a flourishing colony of three thousand disciples, and his
pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and retirement into the Far West.

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout, who was
listening with all his ears.  Thus he learned that, after long
persecutions, Smith reappeared in Illinois, and in 1839 founded a
community at Nauvoo, on the Mississippi, numbering twenty-five thousand
souls, of which he became mayor, chief justice, and general-in-chief;
that he announced himself, in 1843, as a candidate for the Presidency
of the United States; and that finally, being drawn into ambuscade at
Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and assassinated by a band of men
disguised in masks.

Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder,
looking him full in the face, reminded him that, two years after the
assassination of Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young, his
successor, left Nauvoo for the banks of the Great Salt Lake, where, in
the midst of that fertile region, directly on the route of the
emigrants who crossed Utah on their way to California, the new colony,
thanks to the polygamy practised by the Mormons, had flourished beyond
expectations.

"And this," added Elder William Hitch, "this is why the jealousy of
Congress has been aroused against us!  Why have the soldiers of the
Union invaded the soil of Utah?  Why has Brigham Young, our chief, been
imprisoned, in contempt of all justice?  Shall we yield to force?
Never!  Driven from Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from Ohio,
driven from Missouri, driven from Utah, we shall yet find some
independent territory on which to plant our tents.  And you, my
brother," continued the Elder, fixing his angry eyes upon his single
auditor, "will you not plant yours there, too, under the shadow of our
flag?"

"No!" replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring from the
car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.

During the lecture the train had been making good progress, and towards
half-past twelve it reached the northwest border of the Great Salt
Lake.  Thence the passengers could observe the vast extent of this
interior sea, which is also called the Dead Sea, and into which flows
an American Jordan.  It is a picturesque expanse, framed in lofty crags
in large strata, encrusted with white salt--a superb sheet of water,
which was formerly of larger extent than now, its shores having
encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once reduced its breadth
and increased its depth.

The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is situated
three miles eight hundred feet above the sea.  Quite different from
Lake Asphaltite, whose depression is twelve hundred feet below the sea,
it contains considerable salt, and one quarter of the weight of its
water is solid matter, its specific weight being 1,170, and, after
being distilled, 1,000.  Fishes are, of course, unable to live in it,
and those which descend through the Jordan, the Weber, and other
streams soon perish.

The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons are
mostly farmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals, fields
of wheat, corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies, hedges of wild
rose, clumps of acacias and milk-wort, would have been seen six months
later.  Now the ground was covered with a thin powdering of snow.

The train reached Ogden at two o'clock, where it rested for six hours,
Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt Lake City,
connected with Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours in this
strikingly American town, built on the pattern of other cities of the
Union, like a checker-board, "with the sombre sadness of right-angles,"
as Victor Hugo expresses it.  The founder of the City of the Saints
could not escape from the taste for symmetry which distinguishes the
Anglo-Saxons.  In this strange country, where the people are certainly
not up to the level of their institutions, everything is done
"squarely"--cities, houses, and follies.

The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o'clock, about the
streets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan and the spurs
of the Wahsatch Range.  They saw few or no churches, but the prophet's
mansion, the court-house, and the arsenal, blue-brick houses with
verandas and porches, surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias,
palms, and locusts.  A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded
the town; and in the principal street were the market and several
hotels adorned with pavilions.  The place did not seem thickly
populated.  The streets were almost deserted, except in the vicinity of
the temple, which they only reached after having traversed several
quarters surrounded by palisades.  There were many women, which was
easily accounted for by the "peculiar institution" of the Mormons; but
it must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists.  They are
free to marry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting that it is
mainly the female citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as,
according to the Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the
possession of its highest joys.  These poor creatures seemed to be
neither well off nor happy.  Some--the more well-to-do, no doubt--wore
short, open, black silk dresses, under a hood or modest shawl; others
were habited in Indian fashion.

Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women,
charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon.  His
common sense pitied, above all, the husband.  It seemed to him a
terrible thing to have to guide so many wives at once across the
vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it were, in a body to the
Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them in the company of the
glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that delightful
place, to all eternity.  He felt decidedly repelled from such a
vocation, and he imagined--perhaps he was mistaken--that the fair ones
of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his person.  Happily,
his stay there was but brief.  At four the party found themselves again
at the station, took their places in the train, and the whistle sounded
for starting.  Just at the moment, however, that the locomotive wheels
began to move, cries of "Stop! stop!" were heard.

Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one.  The gentleman who uttered
the cries was evidently a belated Mormon.  He was breathless with
running.  Happily for him, the station had neither gates nor barriers.
He rushed along the track, jumped on the rear platform of the train,
and fell, exhausted, into one of the seats.

Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast,
approached him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken
flight after an unpleasant domestic scene.

When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to ask
him politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner in which he
had decamped, it might be thought that he had twenty at least.

"One, sir," replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward--"one, and
that was enough!"

The train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for an
hour as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles
from San Francisco.  From this point it took an easterly direction
towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains.  It was in the section included
between this range and the Rocky Mountains that the American engineers
found the most formidable difficulties in laying the road, and that the
government granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand dollars per mile,
instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work done on the plains.
But the engineers, instead of violating nature, avoided its
difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks.  One
tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to
arrive at the great basin.

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the
Great Salt Lake.  From this point it described a long curve, descending
towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the
waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific.  There were many creeks in
this mountainous region, and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek,
Green Creek, and others, upon culverts.

Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix
longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than
Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents,
and set foot on English soil.

At ten o'clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, and
twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of
Bitter Creek throughout.  The next day, 7th December, they stopped for
a quarter of an hour at Green River station.  Snow had fallen
abundantly during the night, but, being mixed with rain, it had half
melted, and did not interrupt their progress.  The bad weather,
however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation of snow, by
blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal to Mr.
Fogg's tour.

"What an idea!" he said to himself.  "Why did my master make this
journey in winter?  Couldn't he have waited for the good season to
increase his chances?"

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and the
depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a
totally different cause.

Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and
down the platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp
Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San
Francisco meeting.  Not wishing to be recognised, the young woman drew
back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery.  She was
attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily evidences of
the most absolute devotion.  She did not comprehend, perhaps, the depth
of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which she
called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was
really more than that.  Her heart sank within her when she recognised
the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call to account for
his conduct.  Chance alone, it was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor
on this train; but there he was, and it was necessary, at all hazards,
that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his adversary.

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and
Passepartout whom she had seen.

"That Proctor on this train!" cried Fix.  "Well, reassure yourself,
madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg; he has got to deal with me!  It
seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two."

"And, besides," added Passepartout, "I'll take charge of him, colonel
as he is."

"Mr. Fix," resumed Aouda, "Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge him.
He said that he would come back to America to find this man.  Should he
perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might
have terrible results.  He must not see him."

"You are right, madam," replied Fix; "a meeting between them might ruin
all.  Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be delayed,
and--"

"And," added Passepartout, "that would play the game of the gentlemen
of the Reform Club.  In four days we shall be in New York.  Well, if my
master does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that
chance will not bring him face to face with this confounded American.
We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it."

The conversation dropped.  Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking
out of the window.  Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by his
master or Aouda, whispered to the detective, "Would you really fight
for him?"

"I would do anything," replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined
will, "to get him back living to Europe!"

Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but
his confidence in his master remained unbroken.

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a
meeting between him and the colonel?  It ought not to be a difficult
task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious.
The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few
moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, "These are long and slow hours, sir, that
we are passing on the railway."

"Yes," replied Mr. Fogg; "but they pass."

"You were in the habit of playing whist," resumed Fix, "on the
steamers."

"Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here.  I have neither cards
nor partners."

"Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the
American trains.  And as for partners, if madam plays--"

"Certainly, sir," Aouda quickly replied; "I understand whist.  It is
part of an English education."

"I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game.  Well, here are
three of us, and a dummy--"

"As you please, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resume his
favourite pastime even on the railway.

Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned
with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with
cloth.

The game commenced.  Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even
received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg.  As for the
detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being matched against
his present opponent.

"Now," thought Passepartout, "we've got him.  He won't budge."

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of
the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four
feet above the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by
the track in crossing the Rocky Mountains.  After going about two
hundred miles, the travellers at last found themselves on one of those
vast plains which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so
propitious for laying the iron road.

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches of
the North Platte River, already appeared.  The whole northern and
eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which
is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest
being Laramie Peak.  Between this and the railway extended vast plains,
plentifully irrigated.  On the right rose the lower spurs of the
mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas
River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.

At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort
Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky
Mountains were crossed.  There was reason to hope, then, that no
accident would mark the journey through this difficult country.  The
snow had ceased falling, and the air became crisp and cold.  Large
birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and flew off in the distance.
No wild beast appeared on the plain.  It was a desert in its vast
nakedness.

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his
partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard,
and the train stopped.  Passepartout put his head out of the door, but
saw nothing to cause the delay; no station was in view.

Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get
out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant,
"See what is the matter."

Passepartout rushed out of the car.  Thirty or forty passengers had
already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way.  The
engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom
the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent
on before.  The passengers drew around and took part in the discussion,
in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner, was conspicuous.

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, "No! you
can't pass.  The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear
the weight of the train."

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile from
the place where they now were.  According to the signal-man, it was in
a ruinous condition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it was
impossible to risk the passage.  He did not in any way exaggerate the
condition of the bridge.  It may be taken for granted that, rash as the
Americans usually are, when they are prudent there is good reason for
it.

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard,
listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.

"Hum!" cried Colonel Proctor; "but we are not going to stay here, I
imagine, and take root in the snow?"

"Colonel," replied the conductor, "we have telegraphed to Omaha for a
train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow in less
than six hours."

"Six hours!" cried Passepartout.

"Certainly," returned the conductor, "besides, it will take us as long
as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot."

"But it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers.

"Yes, but it's on the other side of the river."

"And can't we cross that in a boat?" asked the colonel.

"That's impossible.  The creek is swelled by the rains.  It is a rapid,
and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a
ford."

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company
and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not
disinclined to make common cause with him.  Here was an obstacle,
indeed, which all his master's banknotes could not remove.

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without
reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles
over a plain covered with snow.  They grumbled and protested, and would
certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg's attention if he had not
been completely absorbed in his game.

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what had
occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car, when
the engineer, a true Yankee, named Forster called out, "Gentlemen,
perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over."

"On the bridge?" asked a passenger.

"On the bridge."

"With our train?"

"With our train."

Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.

"But the bridge is unsafe," urged the conductor.

"No matter," replied Forster; "I think that by putting on the very
highest speed we might have a chance of getting over."

"The devil!" muttered Passepartout.

But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the engineer's
proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted, and found the
plan a very feasible one.  He told stories about engineers leaping
their trains over rivers without bridges, by putting on full steam; and
many of those present avowed themselves of the engineer's mind.

"We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over," said one.

"Eighty! ninety!"

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to
get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too
American.  "Besides," thought he, "there's a still more simple way, and
it does not even occur to any of these people!  Sir," said he aloud to
one of the passengers, "the engineer's plan seems to me a little
dangerous, but--"

"Eighty chances!" replied the passenger, turning his back on him.

"I know it," said Passepartout, turning to another passenger, "but a
simple idea--"

"Ideas are no use," returned the American, shrugging his shoulders, "as
the engineer assures us that we can pass."

"Doubtless," urged Passepartout, "we can pass, but perhaps it would be
more prudent--"

"What!  Prudent!" cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to
excite prodigiously.  "At full speed, don't you see, at full speed!"

"I know--I see," repeated Passepartout; "but it would be, if not more
prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more natural--"

"Who!  What!  What's the matter with this fellow?" cried several.

The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.

"Are you afraid?" asked Colonel Proctor.

"I afraid?  Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can be
as American as they!"

"All aboard!" cried the conductor.

"Yes, all aboard!" repeated Passepartout, and immediately.  "But they
can't prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural for us to
cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!"

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have
acknowledged its justice.  The passengers resumed their places in the
cars.  Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed.  The
whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam,
backed the train for nearly a mile--retiring, like a jumper, in order
to take a longer leap.  Then, with another whistle, he began to move
forward; the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became
frightful; a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the piston
worked up and down twenty strokes to the second.  They perceived that
the whole train, rushing on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour,
hardly bore upon the rails at all.

And they passed over!  It was like a flash.  No one saw the bridge.
The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the
engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles beyond the
station.  But scarcely had the train passed the river, when the bridge,
completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids of Medicine Bow.

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption,
passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass.
The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight
thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea.  The
travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains,
levelled by nature.  A branch of the "grand trunk" led off southward to
Denver, the capital of Colorado.  The country round about is rich in
gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already
settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San
Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more
would probably bring them to New York.  Phileas Fogg was not as yet
behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek
ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the
territories of Wyoming and Colorado.  They entered Nebraska at eleven,
passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch
of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd
of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge.  Two powerful
locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was
Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point;
cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian
battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway
Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train.  Thus was
celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument
of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to
link together cities and towns which do not yet exist.  The whistle of
the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion's lyre, was about to bid
them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three
hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching
Omaha.  The road followed the capricious windings of the southern
branch of the Platte River, on its left bank.  At nine the train
stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two
arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single
artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a
little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one--not even the
dummy--complained of the length of the trip.  Fix had begun by winning
several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself
a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg.  During the morning,
chance distinctly favoured that gentleman.  Trumps and honours were
showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing
a spade, when a voice behind him said, "I should play a diamond."

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

"Ah! it's you, is it, Englishman?" cried the colonel; "it's you who are
going to play a spade!"

"And who plays it," replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten
of spades.

"Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds," replied Colonel Proctor, in
an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played,
adding, "You don't understand anything about whist."

"Perhaps I do, as well as another," said Phileas Fogg, rising.

"You have only to try, son of John Bull," replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold.  She seized Mr. Fogg's arm
and gently pulled him back.  Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the
American, who was staring insolently at his opponent.  But Fix got up,
and, going to Colonel Proctor said, "You forget that it is I with whom
you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but
struck!"

"Mr. Fix," said Mr. Fogg, "pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine
only.  The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should
not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it."

"When and where you will," replied the American, "and with whatever
weapon you choose."

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective
endeavour to make the quarrel his.  Passepartout wished to throw the
colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him.
Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the
platform.  "Sir," said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, "I am in a great
hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to
my disadvantage."

"Well, what's that to me?" replied Colonel Proctor.

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg, very politely, "after our meeting at San
Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I
had completed the business which called me to England."

"Really!"

"Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?"

"Why not ten years hence?"

"I say six months," returned Phileas Fogg; "and I shall be at the place
of meeting promptly."

"All this is an evasion," cried Stamp Proctor.  "Now or never!"

"Very good.  You are going to New York?"

"No."

"To Chicago?"

"No."

"To Omaha?"

"What difference is it to you?  Do you know Plum Creek?"

"No," replied Mr. Fogg.

"It's the next station.  The train will be there in an hour, and will
stop there ten minutes.  In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be
exchanged."

"Very well," said Mr. Fogg.  "I will stop at Plum Creek."

"And I guess you'll stay there too," added the American insolently.

"Who knows?" replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual.
He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to
be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a
request which the detective could not refuse.  Mr. Fogg resumed the
interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o'clock the locomotive's whistle announced that they were
approaching Plum Creek station.  Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix,
went out upon the platform.  Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a
pair of revolvers.  Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the
platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second.  But
just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor
hurried up, and shouted, "You can't get off, gentlemen!"

"Why not?" asked the colonel.

"We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop."

"But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman."

"I am sorry," said the conductor; "but we shall be off at once.
There's the bell ringing now."

The train started.

"I'm really very sorry, gentlemen," said the conductor.  "Under any
other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you.  But, after
all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go
along?"

"That wouldn't be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman," said the
colonel, in a jeering tone.

"It would be perfectly so," replied Phileas Fogg.

"Well, we are really in America," thought Passepartout, "and the
conductor is a gentleman of the first order!"

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the
cars to the rear of the train.  The last car was only occupied by a
dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not
be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen
had an affair of honour to settle.  The passengers granted the request
with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their
purpose.  The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and
fire at their ease.  Never was duel more easily arranged.  Mr. Fogg and
Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers,
entered the car.  The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in.  They
were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive.  After an
interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be
taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple.  Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix
and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack.
They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage
cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did
not issue from the car where the duellists were.  The reports continued
in front and the whole length of the train.  Cries of terror proceeded
from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their
prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous.  They
then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than
once they had waylaid trains on the road.  A hundred of them had,
according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the
train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which
the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer
and stoker with blows from their muskets.  A Sioux chief, wishing to
stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened
wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was
plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged
monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to
hand with the passengers.  Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged
it, throwing the trunks out of the train.  The cries and shots were
constant.  The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars
were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried
along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first.  She defended herself like a
true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows
whenever a savage made his appearance.  Twenty Sioux had fallen
mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell
upon the rails as if they had been worms.  Several passengers, shot or
stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for
ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the
train was not stopped.  Fort Kearney station, where there was a
garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux
would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station
beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell.
At the same moment he cried, "Unless the train is stopped in five
minutes, we are lost!"

"It shall be stopped," said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the
car.

"Stay, monsieur," cried Passepartout; "I will go."

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door
unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and
while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other
over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with
amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the
chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping
from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the
forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender,
with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the
traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar,
had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out.  The train, now
detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the
locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for
several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped,
less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux
had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely
stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform
several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman,
whose devotion had just saved them.

Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared.  Had they been
killed in the struggle?  Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux?  It
was impossible to tell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally.  Colonel Proctor was one of
the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered
his groin.  He was carried into the station with the other wounded
passengers, to receive such attention as could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the
fight, had not received a scratch.  Fix was slightly wounded in the
arm.  But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down
Aouda's cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were
stained with blood.  From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of
flesh.  As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red
trails were visible.  The last Sioux were disappearing in the south,
along the banks of Republican River.

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless.  He had a serious
decision to make.  Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without
speaking, and he understood her look.  If his servant was a prisoner,
ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians?  "I
will find him, living or dead," said he quietly to Aouda.

"Ah, Mr.--Mr. Fogg!" cried she, clasping his hands and covering them
with tears.

"Living," added Mr. Fogg, "if we do not lose a moment."

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he
pronounced his own doom.  The delay of a single day would make him lose
the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost.  But as
he thought, "It is my duty," he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there.  A hundred of his
soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station,
should the Sioux attack it.

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg to the captain, "three passengers have
disappeared."

"Dead?" asked the captain.

"Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved.  Do
you propose to pursue the Sioux?"

"That's a serious thing to do, sir," returned the captain.  "These
Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the fort
unprotected."

"The lives of three men are in question, sir," said Phileas Fogg.

"Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?"

"I don't know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so."

"Nobody here," returned the other, "has a right to teach me my duty."

"Very well," said Mr. Fogg, coldly.  "I will go alone."

"You, sir!" cried Fix, coming up; "you go alone in pursuit of the
Indians?"

"Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish--him to whom every
one present owes his life?  I shall go."

"No, sir, you shall not go alone," cried the captain, touched in spite
of himself.  "No! you are a brave man.  Thirty volunteers!" he added,
turning to the soldiers.

The whole company started forward at once.  The captain had only to
pick his men.  Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their
head.

"Thanks, captain," said Mr. Fogg.

"Will you let me go with you?" asked Fix.

"Do as you please, sir.  But if you wish to do me a favour, you will
remain with Aouda.  In case anything should happen to me--"

A sudden pallor overspread the detective's face.  Separate himself from
the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step!  Leave him
to wander about in this desert!  Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg,
and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was going on
within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank look.

"I will stay," said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman's hand, and,
having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the
sergeant and his little squad.  But, before going, he had said to the
soldiers, "My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you,
if we save the prisoners."

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking
of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas
Fogg.  He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his life, all
without hesitation, from duty, in silence.

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his
agitation.  He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon
resumed his outward composure.  He now saw the folly of which he had
been guilty in letting Fogg go alone.  What!  This man, whom he had
just followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself
from him!  He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were
director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his
greenness.

"I have been an idiot!" he thought, "and this man will see it.  He has
gone, and won't come back!  But how is it that I, Fix, who have in my
pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him?
Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!"

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly.  He
did not know what to do.  Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all;
but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive his
confidences.  What course should he take?  He thought of pursuing Fogg
across the vast white plains; it did not seem impossible that he might
overtake him.  Footsteps were easily printed on the snow!  But soon,
under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.

Fix became discouraged.  He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to
abandon the game altogether.  He could now leave Fort Kearney station,
and pursue his journey homeward in peace.

Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, long
whistles were heard approaching from the east.  A great shadow,
preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger
through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect.  No train was
expected from the east, neither had there been time for the succour
asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San Francisco
was not due till the next day.  The mystery was soon explained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles,
was that which, having been detached from the train, had continued its
route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious
engineer and stoker.  It had run several miles, when, the fire becoming
low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it had finally
stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort Kearney.  Neither
the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after remaining for some
time in their swoon, had come to themselves.  The train had then
stopped.  The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and the
locomotive without cars, understood what had happened.  He could not
imagine how the locomotive had become separated from the train; but he
did not doubt that the train left behind was in distress.

He did not hesitate what to do.  It would be prudent to continue on to
Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the
Indians might still be engaged in pillaging.  Nevertheless, he began to
rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again mounted, and the
locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort Kearney.  This it was
which was whistling in the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the
head of the train.  They could now continue the journey so terribly
interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station,
and asked the conductor, "Are you going to start?"

"At once, madam."

"But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers--"

"I cannot interrupt the trip," replied the conductor.  "We are already
three hours behind time."

"And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?"

"To-morrow evening, madam."

"To-morrow evening!  But then it will be too late!  We must wait--"

"It is impossible," responded the conductor.  "If you wish to go,
please get in."

"I will not go," said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation.  A little while before, when there was
no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to
leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start,
and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible influence
held him back.  The station platform burned his feet, and he could not
stir.  The conflict in his mind again began; anger and failure stifled
him.  He wished to struggle on to the end.

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel
Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the
train.  The buzzing of the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam
was escaping from the valves.  The engineer whistled, the train
started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the eddies
of the densely falling snow.

The detective had remained behind.

Several hours passed.  The weather was dismal, and it was very cold.
Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been
thought asleep.  Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the
waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through the
tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the horizon
around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound.  She heard
and saw nothing.  Then she would return, chilled through, to issue out
again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain.

Evening came, and the little band had not returned.  Where could they
be?  Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with
them, or were they still wandering amid the mist?  The commander of the
fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions.  As
night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became
intensely cold.  Absolute silence rested on the plains.  Neither flight
of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart stifled
with anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains.  Her
imagination carried her far off, and showed her innumerable dangers.
What she suffered through the long hours it would be impossible to
describe.

Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep.  Once a
man approached and spoke to him, and the detective merely replied by
shaking his head.

Thus the night passed.  At dawn, the half-extinguished disc of the sun
rose above a misty horizon; but it was now possible to recognise
objects two miles off.  Phileas Fogg and the squad had gone southward;
in the south all was still vacancy.  It was then seven o'clock.

The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course to take.

Should he send another detachment to the rescue of the first?  Should
he sacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those already
sacrificed?  His hesitation did not last long, however.  Calling one of
his lieutenants, he was on the point of ordering a reconnaissance, when
gunshots were heard.  Was it a signal?  The soldiers rushed out of the
fort, and half a mile off they perceived a little band returning in
good order.

Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were
Passepartout and the other two travellers, rescued from the Sioux.

They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort Kearney.
Shortly before the detachment arrived, Passepartout and his companions
had begun to struggle with their captors, three of whom the Frenchman
had felled with his fists, when his master and the soldiers hastened up
to their relief.

All were welcomed with joyful cries.  Phileas Fogg distributed the
reward he had promised to the soldiers, while Passepartout, not without
reason, muttered to himself, "It must certainly be confessed that I
cost my master dear!"

Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have been
difficult to analyse the thoughts which struggled within him.  As for
Aouda, she took her protector's hand and pressed it in her own, too
much moved to speak.

Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he thought he
should find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and he hoped that the
time lost might be regained.

"The train! the train!" cried he.

"Gone," replied Fix.

"And when does the next train pass here?" said Phileas Fogg.

"Not till this evening."

"Ah!" returned the impassible gentleman quietly.

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

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

"Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?"

"Quite seriously."

"I have a purpose in asking," resumed Fix.  "Is it absolutely necessary
that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o'clock in the
evening, the time that the steamer leaves for Liverpool?"

"It is absolutely necessary."

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

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

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

"On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg.

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

It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose offer
he had refused.

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

There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long
beams, a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon
which there was room for five or six persons.  A high mast was fixed on
the frame, held firmly by metallic lashings, to which was attached a
large brigantine sail.  This mast held an iron stay upon which to hoist
a jib-sail.  Behind, a sort of rudder served to guide the vehicle.  It
was, in short, a sledge rigged like a sloop.  During the winter, when
the trains are blocked up by the snow, these sledges make extremely
rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one station to another.
Provided with more sails than a cutter, and with the wind behind them,
they slip over the surface of the prairies with a speed equal if not
superior to that of the express trains.

Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this land-craft.  The
wind was favourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west.  The snow
had hardened, and Mudge was very confident of being able to transport
Mr. Fogg in a few hours to Omaha.  Thence the trains eastward run
frequently to Chicago and New York.  It was not impossible that the
lost time might yet be recovered; and such an opportunity was not to be
rejected.

Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling in the
open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout at Fort
Kearney, the servant taking upon himself to escort her to Europe by a
better route and under more favourable conditions.  But Aouda refused
to separate from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout was delighted with her
decision; for nothing could induce him to leave his master while Fix
was with him.

It would be difficult to guess the detective's thoughts.  Was this
conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg's return, or did he still regard him
as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world
completed, would think himself absolutely safe in England?  Perhaps
Fix's opinion of Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was
nevertheless resolved to do his duty, and to hasten the return of the
whole party to England as much as possible.

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

The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly, is at
most two hundred miles.  If the wind held good, the distance might be
traversed in five hours; if no accident happened the sledge might reach
Omaha by one o'clock.

What a journey!  The travellers, huddled close together, could not
speak for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were
going.  The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves.  When
the breeze came skimming the earth the sledge seemed to be lifted off
the ground by its sails.  Mudge, who was at the rudder, kept in a
straight line, and by a turn of his hand checked the lurches which the
vehicle had a tendency to make.  All the sails were up, and the jib was
so arranged as not to screen the brigantine.  A top-mast was hoisted,
and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other
sails.  Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge
could not be going at less than forty miles an hour.

"If nothing breaks," said Mudge, "we shall get there!"

Mr. Fogg had made it for Mudge's interest to reach Omaha within the
time agreed on, by the offer of a handsome reward.

The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight line, was
as flat as a sea.  It seemed like a vast frozen lake.  The railroad
which ran through this section ascended from the south-west to the
north-west by Great Island, Columbus, an important Nebraska town,
Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha.  It followed throughout the right bank
of the Platte River.  The sledge, shortening this route, took a chord
of the arc described by the railway.  Mudge was not afraid of being
stopped by the Platte River, because it was frozen.  The road, then,
was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to
fear--an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind.

But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to bend the
mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly.  These
lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument, resounded as if
vibrated by a violin bow.  The sledge slid along in the midst of a
plaintively intense melody.

"Those chords give the fifth and the octave," said Mr. Fogg.

These were the only words he uttered during the journey.  Aouda, cosily
packed in furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as possible from the
attacks of the freezing wind.  As for Passepartout, his face was as red
as the sun's disc when it sets in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled
the biting air.  With his natural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope
again.  They would reach New York on the evening, if not on the
morning, of the 11th, and there was still some chances that it would be
before the steamer sailed for Liverpool.

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by the
hand.  He remembered that it was the detective who procured the sledge,
the only means of reaching Omaha in time; but, checked by some
presentiment, he kept his usual reserve.  One thing, however,
Passepartout would never forget, and that was the sacrifice which Mr.
Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the Sioux.  Mr.
Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No!  His servant would never
forget that!

While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different, the
sledge flew past over the vast carpet of snow.  The creeks it passed
over were not perceived.  Fields and streams disappeared under the
uniform whiteness.  The plain was absolutely deserted.  Between the
Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney with Saint
Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island.  Neither village, station,
nor fort appeared.  From time to time they sped by some phantom-like
tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the wind.  Sometimes
flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt, famished, ferocious
prairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge.  Passepartout, revolver in
hand, held himself ready to fire on those which came too near.  Had an
accident then happened to the sledge, the travellers, attacked by these
beasts, would have been in the most terrible danger; but it held on its
even course, soon gained on the wolves, and ere long left the howling
band at a safe distance behind.

About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was crossing
the Platte River.  He said nothing, but he felt certain that he was now
within twenty miles of Omaha.  In less than an hour he left the rudder
and furled his sails, whilst the sledge, carried forward by the great
impetus the wind had given it, went on half a mile further with its
sails unspread.

It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white with
snow, said: "We have got there!"

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

Passepartout and Fix jumped off, stretched their stiffened limbs, and
aided Mr. Fogg and the young woman to descend from the sledge.  Phileas
Fogg generously rewarded Mudge, whose hand Passepartout warmly grasped,
and the party directed their steps to the Omaha railway station.

The Pacific Railroad proper finds its terminus at this important
Nebraska town.  Omaha is connected with Chicago by the Chicago and Rock
Island Railroad, which runs directly east, and passes fifty stations.

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

The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council Bluffs,
Des Moines, and Iowa City.  During the night it crossed the Mississippi
at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois.  The next day, which
was the 10th, at four o'clock in the evening, it reached Chicago,
already risen from its ruins, and more proudly seated than ever on the
borders of its beautiful Lake Michigan.

Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains are not
wanting at Chicago.  Mr. Fogg passed at once from one to the other, and
the locomotive of the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, and Chicago Railway left
at full speed, as if it fully comprehended that that gentleman had no
time to lose.  It traversed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey
like a flash, rushing through towns with antique names, some of which
had streets and car-tracks, but as yet no houses.  At last the Hudson
came into view; and, at a quarter-past eleven in the evening of the
11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of the river,
before the very pier of the Cunard line.

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

The China, in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas Fogg's last
hope.  None of the other steamers were able to serve his projects.  The
Pereire, of the French Transatlantic Company, whose admirable steamers
are equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave until the 14th;
the Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or London, but to
Havre; and the additional trip from Havre to Southampton would render
Phileas Fogg's last efforts of no avail.  The Inman steamer did not
depart till the next day, and could not cross the Atlantic in time to
save the wager.

Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his Bradshaw, which gave him
the daily movements of the trans-Atlantic steamers.

Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat by
three-quarters of an hour.  It was his fault, for, instead of helping
his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles in his path!  And when
he recalled all the incidents of the tour, when he counted up the sums
expended in pure loss and on his own account, when he thought that the
immense stake, added to the heavy charges of this useless journey,
would completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himself with bitter
self-accusations.  Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him; and, on
leaving the Cunard pier, only said: "We will consult about what is best
to-morrow.  Come."

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

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

Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions
to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant's
notice.  He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about
among the vessels moored or anchored in the river, for any that were
about to depart.  Several had departure signals, and were preparing to
put to sea at morning tide; for in this immense and admirable port
there is not one day in a hundred that vessels do not set out for every
quarter of the globe.  But they were mostly sailing vessels, of which,
of course, Phileas Fogg could make no use.

He seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored at the
Battery, a cable's length off at most, a trading vessel, with a screw,
well-shaped, whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke, indicated that she
was getting ready for departure.

Phileas Fogg hailed a boat, got into it, and soon found himself on
board the Henrietta, iron-hulled, wood-built above.  He ascended to the
deck, and asked for the captain, who forthwith presented himself.  He
was a man of fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big eyes, a complexion of
oxidised copper, red hair and thick neck, and a growling voice.

"The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"I am the captain."

"I am Phileas Fogg, of London."

"And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff."

"You are going to put to sea?"

"In an hour."

"You are bound for--"

"Bordeaux."

"And your cargo?"

"No freight.  Going in ballast."

"Have you any passengers?"

"No passengers.  Never have passengers.  Too much in the way."

"Is your vessel a swift one?"

"Between eleven and twelve knots.  The Henrietta, well known."

"Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?"

"To Liverpool?  Why not to China?"

"I said Liverpool."

"No!"

"No?"

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

"Money is no object?"

"None."

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

"But the owners of the Henrietta--" resumed Phileas Fogg.

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

"I will freight it for you."

"No."

"I will buy it of you."

"No."

Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the situation
was a grave one.  It was not at New York as at Hong Kong, nor with the
captain of the Henrietta as with the captain of the Tankadere.  Up to
this time money had smoothed away every obstacle.  Now money failed.

Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat, unless
by balloon--which would have been venturesome, besides not being
capable of being put in practice.  It seemed that Phileas Fogg had an
idea, for he said to the captain, "Well, will you carry me to Bordeaux?"

"No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars."

"I offer you two thousand."

"Apiece?"

"Apiece."

"And there are four of you?"

"Four."

Captain Speedy began to scratch his head.  There were eight thousand
dollars to gain, without changing his route; for which it was well
worth conquering the repugnance he had for all kinds of passengers.
Besides, passengers at two thousand dollars are no longer passengers,
but valuable merchandise.  "I start at nine o'clock," said Captain
Speedy, simply.  "Are you and your party ready?"

"We will be on board at nine o'clock," replied, no less simply, Mr.
Fogg.

It was half-past eight.  To disembark from the Henrietta, jump into a
hack, hurry to the St. Nicholas, and return with Aouda, Passepartout,
and even the inseparable Fix was the work of a brief time, and was
performed by Mr. Fogg with the coolness which never abandoned him.
They were on board when the Henrietta made ready to weigh anchor.

When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to cost, he
uttered a prolonged "Oh!" which extended throughout his vocal gamut.

As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would certainly
not come out of this affair well indemnified.  When they reached
England, even if Mr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls of bank-bills
into the sea, more than seven thousand pounds would have been spent!

An hour after, the Henrietta passed the lighthouse which marks the
entrance of the Hudson, turned the point of Sandy Hook, and put to sea.
During the day she skirted Long Island, passed Fire Island, and
directed her course rapidly eastward.

At noon the next day, a man mounted the bridge to ascertain the
vessel's position.  It might be thought that this was Captain Speedy.
Not the least in the world.  It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire.  As for
Captain Speedy, he was shut up in his cabin under lock and key, and was
uttering loud cries, which signified an anger at once pardonable and
excessive.

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

How the adventure ended will be seen anon.  Aouda was anxious, though
she said nothing.  As for Passepartout, he thought Mr. Fogg's manoeuvre
simply glorious.  The captain had said "between eleven and twelve
knots," and the Henrietta confirmed his prediction.

If, then--for there were "ifs" still--the sea did not become too
boisterous, if the wind did not veer round to the east, if no accident
happened to the boat or its machinery, the Henrietta might cross the
three thousand miles from New York to Liverpool in the nine days,
between the 12th and the 21st of December.  It is true that, once
arrived, the affair on board the Henrietta, added to that of the Bank
of England, might create more difficulties for Mr. Fogg than he
imagined or could desire.

During the first days, they went along smoothly enough.  The sea was
not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the north-east,
the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed across the waves
like a real trans-Atlantic steamer.

Passepartout was delighted.  His master's last exploit, the
consequences of which he ignored, enchanted him.  Never had the crew
seen so jolly and dexterous a fellow.  He formed warm friendships with
the sailors, and amazed them with his acrobatic feats.  He thought they
managed the vessel like gentlemen, and that the stokers fired up like
heroes.  His loquacious good-humour infected everyone.  He had
forgotten the past, its vexations and delays.  He only thought of the
end, so nearly accomplished; and sometimes he boiled over with
impatience, as if heated by the furnaces of the Henrietta.  Often,
also, the worthy fellow revolved around Fix, looking at him with a
keen, distrustful eye; but he did not speak to him, for their old
intimacy no longer existed.

Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going on.
The conquest of the Henrietta, the bribery of the crew, Fogg managing
the boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him.  He did not
know what to think.  For, after all, a man who began by stealing
fifty-five thousand pounds might end by stealing a vessel; and Fix was
not unnaturally inclined to conclude that the Henrietta under Fogg's
command, was not going to Liverpool at all, but to some part of the
world where the robber, turned into a pirate, would quietly put himself
in safety.  The conjecture was at least a plausible one, and the
detective began to seriously regret that he had embarked on the affair.

As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his cabin; and
Passepartout, whose duty it was to carry him his meals, courageous as
he was, took the greatest precautions.  Mr. Fogg did not seem even to
know that there was a captain on board.

On the 13th they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland, a
dangerous locality; during the winter, especially, there are frequent
fogs and heavy gales of wind.  Ever since the evening before the
barometer, suddenly falling, had indicated an approaching change in the
atmosphere; and during the night the temperature varied, the cold
became sharper, and the wind veered to the south-east.

This was a misfortune.  Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his
course, furled his sails and increased the force of the steam; but the
vessel's speed slackened, owing to the state of the sea, the long waves
of which broke against the stern.  She pitched violently, and this
retarded her progress.  The breeze little by little swelled into a
tempest, and it was to be feared that the Henrietta might not be able
to maintain herself upright on the waves.

Passepartout's visage darkened with the skies, and for two days the
poor fellow experienced constant fright.  But Phileas Fogg was a bold
mariner, and knew how to maintain headway against the sea; and he kept
on his course, without even decreasing his steam.  The Henrietta, when
she could not rise upon the waves, crossed them, swamping her deck, but
passing safely.  Sometimes the screw rose out of the water, beating its
protruding end, when a mountain of water raised the stern above the
waves; but the craft always kept straight ahead.

The wind, however, did not grow as boisterous as might have been
feared; it was not one of those tempests which burst, and rush on with
a speed of ninety miles an hour.  It continued fresh, but, unhappily,
it remained obstinately in the south-east, rendering the sails useless.

The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas Fogg's
departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet been seriously
delayed.  Half of the voyage was almost accomplished, and the worst
localities had been passed.  In summer, success would have been
well-nigh certain.  In winter, they were at the mercy of the bad
season.  Passepartout said nothing; but he cherished hope in secret,
and comforted himself with the reflection that, if the wind failed
them, they might still count on the steam.

On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and began
to speak earnestly with him.  Without knowing why it was a
presentiment, perhaps Passepartout became vaguely uneasy.  He would
have given one of his ears to hear with the other what the engineer was
saying.  He finally managed to catch a few words, and was sure he heard
his master say, "You are certain of what you tell me?"

"Certain, sir," replied the engineer.  "You must remember that, since
we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces, and, though
we had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to Bordeaux, we
haven't enough to go with all steam from New York to Liverpool." "I
will consider," replied Mr. Fogg.

Passepartout understood it all; he was seized with mortal anxiety.  The
coal was giving out!  "Ah, if my master can get over that," muttered
he, "he'll be a famous man!"  He could not help imparting to Fix what
he had overheard.

"Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?"

"Of course."

"Ass!" replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning on
his heel.

Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the epithet, the
reason of which he could not for the life of him comprehend; but he
reflected that the unfortunate Fix was probably very much disappointed
and humiliated in his self-esteem, after having so awkwardly followed a
false scent around the world, and refrained.

And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt?  It was difficult to
imagine.  Nevertheless he seemed to have decided upon one, for that
evening he sent for the engineer, and said to him, "Feed all the fires
until the coal is exhausted."

A few moments after, the funnel of the Henrietta vomited forth torrents
of smoke.  The vessel continued to proceed with all steam on; but on
the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced that the coal
would give out in the course of the day.

"Do not let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg.  "Keep them up to the
last.  Let the valves be filled."

Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position, called
Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy.  It was as if
the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain a tiger.  He went to
the poop, saying to himself, "He will be like a madman!"

In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the
poop-deck.  The bomb was Captain Speedy.  It was clear that he was on
the point of bursting.  "Where are we?"  were the first words his anger
permitted him to utter.  Had the poor man been an apoplectic, he could
never have recovered from his paroxysm of wrath.

"Where are we?" he repeated, with purple face.

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

"Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy.

"I have sent for you, sir--"

"Pickaroon!"

"--sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel."

"No!  By all the devils, no!"

"But I shall be obliged to burn her."

"Burn the Henrietta!"

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

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

"Here are sixty thousand," replied Phileas Fogg, handing the captain a
roll of bank-bills.  This had a prodigious effect on Andrew Speedy.  An
American can scarcely remain unmoved at the sight of sixty thousand
dollars.  The captain forgot in an instant his anger, his imprisonment,
and all his grudges against his passenger.  The Henrietta was twenty
years old; it was a great bargain.  The bomb would not go off after
all.  Mr. Fogg had taken away the match.

"And I shall still have the iron hull," said the captain in a softer
tone.

"The iron hull and the engine.  Is it agreed?"

"Agreed."

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

During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and Fix
seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit.  Nearly twenty
thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg left the hull and engine to
the captain, that is, near the whole value of the craft!  It was true,
however, that fifty-five thousand pounds had been stolen from the Bank.

When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him, "Don't
let this astonish you, sir.  You must know that I shall lose twenty
thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a quarter before nine on
the evening of the 21st of December.  I missed the steamer at New York,
and as you refused to take me to Liverpool--"

"And I did well!" cried Andrew Speedy; "for I have gained at least
forty thousand dollars by it!"  He added, more sedately, "Do you know
one thing, Captain--"

"Fogg."

"Captain Fogg, you've got something of the Yankee about you."

And, having paid his passenger what he considered a high compliment, he
was going away, when Mr. Fogg said, "The vessel now belongs to me?"

"Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts--all the wood, that
is."

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

It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the adequate
pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks, and the spare deck
were sacrificed.  On the next day, the 19th of December, the masts,
rafts, and spars were burned; the crew worked lustily, keeping up the
fires.  Passepartout hewed, cut, and sawed away with all his might.
There was a perfect rage for demolition.

The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck, and top sides
disappeared on the 20th, and the Henrietta was now only a flat hulk.
But on this day they sighted the Irish coast and Fastnet Light.  By ten
in the evening they were passing Queenstown.  Phileas Fogg had only
twenty-four hours more in which to get to London; that length of time
was necessary to reach Liverpool, with all steam on.  And the steam was
about to give out altogether!

"Sir," said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in Mr. Fogg's
project, "I really commiserate you.  Everything is against you.  We are
only opposite Queenstown."

"Ah," said Mr. Fogg, "is that place where we see the lights Queenstown?"

"Yes."

"Can we enter the harbour?"

"Not under three hours.  Only at high tide."

"Stay," replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his features that
by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt once more to conquer
ill-fortune.

Queenstown is the Irish port at which the trans-Atlantic steamers stop
to put off the mails.  These mails are carried to Dublin by express
trains always held in readiness to start; from Dublin they are sent on
to Liverpool by the most rapid boats, and thus gain twelve hours on the
Atlantic steamers.

Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way.  Instead
of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the Henrietta, he would be
there by noon, and would therefore have time to reach London before a
quarter before nine in the evening.

The Henrietta entered Queenstown Harbour at one o'clock in the morning,
it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being grasped heartily
by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on the levelled hulk
of his craft, which was still worth half what he had sold it for.

The party went on shore at once.  Fix was greatly tempted to arrest Mr.
Fogg on the spot; but he did not.  Why?  What struggle was going on
within him?  Had he changed his mind about "his man"?  Did he
understand that he had made a grave mistake?  He did not, however,
abandon Mr. Fogg.  They all got upon the train, which was just ready to
start, at half-past one; at dawn of day they were in Dublin; and they
lost no time in embarking on a steamer which, disdaining to rise upon
the waves, invariably cut through them.

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

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

"I am."

"I arrest you in the Queen's name!"

Phileas Fogg was in prison.  He had been shut up in the Custom House,
and he was to be transferred to London the next day.

Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon
Fix had he not been held back by some policemen.  Aouda was
thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not
understand.  Passepartout explained to her how it was that the honest
and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber.  The young woman's heart
revolted against so heinous a charge, and when she saw that she could
attempt to do nothing to save her protector, she wept bitterly.

As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether
Mr. Fogg were guilty or not.

The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this new
misfortune!  Had he not concealed Fix's errand from his master?  When
Fix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr.
Fogg?  If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix
proof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix
would not have continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of
his master, only to arrest him the moment he set foot on English soil.
Passepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his brains
out.

Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the
Custom House.  Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to
see Mr. Fogg again.

That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was
about to attain his end.  This arrest was fatal.  Having arrived at
Liverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he
had till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform Club,
that is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool to London
was six hours.

If anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would have
found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger,
upon a wooden bench.  He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last
blow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any emotion.  Was
he being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the more terrible
because contained, and which only burst forth, with an irresistible
force, at the last moment?  No one could tell.  There he sat, calmly
waiting--for what?  Did he still cherish hope?  Did he still believe,
now that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he would
succeed?

However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon the
table, and observed its advancing hands.  Not a word escaped his lips,
but his look was singularly set and stern.  The situation, in any
event, was a terrible one, and might be thus stated: if Phileas Fogg
was honest he was ruined; if he was a knave, he was caught.

Did escape occur to him?  Did he examine to see if there were any
practicable outlet from his prison?  Did he think of escaping from it?
Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room.  But the door was
locked, and the window heavily barred with iron rods.  He sat down
again, and drew his journal from his pocket.  On the line where these
words were written, "21st December, Saturday, Liverpool," he added,
"80th day, 11.40 a.m.," and waited.

The Custom House clock struck one.  Mr. Fogg observed that his watch
was two hours too fast.

Two hours!  Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express
train, he could reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter before
nine, p.m.  His forehead slightly wrinkled.

At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise outside,
then a hasty opening of doors.  Passepartout's voice was audible, and
immediately after that of Fix.  Phileas Fogg's eyes brightened for an
instant.

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who
hurried towards him.

Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder.  He could not
speak.  "Sir," he stammered, "sir--forgive me--most--unfortunate
resemblance--robber arrested three days ago--you are free!"

Phileas Fogg was free!  He walked to the detective, looked him steadily
in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever made in his
life, or which he ever would make, drew back his arms, and with the
precision of a machine knocked Fix down.

"Well hit!" cried Passepartout, "Parbleu! that's what you might call a
good application of English fists!"

Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word.  He had only
received his deserts.  Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout left the
Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a few moments
descended at the station.

Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave for
London.  It was forty minutes past two.  The express train had left
thirty-five minutes before.  Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.

There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway
arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until three
o'clock.

At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by the offer
of a generous reward, at last set out towards London with Aouda and his
faithful servant.

It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half; and this
would have been easy on a clear road throughout.  But there were forced
delays, and when Mr. Fogg stepped from the train at the terminus, all
the clocks in London were striking ten minutes before nine.

Having made the tour of the world, he was behind-hand five minutes.  He
had lost the wager!

The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if
they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home.  His doors and
windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to
purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity.  Ruined!  And by
the blundering of the detective!  After having steadily traversed that
long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and
still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near the goal by a
sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and against which he was
unarmed; it was terrible!  But a few pounds were left of the large sum
he had carried with him.  There only remained of his fortune the twenty
thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount he owed to his
friends of the Reform Club.  So great had been the expense of his tour
that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is
probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who
rather laid wagers for honour's sake than for the stake proposed.  But
this wager totally ruined him.

Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what
remained for him to do.

A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was
overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune.  From the words
which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious
project.

Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to
the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch
upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so
doing.

First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had
extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days.
He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he
thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had
been doomed to bear.

The night passed.  Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep?  Aouda did
not once close her eyes.  Passepartout watched all night, like a
faithful dog, at his master's door.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda's
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself.  He desired Aouda
to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed
all day in putting his affairs to rights.  In the evening he would ask
permission to have a few moment's conversation with the young lady.

Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey
them.  He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring
his mind to leave him.  His heart was full, and his conscience tortured
by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the
cause of the irretrievable disaster.  Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg,
and had betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would certainly not
have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then--

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

"My master!  Mr. Fogg!" he cried, "why do you not curse me?  It was my
fault that--"

"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness.  "Go!"

Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he
delivered his master's message.

"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself--nothing!  I have no
influence over my master; but you, perhaps--"

"What influence could I have?" replied Aouda.  "Mr. Fogg is influenced
by no one.  Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him is
overflowing?  Has he ever read my heart?  My friend, he must not be
left alone an instant!  You say he is going to speak with me this
evening?"

"Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in
England."

"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.

Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if
uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in
that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck
half-past eleven.

Why should he present himself at the Reform?  His friends no longer
expected him there.  As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on
the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before
nine), he had lost his wager.  It was not even necessary that he should
go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists
already had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out
and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their
credit.

Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained at
home.  He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting his
affairs in order.  Passepartout continually ascended and descended the
stairs.  The hours were long for him. He listened at his master's door,
and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do,
and as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any moment.
Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger.  Fix, like all the
world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and had only done his duty in
tracking and arresting him; while he, Passepartout. . . .  This thought
haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly.

Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda's
door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a
corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive.

About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda
would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with her.

Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite
Aouda.  No emotion was visible on his face.  Fogg returned was exactly
the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same
impassibility.

He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on
Aouda, "Madam," said he, "will you pardon me for bringing you to
England?"

"I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.

"Please let me finish," returned Mr. Fogg.  "When I decided to bring
you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was rich,
and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal; then
your existence would have been free and happy.  But now I am ruined."

"I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda; "and I ask you in my turn, will
you forgive me for having followed you, and--who knows?--for having,
perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your ruin?"

"Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be
assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could
not take you."

"So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me from a
terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a
foreign land?"

"Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me.  Still, I beg to
place the little I have left at your service."

"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"

"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need of
nothing."

"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?"

"As I am in the habit of doing."

"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you.  Your
friends--"

"I have no friends, madam."

"Your relatives--"

"I have no longer any relatives."

"I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no heart
to which to confide your griefs.  They say, though, that misery itself,
shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience."

"They say so, madam."

"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, "do you wish at
once a kinswoman and friend?  Will you have me for your wife?"

Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn.  There was an unwonted light in
his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips.  Aouda looked into his
face.  The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft
glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she
owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him.  He shut his eyes
for an instant, as if to avoid her look.  When he opened them again, "I
love you!" he said, simply.  "Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you,
and I am entirely yours!"

"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.

Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately.  Mr. Fogg still
held Aouda's hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big,
round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel
Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.

Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, "Never too late."

It was five minutes past eight.

"Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?"

"For to-morrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.

"Yes; for to-morrow, Monday," she replied.

Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.

It is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion
when it transpired that the real bankrobber, a certain James Strand,
had been arrested, on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh.  Three
days before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being
desperately followed up by the police; now he was an honourable
gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the
world.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had
laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic;
the "Phileas Fogg bonds" again became negotiable, and many new wagers
were made.  Phileas Fogg's name was once more at a premium on 'Change.

His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a state
of feverish suspense.  Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten,
reappear before their eyes!  Where was he at this moment?  The 17th of
December, the day of James Strand's arrest, was the seventy-sixth since
Phileas Fogg's departure, and no news of him had been received.  Was he
dead?  Had he abandoned the effort, or was he continuing his journey
along the route agreed upon?  And would he appear on Saturday, the 21st
of December, at a quarter before nine in the evening, on the threshold
of the Reform Club saloon?

The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot be
described.  Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas
Fogg.  Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning
and evening.  No news.  The police were ignorant what had become of the
detective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed up a false scent.
Bets increased, nevertheless, in number and value.  Phileas Fogg, like
a racehorse, was drawing near his last turning-point.  The bonds were
quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at ten, and at
five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his favour.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets
on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently
established around the Reform Club.  Circulation was impeded, and
everywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were going
on.  The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as
the hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to
its highest pitch.

The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the
club.  John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart,
the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and
Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.

When the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart got
up, saying, "Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon between
Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired."

"What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?"  asked Thomas
Flanagan.

"At twenty-three minutes past seven," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and the
next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve."

"Well, gentlemen," resumed Andrew Stuart, "if Phileas Fogg had come in
the 7:23 train, he would have got here by this time.  We can,
therefore, regard the bet as won."

"Wait; don't let us be too hasty," replied Samuel Fallentin.  "You know
that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric.  His punctuality is well known; he
never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not be surprised if
he appeared before us at the last minute."

"Why," said Andrew Stuart nervously, "if I should see him, I should not
believe it was he."

"The fact is," resumed Thomas Flanagan, "Mr. Fogg's project was
absurdly foolish.  Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent the
delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three
days would be fatal to his tour."

"Observe, too," added John Sullivan, "that we have received no
intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along his
route."

"He has lost, gentleman," said Andrew Stuart, "he has a hundred times
lost!  You know, besides, that the China the only steamer he could have
taken from New York to get here in time arrived yesterday.  I have seen
a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Fogg is not among
them.  Even if we admit that fortune has favoured him, he can scarcely
have reached America.  I think he will be at least twenty days
behind-hand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand."

"It is clear," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and we have nothing to do but
to present Mr. Fogg's cheque at Barings to-morrow."

At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty minutes
to nine.

"Five minutes more," said Andrew Stuart.

The five gentlemen looked at each other.  Their anxiety was becoming
intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily assented to Mr.
Fallentin's proposal of a rubber.

"I wouldn't give up my four thousand of the bet," said Andrew Stuart,
as he took his seat, "for three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine."

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off the
clock.  Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never seemed
so long to them!

"Seventeen minutes to nine," said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the cards
which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence.  The great saloon was perfectly
quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and
then a shrill cry.  The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player
eagerly counted, as he listened, with mathematical regularity.

"Sixteen minutes to nine!" said John Sullivan, in a voice which
betrayed his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won.  Andrew Stuart and his
partners suspended their game.  They left their cards, and counted the
seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing.  At the fiftieth, still nothing.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by
applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the
pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared,
followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way through the club
doors, and in his calm voice, said, "Here I am, gentlemen!"

IN WHICH IT IS SHOWN THAT PHILEAS FOGG GAINED NOTHING BY HIS TOUR
AROUND THE WORLD, UNLESS IT WERE HAPPINESS

Yes; Phileas Fogg in person.

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the
evening--about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the
travellers in London--Passepartout had been sent by his master to
engage the services of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage
ceremony, which was to take place the next day.

Passepartout went on his errand enchanted.  He soon reached the
clergyman's house, but found him not at home.  Passepartout waited a
good twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman, it was
thirty-five minutes past eight.  But in what a state he was!  With his
hair in disorder, and without his hat, he ran along the street as never
man was seen to run before, overturning passers-by, rushing over the
sidewalk like a waterspout.

In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered back into
Mr. Fogg's room.

He could not speak.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"My master!" gasped Passepartout--"marriage--impossible--"

"Impossible?"

"Impossible--for to-morrow."

"Why so?"

"Because to-morrow--is Sunday!"

"Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.

"No--to-day is Saturday."

"Saturday?  Impossible!"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" cried Passepartout.  "You have made a mistake of
one day!  We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time; but there are
only ten minutes left!"

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging him
along with irresistible force.

Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left his
house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the cabman, and,
having run over two dogs and overturned five carriages, reached the
Reform Club.

The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the great
saloon.

Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in eighty
days!

Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!

How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made this
error of a day?  How came he to think that he had arrived in London on
Saturday, the twenty-first day of December, when it was really Friday,
the twentieth, the seventy-ninth day only from his departure?

The cause of the error is very simple.

Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his journey,
and this merely because he had travelled constantly eastward; he would,
on the contrary, have lost a day had he gone in the opposite direction,
that is, westward.

In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days
therefore diminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed
degrees in this direction.  There are three hundred and sixty degrees
on the circumference of the earth; and these three hundred and sixty
degrees, multiplied by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four
hours--that is, the day unconsciously gained.  In other words, while
Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty
times, his friends in London only saw it pass the meridian seventy-nine
times.  This is why they awaited him at the Reform Club on Saturday,
and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.

And Passepartout's famous family watch, which had always kept London
time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as well
as the hours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but, as he had
spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary gain was
small.  His object was, however, to be victorious, and not to win
money.  He divided the one thousand pounds that remained between
Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix, against whom he cherished no
grudge.  He deducted, however, from Passepartout's share the cost of
the gas which had burned in his room for nineteen hundred and twenty
hours, for the sake of regularity.

That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said to
Aouda: "Is our marriage still agreeable to you?"

"Mr. Fogg," replied she, "it is for me to ask that question.  You were
ruined, but now you are rich again."

"Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you.  If you had not suggested
our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the Reverend Samuel
Wilson's, I should not have been apprised of my error, and--"

"Dear Mr. Fogg!" said the young woman.

"Dear Aouda!" replied Phileas Fogg.

It need not be said that the marriage took place forty-eight hours
after, and that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave the bride
away.  Had he not saved her, and was he not entitled to this honour?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped vigorously
at his master's door.  Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked, "What's the
matter, Passepartout?"

"What is it, sir?  Why, I've just this instant found out--"

"What?"

"That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eight
days."

"No doubt," returned Mr. Fogg, "by not crossing India.  But if I had
not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she would not have
been my wife, and--"

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around the
world in eighty days.  To do this he had employed every means of
conveyance--steamers, railways, carriages, yachts, trading-vessels,
sledges, elephants.  The eccentric gentleman had throughout displayed
all his marvellous qualities of coolness and exactitude.  But what
then?  What had he really gained by all this trouble?  What had he
brought back from this long and weary journey?

Nothing, say you?  Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who,
strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?

Phileas Fogg never misses a beat . He's punctual, practical, and more than a bit obsessed with Father Time. Being a lonely bachelor in an old mansion in London doesn't seem to bother him, though. With the peace and quiet he is able to contemplate the more important things in life, like having his shaving water brought to him at the exact same temperature each day, or calculating precisely how many steps there are between his gentleman's club and his front door. Yeah... awesome... OCD aside, Phileas Fogg has two passions: playing whist and being right. So when a debate between his homies at the club arises about how long it would take to travel around the world, he dismissively states that of course it could be accomplished in eighty days. With much scoffing and bwa-ha-ha-ing, his friends politely tell him he's off his rocker. It's 1872 after all. But Phileas sets down a bet and calls them out. He wagers 20,000 pounds that he can do it. And because rich dudes in London have nothing better to do, they all agree to the bet. Meanwhile, a suspicious looking "gentleman" has robbed the Bank of England. Oddly enough, he kind of sort of looks like Phileas Fogg--oh, and he has that reserved, subdued quality which totally identifies him as a gentleman. Hmm... now said gentleman is looking to quickly leave the country. Detective Fix, a police officer from Scotland Yard is now on the case to pursue and arrest Phileas Fogg for burglary, but he has to catch him first. Phileas and his newly hired servant, Passepartout, leave that night with Detective Fix slyly following them. The adventure continues as Passepartout makes constant goof-ups, they stop to help an Indian princess in distress, and Fogg duels with an American colonel, all the while barely evading Detective Fix. It's around the world at Warp Tour speed as Phileas Fogg stops at nothing to make it back home in time. He's down to use everything from ships, trains, an elephant, or a sailing sled to get them to the right place at the right time. His calm, logical, gentlemanly demeanor never freaks out or fusses over the many delays, inconveniences, and dangerous modes of travel. Fix is able to arrest Fogg at the worst possible moment, and now it's way too late to collect on the bet. Instead of jumping off a bridge, Phileas agrees to get hitched to his Indian Princess friend--so maybe this isn't the end of the world as he had previously thought. But Passepartout realizes something: Phileas Fogg, the most punctual man in the world, did not account for the time gained by traveling eastward. So they still have time to win a bet. Phileas Fogg storms his club and astonishes his cronies by making the journey around the world, just like he said. But what he's most happy about is finding someone to love and who loves him back.

Mr. Phileas Fogg is a wealthy man living in London who is part of the Reform Club, an elite social organization. He has recently hired a new domestic servant, a Frenchman named Passepartout. While at the Reform Club, he makes a bet with the other club members that it is possible to go around the world by train and steamer in just eighty days, and that he himself can do it. Since 20,000 pounds are at stake, he fetches Passepartout and they head off right away to circumnavigate the globe. Waiting for Fogg at the Suez Canal, where he will take a steamer to Bombay, India, is a detective named Fix; apparently, Fogg has been accused of robbing the Bank of England. He follows Fogg and Passepartout on the steamer Mongolia to India, where he hopes to receive a warrant to arrest Fogg as the robber. The steamer arrives in Bombay two days ahead of schedule, but the arrest warrant has not yet arrived. While waiting for the train that will take them across India from Bombay to Calcutta, Passepartout wanders off into a Hindu temple, hoping to see some of the city's sights before they rush off again. He does not realize that because he is a Christian, he is forbidden to enter; in addition, he enters it with shoes on, which is also not allowed. He narrowly escapes the wrath of the priests and makes it to the train station in time. On the train, Fogg and Passepartout meet Sir Francis Cromarty, an Englishman who lives in India. Passepartout spends much time gazing out the window at the wild jungles of India. Suddenly, though, the train stops--apparently there is a 50-mile span of track that is not yet finished, and passengers must arrange their own transportation to the next point where they can board a train again. In a nearby village, Fogg purchases an elephant from an Indian man and hires a Parsee guide to lead them. The group, now including Sir Francis, starts off on the elephant, and after camping for a night they encounter a group of tribal Indians preparing to sacrifice a young woman whose husband, a prince, has just died. Fogg decides they need to use the time they have gained to try and save her, and after a number of failed efforts Passepartout disguises himself as the dead prince's corpse and manages to jump up and grab Aouda before they can throw her on the funeral pyre. They make it to Calcutta, but are immediately arrested. At first they think it is because of what happened with Aouda, but actually, Fix has gotten them detained because of Passepartout breaking the law back in Bombay by entering the Hindu temple. Fogg bails them out with a large sum of money and they get on the steamer to Hong Kong. Fix follows them on, knowing that Hong Kong will be the last bit of British territory they step into, and thus the last chance to arrest Fogg. A storm delays them in reaching Hong Kong, but thankfully the steamer to Yokohama, Japan will not be leaving until the following evening, since it needs time for repairs. Fix decides that it is time to get Passepartout on his side, and takes him to a tavern to tell him whom his master really is. Passepartout is ever loyal, though, and does not believe that Fogg is the robber. Determined to keep Fogg in Hong Kong until he can arrest him, Fix gives Passepartout a dose of opium and he passes out for a long time, thus unable to notify his master of what someone at the port told him: that the steamer would be leaving form Yokohama in the morning instead of the following evening. The next day, Fogg realizes that Passepartout is missing, and that the steamer has sailed without them. He hires a sailor to take them to Shanghai, where they can catch the steamer that will sail to San Francisco before it makes its stop in Yokohama. Aouda is with him, since it appears the family member she knew in Hong Kong moved away. Fix, posing as a friend, accompanies them. A storm delays them, and they make it to Shanghai just as the steamer is pulling out of the harbor. Meanwhile, Passepartout managed to get on the steamer to Yokohama, even in his disoriented state. He is distraught when he realizes he left his master behind. In Yokohama, he tries to join a traveling circus troupe in order to make money to buy himself food--while doing this, though, Fogg finds him. They managed to flag down the steamer in Shanghai and get on. The entire group, Fix included, gets on the steamer to San Francisco. Aouda is slowly growing more and more attached to Fogg. They make it to San Francisco and get on a train that will take them to New York, but not before witnessing a political skirmish in which Fogg nearly ends up fighting an American man named Colonel Stamp Proctor. The train takes them through the great American wilderness, and they encounter a delay when they come upon a bridge that is too weak to hold the train's weight. They decide to speed the train over the bridge anyway, and it collapses right after they get over. A bigger problem comes further along in the trip, when a tribe of Sioux Indians attacks the train. They reach an army fort and the soldiers fight off the Native Americans, but not before they kidnap Passepartout and a few of the other train passengers. Fogg goes after him with an army of soldiers, whom he promises a reward to for their aid. It takes him a long while to return, and the train leaves without them; Aouda and Fix stay behind to wait. Eventually he comes back with Passepartout, safe. To catch up with the train, they take a sledge across the snowy prairie to the next train station. They reach New York on the train, but because of all the delays the steamer to Liverpool, England had left forty-five minutes before. In a last-ditch effort to win his bet, Fogg pays the owner of a cargo ship to take them along to his destination in Bordeaux; once they get aboard, though, Fogg bribes the crew, ties up the captain, and turns the ship toward Liverpool. The problem is, going this fast they will never have enough fuel to make it; Fogg offers to buy the ship from the captain for a huge amount of money so that he can tear it apart and burn bits of it to keep up their speed. They burn enough to make it to Queenstown, Ireland, where they take a train to Dublin and mail boats to Liverpool, allowing them to make ti there faster. As soon as they reach English territory, however, Fix arrests and detains Fogg for allegedly robbing the Bank of England. It now seems like there is no way for Fogg to reach London in time to win his bet. Soon, however, Fix realizes that the real bank robber was arrested three days before; breathless, he runs to free Fogg and tell him to get to London as quickly as possible. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout hire an express train to get them to the British capital as quickly as possible. But they do not make it in time--they arrive in the London station a few minutes too late. Fogg does not know what to do now that he has lost his wager, and he sits alone in his room for a long time. Aouda comes to speak to him, however, and reveals her love for him--Fogg says that he would like nothing more than to make her his wife. Overjoyed, they tell Passepartout to go make wedding arrangements for the following day, Monday, with the reverend. Once there, however, Passepartout realizes while talking to him that the following day is actually Sunday; they had gained a day when crossing the International Date Line. That meant that that day was Saturday, the day Fogg had to return to London in order to win his wager. Fogg rushes to the Reform Club and arrives just in time to win the bet and earn back his fortune. He believes that the greatest thing about taking the trip, however, was that he found Aouda.