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21 - Around The World in Eighty Days - Jules Verne · Adventure Books Library

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  Chapter twenty one, in which the master of the Takadare runs great risk of
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  losing a reward of two hundred pounds. This voyage of eight hundred miles was
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  a perilous venture on a craft of twenty tons, and at that season of
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  the year, the Chinese seas are usually boisterous, subject to terrible gales of
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  wind, and especially during the equinoxes, and it was now early November.
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  It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry his passengers to Yokohama,
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  since he was paid a certain sum per day. But he would have
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  been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudent even to attempt
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  to reach Shanghai. But John Bunsby believed in the Takadare, which rode on
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  the waves like a sea gull, and perhaps he was not wrong. Late
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  in the day they passed through the capricious channels of Hong Kong, and the
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  Takadar, impelled by favorable winds, conducted herself admirably. I do not need
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  pilot, said Phileas Fogg when they got into the open sea. To advise
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  you to use all possible speed, dressed me your honor. We are carrying
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  all the sail the wind will let us. The poles would add nothing and
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  are only used when we are going into port. It's your trade, not
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  mine, pilot, and I confide in you. Phileas Fogg, with body
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  erect and legs wide apart, standing like a sailor, gazed without staggering at
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  the swelling waters. The young woman who was seated aft, was profoundly affected
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  as she looked out upon the ocean darkening now with a twilight on which she
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  had ventured in so frail. A vessel above her head rustled the white sails,
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  which seemed like great white wings. The boat, carried forward by the
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  wind, seemed to be flying in the air. Night came. The moon
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  was entering her first quarter, and her insufficient light would soon die out.
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  In the midst on the horizon, clouds were rising from the east and already
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  overcast a part of the heavens. The pilot had hung out his lights,
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  which was very necessary in these seas crowded with vessels bound landward, for collisions
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  are not uncommon occurrences, and at the speed she was going, the least
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  shock would shatter the gallant little craft. Fix seated in the bow, gave
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  himself up to meditation. He kept apart from his fellow travelers, knowing mister
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  Fogg's taciturn tastes. Besides, he did not quite like to talk to the
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  man whose favors he had accepted. He was thinking too of the future.
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  It seemed certain that Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would at once
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  take the boat for San Francisco, and the vast extent of America would insure
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  him impunity and safety. Fogg's plan appeared to him the simplest in the world.
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  Instead of sailing directly from England to the United States like a common villain,
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  he had traversed three quarters of the globe so as to gain the American
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  continent more surely, and there after throwing the police off his track, he
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  would quietly enjoy himself with the fortunes stolen from the bank. But once in
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  the United States, what should he fix do? Should he abandon this man?
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  No? A hundred times No. Until he had secured his extradition,
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  he would not lose sight of him for an hour. It was his duty,
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  and he would fulfill it to the end. At all events, there
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  was one thing to be thankful for. Passepartout was not with his master,
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  and it was above all important after the confidence's fix had imparted to him that
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  the servant should never have speech with his master. Phileas Fogg was also thinking
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  of Passepartout, who had so strangely disappeared. Looking at the matter from every
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  point of view, it did not seem to him impossible that by some mistake
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  the man might have embarked on the Carnatic at the last moment. And this
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  was also Ouda's opinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy fellow
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  to whom she owed so much. They might then find him at Yokohama,
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  for if the Carnatic was carrying him thither, it would be easy to ascertain
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  if he had been on board. A brisk breeze arose about ten o'clock,
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  but though it might have been prudent to take in a reef, the pilot,
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  after carefully examining the heavens, let the craft remain rigged as before.
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  The Tankadere bore sail admirably, as she drew a great deal of water,
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  and everything was prepared for high speed in case of a gale. Mister Fogg
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  and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight, having been already preceded by Fix,
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  who had lain down on one of the cots. The pilot and crew
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  remained on deck all night. At sunrise the next day, which was eighth
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  November, the boat had made more than one hundred miles. The log indicated
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  a mean speed of between eight and nine miles. The Takadare still carried all
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  sail and was accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind held as
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  it was, the chances would be in her favor. During the day.
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  She kept along the coast where the currents were favorable. The coast, irregular
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  in profile, invisible sometimes across the clearings, was at most five miles distant.
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  The sea was less boisterous since the wind came off land, a fortunate
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  circumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owing to its small tonnage,
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  by a heavy surge on the sea. The breeze subsided a little towards noon
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  and set in from the southwest. The pilot put up his poles, but
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  took them down again within two hours as the wind freshened up anew Mister Fogg
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  and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the sea, ate with a
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  good appetite. Fixed being invited to share their repast, which he accepted with
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  secret chagrin. To travel at this man's expense and live upon his provisions was
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  not palatable to him. Still, he was obliged to eat, and so
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  he ate. When the meal was over, he took mister Fogg apart and
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  said, Sir, This Sir scorched his lips, and he had to control
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  himself to avoid collaring this gentleman. Sir, you have been very kind to
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  give me a passage on this boat, but though my means will not admit
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  of my expecting them as freely as you, I must ask to pay my
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  share. Let us not speak of that, sir, replied mister Fogg.
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  But if I insist, no, Sir, repeated mister Fogg, in a
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  tone which did not admit of a reply, this enters into my general expenses.
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  Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and going forward
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  where he ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the
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  day. Meanwhile, they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was in high
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  hope He several times assured mister Fogg that they would reach Shanghai in time,
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  to which that gentleman responded that he counted upon it. The crew set to
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  work in good earnest, inspired by the reward to be gained. There was
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  not a sheet which was not tightened, not a sail which was not vigorously
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  hoisted, not a lurch could be charged to the man at the helm.
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  They worked as desperately as if they were contesting in a royal yacht regatta.
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  By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had been accomplished
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  from Hong Kong, and mister Fogg might hope that he would be able to
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  reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal, in which case the many
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  misadventures which had overtaken him since he left London would not seriously affect his journey.
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  The Takadare entered the Straits of folk Kin, which separate the island of
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  Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours of the night, and
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  crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very rough in the straits,
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  full of eddies formed by the counter currents and the chopping waves broke her course,
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  whilst it became very difficult to stand on deck. At daybreak, the
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  wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens seemed to predict a gale.
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  The barometer announced a speedy change, the mercury rising and falling capriciously.
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  The sea, also in the southeast, raised long surges, which indicated a
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  tempest. The sun had set the evening before in a red mist. In
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  the midst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean. John Bunsby long examined the
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  threatening aspect of the heavens, muttering indistinctly between his teeth. At last,
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  he said, in a low voice to mister Fogg, Shall I speak out
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  to your honor? Of course? Well, we are going to have a
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  squaw. Is the wind north or south? Asked mister Fogg quietly South.
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  Look a typhoon is coming up. Glad it's a typhoon from the south,
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  for it will carry us forward. Oh, if you take it that way,
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  said John Bunsby, I've nothing more to say. John Bunsby's suspicions were
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  confirmed at at less advanced season of the year. The typhoon, according to
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  a famous meteorologist, would have passed away like a luminous cascade of electric flame.
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  But in the winter equinox it was to be feared that it would burst
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  upon them with great violence. The pilot took his precautions in advance. He
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  reefed all sail, The pole masts were dispensed with all hand went forward to
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  the bows. A single triangular sail of strong canvas was hoisted as a storm
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  jib, so as to hold the wind from behind. Then they waited.
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  John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below. But this imprisonment in so
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  narrow a space, with little air, and the boat bouncing in the gale,
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  was far from pleasant. Neither mister Fogg fixed nor Ouda consented to leave
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  the deck. The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o'clock.
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  With but its bit of sail, the Tankadere was lifted like a feather
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  by a wind, an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To
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  compare her speed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam would
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  be below the truth. The boats scudded thus northward during the whole day,
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  borne on by monstrous waves, preserving always fortunately a speed equal to theirs.
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  Twenty times. She seemed almost to be submerged by those mountains of water which
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  rose behind her, but the adroit management of the pilot saved her. The
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  passengers were often bathed in spray, but they submitted to it philosophically. Fix
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  cursed it, no doubt. But Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her
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  protector, whose coolness amazed her, showed herself worthy of him, and bravely
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  weathered the storm. As for Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the
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  typhoon were a part of his program. Up to this time, the Takadare
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  had always held her course to the north, But towards evening, the wind
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  veering three quarters bore down from the northwest. The boat, now lying in
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  the trough of the waves, shook and rolled terribly. The sea struck her
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  with fearful violence. At night, the tempest increased in violence. John Bunsby
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  saw the approach of darkness and the rising of the storm dark misgivings. He
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  thought, awhile, and then asked his crew if it was not time to
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  slacken speed. After a consultation, he approached mister Fogg and said, I
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  think your honor that we should do well to make for one of the ports
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  on the coast. I think so too, ah, said the pilot.
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  But which one I know of? But one, returned mister Fogg tranquility,
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  and that is Shanghai. The pilot at first did not seem to comprehend.
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  He could scarcely realize so much determination and tenacity. Then he cried, well,
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  yes, your honor is right to Shanghai. So the takadere kept steadily
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  on her northward track. The night was really terrible. It would be a
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  miracle. If the craft did not found her twice. It could have been
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  all over with her if the crew had not been constantly on the watch.
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  A Uda was exhausted, but did not utter a complaint. More than once.
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  Mister Fogg rushed to protect her from the violence of the waves. Day
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  reappeared, the tempest still raged with undiminished fury, but the wind now returned
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  to the southeast. It was a favorable change, and the takada again bounded
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  forward on this mountainous sea, though the waves crossed each other and imparted shocks
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  and counter shocks which would have crushed a craft less solidly built. From time
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  to time, the coast was visible through the broken mist, but no vessel
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  was in sight. The Takada was alone upon the sea. There were some
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  signs of a calm at noon, and these became more distinct as the sun
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  descended toward the horizon. The tempest had been as brief as terrific. The
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  passengers, thoroughly exhausted, could now eat a little and take some repose.
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  The night was comparatively quiet. Some of the sails were again hoisted, and
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  the speed of the boat was very good. The next morning, at dawn
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  they espied the coast, and John Bunsby was able to assert that they were
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  not one hundred miles from Shanghai, one hundred miles, and only one day
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  to traverse them. That very evening, mister Fogg was due at Shanghai if
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  he did not wish to miss the steamer to Yokohama. Had there been no
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  storm during which several hours were lost, they would be at this moment within
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  thirty miles of their destination. The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the
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  sea fell with it. All sails were now hoisted, and at noon the
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  Takadere was within forty five miles of Shanghai. There remained yet six hours in
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  which to accomplish that distance. All on board feared that it could not be
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  done, and every one, Phileas Fogg, no doubt excepted, felt his
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  heart beat with him. Pay Patis. The boat must keep up an average
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  of nine miles an hour, and the wind was becoming calmer every moment.
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  It was a capricious breeze coming from the coast, and after it passed the
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  sea became smooth still. The tankadere was so light, and her fine sails
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  caught the fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the currents,
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  John Bunsby found himself at six o'clock not more than ten miles from the
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  mouth of Shanghai River. Shanghai itself is situated at least twelve miles up the
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  stream. At seven they were still three miles from Shanghai. The pilot swore
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  an angry oath. The reward of two hundred pounds was evidently on the point
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  of escaping him. He looked at mister Fogg. Mister Fogg was perfectly tranquil,
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  and yet his whole fortune was at this moment at stake. At this
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  moment also, a long black funnel crowned with wreaths of smoke appeared on the
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  edge of the waters. It was the American steamer leaving for Yokohama at the
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  appointed time. Confound her, cried John bunsby pushing back the rudder with a
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  desperate jerk. Signal her, said Phileas Fogg quietly. A small brass cannon
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  stood on the forward deck of the tankadere for making signals in the fogs.
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  It was loaded to the muzzle, but just as the pilot was about to
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  apply a red hot coal to the touch hole, mister Fogg said, hoist
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  your flag. The flag was run up at half mast, and this being
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  the signal of distress, it was hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it,
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  would change her course a little so as to suck her the pilot boat
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  fire, said mister Fogg, and the booming of the little cannon resounded in
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  the air. End of Chapter