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Around the World in 80 Days [Junior Edition] by Jules Verne

Part 4 out of 5

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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.

Chapter 27

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

During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran
south-easterly for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance
in a northeasterly 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 person who made
his appearance on the platform.

This person, 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. It 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 twelveo'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, seated 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 contradict the missionary, whose excited tone
contrasted curiously with his naturally calm expression. 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 railway trains.

Then, emphasizing his words with his loud voice and frequent
gestures, he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical
times. He told how in Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of
Joseph published the annals of the new religion, and bequeathed
them to his Mormon son; how, many centuries later, a translation
of this precious book, which was written in Egyptian, was made by
Joseph Smith, Jr., 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, Jr., 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 honorable and honored
than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the chief of a flourishing
colony of three thousand disciples, and his pursuit thence by
outraged Gentiles, and retirement in the Far West.

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout,
who was listening with all 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 ambush 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. 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, "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 hearer, "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. Here 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
lake, framed in lofty crags in large strata, encrusted with white
salt - a superb sheet of water, which was formerly of larger
space 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. 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 travelers, 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 courthouse, 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. 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 clothed 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 is enough!"

Chapter 28

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

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,
December 7th, they stopped for a quarter of an hour at Green
River station. Snow had fallen heavily 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. Among these Aouda recognized Colonel
Stamp Proctor, the same man who had so grossly insulted Phileas
Fogg at the San Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognized,
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,
butwhich, though she was unconscious of it, was really more than
that. Her heart sank within her when she recognized 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 awakened, 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 favorite pastime - even on the railway.

Passepartout was despatched 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 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 travelers 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 travelers caught sight for an instant of
Fort Halleck, which commands that section. 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 tell his master 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 rail-way
company and the conductor. Passepartout, who was furious, could
not help but agree 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.

Chapter 29

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

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 travelers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by
limitless plains, leveled 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 time.

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 ears 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 Rail-way 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
civilization, 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 covered 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 favored that
gentleman. Trumps and honors 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 recognized 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 endeavor to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished
to throw the colonel out of the window, but a sign from his
master cheeked 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, - 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 honor 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-barreled 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
duelists 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 travelers 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
marvelous 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.

Chapter 30

In Which Phileas Fogg Simply Does His Duty

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 help.

Aouda was safe. 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 gotten out of the train, the wheels of
which were stained with blood. From the tires 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," he said 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
everyone 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 favor, 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," he said.

A few moments later, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman's hand,
and, having confided to her his precious carpetbag, 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, 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 help 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. It had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty
miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker
was dead. After remaining for some time in their swoon, they 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 travelers 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-travelers -"

"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?"

"Tomorrow evening, madam."

"Tomorrow 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 overheated 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 theplatform, 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
recognize objects two miles off. Phileas Fogg and the squad had
gone southward. In the south there was not a sign of them. 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 travelers, 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 analyze 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.

Chapter 31

Fix the Detective Considerably Furthers
the Interests of Phileas Fogg

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 favorable, 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 traveling 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 favorable 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 traveling-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 covered in five hours. If no accident happened the
sledge might reach Omaha by one o'clock.

What a journey! The travelers, 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 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
southwest to the northwest 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. Fog.

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, be 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 chance that it would be before the
steamer sailed for Liverpool.

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by
tbe 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 be 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 steams
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 b the sledge, the travelers, attacked by
these beasts, would have been in the most terrible danger. But
the sledge held on its even course, soon gained on the wolves,
and before 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, hut 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, while 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 are 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 traveling 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
run frequently from 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 raced over 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!

Chapter 32

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

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 tomorrow. 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 sighted, anchored at
the Battery, a cable's length off at most, a trading vessel, with
a well-shaped screw, 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 presented
himself. He was a man of fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big
eyes, a complexion of oxidized 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 is 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 was 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 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!

Chapter 33

In Which Phileas Fogg Shows Himself Equal to the Occasion

An hour later, 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 soon. Aouda was anxious,
though she said nothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr.
Fogg's maneuver 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 violent, 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
northeast, 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-humor
infected everyone. He had forgotten the past, its vexations and
delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished.
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. 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 i3th 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. During the night the
temperature varied, the cold became sharper, and the wind veered
to the southeast.

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 breezelittle 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.
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 violent 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 southeast, rendering
the sails useless.

The i6th 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.
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," he muttered, "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 he said nothing.

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
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 of 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 pity 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 harbor?"

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

"Wait," 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 Harbor at one o'clock in the
morning, it then being high tide. Phileas Fogg, after being
grasped heartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that
gentleman on the leveled 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 on 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, the 21st of 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!"

Chapter 34

In Which Phileas Fogg at LastReaches London

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 was 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 heavilybarred 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 - a 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

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