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Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne

Part 4 out of 4

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"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 XXIX


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

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

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

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

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

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

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

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

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

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


"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?"


"To Chicago?"


"To Omaha?"

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

"No," replied Mr. Fogg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why not?" asked the colonel.

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

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

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

The train started.

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

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

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

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

So muttering, he followed his master.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXX


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dead?" asked the captain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thanks, captain," said Mr. Fogg.

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

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

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

"I will stay," said he.

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

It was then a little past noon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"At once, madam."

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

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

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

"To-morrow evening, madam."

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

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

"I will not go," said Aouda.

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

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

The detective had remained behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The train! the train!" cried he.

"Gone," replied Fix.

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

"Not till this evening."

"Ah!" returned the impassible gentleman quietly.

Chapter XXXI


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

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

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

"Quite seriously."

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

"It is absolutely necessary."

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

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

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

"On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXII


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"I am the captain."

"I am Phileas Fogg, of London."

"And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff."

"You are going to put to sea?"

"In an hour."

"You are bound for--"


"And your cargo?"

"No freight. Going in ballast."

"Have you any passengers?"

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

"Is your vessel a swift one?"

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

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

"To Liverpool? Why not to China?"

"I said Liverpool."



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

"Money is no object?"


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."


"I will buy it of you."


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."



"And there are four of you?"


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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXIII


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy.

"I have sent for you, sir--"


"--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?"


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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


"Can we enter the harbour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I am."

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

Chapter XXXIV


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXV


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"As I am in the habit of doing."

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

"I have no friends, madam."

"Your relatives--"

"I have no longer any relatives."

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

"They say so, madam."

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was five minutes past eight.

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

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

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

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

Chapter XXXVI


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Five minutes more," said Andrew Stuart.

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

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

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

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

"Seventeen minutes to nine," said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the cards
which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly quiet; but
the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and then a shrill cry.
The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player eagerly counted,
as he listened, with mathematical regularity.

"Sixteen minutes to nine!" said John Sullivan, in a voice which betrayed
his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart
and his partners suspended their game. They left their cards,
and counted the seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street,
followed by applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened;
and the pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when
Phileas Fogg appeared, followed by an excited crowd
who had forced their way through the club doors,
and in his calm voice, said, "Here I am, gentlemen!"

Chapter XXXVII


Yes; Phileas Fogg in person.

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the evening--
about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the travellers in London--
Passepartout had been sent by his master to engage the services of
the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage ceremony,
which was to take place the next day.

Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon
reached the clergyman's house, but found him not at home.
Passepartout waited a good twenty minutes, and when he left
the reverend gentleman, it was thirty-five minutes past eight.
But in what a state he was! With his hair in disorder,
and without his hat, he ran along the street as never man
was seen to run before, overturning passers-by,
rushing over the sidewalk like a waterspout.

In three minutes he was in Saville Row again,
and staggered back into Mr. Fogg's room.

He could not speak.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"My master!" gasped Passepartout--"marriage--impossible--"


"Impossible--for to-morrow."

"Why so?"

"Because to-morrow--is Sunday!"

"Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.

"No--to-day is Saturday."

"Saturday? Impossible!"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" cried Passepartout. "You have made a mistake
of one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time;
but there are only ten minutes left!"

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar,
and was dragging him along with irresistible force.

Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think,
left his house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds
to the cabman, and, having run over two dogs and overturned
five carriages, reached the Reform Club.

The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared
in the great saloon.

Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in eighty days!

Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!

How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made
this error of a day? How came he to think that he had arrived
in London on Saturday, the twenty-first day of December,
when it was really Friday, the twentieth, the seventy-ninth day
only from his departure?

The cause of the error is very simple.

Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his journey,
and this merely because he had travelled constantly eastward; he would,
on the contrary, have lost a day had he gone in the opposite direction,
that is, westward.

In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days therefore
diminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed degrees
in this direction. There are three hundred and sixty degrees
on the circumference of the earth; and these three hundred and sixty degrees,
multiplied by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four hours--that is,
the day unconsciously gained. In other words, while Phileas Fogg,
going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty times,
his friends in London only saw it pass the meridian seventy-nine times.
This is why they awaited him at the Reform Club on Saturday,
and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.

And Passepartout's famous family watch, which had always kept London time,
would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as well as
the hours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but,
as he had spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary
gain was small. His object was, however, to be victorious,
and not to win money. He divided the one thousand pounds
that remained between Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix,
against whom he cherished no grudge. He deducted, however,
from Passepartout's share the cost of the gas which had burned
in his room for nineteen hundred and twenty hours,
for the sake of regularity.

That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever,
said to Aouda: "Is our marriage still agreeable to you?"

"Mr. Fogg," replied she, "it is for me to ask that question.
You were ruined, but now you are rich again."

"Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you. If you had not
suggested our marriage, my servant would not have gone to
the Reverend Samuel Wilson's, I should not have been apprised
of my error, and--"

"Dear Mr. Fogg!" said the young woman.

"Dear Aouda!" replied Phileas Fogg.

It need not be said that the marriage took place forty-eight hours after,
and that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave the bride away.
Had he not saved her, and was he not entitled to this honour?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped
vigorously at his master's door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked,
"What's the matter, Passepartout?"

"What is it, sir? Why, I've just this instant found out--"


"That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eight days."

"No doubt," returned Mr. Fogg, "by not crossing India. But if
I had not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda;
she would not have been my wife, and--"

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey
around the world in eighty days. To do this he had employed
every means of conveyance--steamers, railways, carriages, yachts,
trading-vessels, sledges, elephants. The eccentric gentleman
had throughout displayed all his marvellous qualities of coolness
and exactitude. But what then? What had he really gained by all
this trouble? What had he brought back from this long and weary journey?

Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman,
who, strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?

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