Title: Around the World in 80 Days


Author: Jules Verne














         HIS IDEAL





















         OF HIS SHOES









         THE BRAVE









         SAID TO HIM






























         TO REASON




























Chapter I






Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington

Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814.  He was one of the

most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always to

avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage, about whom little

was known, except that he was a polished man of the world.  People said

that he resembled Byron--at least that his head was Byronic; but he was

a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without

growing old.


Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg was

a Londoner.  He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank, nor in the

counting-rooms of the "City"; no ships ever came into London docks of

which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been

entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln's

Inn, or Gray's Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of

Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench, or the

Ecclesiastical Courts.  He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he

a merchant or a gentleman farmer.  His name was strange to the

scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part

in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London

Institution, the Artisan's Association, or the Institution of Arts and

Sciences.  He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies

which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the

Entomologists, founded mainly for the purpose of abolishing pernicious



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


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



He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit.

His cheques were regularly paid at sight from his account current,

which was always flush.


Was Phileas Fogg rich?  Undoubtedly.  But those who knew him best could

not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last

person to whom to apply for the information.  He was not lavish, nor,

on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was

needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it

quietly and sometimes anonymously.  He was, in short, the least

communicative of men.  He talked very little, and seemed all the more

mysterious for his taciturn manner.  His daily habits were quite open

to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing that

he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were fairly



Had he travelled?  It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world

more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear

to have an intimate acquaintance with it.  He often corrected, with a

few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the

club as to lost and unheard-of travellers, pointing out the true

probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so

often did events justify his predictions.  He must have travelled

everywhere, at least in the spirit.


It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself from

London for many years.  Those who were honoured by a better

acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could pretend

to have ever seen him anywhere else.  His sole pastimes were reading

the papers and playing whist.  He often won at this game, which, as a

silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his winnings never went

into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities.  Mr. Fogg

played, not to win, but for the sake of playing.  The game was in his

eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless,

unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.


Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which may

happen to the most honest people; either relatives or near friends,

which is certainly more unusual.  He lived alone in his house in

Saville Row, whither none penetrated.  A single domestic sufficed to

serve him.  He breakfasted and dined at the club, at hours

mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table, never taking

his meals with other members, much less bringing a guest with him; and

went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed.  He never

used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured

members.  He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row,

either in sleeping or making his toilet.  When he chose to take a walk

it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic

flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome supported by twenty

red porphyry Ionic columns, and illumined by blue painted windows.

When he breakfasted or dined all the resources of the club--its

kitchens and pantries, its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his table

with their most succulent stores; he was served by the gravest waiters,

in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered the

viands in special porcelain, and on the finest linen; club decanters,

of a lost mould, contained his sherry, his port, and his

cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were refreshingly cooled

with ice, brought at great cost from the American lakes.


If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed that

there is something good in eccentricity.


The mansion in Saville Row, though not sumptuous, was exceedingly

comfortable.  The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but

little from the sole domestic, but Phileas Fogg required him to be

almost superhumanly prompt and regular.  On this very 2nd of October he

had dismissed James Forster, because that luckless youth had brought

him shaving-water at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit instead of

eighty-six; and he was awaiting his successor, who was due at the house

between eleven and half-past.


Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close

together like those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his

knees, his body straight, his head erect; he was steadily watching a

complicated clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds,

the days, the months, and the years.  At exactly half-past eleven Mr.

Fogg would, according to his daily habit, quit Saville Row, and repair

to the Reform.


A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where

Phileas Fogg was seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant,



"The new servant," said he.


A young man of thirty advanced and bowed.


"You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked Phileas Fogg, "and your name is



"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer, "Jean Passepartout,

a surname which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness for

going out of one business into another.  I believe I'm honest,

monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I've had several trades.  I've been an

itinerant singer, a circus-rider, when I used to vault like Leotard,

and dance on a rope like Blondin.  Then I got to be a professor of

gymnastics, so as to make better use of my talents; and then I was a

sergeant fireman at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire.  But I

quitted France five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of

domestic life, took service as a valet here in England.  Finding myself

out of place, and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most exact

and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in

the hope of living with him a tranquil life, and forgetting even the

name of Passepartout."


"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg.  "You are well recommended

to me; I hear a good report of you.  You know my conditions?"


"Yes, monsieur."


"Good!  What time is it?"


"Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned Passepartout, drawing an

enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.


"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.


"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--"


"You are four minutes too slow.  No matter; it's enough to mention the

error.  Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m.,

this Wednesday, 2nd October, you are in my service."


Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head

with an automatic motion, and went off without a word.


Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new master

going out.  He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, James

Forster, departing in his turn.  Passepartout remained alone in the

house in Saville Row.





Chapter II





"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people at

Madame Tussaud's as lively as my new master!"


Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much

visited in London; speech is all that is wanting to make them human.


During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been

carefully observing him.  He appeared to be a man about forty years of

age, with fine, handsome features, and a tall, well-shaped figure; his

hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact and unwrinkled, his

face rather pale, his teeth magnificent.  His countenance possessed in

the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in action," a

quality of those who act rather than talk.  Calm and phlegmatic, with a

clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English composure

which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on canvas.  Seen

in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being

perfectly well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer.

Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed

even in the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well

as in animals, the limbs themselves are expressive of the passions.


He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was

economical alike of his steps and his motions.  He never took one step

too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest cut; he

made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or

agitated.  He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always

reached his destination at the exact moment.


He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation; and

as he knew that in this world account must be taken of friction, and

that friction retards, he never rubbed against anybody.


As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris.  Since he had

abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he

had in vain searched for a master after his own heart.  Passepartout

was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by Moliere with a

bold gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was an honest fellow,

with a pleasant face, lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and

serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the

shoulders of a friend.  His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund,

his figure almost portly and well-built, his body muscular, and his

physical powers fully developed by the exercises of his younger days.

His brown hair was somewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors

are said to have known eighteen methods of arranging Minerva's tresses,

Passepartout was familiar with but one of dressing his own: three

strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.


It would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature would

agree with Mr. Fogg.  It was impossible to tell whether the new servant

would turn out as absolutely methodical as his master required;

experience alone could solve the question.  Passepartout had been a

sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for repose; but so

far he had failed to find it, though he had already served in ten

English houses.  But he could not take root in any of these; with

chagrin, he found his masters invariably whimsical and irregular,

constantly running about the country, or on the look-out for adventure.

His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after

passing his nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home

in the morning on policemen's shoulders.  Passepartout, desirous of

respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild remonstrance

on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he took his leave.  Hearing

that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was

one of unbroken regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed from

home overnight, he felt sure that this would be the place he was after.

He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.


At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the

house in Saville Row.  He begun its inspection without delay, scouring

it from cellar to garret.  So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion

pleased him; it seemed to him like a snail's shell, lighted and warmed

by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes.  When Passepartout

reached the second story he recognised at once the room which he was to

inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it.  Electric bells and

speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower stories; while on

the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's

bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant.  "That's

good, that'll do," said Passepartout to himself.


He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon

inspection, proved to be a programme of the daily routine of the house.

It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight in the

morning, exactly at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half-past

eleven, when he left the house for the Reform Club--all the details of

service, the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the

shaving-water at thirty-seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at

twenty minutes before ten.  Everything was regulated and foreseen that

was to be done from half-past eleven a.m. till midnight, the hour at

which the methodical gentleman retired.


Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste.  Each

pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of

year and season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing;

and the same system was applied to the master's shoes.  In short, the

house in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder

and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness,

comfort, and method idealised.  There was no study, nor were there

books, which would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the

Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law

and politics, were at his service.  A moderate-sized safe stood in his

bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as burglars; but

Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere;

everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.


Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a

broad smile overspread his features, and he said joyfully, "This is

just what I wanted!  Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I!

What a domestic and regular gentleman!  A real machine; well, I don't

mind serving a machine."





Chapter III






Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven,

and having put his right foot before his left five hundred and

seventy-five times, and his left foot before his right five hundred and

seventy-six times, reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall

Mall, which could not have cost less than three millions.  He repaired

at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open upon a

tasteful garden, where the trees were already gilded with an autumn

colouring; and took his place at the habitual table, the cover of which

had already been laid for him.  His breakfast consisted of a side-dish,

a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet slice of roast beef

garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart, and a morsel

of Cheshire cheese, the whole being washed down with several cups of

tea, for which the Reform is famous.  He rose at thirteen minutes to

one, and directed his steps towards the large hall, a sumptuous

apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings.  A flunkey handed him

an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with a skill which betrayed

familiarity with this delicate operation.  The perusal of this paper

absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst the Standard,

his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour.  Dinner passed as

breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the reading-room and

sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six.  Half an hour

later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the

fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning.  They were Mr.

Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John

Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and

Gauthier Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of England--all rich

and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises the

princes of English trade and finance.


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


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


"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands on the

robber.  Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports

of America and the Continent, and he'll be a clever fellow if he slips

through their fingers."


"But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart.


"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph,



"What! a fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no





"Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then."


"The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman."


It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers,

who made this remark.  He bowed to his friends, and entered into the

conversation.  The affair which formed its subject, and which was town

talk, had occurred three days before at the Bank of England.  A package

of banknotes, to the value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been

taken from the principal cashier's table, that functionary being at the

moment engaged in registering the receipt of three shillings and

sixpence.  Of course, he could not have his eyes everywhere.  Let it be

observed that the Bank of England reposes a touching confidence in the

honesty of the public.  There are neither guards nor gratings to

protect its treasures; gold, silver, banknotes are freely exposed, at

the mercy of the first comer.  A keen observer of English customs

relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank one day, he had the

curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight pounds.

He took it up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the

next man, and so on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was

transferred to the end of a dark entry; nor did it return to its place

for half an hour.  Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as raised his

head.  But in the present instance things had not gone so smoothly.

The package of notes not being found when five o'clock sounded from the

ponderous clock in the "drawing office," the amount was passed to the

account of profit and loss.  As soon as the robbery was discovered,

picked detectives hastened off to Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez,

Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the proffered reward

of two thousand pounds, and five per cent. on the sum that might be

recovered.  Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching those

who arrived at or left London by rail, and a judicial examination was

at once entered upon.


There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said,

that the thief did not belong to a professional band.  On the day of

the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and with a

well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro in the paying room

where the crime was committed.  A description of him was easily

procured and sent to the detectives; and some hopeful spirits, of whom

Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension.  The papers and

clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were discussing

the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club was

especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.


Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely to

be in vain, for he thought that the prize offered would greatly

stimulate their zeal and activity.  But Stuart was far from sharing

this confidence; and, as they placed themselves at the whist-table,

they continued to argue the matter.  Stuart and Flanagan played

together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his partner.  As the

game proceeded the conversation ceased, excepting between the rubbers,

when it revived again.


"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favour of the

thief, who must be a shrewd fellow."


"Well, but where can he fly to?" asked Ralph.  "No country is safe for





"Where could he go, then?"


"Oh, I don't know that.  The world is big enough."


"It was once," said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone.  "Cut, sir," he added,

handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.


The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up its



"What do you mean by `once'?  Has the world grown smaller?"


"Certainly," returned Ralph.  "I agree with Mr. Fogg.  The world has

grown smaller, since a man can now go round it ten times more quickly

than a hundred years ago.  And that is why the search for this thief

will be more likely to succeed."


"And also why the thief can get away more easily."


"Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart," said Phileas Fogg.


But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand was

finished, said eagerly: "You have a strange way, Ralph, of proving that

the world has grown smaller.  So, because you can go round it in three



"In eighty days," interrupted Phileas Fogg.


"That is true, gentlemen," added John Sullivan.  "Only eighty days, now

that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the Great Indian

Peninsula Railway, has been opened.  Here is the estimate made by the

Daily Telegraph:


  From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and

    Brindisi, by rail and steamboats .................  7 days

  From Suez to Bombay, by steamer .................... 13  "

  From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail ...................  3  "

  From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer ............. 13  "

  From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer .....  6  "

  From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer ......... 22  "

  From San Francisco to New York, by rail ............. 7  "

  From New York to London, by steamer and rail ........ 9  "


    Total ............................................ 80 days."


"Yes, in eighty days!" exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement made a

false deal.  "But that doesn't take into account bad weather, contrary

winds, shipwrecks, railway accidents, and so on."


"All included," returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite the



"But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails," replied Stuart;

"suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage-vans, and scalp the



"All included," calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down the

cards, "Two trumps."


Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on: "You

are right, theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically--"


"Practically also, Mr. Stuart."


"I'd like to see you do it in eighty days."


"It depends on you.  Shall we go?"


"Heaven preserve me!  But I would wager four thousand pounds that such

a journey, made under these conditions, is impossible."


"Quite possible, on the contrary," returned Mr. Fogg.


"Well, make it, then!"


"The journey round the world in eighty days?"




"I should like nothing better."




"At once.  Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense."


"It's absurd!" cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at the

persistency of his friend.  "Come, let's go on with the game."


"Deal over again, then," said Phileas Fogg.  "There's a false deal."


Stuart took up the pack with a feverish hand; then suddenly put them

down again.


"Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall be so: I will wager the four

thousand on it."


"Calm yourself, my dear Stuart," said Fallentin.  "It's only a joke."


"When I say I'll wager," returned Stuart, "I mean it."  "All right,"

said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he continued: "I have a

deposit of twenty thousand at Baring's which I will willingly risk upon



"Twenty thousand pounds!" cried Sullivan.  "Twenty thousand pounds,

which you would lose by a single accidental delay!"


"The unforeseen does not exist," quietly replied Phileas Fogg.


"But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least possible

time in which the journey can be made."


"A well-used minimum suffices for everything."


"But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically from the

trains upon the steamers, and from the steamers upon the trains again."


"I will jump--mathematically."


"You are joking."


"A true Englishman doesn't joke when he is talking about so serious a

thing as a wager," replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly.  "I will bet twenty

thousand pounds against anyone who wishes that I will make the tour of

the world in eighty days or less; in nineteen hundred and twenty hours,

or a hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred minutes.  Do you accept?"


"We accept," replied Messrs. Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan, Flanagan, and

Ralph, after consulting each other.


"Good," said Mr. Fogg.  "The train leaves for Dover at a quarter before

nine.  I will take it."


"This very evening?" asked Stuart.


"This very evening," returned Phileas Fogg.  He took out and consulted

a pocket almanac, and added,  "As today is Wednesday, the 2nd of

October, I shall be due in London in this very room of the Reform Club,

on Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine p.m.; or

else the twenty thousand pounds, now deposited in my name at Baring's,

will belong to you, in fact and in right, gentlemen.  Here is a cheque

for the amount."


A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by the six

parties, during which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical composure.  He

certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked the twenty thousand

pounds, half of his fortune, because he foresaw that he might have to

expend the other half to carry out this difficult, not to say

unattainable, project.  As for his antagonists, they seemed much

agitated; not so much by the value of their stake, as because they had

some scruples about betting under conditions so difficult to their



The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the game so

that Mr. Fogg might make his preparations for departure.


"I am quite ready now," was his tranquil response.  "Diamonds are

trumps: be so good as to play, gentlemen."





Chapter IV





Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends,

Phileas Fogg, at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.


Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his

duties, was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the

inexactness of appearing at this unaccustomed hour; for, according to

rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.


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


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

not the right hour.


"Passepartout!" repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.


Passepartout made his appearance.


"I've called you twice," observed his master.


"But it is not midnight," responded the other, showing his watch.


"I know it; I don't blame you.  We start for Dover and Calais in ten



A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout's round face; clearly he had not

comprehended his master.


"Monsieur is going to leave home?"


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


Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up his

hands, and seemed about to collapse, so overcome was he with stupefied



"Round the world!" he murmured.


"In eighty days," responded Mr. Fogg.  "So we haven't a moment to lose."


"But the trunks?" gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his head

from right to left.


"We'll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and three

pairs of stockings for me, and the same for you.  We'll buy our clothes

on the way.  Bring down my mackintosh and traveling-cloak, and some

stout shoes, though we shall do little walking.  Make haste!"


Passepartout tried to reply, but could not.  He went out, mounted to

his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered: "That's good, that is!

And I, who wanted to remain quiet!"


He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure.

Around the world in eighty days!  Was his master a fool?  No.  Was this

a joke, then?  They were going to Dover; good!  To Calais; good again!

After all, Passepartout, who had been away from France five years,

would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again.  Perhaps they

would go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris

once more.  But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop

there; no doubt--but, then, it was none the less true that he was

going away, this so domestic person hitherto!


By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag,

containing the wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still

troubled in mind, he carefully shut the door of his room, and descended

to Mr. Fogg.


Mr. Fogg was quite ready.  Under his arm might have been observed a

red-bound copy of Bradshaw's Continental Railway Steam Transit and

General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of

steamers and railways.  He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped

into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes, which would pass

wherever he might go.


"You have forgotten nothing?" asked he.


"Nothing, monsieur."


"My mackintosh and cloak?"


"Here they are."


"Good!  Take this carpet-bag," handing it to Passepartout.  "Take good

care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it."


Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand pounds

were in gold, and weighed him down.


Master and man then descended, the street-door was double-locked, and

at the end of Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to Charing

Cross.  The cab stopped before the railway station at twenty minutes

past eight.  Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his master,

who, after paying the cabman, was about to enter the station, when a

poor beggar-woman, with a child in her arms, her naked feet smeared

with mud, her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a

tattered feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl,

approached, and mournfully asked for alms.


Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist, and

handed them to the beggar, saying, "Here, my good woman.  I'm glad that

I met you;" and passed on.


Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master's action

touched his susceptible heart.


Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased, Mr.

Fogg was crossing the station to the train, when he perceived his five

friends of the Reform.


"Well, gentlemen," said he, "I'm off, you see; and, if you will examine

my passport when I get back, you will be able to judge whether I have

accomplished the journey agreed upon."


"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph politely.

"We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour."


"You do not forget when you are due in London again?"  asked Stuart.


"In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a quarter

before nine p.m.  Good-bye, gentlemen."


Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class

carriage at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle

screamed, and the train slowly glided out of the station.


The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling.  Phileas Fogg,

snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips.  Passepartout,

not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the

carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.


Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly

uttered a cry of despair.


"What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.


"Alas!  In my hurry--I--I forgot--"




"To turn off the gas in my room!"


"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; "it will burn--at

your expense."





Chapter V







Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London would

create a lively sensation at the West End.  The news of the bet spread

through the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting topic of conversation

to its members.  From the club it soon got into the papers throughout

England.  The boasted "tour of the world" was talked about, disputed,

argued with as much warmth as if the subject were another Alabama

claim.  Some took sides with Phileas Fogg, but the large majority shook

their heads and declared against him; it was absurd, impossible, they

declared, that the tour of the world could be made, except

theoretically and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the

existing means of travelling.  The Times, Standard, Morning Post, and

Daily News, and twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.

Fogg's project as madness; the Daily Telegraph alone hesitatingly

supported him.  People in general thought him a lunatic, and blamed his

Reform Club friends for having accepted a wager which betrayed the

mental aberration of its proposer.


Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question, for

geography is one of the pet subjects of the English; and the columns

devoted to Phileas Fogg's venture were eagerly devoured by all classes

of readers.  At first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler

sex, espoused his cause, which became still more popular when the

Illustrated London News came out with his portrait, copied from a

photograph in the Reform Club.  A few readers of the Daily Telegraph

even dared to say, "Why not, after all?  Stranger things have come to



At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin

of the Royal Geographical Society, which treated the question from

every point of view, and demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.


Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed

alike by man and by nature.  A miraculous agreement of the times of

departure and arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary

to his success.  He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at

the designated hours, in Europe, where the distances were relatively

moderate; but when he calculated upon crossing India in three days, and

the United States in seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon

accomplishing his task?  There were accidents to machinery, the

liability of trains to run off the line, collisions, bad weather, the

blocking up by snow--were not all these against Phileas Fogg?  Would he

not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the mercy of

the winds and fogs?  Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers to be

two or three days behind time?  But a single delay would suffice to

fatally break the chain of communication; should Phileas Fogg once

miss, even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next,

and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.


This article made a great deal of noise, and, being copied into all the

papers, seriously depressed the advocates of the rash tourist.


Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who are of a

higher class than mere gamblers; to bet is in the English temperament.

Not only the members of the Reform, but the general public, made heavy

wagers for or against Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the betting

books as if he were a race-horse.  Bonds were issued, and made their

appearance on 'Change; "Phileas Fogg bonds" were offered at par or at a

premium, and a great business was done in them.  But five days after

the article in the bulletin of the Geographical Society appeared, the

demand began to subside:  "Phileas Fogg" declined.  They were offered

by packages, at first of five, then of ten, until at last nobody would

take less than twenty, fifty, a hundred!


Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only

advocate of Phileas Fogg left.  This noble lord, who was fastened to

his chair, would have given his fortune to be able to make the tour of

the world, if it took ten years; and he bet five thousand pounds on

Phileas Fogg.  When the folly as well as the uselessness of the

adventure was pointed out to him, he contented himself with replying,

"If the thing is feasible, the first to do it ought to be an



The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against him,

and the bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one; and a

week after his departure an incident occurred which deprived him of

backers at any price.


The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o'clock

one evening, when the following telegraphic dispatch was put into his



Suez to London.


Rowan, Commissioner of Police, Scotland Yard:


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

of arrest to Bombay.


Fix, Detective.


The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous.  The polished gentleman

disappeared to give place to the bank robber.  His photograph, which

was hung with those of the rest of the members at the Reform Club, was

minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the description

of the robber which had been provided to the police.  The mysterious

habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden

departure; and it seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour round the

world on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in view than

to elude the detectives, and throw them off his track.





Chapter VI





The circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about Phileas

Fogg was sent were as follows:


The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental Company,

built of iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and five

hundred horse-power, was due at eleven o'clock a.m. on Wednesday, the

9th of October, at Suez.  The Mongolia plied regularly between Brindisi

and Bombay via the Suez Canal, and was one of the fastest steamers

belonging to the company, always making more than ten knots an hour

between Brindisi and Suez, and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.


Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd of

natives and strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling

village--now, thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing

town.  One was the British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies

of the English Government, and the unfavourable predictions of

Stephenson, was in the habit of seeing, from his office window, English

ships daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old

roundabout route from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was

abridged by at least a half.  The other was a small, slight-built

personage, with a nervous, intelligent face, and bright eyes peering

out from under eyebrows which he was incessantly twitching.  He was

just now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing

up and down, and unable to stand still for a moment.  This was Fix, one

of the detectives who had been dispatched from England in search of the

bank robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every passenger who

arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to be suspicious

characters, or bore a resemblance to the description of the criminal,

which he had received two days before from the police headquarters at

London.  The detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining

the splendid reward which would be the prize of success, and awaited

with a feverish impatience, easy to understand, the arrival of the

steamer Mongolia.


"So you say, consul," asked he for the twentieth time, "that this

steamer is never behind time?"


"No, Mr. Fix," replied the consul.  "She was bespoken yesterday at Port

Said, and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft.  I

repeat that the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required by

the company's regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of



"Does she come directly from Brindisi?"


"Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there, and she

left there Saturday at five p.m.  Have patience, Mr. Fix; she will not

be late.  But really, I don't see how, from the description you have,

you will be able to recognise your man, even if he is on board the



"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than

recognises them.  You must have a scent for them, and a scent is like a

sixth sense which combines hearing, seeing, and smelling.  I've

arrested more than one of these gentlemen in my time, and, if my thief

is on board, I'll answer for it; he'll not slip through my fingers."


"I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery."


"A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand pounds!  We don't

often have such windfalls.  Burglars are getting to be so contemptible

nowadays!  A fellow gets hung for a handful of shillings!"


"Mr. Fix," said the consul, "I like your way of talking, and hope

you'll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from easy.  Don't you

see, the description which you have there has a singular resemblance to

an honest man?"


"Consul," remarked the detective, dogmatically, "great robbers always

resemble honest folks.  Fellows who have rascally faces have only one

course to take, and that is to remain honest; otherwise they would be

arrested off-hand.  The artistic thing is, to unmask honest

countenances; it's no light task, I admit, but a real art."


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


Little by little the scene on the quay became more animated; sailors of

various nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters, fellahs, bustled to

and fro as if the steamer were immediately expected.  The weather was

clear, and slightly chilly.  The minarets of the town loomed above the

houses in the pale rays of the sun.  A jetty pier, some two thousand

yards along, extended into the roadstead.  A number of fishing-smacks

and coasting boats, some retaining the fantastic fashion of ancient

galleys, were discernible on the Red Sea.


As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit, scrutinised

the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.


It was now half-past ten.


"The steamer doesn't come!" he exclaimed, as the port clock struck.


"She can't be far off now," returned his companion.


"How long will she stop at Suez?"


"Four hours; long enough to get in her coal.  It is thirteen hundred

and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the Red Sea, and

she has to take in a fresh coal supply."


"And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?"


"Without putting in anywhere."


"Good!" said Fix.  "If the robber is on board he will no doubt get off

at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French colonies in Asia by some

other route.  He ought to know that he would not be safe an hour in

India, which is English soil."


"Unless," objected the consul, "he is exceptionally shrewd.  An English

criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London than anywhere



This observation furnished the detective food for thought, and

meanwhile the consul went away to his office.  Fix, left alone, was

more impatient than ever, having a presentiment that the robber was on

board the Mongolia.  If he had indeed left London intending to reach

the New World, he would naturally take the route via India, which was

less watched and more difficult to watch than that of the Atlantic.

But Fix's reflections were soon interrupted by a succession of sharp

whistles, which announced the arrival of the Mongolia.  The porters and

fellahs rushed down the quay, and a dozen boats pushed off from the

shore to go and meet the steamer.  Soon her gigantic hull appeared

passing along between the banks, and eleven o'clock struck as she

anchored in the road.  She brought an unusual number of passengers,

some of whom remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama of the

town, while the greater part disembarked in the boats, and landed on

the quay.


Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face and figure

which made its appearance.  Presently one of the passengers, after

vigorously pushing his way through the importunate crowd of porters,

came up to him and politely asked if he could point out the English

consulate, at the same time showing a passport which he wished to have

visaed.  Fix instinctively took the passport, and with a rapid glance

read the description of its bearer.  An involuntary motion of surprise

nearly escaped him, for the description in the passport was identical

with that of the bank robber which he had received from Scotland Yard.


"Is this your passport?" asked he.


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


"And your master is--"


"He stayed on board."


"But he must go to the consul's in person, so as to establish his



"Oh, is that necessary?"


"Quite indispensable."


"And where is the consulate?"


"There, on the corner of the square," said Fix, pointing to a house two

hundred steps off.


"I'll go and fetch my master, who won't be much pleased, however, to be



The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.





Chapter VII






The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to the

consul's office, where he was at once admitted to the presence of that



"Consul," said he, without preamble, "I have strong reasons for

believing that my man is a passenger on the Mongolia." And he narrated

what had just passed concerning the passport.


"Well, Mr. Fix," replied the consul, "I shall not be sorry to see the

rascal's face; but perhaps he won't come here--that is, if he is the

person you suppose him to be.  A robber doesn't quite like to leave

traces of his flight behind him; and, besides, he is not obliged to

have his passport countersigned."


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


"To have his passport visaed?"


"Yes.  Passports are only good for annoying honest folks, and aiding in

the flight of rogues.  I assure you it will be quite the thing for him

to do; but I hope you will not visa the passport."


"Why not?  If the passport is genuine I have no right to refuse."


"Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to arrest

him from London."


"Ah, that's your look-out.  But I cannot--"


The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock was

heard at the door, and two strangers entered, one of whom was the

servant whom Fix had met on the quay.  The other, who was his master,

held out his passport with the request that the consul would do him the

favour to visa it.  The consul took the document and carefully read it,

whilst Fix observed, or rather devoured, the stranger with his eyes

from a corner of the room.


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


"I am."


"And this man is your servant?"


"He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout."


"You are from London?"




"And you are going--"


"To Bombay."


"Very good, sir.  You know that a visa is useless, and that no passport

is required?"


"I know it, sir," replied Phileas Fogg; "but I wish to prove, by your

visa, that I came by Suez."


"Very well, sir."


The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport, after which he

added his official seal.  Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee, coldly

bowed, and went out, followed by his servant.


"Well?" queried the detective.


"Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man," replied the



"Possibly; but that is not the question.  Do you think, consul, that

this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature, the robber

whose description I have received?"


"I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions--"


"I'll make certain of it," interrupted Fix.  "The servant seems to me

less mysterious than the master; besides, he's a Frenchman, and can't

help talking.  Excuse me for a little while, consul."


Fix started off in search of Passepartout.


Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the quay,

gave some orders to Passepartout, went off to the    Mongolia in a

boat, and descended to his cabin.  He took up his note-book, which

contained the following memoranda:


"Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.  "Reached Paris,

Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m.  "Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40

a.m.  "Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 a.m.

"Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m.  "Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday,

October 5th, at 4 p.m.  "Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 p.m.

"Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.  "Total of hours

spent, 158+; or, in days, six days and a half."


These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns,

indicating the month, the day of the month, and the day for the

stipulated and actual arrivals at each principal point Paris, Brindisi,

Suez, Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco,

New York, and London--from the 2nd of October to the 21st of December;

and giving a space for setting down the gain made or the loss suffered

on arrival at each locality.  This methodical record thus contained an

account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg always knew whether he was

behind-hand or in advance of his time.  On this Friday, October 9th, he

noted his arrival at Suez, and observed that he had as yet neither

gained nor lost.  He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never

once thinking of inspecting the town, being one of those Englishmen who

are wont to see foreign countries through the eyes of their domestics.





Chapter VIII





Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking about on

the quay, as if he did not feel that he, at least, was obliged not to

see anything.


"Well, my friend," said the detective, coming up with him, "is your

passport visaed?"


"Ah, it's you, is it, monsieur?" responded Passepartout.  "Thanks, yes,

the passport is all right."


"And you are looking about you?"


"Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a dream.

So this is Suez?"




"In Egypt?"


"Certainly, in Egypt."


"And in Africa?"


"In Africa."


"In Africa!" repeated Passepartout.  "Just think, monsieur, I had no

idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all that I saw of Paris

was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes before nine in

the morning, between the Northern and the Lyons stations, through the

windows of a car, and in a driving rain!  How I regret not having seen

once more Pere la Chaise and the circus in the Champs Elysees!"


"You are in a great hurry, then?"


"I am not, but my master is.  By the way, I must buy some shoes and

shirts.  We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag."


"I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want."


"Really, monsieur, you are very kind."


And they walked off together, Passepartout chatting volubly as they

went along.


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


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


Passepartout pulled out his big watch.  "Twelve!" he exclaimed; "why,

it's only eight minutes before ten."


"Your watch is slow."


"My watch?  A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from my

great-grandfather!  It doesn't vary five minutes in the year.  It's a

perfect chronometer, look you."


"I see how it is," said Fix.  "You have kept London time, which is two

hours behind that of Suez.  You ought to regulate your watch at noon in

each country."


"I regulate my watch?  Never!"


"Well, then, it will not agree with the sun."


"So much the worse for the sun, monsieur.  The sun will be wrong, then!"


And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a defiant

gesture.  After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed: "You left London

hastily, then?"


"I rather think so!  Last Friday at eight o'clock in the evening,

Monsieur Fogg came home from his club, and three-quarters of an hour

afterwards we were off."


"But where is your master going?"


"Always straight ahead.  He is going round the world."


"Round the world?" cried Fix.


"Yes, and in eighty days!  He says it is on a wager; but, between us, I

don't believe a word of it.  That wouldn't be common sense.  There's

something else in the wind."


"Ah!  Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?"


"I should say he was."


"Is he rich?"


"No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand new banknotes

with him.  And he doesn't spare the money on the way, either: he has

offered a large reward to the engineer of the Mongolia if he gets us to

Bombay well in advance of time."


"And you have known your master a long time?"


"Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London."


The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious and excited

detective may be imagined.  The hasty departure from London soon after

the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr. Fogg; his eagerness to reach

distant countries; the pretext of an eccentric and foolhardy bet--all

confirmed Fix in his theory.  He continued to pump poor Passepartout,

and learned that he really knew little or nothing of his master, who

lived a solitary existence in London, was said to be rich, though no

one knew whence came his riches, and was mysterious and impenetrable in

his affairs and habits.  Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg would not land

at Suez, but was really going on to Bombay.


"Is Bombay far from here?" asked Passepartout.


"Pretty far.  It is a ten days' voyage by sea."


"And in what country is Bombay?"




"In Asia?"




"The deuce!  I was going to tell you there's one thing that worries

me--my burner!"


"What burner?"


"My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this moment

burning at my expense.  I have calculated, monsieur, that I lose two

shillings every four and twenty hours, exactly sixpence more than I

earn; and you will understand that the longer our journey--"


Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout's trouble about the gas?  It

is not probable.  He was not listening, but was cogitating a project.

Passepartout and he had now reached the shop, where Fix left his

companion to make his purchases, after recommending him not to miss the

steamer, and hurried back to the consulate.  Now that he was fully

convinced, Fix had quite recovered his equanimity.


"Consul," said he, "I have no longer any doubt.  I have spotted my man.

He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round the world in

eighty days."


"Then he's a sharp fellow," returned the consul, "and counts on

returning to London after putting the police of the two countries off

his track."


"We'll see about that," replied Fix.


"But are you not mistaken?"


"I am not mistaken."


"Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa, that he had

passed through Suez?"


"Why?  I have no idea; but listen to me."


He reported in a few words the most important parts of his conversation

with Passepartout.


"In short," said the consul, "appearances are wholly against this man.

And what are you going to do?"


"Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched

instantly to Bombay, take passage on board the Mongolia, follow my

rogue to India, and there, on English ground, arrest him politely, with

my warrant in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder."


Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective

took leave of the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office, whence

he sent the dispatch which we have seen to the London police office.  A

quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small bag in his hand,

proceeding on board the Mongolia; and, ere many moments longer, the

noble steamer rode out at full steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.





Chapter IX






The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and

ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the steamers one

hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it.  The Mongolia,

thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely, so

rapid was her speed, to reach her destination considerably within that

time.  The greater part of the passengers from Brindisi were bound for

India some for Bombay, others for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the

nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses the Indian peninsula.

Among the passengers was a number of officials and military officers of

various grades, the latter being either attached to the regular British

forces or commanding the Sepoy troops, and receiving high salaries ever

since the central government has assumed the powers of the East India

Company: for the sub-lieutenants get 280 pounds, brigadiers, 2,400

pounds, and generals of divisions, 4,000 pounds.  What with the

military men, a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and

the hospitable efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the

Mongolia.  The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at

breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the eight o'clock supper, and the ladies

scrupulously changed their toilets twice a day; and the hours were

whirled away, when the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games.


But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most

long and narrow gulfs.  When the wind came from the African or Asian

coast the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled fearfully.  Then the

ladies speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and

dancing suddenly ceased.  Yet the good ship ploughed straight on,

unretarded by wind or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb.  What

was Phileas Fogg doing all this time?  It might be thought that, in his

anxiety, he would be constantly watching the changes of the wind, the

disorderly raging of the billows--every chance, in short, which might

force the Mongolia to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his

journey.  But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not betray

the fact by any outward sign.


Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no incident

could surprise, as unvarying as the ship's chronometers, and seldom

having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed through the

memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference; did not care to

recognise the historic towns and villages which, along its borders,

raised their picturesque outlines against the sky; and betrayed no fear

of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old historians always

spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient navigators never

ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices.  How did

this eccentric personage pass his time on the Mongolia?  He made his

four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent rolling

and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist

indefatigably, for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as

himself.  A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev.

Decimus Smith, returning to his parish at Bombay; and a

brigadier-general of the English army, who was about to rejoin his

brigade at Benares, made up the party, and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist

by the hour together in absorbing silence.


As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his

meals conscientiously in the forward cabin.  He rather enjoyed the

voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in

the scenes through which they were passing, and consoled himself with

the delusion that his master's whim would end at Bombay.  He was

pleased, on the day after leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging

person with whom he had walked and chatted on the quays.


"If I am not mistaken," said he, approaching this person, with his most

amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered to

guide me at Suez?"


"Ah!  I quite recognise you.  You are the servant of the strange



"Just so, monsieur--"




"Monsieur Fix," resumed Passepartout, "I'm charmed to find you on

board.  Where are you bound?"


"Like you, to Bombay."


"That's capital!  Have you made this trip before?"


"Several times.  I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company."


"Then you know India?"


"Why yes," replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.


"A curious place, this India?"


"Oh, very curious.  Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas,

tigers, snakes, elephants!  I hope you will have ample time to see the



"I hope so, Monsieur Fix.  You see, a man of sound sense ought not to

spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train, and from a

railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour of the

world in eighty days!  No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure, will

cease at Bombay."


"And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?" asked Fix, in the most natural tone

in the world.


"Quite well, and I too.  I eat like a famished ogre; it's the sea air."


"But I never see your master on deck."


"Never; he hasn't the least curiosity."


"Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty days

may conceal some secret errand--perhaps a diplomatic mission?"


"Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor would I

give half a crown to find out."


After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of chatting

together, the latter making it a point to gain the worthy man's

confidence.  He frequently offered him a glass of whiskey or pale ale

in the steamer bar-room, which Passepartout never failed to accept with

graceful alacrity, mentally pronouncing Fix the best of good fellows.


Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th, Mocha,

surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing, was

sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.

Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought

that, with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an

immense coffee-cup and saucer. The following night they passed through

the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic The Bridge of Tears,

and the next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-west of Aden

harbour, to take in coal.  This matter of fuelling steamers is a

serious one at such distances from the coal-mines; it costs the

Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a year.  In these

distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds sterling a ton.


The Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to traverse

before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at Steamer

Point to coal up.  But this delay, as it was foreseen, did not affect

Phileas Fogg's programme; besides, the Mongolia, instead of reaching

Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due, arrived there on the

evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.


Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport again

visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them.  The visa procured, Mr. Fogg

returned on board to resume his former habits; while Passepartout,

according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed population of

Somalis, Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who comprise the

twenty-five thousand inhabitants of Aden.  He gazed with wonder upon

the fortifications which make this place the Gibraltar of the Indian

Ocean, and the vast cisterns where the English engineers were still at

work, two thousand years after the engineers of Solomon.


"Very curious, very curious," said Passepartout to himself, on

returning to the steamer.  "I see that it is by no means useless to

travel, if a man wants to see something new."  At six p.m.  the

Mongolia slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon once more on

the Indian Ocean.  She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours in which to

reach Bombay, and the sea was favourable, the wind being in the

north-west, and all sails aiding the engine.  The steamer rolled but

little, the ladies, in fresh toilets, reappeared on deck, and the

singing and dancing were resumed.  The trip was being accomplished most

successfully, and Passepartout was enchanted with the congenial

companion which chance had secured him in the person of the delightful

Fix.  On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they came in sight of the

Indian coast: two hours later the pilot came on board.  A range of

hills lay against the sky in the horizon, and soon the rows of palms

which adorn Bombay came distinctly into view.  The steamer entered the

road formed by the islands in the bay, and at half-past four she hauled

up at the quays of Bombay.


Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber of the

voyage, and his partner and himself having, by a bold stroke, captured

all thirteen of the tricks, concluded this fine campaign with a

brilliant victory.


The Mongolia was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the 20th.

This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his departure from

London, and he calmly entered the fact in the itinerary, in the column

of gains.





Chapter X






Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base

in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces

fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally

a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls.  The British

Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the larger portion of

this vast country, and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta,

governors at Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor

at Agra.


But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred

thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one

hundred and ten millions of inhabitants.  A considerable portion of

India is still free from British authority; and there are certain

ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent.  The

celebrated East India Company was all-powerful from 1756, when the

English first gained a foothold on the spot where now stands the city

of Madras, down to the time of the great Sepoy insurrection.  It

gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the

native chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general

and his subordinates, civil and military.  But the East India Company

has now passed away, leaving the British possessions in India directly

under the control of the Crown.  The aspect of the country, as well as

the manners and distinctions of race, is daily changing.


Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods

of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches;

now fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great

railway, with branch lines joining the main line at many points on its

route, traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days.

This railway does not run in a direct line across India.  The distance

between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one

thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of the road

increase this distance by more than a third.


The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows:

Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent

opposite Tannah, goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts, runs thence

north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly independent

territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly,

meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs from the river a little,

and, descending south-eastward by Burdivan and the French town of

Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.


The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half-past four p.m.; at

exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta.


Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the

steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to

be at the station promptly at eight, and, with his regular step, which

beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, directed his steps to

the passport office.  As for the wonders of Bombay its famous city

hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques,

synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on Malabar

Hill, with its two polygonal towers--he cared not a straw to see them.

He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or

the mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, or those

fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the

island of Salcette.


Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg

repaired quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner.

Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended

a certain giblet of "native rabbit," on which he prided himself.


Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce,

found it far from palatable.  He rang for the landlord, and, on his

appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, "Is this rabbit, sir?"


"Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly replied, "rabbit from the jungles."


"And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?"


"Mew, my lord!  What, a rabbit mew!  I swear to you--"


"Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats were

formerly considered, in India, as sacred animals.  That was a good



"For the cats, my lord?"


"Perhaps for the travellers as well!"


After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.  Fix had gone on

shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the

headquarters of the Bombay police.  He made himself known as a London

detective, told his business at Bombay, and the position of affairs

relative to the supposed robber, and nervously asked if a warrant had

arrived from London.  It had not reached the office; indeed, there had

not yet been time for it to arrive.  Fix was sorely disappointed, and

tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay

police.  This the director refused, as the matter concerned the London

office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant.  Fix did not

insist, and was fain to resign himself to await the arrival of the

important document; but he was determined not to lose sight of the

mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay.  He did not doubt for

a moment, any more than Passepartout, that Phileas Fogg would remain

there, at least until it was time for the warrant to arrive.


Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master's orders on

leaving the Mongolia than he saw at once that they were to leave Bombay

as they had done Suez and Paris, and that the journey would be extended

at least as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond that place.  He began

to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg talked about was not really in

good earnest, and whether his fate was not in truth forcing him,

despite his love of repose, around the world in eighty days!


Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a

leisurely promenade about the streets, where crowds of people of many

nationalities--Europeans, Persians with pointed caps, Banyas with round

turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres, and

long-robed Armenians--were collected.  It happened to be the day of a

Parsee festival.  These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster--the most

thrifty, civilised, intelligent, and austere of the East Indians, among

whom are counted the richest native merchants of Bombay--were

celebrating a sort of religious carnival, with processions and shows,

in the midst of which Indian dancing-girls, clothed in rose-coloured

gauze, looped up with gold and silver, danced airily, but with perfect

modesty, to the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines.  It is

needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with

staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance was that of the

greenest booby imaginable.


Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him

unconsciously farther off than he intended to go.  At last, having seen

the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning his steps

towards the station, when he happened to espy the splendid pagoda on

Malabar Hill, and was seized with an irresistible desire to see its

interior.  He was quite ignorant that it is forbidden to Christians to

enter certain Indian temples, and that even the faithful must not go in

without first leaving their shoes outside the door.  It may be said

here that the wise policy of the British Government severely punishes a

disregard of the practices of the native religions.


Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist,

and was soon lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation

which everywhere met his eyes, when of a sudden he found himself

sprawling on the sacred flagging.  He looked up to behold three enraged

priests, who forthwith fell upon him; tore off his shoes, and began to

beat him with loud, savage exclamations.  The agile Frenchman was soon

upon his feet again, and lost no time in knocking down two of his

long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorous application of

his toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as his legs could

carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by mingling with the crowd

in the streets.


At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and

having in the squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed

breathlessly into the station.


Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was

really going to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform.  He had

resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if

necessary.  Passepartout did not observe the detective, who stood in an

obscure corner; but Fix heard him relate his adventures in a few words

to Mr. Fogg.


"I hope that this will not happen again," said Phileas Fogg coldly, as

he got into the train.  Poor Passepartout, quite crestfallen, followed

his master without a word.  Fix was on the point of entering another

carriage, when an idea struck him which induced him to alter his plan.


"No, I'll stay," muttered he.  "An offence has been committed on Indian

soil.  I've got my man."


Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out

into the darkness of the night.





Chapter XI






The train had started punctually.  Among the passengers were a number

of officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo merchants,

whose business called them to the eastern coast.  Passepartout rode in

the same carriage with his master, and a third passenger occupied a

seat opposite to them.  This was Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr.

Fogg's whist partners on the Mongolia, now on his way to join his corps

at Benares.  Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty, who had greatly

distinguished himself in the last Sepoy revolt.  He made India his

home, only paying brief visits to England at rare intervals; and was

almost as familiar as a native with the customs, history, and character

of India and its people.  But Phileas Fogg, who was not travelling, but

only describing a circumference, took no pains to inquire into these

subjects; he was a solid body, traversing an orbit around the

terrestrial globe, according to the laws of rational mechanics.  He was

at this moment calculating in his mind the number of hours spent since

his departure from London, and, had it been in his nature to make a

useless demonstration, would have rubbed his hands for satisfaction.

Sir Francis Cromarty had observed the oddity of his travelling

companion--although the only opportunity he had for studying him had

been while he was dealing the cards, and between two rubbers--and

questioned himself whether a human heart really beat beneath this cold

exterior, and whether Phileas Fogg had any sense of the beauties of

nature.  The brigadier-general was free to mentally confess that, of

all the eccentric persons he had ever met, none was comparable to this

product of the exact sciences.


Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his design of going

round the world, nor the circumstances under which he set out; and the

general only saw in the wager a useless eccentricity and a lack of

sound common sense.  In the way this strange gentleman was going on, he

would leave the world without having done any good to himself or

anybody else.


An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts and the

Island of Salcette, and had got into the open country.  At Callyan they

reached the junction of the branch line which descends towards

south-eastern India by Kandallah and Pounah; and, passing Pauwell, they

entered the defiles of the mountains, with their basalt bases, and

their summits crowned with thick and verdant forests.  Phileas Fogg and

Sir Francis Cromarty exchanged a few words from time to time, and now

Sir Francis, reviving the conversation, observed, "Some years ago, Mr.

Fogg, you would have met with a delay at this point which would

probably have lost you your wager."


"How so, Sir Francis?"


"Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains, which the

passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on ponies to

Kandallah, on the other side."


"Such a delay would not have deranged my plans in the least," said Mr.

Fogg.  "I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of certain obstacles."


"But, Mr. Fogg," pursued Sir Francis, "you run the risk of having some

difficulty about this worthy fellow's adventure at the pagoda."

Passepartout, his feet comfortably wrapped in his travelling-blanket,

was sound asleep and did not dream that anybody was talking about him.

"The Government is very severe upon that kind of offence.  It takes

particular care that the religious customs of the Indians should be

respected, and if your servant were caught--"


"Very well, Sir Francis," replied Mr. Fogg; "if he had been caught he

would have been condemned and punished, and then would have quietly

returned to Europe.  I don't see how this affair could have delayed his



The conversation fell again.  During the night the train left the

mountains behind, and passed Nassik, and the next day proceeded over

the flat, well-cultivated country of the Khandeish, with its straggling

villages, above which rose the minarets of the pagodas.  This fertile

territory is watered by numerous small rivers and limpid streams,

mostly tributaries of the Godavery.


Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realise that he was

actually crossing India in a railway train.  The locomotive, guided by

an English engineer and fed with English coal, threw out its smoke upon

cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove, and pepper plantations, while the steam

curled in spirals around groups of palm-trees, in the midst of which

were seen picturesque bungalows, viharis (sort of abandoned

monasteries), and marvellous temples enriched by the exhaustless

ornamentation of Indian architecture.  Then they came upon vast tracts

extending to the horizon, with jungles inhabited by snakes and tigers,

which fled at the noise of the train; succeeded by forests penetrated

by the railway, and still haunted by elephants which, with pensive

eyes, gazed at the train as it passed.  The travellers crossed, beyond

Milligaum, the fatal country so often stained with blood by the

sectaries of the goddess Kali.  Not far off rose Ellora, with its

graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad, capital of the ferocious

Aureng-Zeb, now the chief town of one of the detached provinces of the

kingdom of the Nizam.  It was thereabouts that Feringhea, the Thuggee

chief, king of the stranglers, held his sway.  These ruffians, united

by a secret bond, strangled victims of every age in honour of the

goddess Death, without ever shedding blood; there was a period when

this part of the country could scarcely be travelled over without

corpses being found in every direction.  The English Government has

succeeded in greatly diminishing these murders, though the Thuggees

still exist, and pursue the exercise of their horrible rites.


At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor where Passepartout

was able to purchase some Indian slippers, ornamented with false

pearls, in which, with evident vanity, he proceeded to encase his feet.

The travellers made a hasty breakfast and started off for Assurghur,

after skirting for a little the banks of the small river Tapty, which

empties into the Gulf of Cambray, near Surat.


Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie.  Up to his arrival

at Bombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey would end there;

but, now that they were plainly whirling across India at full speed, a

sudden change had come over the spirit of his dreams.  His old vagabond

nature returned to him; the fantastic ideas of his youth once more took

possession of him.  He came to regard his master's project as intended

in good earnest, believed in the reality of the bet, and therefore in

the tour of the world and the necessity of making it without fail

within the designated period.  Already he began to worry about possible

delays, and accidents which might happen on the way.  He recognised

himself as being personally interested in the wager, and trembled at

the thought that he might have been the means of losing it by his

unpardonable folly of the night before.  Being much less cool-headed

than Mr. Fogg, he was much more restless, counting and recounting the

days passed over, uttering maledictions when the train stopped, and

accusing it of sluggishness, and mentally blaming Mr. Fogg for not

having bribed the engineer.  The worthy fellow was ignorant that, while

it was possible by such means to hasten the rate of a steamer, it could

not be done on the railway.


The train entered the defiles of the Sutpour Mountains, which separate

the Khandeish from Bundelcund, towards evening.  The next day Sir

Francis Cromarty asked Passepartout what time it was; to which, on

consulting his watch, he replied that it was three in the morning.

This famous timepiece, always regulated on the Greenwich meridian,

which was now some seventy-seven degrees westward, was at least four

hours slow.  Sir Francis corrected Passepartout's time, whereupon the

latter made the same remark that he had done to Fix; and upon the

general insisting that the watch should be regulated in each new

meridian, since he was constantly going eastward, that is in the face

of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter by four minutes for

each degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately refused to alter his

watch, which he kept at London time.  It was an innocent delusion which

could harm no one.


The train stopped, at eight o'clock, in the midst of a glade some

fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows, and

workmen's cabins.  The conductor, passing along the carriages, shouted,

"Passengers will get out here!"


Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation; but the

general could not tell what meant a halt in the midst of this forest of

dates and acacias.


Passepartout, not less surprised, rushed out and speedily returned,

crying: "Monsieur, no more railway!"


"What do you mean?" asked Sir Francis.


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


The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly followed

him, and they proceeded together to the conductor.


"Where are we?" asked Sir Francis.


"At the hamlet of Kholby."


"Do we stop here?"


"Certainly.  The railway isn't finished."


"What! not finished?"


"No.  There's still a matter of fifty miles to be laid from here to

Allahabad, where the line begins again."


"But the papers announced the opening of the railway throughout."


"What would you have, officer?  The papers were mistaken."


"Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta," retorted Sir Francis,

who was growing warm.


"No doubt," replied the conductor; "but the passengers know that they

must provide means of transportation for themselves from Kholby to



Sir Francis was furious.  Passepartout would willingly have knocked the

conductor down, and did not dare to look at his master.


"Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg quietly, "we will, if you please, look

about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad."


"Mr. Fogg, this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage."


"No, Sir Francis; it was foreseen."


"What!  You knew that the way--"


"Not at all; but I knew that some obstacle or other would sooner or

later arise on my route.  Nothing, therefore, is lost. I have two days,

which I have already gained, to sacrifice.  A steamer leaves Calcutta

for Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th.  This is the 22nd, and we shall

reach Calcutta in time."


There was nothing to say to so confident a response.


It was but too true that the railway came to a termination at this

point.  The papers were like some watches, which have a way of getting

too fast, and had been premature in their announcement of the

completion of the line.  The greater part of the travellers were aware

of this interruption, and, leaving the train, they began to engage such

vehicles as the village could provide four-wheeled palkigharis, waggons

drawn by zebus, carriages that looked like perambulating pagodas,

palanquins, ponies, and what not.


Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, after searching the village from end

to end, came back without having found anything.


"I shall go afoot," said Phileas Fogg.


Passepartout, who had now rejoined his master, made a wry grimace, as

he thought of his magnificent, but too frail Indian shoes.  Happily he

too had been looking about him, and, after a moment's hesitation, said,

"Monsieur, I think I have found a means of conveyance."




"An elephant!  An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives but a

hundred steps from here."


"Let's go and see the elephant," replied Mr. Fogg.


They soon reached a small hut, near which, enclosed within some high

palings, was the animal in question.  An Indian came out of the hut,

and, at their request, conducted them within the enclosure.  The

elephant, which its owner had reared, not for a beast of burden, but

for warlike purposes, was half domesticated.  The Indian had begun

already, by often irritating him, and feeding him every three months on

sugar and butter, to impart to him a ferocity not in his nature, this

method being often employed by those who train the Indian elephants for

battle.  Happily, however, for Mr. Fogg, the animal's instruction in

this direction had not gone far, and the elephant still preserved his

natural gentleness.  Kiouni--this was the name of the beast--could

doubtless travel rapidly for a long time, and, in default of any other

means of conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him.  But elephants are

far from cheap in India, where they are becoming scarce, the males,

which alone are suitable for circus shows, are much sought, especially

as but few of them are domesticated.  When therefore Mr. Fogg proposed

to the Indian to hire Kiouni, he refused point-blank.  Mr. Fogg

persisted, offering the excessive sum of ten pounds an hour for the

loan of the beast to Allahabad.  Refused.  Twenty pounds?  Refused

also.  Forty pounds?  Still refused.  Passepartout jumped at each

advance; but the Indian declined to be tempted.  Yet the offer was an

alluring one, for, supposing it took the elephant fifteen hours to

reach Allahabad, his owner would receive no less than six hundred

pounds sterling.


Phileas Fogg, without getting in the least flurried, then proposed to

purchase the animal outright, and at first offered a thousand pounds

for him.  The Indian, perhaps thinking he was going to make a great

bargain, still refused.


Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr. Fogg aside, and begged him to reflect

before he went any further; to which that gentleman replied that he was

not in the habit of acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand pounds

was at stake, that the elephant was absolutely necessary to him, and

that he would secure him if he had to pay twenty times his value.

Returning to the Indian, whose small, sharp eyes, glistening with

avarice, betrayed that with him it was only a question of how great a

price he could obtain.  Mr. Fogg offered first twelve hundred, then

fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds.  Passepartout,

usually so rubicund, was fairly white with suspense.


At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.


"What a price, good heavens!" cried Passepartout, "for an elephant."


It only remained now to find a guide, which was comparatively easy.  A

young Parsee, with an intelligent face, offered his services, which Mr.

Fogg accepted, promising so generous a reward as to materially

stimulate his zeal.  The elephant was led out and equipped.  The

Parsee, who was an accomplished elephant driver, covered his back with

a sort of saddle-cloth, and attached to each of his flanks some

curiously uncomfortable howdahs.  Phileas Fogg paid the Indian with

some banknotes which he extracted from the famous carpet-bag, a

proceeding that seemed to deprive poor Passepartout of his vitals.

Then he offered to carry Sir Francis to Allahabad, which the brigadier

gratefully accepted, as one traveller the more would not be likely to

fatigue the gigantic beast.  Provisions were purchased at Kholby, and,

while Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg took the howdahs on either side,

Passepartout got astride the saddle-cloth between them.  The Parsee

perched himself on the elephant's neck, and at nine o'clock they set

out from the village, the animal marching off through the dense forest

of palms by the shortest cut.





Chapter XII






In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of the

line where the railway was still in process of being built.  This line,

owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia Mountains, did not

pursue a straight course.  The Parsee, who was quite familiar with the

roads and paths in the district, declared that they would gain twenty

miles by striking directly through the forest.


Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the

peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the swift

trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by the skilful Parsee;

but they endured the discomfort with true British phlegm, talking

little, and scarcely able to catch a glimpse of each other.  As for

Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast's back, and received the

direct force of each concussion as he trod along, he was very careful,

in accordance with his master's advice, to keep his tongue from between

his teeth, as it would otherwise have been bitten off short.  The

worthy fellow bounced from the elephant's neck to his rump, and vaulted

like a clown on a spring-board; yet he laughed in the midst of his

bouncing, and from time to time took a piece of sugar out of his

pocket, and inserted it in Kiouni's trunk, who received it without in

the least slackening his regular trot.


After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an hour

for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at a

neighbouring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs round

about him.  Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted the delay, and

both descended with a feeling of relief.  "Why, he's made of iron!"

exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on Kiouni.


"Of forged iron," replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing a

hasty breakfast.


At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure.  The country soon

presented a very savage aspect.  Copses of dates and dwarf-palms

succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains, dotted with scanty

shrubs, and sown with great blocks of syenite.  All this portion of

Bundelcund, which is little frequented by travellers, is inhabited by a

fanatical population, hardened in the most horrible practices of the

Hindoo faith.  The English have not been able to secure complete

dominion over this territory, which is subjected to the influence of

rajahs, whom it is almost impossible to reach in their inaccessible

mountain fastnesses. The travellers several times saw bands of

ferocious Indians, who, when they perceived the elephant striding

across-country, made angry and threatening motions.  The Parsee avoided

them as much as possible.  Few animals were observed on the route; even

the monkeys hurried from their path with contortions and grimaces which

convulsed Passepartout with laughter.


In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the worthy

servant.  What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he got to

Allahabad?  Would he carry him on with him?  Impossible!  The cost of

transporting him would make him ruinously expensive.  Would he sell

him, or set him free?  The estimable beast certainly deserved some

consideration.  Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him, Passepartout, a

present of Kiouni, he would be very much embarrassed; and these

thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time.


The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the

evening, and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a ruined

bungalow.  They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that day, and an

equal distance still separated them from the station of Allahabad.


The night was cold.  The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a few

dry branches, and the warmth was very grateful, provisions purchased at

Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travellers ate ravenously.  The

conversation, beginning with a few disconnected phrases, soon gave

place to loud and steady snores.  The guide watched Kiouni, who slept

standing, bolstering himself against the trunk of a large tree.

Nothing occurred during the night to disturb the slumberers, although

occasional growls front panthers and chatterings of monkeys broke the

silence; the more formidable beasts made no cries or hostile

demonstration against the occupants of the bungalow.  Sir Francis slept

heavily, like an honest soldier overcome with fatigue.  Passepartout

was wrapped in uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before.  As for

Mr. Fogg, he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene

mansion in Saville Row.


The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped to reach

Allahabad by evening.  In that case, Mr. Fogg would only lose a part of

the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning of the tour.  Kiouni,

resuming his rapid gait, soon descended the lower spurs of the

Vindhias, and towards noon they passed by the village of Kallenger, on

the Cani, one of the branches of the Ganges.  The guide avoided

inhabited places, thinking it safer to keep the open country, which

lies along the first depressions of the basin of the great river.

Allahabad was now only twelve miles to the north-east.  They stopped

under a clump of bananas, the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and

as succulent as cream, was amply partaken of and appreciated.


At two o'clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended several

miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods.  They had not

as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the journey seemed on the

point of being successfully accomplished, when the elephant, becoming

restless, suddenly stopped.


It was then four o'clock.


"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.


"I don't know, officer," replied the Parsee, listening attentively to a

confused murmur which came through the thick branches.


The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a distant

concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments.  Passepartout

was all eyes and ears.  Mr. Fogg patiently waited without a word.  The

Parsee jumped to the ground, fastened the elephant to a tree, and

plunged into the thicket.  He soon returned, saying:


"A procession of Brahmins is coming this way.  We must prevent their

seeing us, if possible."


The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, at the same

time asking the travellers not to stir.  He held himself ready to

bestride the animal at a moment's notice, should flight become

necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession of the faithful

would pass without perceiving them amid the thick foliage, in which

they were wholly concealed.


The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer, and now

droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals.

The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees, a hundred

paces away; and the strange figures who performed the religious

ceremony were easily distinguished through the branches.  First came

the priests, with mitres on their heads, and clothed in long lace

robes.  They were surrounded by men, women, and children, who sang a

kind of lugubrious psalm, interrupted at regular intervals by the

tambourines and cymbals; while behind them was drawn a car with large

wheels, the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each

other.  Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus,

stood a hideous statue with four arms, the body coloured a dull red,

with haggard eyes, dishevelled hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted

with betel.  It stood upright upon the figure of a prostrate and

headless giant.


Sir Francis, recognising the statue, whispered, "The goddess Kali; the

goddess of love and death."


"Of death, perhaps," muttered back Passepartout, "but of love--that

ugly old hag?  Never!"


The Parsee made a motion to keep silence.


A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round the

statue; these were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts whence

their blood issued drop by drop--stupid fanatics, who, in the great

Indian ceremonies, still throw themselves under the wheels of

Juggernaut.  Some Brahmins, clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental

apparel, and leading a woman who faltered at every step, followed.

This woman was young, and as fair as a European.  Her head and neck,

shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and

gems with bracelets, earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with

gold, and covered with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her



The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast to

her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists, and

long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin.  It was

the body of an old man, gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments of a

rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban embroidered with pearls, a robe of

tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere sewed with diamonds, and

the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince.  Next came the musicians

and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the

noise of the instruments; these closed the procession.


Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and, turning

to the guide, said, "A suttee."


The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips.  The procession

slowly wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in

the depths of the wood.  The songs gradually died away; occasionally

cries were heard in the distance, until at last all was silence again.


Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as the

procession had disappeared, asked: "What is a suttee?"


"A suttee," returned the general, "is a human sacrifice, but a

voluntary one.  The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow

at the dawn of day."


"Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who could not repress his



"And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg.


"Is that of the prince, her husband," said the guide; "an independent

rajah of Bundelcund."


"Is it possible," resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not the

least emotion, "that these barbarous customs still exist in India, and

that the English have been unable to put a stop to them?"


"These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India," replied

Sir Francis; "but we have no power over these savage territories, and

especially here in Bundelcund.  The whole district north of the

Vindhias is the theatre of incessant murders and pillage."


"The poor wretch!" exclaimed Passepartout, "to be burned alive!"


"Yes," returned Sir Francis, "burned alive.  And, if she were not, you

cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit to from

her relatives.  They would shave off her hair, feed her on a scanty

allowance of rice, treat her with contempt; she would be looked upon as

an unclean creature, and would die in some corner, like a scurvy dog.

The prospect of so frightful an existence drives these poor creatures

to the sacrifice much more than love or religious fanaticism.

Sometimes, however, the sacrifice is really voluntary, and it requires

the active interference of the Government to prevent it.  Several years

ago, when I was living at Bombay, a young widow asked permission of the

governor to be burned along with her husband's body; but, as you may

imagine, he refused.  The woman left the town, took refuge with an

independent rajah, and there carried out her self-devoted purpose."


While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several times,

and now said: "The sacrifice which will take place to-morrow at dawn is

not a voluntary one."


"How do you know?"


"Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund."


"But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any resistance,"

observed Sir Francis.


"That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and



"But where are they taking her?"


"To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the night



"And the sacrifice will take place--"


"To-morrow, at the first light of dawn."


The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped upon his

neck.  Just at the moment that he was about to urge Kiouni forward with

a peculiar whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir Francis

Cromarty, said, "Suppose we save this woman."


"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!"


"I have yet twelve hours to spare; I can devote them to that."


"Why, you are a man of heart!"


"Sometimes," replied Phileas Fogg, quietly; "when I have the time."





Chapter XIII





The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable.

Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore the

success of his tour.  But he did not hesitate, and he found in Sir

Francis Cromarty an enthusiastic ally.


As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be proposed.

His master's idea charmed him; he perceived a heart, a soul, under that

icy exterior.  He began to love Phileas Fogg.


There remained the guide: what course would he adopt?  Would he not

take part with the Indians?  In default of his assistance, it was

necessary to be assured of his neutrality.


Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.


"Officers," replied the guide, "I am a Parsee, and this woman is a

Parsee.  Command me as you will."


"Excellent!" said Mr. Fogg.


"However," resumed the guide, "it is certain, not only that we shall

risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken."


"That is foreseen," replied Mr. Fogg.  "I think we must wait till night

before acting."


"I think so," said the guide.


The worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who, he said,

was a celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the daughter of a

wealthy Bombay merchant.  She had received a thoroughly English

education in that city, and, from her manners and intelligence, would

be thought an European.  Her name was Aouda.  Left an orphan, she was

married against her will to the old rajah of Bundelcund; and, knowing

the fate that awaited her, she escaped, was retaken, and devoted by the

rajah's relatives, who had an interest in her death, to the sacrifice

from which it seemed she could not escape.


The Parsee's narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions in

their generous design.  It was decided that the guide should direct the

elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly approached

as quickly as possible.  They halted, half an hour afterwards, in a

copse, some five hundred feet from the pagoda, where they were well

concealed; but they could hear the groans and cries of the fakirs



They then discussed the means of getting at the victim.  The guide was

familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared, the

young woman was imprisoned.  Could they enter any of its doors while

the whole party of Indians was plunged in a drunken sleep, or was it

safer to attempt to make a hole in the walls?  This could only be

determined at the moment and the place themselves; but it was certain

that the abduction must be made that night, and not when, at break of

day, the victim was led to her funeral pyre.  Then no human

intervention could save her.


As soon as night fell, about six o'clock, they decided to make a

reconnaissance around the pagoda.  The cries of the fakirs were just

ceasing; the Indians were in the act of plunging themselves into the

drunkenness caused by liquid opium mingled with hemp, and it might be

possible to slip between them to the temple itself.


The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the wood, and

in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream,

whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre of

wood, on the top of which lay the embalmed body of the rajah, which was

to be burned with his wife.  The pagoda, whose minarets loomed above

the trees in the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps away.


"Come!" whispered the guide.


He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush, followed by his

companions; the silence around was only broken by the low murmuring of

the wind among the branches.


Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up

by the torches.  The ground was covered by groups of the Indians,

motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn with

the dead.  Men, women, and children lay together.


In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji loomed

distinctly.  Much to the guide's disappointment, the guards of the

rajah, lighted by torches, were watching at the doors and marching to

and fro with naked sabres; probably the priests, too, were watching



The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force an entrance

to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his companions back again.

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty also saw that nothing could be

attempted in that direction.  They stopped, and engaged in a whispered



"It is only eight now," said the brigadier, "and these guards may also

go to sleep."


"It is not impossible," returned the Parsee.


They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.


The time seemed long; the guide ever and anon left them to take an

observation on the edge of the wood, but the guards watched steadily by

the glare of the torches, and a dim light crept through the windows of

the pagoda.


They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards,

and it became apparent that their yielding to sleep could not be

counted on.  The other plan must be carried out; an opening in the

walls of the pagoda must be made.  It remained to ascertain whether the

priests were watching by the side of their victim as assiduously as

were the soldiers at the door.


After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was ready for

the attempt, and advanced, followed by the others.  They took a

roundabout way, so as to get at the pagoda on the rear.  They reached

the walls about half-past twelve, without having met anyone; here there

was no guard, nor were there either windows or doors.


The night was dark.  The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the horizon,

and was covered with heavy clouds; the height of the trees deepened the



It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must be

accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had their

pocket-knives.  Happily the temple walls were built of brick and wood,

which could be penetrated with little difficulty; after one brick had

been taken out, the rest would yield easily.


They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side and

Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks so as to make an

aperture two feet wide.  They were getting on rapidly, when suddenly a

cry was heard in the interior of the temple, followed almost instantly

by other cries replying from the outside.  Passepartout and the guide

stopped.  Had they been heard?  Was the alarm being given?  Common

prudence urged them to retire, and they did so, followed by Phileas

Fogg and Sir Francis.  They again hid themselves in the wood, and

waited till the disturbance, whatever it might be, ceased, holding

themselves ready to resume their attempt without delay.  But, awkwardly

enough, the guards now appeared at the rear of the temple, and there

installed themselves, in readiness to prevent a surprise.


It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the party, thus

interrupted in their work.  They could not now reach the victim; how,

then, could they save her?  Sir Francis shook his fists, Passepartout

was beside himself, and the guide gnashed his teeth with rage.  The

tranquil Fogg waited, without betraying any emotion.


"We have nothing to do but to go away," whispered Sir Francis.


"Nothing but to go away," echoed the guide.


"Stop," said Fogg.  "I am only due at Allahabad tomorrow before noon."


"But what can you hope to do?" asked Sir Francis.  "In a few hours it

will be daylight, and--"


"The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last moment."


Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg's eyes.  What was

this cool Englishman thinking of?  Was he planning to make a rush for

the young woman at the very moment of the sacrifice, and boldly snatch

her from her executioners?


This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg was such

a fool.  Sir Francis consented, however, to remain to the end of this

terrible drama.  The guide led them to the rear of the glade, where

they were able to observe the sleeping groups.


Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower branches

of a tree, was resolving an idea which had at first struck him like a

flash, and which was now firmly lodged in his brain.


He had commenced by saying to himself, "What folly!" and then he

repeated, "Why not, after all?  It's a chance perhaps the only one; and

with such sots!" Thinking thus, he slipped, with the suppleness of a

serpent, to the lowest branches, the ends of which bent almost to the



The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the approach of

day, though it was not yet light.  This was the moment.  The slumbering

multitude became animated, the tambourines sounded, songs and cries

arose; the hour of the sacrifice had come.  The doors of the pagoda

swung open, and a bright light escaped from its interior, in the midst

of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis espied the victim.  She seemed,

having shaken off the stupor of intoxication, to be striving to escape

from her executioner.  Sir Francis's heart throbbed; and, convulsively

seizing Mr. Fogg's hand, found in it an open knife.  Just at this

moment the crowd began to move.  The young woman had again fallen into

a stupor caused by the fumes of hemp, and passed among the fakirs, who

escorted her with their wild, religious cries.


Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of the

crowd, followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of the

stream, and stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the

rajah's corpse.  In the semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite

senseless, stretched out beside her husband's body. Then a torch was

brought, and the wood, heavily soaked with oil, instantly took fire.


At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who, in

an instant of mad generosity, was about to rush upon the pyre.  But he

had quickly pushed them aside, when the whole scene suddenly changed.

A cry of terror arose.  The whole multitude prostrated themselves,

terror-stricken, on the ground.


The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden, like a

spectre, took up his wife in his arms, and descended from the pyre in

the midst of the clouds of smoke, which only heightened his ghostly



Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay there,

with their faces on the ground, not daring to lift their eyes and

behold such a prodigy.


The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which

supported her, and which she did not seem in the least to burden.  Mr.

Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head, and

Passepartout was, no doubt, scarcely less stupefied.


The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, and, in an

abrupt tone, said, "Let us be off!"


It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre in the midst

of the smoke and, profiting by the still overhanging darkness, had

delivered the young woman from death!  It was Passepartout who, playing

his part with a happy audacity, had passed through the crowd amid the

general terror.


A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the woods, and

the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. But the cries and

noise, and a ball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg's hat, apprised

them that the trick had been discovered.


The old rajah's body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre; and

the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an abduction

had taken place.  They hastened into the forest, followed by the

soldiers, who fired a volley after the fugitives; but the latter

rapidly increased the distance between them, and ere long found

themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and arrows.





Chapter XIV






The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour Passepartout

laughed gaily at his success.  Sir Francis pressed the worthy fellow's

hand, and his master said, "Well done!" which, from him, was high

commendation; to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of the

affair belonged to Mr. Fogg.  As for him, he had only been struck with

a "queer" idea; and he laughed to think that for a few moments he,

Passepartout, the ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse

of a charming woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah!  As for the young

Indian woman, she had been unconscious throughout of what was passing,

and now, wrapped up in a travelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the



The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee, was

advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and, an hour after

leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain.  They made a halt at

seven o'clock, the young woman being still in a state of complete

prostration.  The guide made her drink a little brandy and water, but

the drowsiness which stupefied her could not yet be shaken off.  Sir

Francis, who was familiar with the effects of the intoxication produced

by the fumes of hemp, reassured his companions on her account.  But he

was more disturbed at the prospect of her future fate.  He told Phileas

Fogg that, should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall

again into the hands of her executioners.  These fanatics were

scattered throughout the county, and would, despite the English police,

recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta.  She would only be

safe by quitting India for ever.


Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.


The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o'clock, and, the

interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them to reach

Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours.  Phileas Fogg would thus be

able to arrive in time to take the steamer which left Calcutta the next

day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.


The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station,

whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various

articles of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master

gave him unlimited credit.  Passepartout started off forthwith, and

found himself in the streets of Allahabad, that is, the City of God,

one of the most venerated in India, being built at the junction of the

two sacred rivers, Ganges and Jumna, the waters of which attract

pilgrims from every part of the peninsula.  The Ganges, according to

the legends of the Ramayana, rises in heaven, whence, owing to Brahma's

agency, it descends to the earth.


Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take a good

look at the city.  It was formerly defended by a noble fort, which has

since become a state prison; its commerce has dwindled away, and

Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar as he used to

frequent in Regent Street.  At last he came upon an elderly, crusty

Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom he purchased a dress

of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin pelisse, for

which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds.  He then returned

triumphantly to the station.


The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda began

gradually to yield, and she became more herself, so that her fine eyes

resumed all their soft Indian expression.


When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms of the queen of

Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus:


"Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious

contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow and

freshness.  Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama,

the god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest

reflections and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of

Himalaya, in the black pupils of her great clear eyes.  Her teeth,

fine, equal, and white, glitter between her smiling lips like dewdrops

in a passion-flower's half-enveloped breast.  Her delicately formed

ears, her vermilion hands, her little feet, curved and tender as the

lotus-bud, glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls of

Ceylon, the most dazzling diamonds of Golconda.  Her narrow and supple

waist, which a hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline of her

rounded figure and the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower

displays the wealth of its treasures; and beneath the silken folds of

her tunic she seems to have been modelled in pure silver by the godlike

hand of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor."


It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to Aouda,

that she was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the

phrase.  She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had not

exaggerated in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed by her

bringing up.


The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg proceeded to

pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service, and not a farthing

more; which astonished Passepartout, who remembered all that his master

owed to the guide's devotion.  He had, indeed, risked his life in the

adventure at Pillaji, and, if he should be caught afterwards by the

Indians, he would with difficulty escape their vengeance.  Kiouni,

also, must be disposed of.  What should be done with the elephant,

which had been so dearly purchased?  Phileas Fogg had already

determined this question.


"Parsee," said he to the guide, "you have been serviceable and devoted.

I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion.  Would you

like to have this elephant?  He is yours."


The guide's eyes glistened.


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


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



"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout.  "Take him, friend.  Kiouni is a brave

and faithful beast."  And, going up to the elephant, he gave him

several lumps of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, here, here."


The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout

around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head.

Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the animal, which

replaced him gently on the ground.


Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout,

installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat, were

whirling at full speed towards Benares.  It was a run of eighty miles,

and was accomplished in two hours.  During the journey, the young woman

fully recovered her senses.  What was her astonishment to find herself

in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European habiliments, and

with travellers who were quite strangers to her!  Her companions first

set about fully reviving her with a little liquor, and then Sir Francis

narrated to her what had passed, dwelling upon the courage with which

Phileas Fogg had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and

recounting the happy sequel of the venture, the result of

Passepartout's rash idea.  Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout,

abashed, kept repeating that "it wasn't worth telling."


Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears than

words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better than her lips.

Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene of the sacrifice, and

recalled the dangers which still menaced her, she shuddered with terror.


Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda's mind, and offered,

in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might

remain safely until the affair was hushed up--an offer which she

eagerly and gratefully accepted.  She had, it seems, a Parsee relation,

who was one of the principal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly an

English city, though on an island on the Chinese coast.


At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares.  The Brahmin legends

assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi, which,

like Mahomet's tomb, was once suspended between heaven and earth;

though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of

India, stands quite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout

caught glimpses of its brick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of

desolation to the place, as the train entered it.


Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination, the troops he was

rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city.  He bade

adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success, and expressing the hope

that he would come that way again in a less original but more

profitable fashion.  Mr. Fogg lightly pressed him by the hand.  The

parting of Aouda, who did not forget what she owed to Sir Francis,

betrayed more warmth; and, as for Passepartout, he received a hearty

shake of the hand from the gallant general.


The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the valley of

the Ganges.  Through the windows of their carriage the travellers had

glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar, with its mountains

clothed in verdure, its fields of barley, wheat, and corn, its jungles

peopled with green alligators, its neat villages, and its still

thickly-leaved forests.  Elephants were bathing in the waters of the

sacred river, and groups of Indians, despite the advanced season and

chilly air, were performing solemnly their pious ablutions.  These were

fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities being

Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of natural

forces, and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators.  What

would these divinities think of India, anglicised as it is to-day, with

steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls

which float upon its surface, the turtles swarming along its banks, and

the faithful dwelling upon its borders?


The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when the steam

concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers could scarcely

discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles south-westward from Benares,

the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or Ghazipur and its

famous rose-water factories; or the tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on

the left bank of the Ganges; the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a

large manufacturing and trading-place, where is held the principal

opium market of India; or Monghir, a more than European town, for it is

as English as Manchester or Birmingham, with its iron foundries,

edgetool factories, and high chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke



Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst of the

roaring of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before the

locomotive; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour,

Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and the French town

of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see his

country's flag flying, were hidden from their view in the darkness.


Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning, and the packet left for

Hong Kong at noon; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him.


According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of

October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival.  He was

therefore neither behind-hand nor ahead of time.  The two days gained

between London and Bombay had been lost, as has been seen, in the

journey across India.  But it is not to be supposed that Phileas Fogg

regretted them.





Chapter XV





The train entered the station, and Passepartout jumping out first, was

followed by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend.

Phileas Fogg intended to proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer, in

order to get Aouda comfortably settled for the voyage.  He was

unwilling to leave her while they were still on dangerous ground.


Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him, and

said, "Mr. Phileas Fogg?"


"I am he."


"Is this man your servant?" added the policeman, pointing to





"Be so good, both of you, as to follow me."


Mr. Fogg betrayed no surprise whatever.  The policeman was a

representative of the law, and law is sacred to an Englishman.

Passepartout tried to reason about the matter, but the policeman tapped

him with his stick, and Mr. Fogg made him a signal to obey.


"May this young lady go with us?" asked he.


"She may," replied the policeman.


Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palkigahri, a

sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in which they took

their places and were driven away.  No one spoke during the twenty

minutes which elapsed before they reached their destination.  They

first passed through the "black town," with its narrow streets, its

miserable, dirty huts, and squalid population; then through the

"European town," which presented a relief in its bright brick mansions,

shaded by coconut-trees and bristling with masts, where, although it

was early morning, elegantly dressed horsemen and handsome equipages

were passing back and forth.


The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which, however, did

not have the appearance of a private mansion.  The policeman having

requested his prisoners for so, truly, they might be called-to descend,

conducted them into a room with barred windows, and said:  "You will

appear before Judge Obadiah at half-past eight."


He then retired, and closed the door.


"Why, we are prisoners!" exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a chair.


Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg: "Sir,

you must leave me to my fate!  It is on my account that you receive

this treatment, it is for having saved me!"


Phileas Fogg contented himself with saying that it was impossible.  It

was quite unlikely that he should be arrested for preventing a suttee.

The complainants would not dare present themselves with such a charge.

There was some mistake.  Moreover, he would not, in any event, abandon

Aouda, but would escort her to Hong Kong.


"But the steamer leaves at noon!" observed Passepartout, nervously.


"We shall be on board by noon," replied his master, placidly.


It was said so positively that Passepartout could not help muttering to

himself, "Parbleu that's certain!  Before noon we shall be on board."

But he was by no means reassured.


At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and,

requesting them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall.  It

was evidently a court-room, and a crowd of Europeans and natives

already occupied the rear of the apartment.


Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a bench opposite

the desks of the magistrate and his clerk.  Immediately after, Judge

Obadiah, a fat, round man, followed by the clerk, entered.  He

proceeded to take down a wig which was hanging on a nail, and put it

hurriedly on his head.


"The first case," said he.  Then, putting his hand to his head, he

exclaimed, "Heh!  This is not my wig!"


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


"My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence in a

clerk's wig?"


The wigs were exchanged.


Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the big

clock over the judge seemed to go around with terrible rapidity.


"The first case," repeated Judge Obadiah.


"Phileas Fogg?" demanded Oysterpuff.


"I am here," replied Mr. Fogg.




"Present," responded Passepartout.


"Good," said the judge.  "You have been looked for, prisoners, for two

days on the trains from Bombay."


"But of what are we accused?" asked Passepartout, impatiently.


"You are about to be informed."


"I am an English subject, sir," said Mr. Fogg, "and I have the right--"


"Have you been ill-treated?"


"Not at all."


"Very well; let the complainants come in."


A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian priests



"That's it," muttered Passepartout; "these are the rogues who were

going to burn our young lady."


The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk

proceeded to read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege against

Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of having violated a

place held consecrated by the Brahmin religion.


"You hear the charge?" asked the judge.


"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, "and I admit it."


"You admit it?"


"I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn,

what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji."


The priests looked at each other; they did not seem to understand what

was said.


"Yes," cried Passepartout, warmly; "at the pagoda of Pillaji, where

they were on the point of burning their victim."


The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were stupefied.


"What victim?" said Judge Obadiah.  "Burn whom?  In Bombay itself?"


"Bombay?" cried Passepartout.


"Certainly.  We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of the

pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay."


"And as a proof," added the clerk, "here are the desecrator's very

shoes, which he left behind him."


Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.


"My shoes!" cried Passepartout, in his surprise permitting this

imprudent exclamation to escape him.


The confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the affair at

Bombay, for which they were now detained at Calcutta, may be imagined.


Fix the detective, had foreseen the advantage which Passepartout's

escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for twelve hours, had

consulted the priests of Malabar Hill.  Knowing that the English

authorities dealt very severely with this kind of misdemeanour, he

promised them a goodly sum in damages, and sent them forward to

Calcutta by the next train.  Owing to the delay caused by the rescue of

the young widow, Fix and the priests reached the Indian capital before

Mr. Fogg and his servant, the magistrates having been already warned by

a dispatch to arrest them should they arrive.  Fix's disappointment

when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his appearance in

Calcutta may be imagined.  He made up his mind that the robber had

stopped somewhere on the route and taken refuge in the southern

provinces.  For twenty-four hours Fix watched the station with feverish

anxiety; at last he was rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and Passepartout

arrive, accompanied by a young woman, whose presence he was wholly at a

loss to explain.  He hastened for a policeman; and this was how the

party came to be arrested and brought before Judge Obadiah.


Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have espied

the detective ensconced in a corner of the court-room, watching the

proceedings with an interest easily understood; for the warrant had

failed to reach him at Calcutta, as it had done at Bombay and Suez.


Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout's rash exclamation,

which the poor fellow would have given the world to recall.


"The facts are admitted?" asked the judge.


"Admitted," replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.


"Inasmuch," resumed the judge, "as the English law protects equally and

sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as the man Passepartout

has admitted that he violated the sacred pagoda of Malabar Hill, at

Bombay, on the 20th of October, I condemn the said Passepartout to

imprisonment for fifteen days and a fine of three hundred pounds."


"Three hundred pounds!" cried Passepartout, startled at the largeness

of the sum.


"Silence!" shouted the constable.


"And inasmuch," continued the judge, "as it is not proved that the act

was not done by the connivance of the master with the servant, and as

the master in any case must be held responsible for the acts of his

paid servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a week's imprisonment and a

fine of one hundred and fifty pounds."


Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction; if Phileas Fogg could be

detained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than time for the warrant

to arrive.  Passepartout was stupefied.  This sentence ruined his

master.  A wager of twenty thousand pounds lost, because he, like a

precious fool, had gone into that abominable pagoda!


Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not in the least

concern him, did not even lift his eyebrows while it was being

pronounced.  Just as the clerk was calling the next case, he rose, and

said, "I offer bail."


"You have that right," returned the judge.


Fix's blood ran cold, but he resumed his composure when he heard the

judge announce that the bail required for each prisoner would be one

thousand pounds.


"I will pay it at once," said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank-bills

from the carpet-bag, which Passepartout had by him, and placing them on

the clerk's desk.


"This sum will be restored to you upon your release from prison," said

the judge.  "Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail."


"Come!" said Phileas Fogg to his servant.


"But let them at least give me back my shoes!" cried Passepartout



"Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!" he muttered, as they were handed to

him.  "More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides, they pinch my feet."


Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed by the

crestfallen Passepartout.  Fix still nourished hopes that the robber

would not, after all, leave the two thousand pounds behind him, but

would decide to serve out his week in jail, and issued forth on Mr.

Fogg's traces.  That gentleman took a carriage, and the party were soon

landed on one of the quays.


The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbour, its signal of

departure hoisted at the mast-head.  Eleven o'clock was striking; Mr.

Fogg was an hour in advance of time.  Fix saw them leave the carriage

and push off in a boat for the steamer, and stamped his feet with



"The rascal is off, after all!" he exclaimed.  "Two thousand pounds

sacrificed!  He's as prodigal as a thief!  I'll follow him to the end

of the world if necessary; but, at the rate he is going on, the stolen

money will soon be exhausted."


The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture.  Since

leaving London, what with travelling expenses, bribes, the purchase of

the elephant, bails, and fines, Mr. Fogg had already spent more than

five thousand pounds on the way, and the percentage of the sum

recovered from the bank robber promised to the detectives, was rapidly






Chapter XVI






The Rangoon--one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company's boats plying

in the Chinese and Japanese seas--was a screw steamer, built of iron,

weighing about seventeen hundred and seventy tons, and with engines of

four hundred horse-power.  She was as fast, but not as well fitted up,

as the Mongolia, and Aouda was not as comfortably provided for on board

of her as Phileas Fogg could have wished.  However, the trip from

Calcutta to Hong Kong only comprised some three thousand five hundred

miles, occupying from ten to twelve days, and the young woman was not

difficult to please.


During the first days of the journey Aouda became better acquainted

with her protector, and constantly gave evidence of her deep gratitude

for what he had done.  The phlegmatic gentleman listened to her,

apparently at least, with coldness, neither his voice nor his manner

betraying the slightest emotion; but he seemed to be always on the

watch that nothing should be wanting to Aouda's comfort.  He visited

her regularly each day at certain hours, not so much to talk himself,

as to sit and hear her talk.  He treated her with the strictest

politeness, but with the precision of an automaton, the movements of

which had been arranged for this purpose.  Aouda did not quite know

what to make of him, though Passepartout had given her some hints of

his master's eccentricity, and made her smile by telling her of the

wager which was sending him round the world.  After all, she owed

Phileas Fogg her life, and she always regarded him through the exalting

medium of her gratitude.


Aouda confirmed the Parsee guide's narrative of her touching history.

She did, indeed, belong to the highest of the native races of India.

Many of the Parsee merchants have made great fortunes there by dealing

in cotton; and one of them, Sir Jametsee Jeejeebhoy, was made a baronet

by the English government.  Aouda was a relative of this great man, and

it was his cousin, Jeejeeh, whom she hoped to join at Hong Kong.

Whether she would find a protector in him she could not tell; but Mr.

Fogg essayed to calm her anxieties, and to assure her that everything

would be mathematically--he used the very word--arranged.  Aouda

fastened her great eyes, "clear as the sacred lakes of the Himalaya,"

upon him; but the intractable Fogg, as reserved as ever, did not seem

at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.


The first few days of the voyage passed prosperously, amid favourable

weather and propitious winds, and they soon came in sight of the great

Andaman, the principal of the islands in the Bay of Bengal, with its

picturesque Saddle Peak, two thousand four hundred feet high, looming

above the waters.  The steamer passed along near the shores, but the

savage Papuans, who are in the lowest scale of humanity, but are not,

as has been asserted, cannibals, did not make their appearance.


The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was superb.  Vast

forests of palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic mimosa, and

tree-like ferns covered the foreground, while behind, the graceful

outlines of the mountains were traced against the sky; and along the

coasts swarmed by thousands the precious swallows whose nests furnish a

luxurious dish to the tables of the Celestial Empire.  The varied

landscape afforded by the Andaman Islands was soon passed, however, and

the Rangoon rapidly approached the Straits of Malacca, which gave

access to the China seas.


What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to country,

doing all this while?  He had managed to embark on the Rangoon at

Calcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after leaving orders that,

if the warrant should arrive, it should be forwarded to him at Hong

Kong; and he hoped to conceal his presence to the end of the voyage.

It would have been difficult to explain why he was on board without

awakening Passepartout's suspicions, who thought him still at Bombay.

But necessity impelled him, nevertheless, to renew his acquaintance

with the worthy servant, as will be seen.


All the detective's hopes and wishes were now centred on Hong Kong; for

the steamer's stay at Singapore would be too brief to enable him to

take any steps there.  The arrest must be made at Hong Kong, or the

robber would probably escape him for ever.  Hong Kong was the last

English ground on which he would set foot; beyond, China, Japan,

America offered to Fogg an almost certain refuge.  If the warrant

should at last make its appearance at Hong Kong, Fix could arrest him

and give him into the hands of the local police, and there would be no

further trouble.  But beyond Hong Kong, a simple warrant would be of no

avail; an extradition warrant would be necessary, and that would result

in delays and obstacles, of which the rascal would take advantage to

elude justice.


Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours which he

spent in his cabin, and kept repeating to himself, "Now, either the

warrant will be at Hong Kong, in which case I shall arrest my man, or

it will not be there; and this time it is absolutely necessary that I

should delay his departure.  I have failed at Bombay, and I have failed

at Calcutta; if I fail at Hong Kong, my reputation is lost:  Cost what

it may, I must succeed!  But how shall I prevent his departure, if that

should turn out to be my last resource?"


Fix made up his mind that, if worst came to worst, he would make a

confidant of Passepartout, and tell him what kind of a fellow his

master really was.  That Passepartout was not Fogg's accomplice, he was

very certain.  The servant, enlightened by his disclosure, and afraid

of being himself implicated in the crime, would doubtless become an

ally of the detective.  But this method was a dangerous one, only to be

employed when everything else had failed.  A word from Passepartout to

his master would ruin all.  The detective was therefore in a sore

strait.  But suddenly a new idea struck him.  The presence of Aouda on

the Rangoon, in company with Phileas Fogg, gave him new material for



Who was this woman?  What combination of events had made her Fogg's

travelling companion?  They had evidently met somewhere between Bombay

and Calcutta; but where?  Had they met accidentally, or had Fogg gone

into the interior purposely in quest of this charming damsel?  Fix was

fairly puzzled.  He asked himself whether there had not been a wicked

elopement; and this idea so impressed itself upon his mind that he

determined to make use of the supposed intrigue.  Whether the young

woman were married or not, he would be able to create such difficulties

for Mr. Fogg at Hong Kong that he could not escape by paying any amount

of money.


But could he even wait till they reached Hong Kong?  Fogg had an

abominable way of jumping from one boat to another, and, before

anything could be effected, might get full under way again for Yokohama.


Fix decided that he must warn the English authorities, and signal the

Rangoon before her arrival.  This was easy to do, since the steamer

stopped at Singapore, whence there is a telegraphic wire to Hong Kong.

He finally resolved, moreover, before acting more positively, to

question Passepartout.  It would not be difficult to make him talk;

and, as there was no time to lose, Fix prepared to make himself known.


It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the Rangoon

was due at Singapore.


Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck.  Passepartout was

promenading up and down in the forward part of the steamer.  The

detective rushed forward with every appearance of extreme surprise, and

exclaimed, "You here, on the Rangoon?"


"What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?" returned the really astonished

Passepartout, recognising his crony of the Mongolia.  "Why, I left you

at Bombay, and here you are, on the way to Hong Kong!  Are you going

round the world too?"


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



"Hum!" said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed.  "But

how is it I have not seen you on board since we left Calcutta?"


"Oh, a trifle of sea-sickness--I've been staying in my berth.  The Gulf

of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian Ocean.  And how

is Mr. Fogg?"


"As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time!  But, Monsieur

Fix, you don't know that we have a young lady with us."


"A young lady?" replied the detective, not seeming to comprehend what

was said.


Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda's history, the affair at the

Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two thousand pounds,

the rescue, the arrest, and sentence of the Calcutta court, and the

restoration of Mr. Fogg and himself to liberty on bail.  Fix, who was

familiar with the last events, seemed to be equally ignorant of all

that Passepartout related; and the later was charmed to find so

interested a listener.


"But does your master propose to carry this young woman to Europe?"


"Not at all.  We are simply going to place her under the protection of

one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong Kong."


"Nothing to be done there," said Fix to himself, concealing his

disappointment.  "A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?"


"Willingly, Monsieur Fix.  We must at least have a friendly glass on

board the Rangoon."





Chapter XVII





The detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this interview,

though Fix was reserved, and did not attempt to induce his companion to

divulge any more facts concerning Mr. Fogg.  He caught a glimpse of

that mysterious gentleman once or twice; but Mr. Fogg usually confined

himself to the cabin, where he kept Aouda company, or, according to his

inveterate habit, took a hand at whist.


Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange chance

kept Fix still on the route that his master was pursuing.  It was

really worth considering why this certainly very amiable and complacent

person, whom he had first met at Suez, had then encountered on board

the Mongolia, who disembarked at Bombay, which he announced as his

destination, and now turned up so unexpectedly on the Rangoon, was

following Mr. Fogg's tracks step by step.  What was Fix's object?

Passepartout was ready to wager his Indian shoes--which he religiously

preserved--that Fix would also leave Hong Kong at the same time with

them, and probably on the same steamer.


Passepartout might have cudgelled his brain for a century without

hitting upon the real object which the detective had in view.  He never

could have imagined that Phileas Fogg was being tracked as a robber

around the globe.  But, as it is in human nature to attempt the

solution of every mystery, Passepartout suddenly discovered an

explanation of Fix's movements, which was in truth far from

unreasonable.  Fix, he thought, could only be an agent of Mr. Fogg's

friends at the Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and to ascertain

that he really went round the world as had been agreed upon.


"It's clear!" repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud of his

shrewdness.  "He's a spy sent to keep us in view!  That isn't quite the

thing, either, to be spying Mr. Fogg, who is so honourable a man!  Ah,

gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you dear!"


Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say nothing to

his master, lest he should be justly offended at this mistrust on the

part of his adversaries.  But he determined to chaff Fix, when he had

the chance, with mysterious allusions, which, however, need not betray

his real suspicions.


During the afternoon of Wednesday, 30th October, the Rangoon entered

the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula of that name from

Sumatra.  The mountainous and craggy islets intercepted the beauties of

this noble island from the view of the travellers.  The Rangoon weighed

anchor at Singapore the next day at four a.m., to receive coal, having

gained half a day on the prescribed time of her arrival.  Phileas Fogg

noted this gain in his journal, and then, accompanied by Aouda, who

betrayed a desire for a walk on shore, disembarked.


Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg's every movement, followed them cautiously,

without being himself perceived; while Passepartout, laughing in his

sleeve at Fix's manoeuvres, went about his usual errands.


The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are no

mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions.  It is a park

checkered by pleasant highways and avenues.  A handsome carriage, drawn

by a sleek pair of New Holland horses, carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda

into the midst of rows of palms with brilliant foliage, and of

clove-trees, whereof the cloves form the heart of a half-open flower.

Pepper plants replaced the prickly hedges of European fields;

sago-bushes, large ferns with gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of

this tropical clime; while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the air

with a penetrating perfume.  Agile and grinning bands of monkeys

skipped about in the trees, nor were tigers wanting in the jungles.


After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr. Fogg

returned to the town, which is a vast collection of heavy-looking,

irregular houses, surrounded by charming gardens rich in tropical

fruits and plants; and at ten o'clock they re-embarked, closely

followed by the detective, who had kept them constantly in sight.


Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes--a fruit

as large as good-sized apples, of a dark-brown colour outside and a

bright red within, and whose white pulp, melting in the mouth, affords

gourmands a delicious sensation--was waiting for them on deck.  He was

only too glad to offer some mangoes to Aouda, who thanked him very

gracefully for them.


At eleven o'clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbour, and in a

few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their forests, inhabited

by the most beautifully-furred tigers in the world, were lost to view.

Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred miles from the island of

Hong Kong, which is a little English colony near the Chinese coast.

Phileas Fogg hoped to accomplish the journey in six days, so as to be

in time for the steamer which would leave on the 6th of November for

Yokohama, the principal Japanese port.


The Rangoon had a large quota of passengers, many of whom disembarked

at Singapore, among them a number of Indians, Ceylonese, Chinamen,

Malays, and Portuguese, mostly second-class travellers.


The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the last

quarter of the moon.  The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at intervals

rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from the south-west, and thus

aided the steamer's progress.  The captain as often as possible put up

his sails, and under the double action of steam and sail the vessel

made rapid progress along the coasts of Anam and Cochin China.  Owing

to the defective construction of the Rangoon, however, unusual

precautions became necessary in unfavourable weather; but the loss of

time which resulted from this cause, while it nearly drove Passepartout

out of his senses, did not seem to affect his master in the least.

Passepartout blamed the captain, the engineer, and the crew, and

consigned all who were connected with the ship to the land where the

pepper grows.  Perhaps the thought of the gas, which was remorselessly

burning at his expense in Saville Row, had something to do with his hot



"You are in a great hurry, then," said Fix to him one day, "to reach

Hong Kong?"


"A very great hurry!"


"Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for Yokohama?"


"Terribly anxious."


"You believe in this journey around the world, then?"


"Absolutely.  Don't you, Mr. Fix?"


"I?  I don't believe a word of it."


"You're a sly dog!" said Passepartout, winking at him.


This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why.  Had the

Frenchman guessed his real purpose?  He knew not what to think.  But

how could Passepartout have discovered that he was a detective?  Yet,

in speaking as he did, the man evidently meant more than he expressed.


Passepartout went still further the next day; he could not hold his



"Mr. Fix," said he, in a bantering tone, "shall we be so unfortunate as

to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?"


"Why," responded Fix, a little embarrassed, "I don't know; perhaps--"


"Ah, if you would only go on with us!  An agent of the Peninsular

Company, you know, can't stop on the way!  You were only going to

Bombay, and here you are in China.  America is not far off, and from

America to Europe is only a step."


Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was as serene

as possible, and laughed with him.  But Passepartout persisted in

chaffing him by asking him if he made much by his present occupation.


"Yes, and no," returned Fix; "there is good and bad luck in such

things.  But you must understand that I don't travel at my own expense."


"Oh, I am quite sure of that!" cried Passepartout, laughing heartily.


Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself up to his

reflections.  He was evidently suspected; somehow or other the

Frenchman had found out that he was a detective.  But had he told his

master?  What part was he playing in all this: was he an accomplice or

not?  Was the game, then, up?  Fix spent several hours turning these

things over in his mind, sometimes thinking that all was lost, then

persuading himself that Fogg was ignorant of his presence, and then

undecided what course it was best to take.


Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last resolved

to deal plainly with Passepartout.  If he did not find it practicable

to arrest Fogg at Hong Kong, and if Fogg made preparations to leave

that last foothold of English territory, he, Fix, would tell

Passepartout all.  Either the servant was the accomplice of his master,

and in this case the master knew of his operations, and he should fail;

or else the servant knew nothing about the robbery, and then his

interest would be to abandon the robber.


Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout.  Meanwhile Phileas

Fogg moved about above them in the most majestic and unconscious

indifference.  He was passing methodically in his orbit around the

world, regardless of the lesser stars which gravitated around him.  Yet

there was near by what the astronomers would call a disturbing star,

which might have produced an agitation in this gentleman's heart.  But

no! the charms of Aouda failed to act, to Passepartout's great

surprise; and the disturbances, if they existed, would have been more

difficult to calculate than those of Uranus which led to the discovery

of Neptune.


It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read in

Aouda's eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master.  Phileas Fogg,

though brave and gallant, must be, he thought, quite heartless.  As to

the sentiment which this journey might have awakened in him, there was

clearly no trace of such a thing; while poor Passepartout existed in

perpetual reveries.


One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine-room, and was

observing the engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer threw the

screw out of the water.  The steam came hissing out of the valves; and

this made Passepartout indignant.


"The valves are not sufficiently charged!" he exclaimed.  "We are not

going.  Oh, these English!  If this was an American craft, we should

blow up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!"





Chapter XVIII





The weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage.  The wind,

obstinately remaining in the north-west, blew a gale, and retarded the

steamer.  The Rangoon rolled heavily and the passengers became

impatient of the long, monstrous waves which the wind raised before

their path.  A sort of tempest arose on the 3rd of November, the squall

knocking the vessel about with fury, and the waves running high.  The

Rangoon reefed all her sails, and even the rigging proved too much,

whistling and shaking amid the squall.  The steamer was forced to

proceed slowly, and the captain estimated that she would reach Hong

Kong twenty hours behind time, and more if the storm lasted.


Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be

struggling especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity.  He

never changed countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty

hours, by making him too late for the Yokohama boat, would almost

inevitably cause the loss of the wager.  But this man of nerve

manifested neither impatience nor annoyance; it seemed as if the storm

were a part of his programme, and had been foreseen.  Aouda was amazed

to find him as calm as he had been from the first time she saw him.


Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light.  The storm

greatly pleased him.  His satisfaction would have been complete had the

Rangoon been forced to retreat before the violence of wind and waves.

Each delay filled him with hope, for it became more and more probable

that Fogg would be obliged to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now

the heavens themselves became his allies, with the gusts and squalls.

It mattered not that they made him sea-sick--he made no account of this

inconvenience; and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects,

his spirit bounded with hopeful exultation.


Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious weather.

Everything had gone so well till now!  Earth and sea had seemed to be

at his master's service; steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and

steam united to speed his journey.  Had the hour of adversity come?

Passepartout was as much excited as if the twenty thousand pounds were

to come from his own pocket.  The storm exasperated him, the gale made

him furious, and he longed to lash the obstinate sea into obedience.

Poor fellow!  Fix carefully concealed from him his own satisfaction,

for, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely have restrained

himself from personal violence.


Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted, being

unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head to aid the

progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew.  He overwhelmed

the captain, officers, and sailors, who could not help laughing at his

impatience, with all sorts of questions.  He wanted to know exactly how

long the storm was going to last; whereupon he was referred to the

barometer, which seemed to have no intention of rising.  Passepartout

shook it, but with no perceptible effect; for neither shaking nor

maledictions could prevail upon it to change its mind.


On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm lessened

its violence; the wind veered southward, and was once more favourable.

Passepartout cleared up with the weather.  Some of the sails were

unfurled, and the Rangoon resumed its most rapid speed.  The time lost

could not, however, be regained.  Land was not signalled until five

o'clock on the morning of the 6th; the steamer was due on the 5th.

Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours behind-hand, and the Yokohama

steamer would, of course, be missed.


The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge, to

guide the Rangoon through the channels to the port of Hong Kong.

Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for Yokohama;

but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark of hope, which

still remained till the last moment.  He had confided his anxiety to

Fix who--the sly rascal!--tried to console him by saying that Mr. Fogg

would be in time if he took the next boat; but this only put

Passepartout in a passion.


Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach the

pilot, and tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would leave

Hong Kong for Yokohama.


"At high tide to-morrow morning," answered the pilot.


"Ah!" said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.


Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have embraced the

pilot, while Fix would have been glad to twist his neck.


"What is the steamer's name?" asked Mr. Fogg.


"The Carnatic."


"Ought she not to have gone yesterday?"


"Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her

departure was postponed till to-morrow."


"Thank you," returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the saloon.


Passepartout clasped the pilot's hand and shook it heartily in his

delight, exclaiming, "Pilot, you are the best of good fellows!"


The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses won him

this enthusiastic greeting.  He remounted the bridge, and guided the

steamer through the flotilla of junks, tankas, and fishing boats which

crowd the harbour of Hong Kong.


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

going ashore.


Chance had strangely favoured Phileas Fogg, for had not the Carnatic

been forced to lie over for repairing her boilers, she would have left

on the 6th of November, and the passengers for Japan would have been

obliged to await for a week the sailing of the next steamer.  Mr. Fogg

was, it is true, twenty-four hours behind his time; but this could not

seriously imperil the remainder of his tour.


The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San Francisco

made a direct connection with that from Hong Kong, and it could not

sail until the latter reached Yokohama; and if Mr. Fogg was twenty-four

hours late on reaching Yokohama, this time would no doubt be easily

regained in the voyage of twenty-two days across the Pacific.  He found

himself, then, about twenty-four hours behind-hand, thirty-five days

after leaving London.


The Carnatic was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the next morning.

Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to his business there,

which was to deposit Aouda safely with her wealthy relative.


On landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they repaired to

the Club Hotel.  A room was engaged for the young woman, and Mr. Fogg,

after seeing that she wanted for nothing, set out in search of her

cousin Jeejeeh.  He instructed Passepartout to remain at the hotel

until his return, that Aouda might not be left entirely alone.


Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt, every one

would know so wealthy and considerable a personage as the Parsee

merchant.  Meeting a broker, he made the inquiry, to learn that Jeejeeh

had left China two years before, and, retiring from business with an

immense fortune, had taken up his residence in Europe--in Holland the

broker thought, with the merchants of which country he had principally

traded.  Phileas Fogg returned to the hotel, begged a moment's

conversation with Aouda, and without more ado, apprised her that

Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong Kong, but probably in Holland.


Aouda at first said nothing.  She passed her hand across her forehead,

and reflected a few moments.  Then, in her sweet, soft voice, she said:

"What ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?"


"It is very simple," responded the gentleman.  "Go on to Europe."


"But I cannot intrude--"


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





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


Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very gracious to

him, was going to continue the journey with them, went off at a brisk

gait to obey his master's order.





Chapter XIX






Hong Kong is an island which came into the possession of the English by

the Treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the colonising genius

of the English has created upon it an important city and an excellent

port.  The island is situated at the mouth of the Canton River, and is

separated by about sixty miles from the Portuguese town of Macao, on

the opposite coast.  Hong Kong has beaten Macao in the struggle for the

Chinese trade, and now the greater part of the transportation of

Chinese goods finds its depot at the former place.  Docks, hospitals,

wharves, a Gothic cathedral, a government house, macadamised streets,

give to Hong Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey

transferred by some strange magic to the antipodes.


Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the

Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and other

modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese, and Europeans

who passed to and fro in the streets.  Hong Kong seemed to him not

unlike Bombay, Calcutta, and Singapore, since, like them, it betrayed

everywhere the evidence of English supremacy.  At the Victoria port he

found a confused mass of ships of all nations: English, French,

American, and Dutch, men-of-war and trading vessels, Japanese and

Chinese junks, sempas, tankas, and flower-boats, which formed so many

floating parterres.  Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the

natives who seemed very old and were dressed in yellow.  On going into

a barber's to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all at

least eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to wear yellow,

which is the Imperial colour.  Passepartout, without exactly knowing

why, thought this very funny.


On reaching the quay where they were to embark on the Carnatic, he was

not astonished to find Fix walking up and down.  The detective seemed

very much disturbed and disappointed.


"This is bad," muttered Passepartout, "for the gentlemen of the Reform

Club!"  He accosted Fix with a merry smile, as if he had not perceived

that gentleman's chagrin.  The detective had, indeed, good reasons to

inveigh against the bad luck which pursued him.  The warrant had not

come!  It was certainly on the way, but as certainly it could not now

reach Hong Kong for several days; and, this being the last English

territory on Mr. Fogg's route, the robber would escape, unless he could

manage to detain him.


"Well, Monsieur Fix," said Passepartout, "have you decided to go with

us so far as America?"


"Yes," returned Fix, through his set teeth.


"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout, laughing heartily.  "I knew you could

not persuade yourself to separate from us.  Come and engage your berth."


They entered the steamer office and secured cabins for four persons.

The clerk, as he gave them the tickets, informed them that, the repairs

on the Carnatic having been completed, the steamer would leave that

very evening, and not next morning, as had been announced.


"That will suit my master all the better," said Passepartout.  "I will

go and let him know."


Fix now decided to make a bold move; he resolved to tell Passepartout

all.  It seemed to be the only possible means of keeping Phileas Fogg

several days longer at Hong Kong.  He accordingly invited his companion

into a tavern which caught his eye on the quay.  On entering, they

found themselves in a large room handsomely decorated, at the end of

which was a large camp-bed furnished with cushions.  Several persons

lay upon this bed in a deep sleep.  At the small tables which were

arranged about the room some thirty customers were drinking English

beer, porter, gin, and brandy; smoking, the while, long red clay pipes

stuffed with little balls of opium mingled with essence of rose.  From

time to time one of the smokers, overcome with the narcotic, would slip

under the table, whereupon the waiters, taking him by the head and

feet, carried and laid him upon the bed.  The bed already supported

twenty of these stupefied sots.


Fix and Passepartout saw that they were in a smoking-house haunted by

those wretched, cadaverous, idiotic creatures to whom the English

merchants sell every year the miserable drug called opium, to the

amount of one million four hundred thousand pounds--thousands devoted

to one of the most despicable vices which afflict humanity!  The

Chinese government has in vain attempted to deal with the evil by

stringent laws.  It passed gradually from the rich, to whom it was at

first exclusively reserved, to the lower classes, and then its ravages

could not be arrested.  Opium is smoked everywhere, at all times, by

men and women, in the Celestial Empire; and, once accustomed to it, the

victims cannot dispense with it, except by suffering horrible bodily

contortions and agonies.  A great smoker can smoke as many as eight

pipes a day; but he dies in five years.  It was in one of these dens

that Fix and Passepartout, in search of a friendly glass, found

themselves.  Passepartout had no money, but willingly accepted Fix's

invitation in the hope of returning the obligation at some future time.


They ordered two bottles of port, to which the Frenchman did ample

justice, whilst Fix observed him with close attention.  They chatted

about the journey, and Passepartout was especially merry at the idea

that Fix was going to continue it with them.  When the bottles were

empty, however, he rose to go and tell his master of the change in the

time of the sailing of the Carnatic.


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


"What for, Mr. Fix?"


"I want to have a serious talk with you."


"A serious talk!" cried Passepartout, drinking up the little wine that

was left in the bottom of his glass.  "Well, we'll talk about it

to-morrow; I haven't time now."


"Stay!  What I have to say concerns your master."


Passepartout, at this, looked attentively at his companion.  Fix's face

seemed to have a singular expression.  He resumed his seat.


"What is it that you have to say?"


Fix placed his hand upon Passepartout's arm, and, lowering his voice,

said, "You have guessed who I am?"


"Parbleu!" said Passepartout, smiling.


"Then I'm going to tell you everything--"


"Now that I know everything, my friend!  Ah! that's very good.  But go

on, go on.  First, though, let me tell you that those gentlemen have

put themselves to a useless expense."


"Useless!" said Fix.  "You speak confidently.  It's clear that you

don't know how large the sum is."


"Of course I do," returned Passepartout.  "Twenty thousand pounds."


"Fifty-five thousand!" answered Fix, pressing his companion's hand.


"What!" cried the Frenchman.  "Has Monsieur Fogg dared--fifty-five

thousand pounds!  Well, there's all the more reason for not losing an

instant," he continued, getting up hastily.


Fix pushed Passepartout back in his chair, and resumed: "Fifty-five

thousand pounds; and if I succeed, I get two thousand pounds.  If

you'll help me, I'll let you have five hundred of them."


"Help you?" cried Passepartout, whose eyes were standing wide open.


"Yes; help me keep Mr. Fogg here for two or three days."


"Why, what are you saying?  Those gentlemen are not satisfied with

following my master and suspecting his honour, but they must try to put

obstacles in his way!  I blush for them!"


"What do you mean?"


"I mean that it is a piece of shameful trickery.  They might as well

waylay Mr. Fogg and put his money in their pockets!"


"That's just what we count on doing."


"It's a conspiracy, then," cried Passepartout, who became more and more

excited as the liquor mounted in his head, for he drank without

perceiving it.  "A real conspiracy!  And gentlemen, too. Bah!"


Fix began to be puzzled.


"Members of the Reform Club!" continued Passepartout.  "You must know,

Monsieur Fix, that my master is an honest man, and that, when he makes

a wager, he tries to win it fairly!"


"But who do you think I am?" asked Fix, looking at him intently.


"Parbleu!  An agent of the members of the Reform Club, sent out here to

interrupt my master's journey.  But, though I found you out some time

ago, I've taken good care to say nothing about it to Mr. Fogg."


"He knows nothing, then?"


"Nothing," replied Passepartout, again emptying his glass.


The detective passed his hand across his forehead, hesitating before he

spoke again.  What should he do?  Passepartout's mistake seemed

sincere, but it made his design more difficult.  It was evident that

the servant was not the master's accomplice, as Fix had been inclined

to suspect.


"Well," said the detective to himself, "as he is not an accomplice, he

will help me."


He had no time to lose: Fogg must be detained at Hong Kong, so he

resolved to make a clean breast of it.


"Listen to me," said Fix abruptly.  "I am not, as you think, an agent

of the members of the Reform Club--"


"Bah!" retorted Passepartout, with an air of raillery.


"I am a police detective, sent out here by the London office."


"You, a detective?"


"I will prove it.  Here is my commission."


Passepartout was speechless with astonishment when Fix displayed this

document, the genuineness of which could not be doubted.


"Mr. Fogg's wager," resumed Fix, "is only a pretext, of which you and

the gentlemen of the Reform are dupes.  He had a motive for securing

your innocent complicity."


"But why?"


"Listen.  On the 28th of last September a robbery of fifty-five

thousand pounds was committed at the Bank of England by a person whose

description was fortunately secured.  Here is his description; it

answers exactly to that of Mr. Phileas Fogg."


"What nonsense!" cried Passepartout, striking the table with his fist.

"My master is the most honourable of men!"


"How can you tell?  You know scarcely anything about him.  You went

into his service the day he came away; and he came away on a foolish

pretext, without trunks, and carrying a large amount in banknotes.  And

yet you are bold enough to assert that he is an honest man!"


"Yes, yes," repeated the poor fellow, mechanically.


"Would you like to be arrested as his accomplice?"


Passepartout, overcome by what he had heard, held his head between his

hands, and did not dare to look at the detective.  Phileas Fogg, the

saviour of Aouda, that brave and generous man, a robber!  And yet how

many presumptions there were against him!  Passepartout essayed to

reject the suspicions which forced themselves upon his mind; he did not

wish to believe that his master was guilty.


"Well, what do you want of me?" said he, at last, with an effort.


"See here," replied Fix; "I have tracked Mr. Fogg to this place, but as

yet I have failed to receive the warrant of arrest for which I sent to

London.  You must help me to keep him here in Hong Kong--"


"I!  But I--"


"I will share with you the two thousand pounds reward offered by the

Bank of England."


"Never!" replied Passepartout, who tried to rise, but fell back,

exhausted in mind and body.


"Mr. Fix," he stammered, "even should what you say be true--if my

master is really the robber you are seeking for--which I deny--I have

been, am, in his service; I have seen his generosity and goodness; and

I will never betray him--not for all the gold in the world.  I come

from a village where they don't eat that kind of bread!"


"You refuse?"


"I refuse."


"Consider that I've said nothing," said Fix; "and let us drink."


"Yes; let us drink!"


Passepartout felt himself yielding more and more to the effects of the

liquor.  Fix, seeing that he must, at all hazards, be separated from

his master, wished to entirely overcome him.  Some pipes full of opium

lay upon the table.  Fix slipped one into Passepartout's hand.  He took

it, put it between his lips, lit it, drew several puffs, and his head,

becoming heavy under the influence of the narcotic, fell upon the table.


"At last!" said Fix, seeing Passepartout unconscious.  "Mr. Fogg will

not be informed of the Carnatic's departure; and, if he is, he will

have to go without this cursed Frenchman!"


And, after paying his bill, Fix left the tavern.





Chapter XX





While these events were passing at the opium-house, Mr. Fogg,

unconscious of the danger he was in of losing the steamer, was quietly

escorting Aouda about the streets of the English quarter, making the

necessary purchases for the long voyage before them.  It was all very

well for an Englishman like Mr. Fogg to make the tour of the world with

a carpet-bag; a lady could not be expected to travel comfortably under

such conditions.  He acquitted his task with characteristic serenity,

and invariably replied to the remonstrances of his fair companion, who

was confused by his patience and generosity:


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


The purchases made, they returned to the hotel, where they dined at a

sumptuously served table-d'hote; after which Aouda, shaking hands with

her protector after the English fashion, retired to her room for rest.

Mr. Fogg absorbed himself throughout the evening in the perusal of The

Times and Illustrated London News.


Had he been capable of being astonished at anything, it would have been

not to see his servant return at bedtime.  But, knowing that the

steamer was not to leave for Yokohama until the next morning, he did

not disturb himself about the matter.  When Passepartout did not appear

the next morning to answer his master's bell, Mr. Fogg, not betraying

the least vexation, contented himself with taking his carpet-bag,

calling Aouda, and sending for a palanquin.


It was then eight o'clock; at half-past nine, it being then high tide,

the Carnatic would leave the harbour.  Mr. Fogg and Aouda got into the

palanquin, their luggage being brought after on a wheelbarrow, and half

an hour later stepped upon the quay whence they were to embark.  Mr.

Fogg then learned that the Carnatic had sailed the evening before.  He

had expected to find not only the steamer, but his domestic, and was

forced to give up both; but no sign of disappointment appeared on his

face, and he merely remarked to Aouda, "It is an accident, madam;

nothing more."


At this moment a man who had been observing him attentively approached.

It was Fix, who, bowing, addressed Mr. Fogg:  "Were you not, like me,

sir, a passenger by the Rangoon, which arrived yesterday?"


"I was, sir," replied Mr. Fogg coldly.  "But I have not the honour--"


"Pardon me; I thought I should find your servant here."


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


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


"No," said Aouda.  "He has not made his appearance since yesterday.

Could he have gone on board the Carnatic without us?"


"Without you, madam?" answered the detective.  "Excuse me, did you

intend to sail in the Carnatic?"


"Yes, sir."


"So did I, madam, and I am excessively disappointed.  The Carnatic, its

repairs being completed, left Hong Kong twelve hours before the stated

time, without any notice being given; and we must now wait a week for

another steamer."


As he said "a week" Fix felt his heart leap for joy.  Fogg detained at

Hong Kong for a week!  There would be time for the warrant to arrive,

and fortune at last favoured the representative of the law.  His horror

may be imagined when he heard Mr. Fogg say, in his placid voice, "But

there are other vessels besides the Carnatic, it seems to me, in the

harbour of Hong Kong."


And, offering his arm to Aouda, he directed his steps toward the docks

in search of some craft about to start.  Fix, stupefied, followed; it

seemed as if he were attached to Mr. Fogg by an invisible thread.

Chance, however, appeared really to have abandoned the man it had

hitherto served so well.  For three hours Phileas Fogg wandered about

the docks, with the determination, if necessary, to charter a vessel to

carry him to Yokohama; but he could only find vessels which were

loading or unloading, and which could not therefore set sail.  Fix

began to hope again.


But Mr. Fogg, far from being discouraged, was continuing his search,

resolved not to stop if he had to resort to Macao, when he was accosted

by a sailor on one of the wharves.


"Is your honour looking for a boat?"


"Have you a boat ready to sail?"


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


"Does she go fast?"


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




"Your honour will be satisfied with her.  Is it for a sea excursion?"


"No; for a voyage."


"A voyage?"


"Yes, will you agree to take me to Yokohama?"


The sailor leaned on the railing, opened his eyes wide, and said, "Is

your honour joking?"


"No.  I have missed the Carnatic, and I must get to Yokohama by the

14th at the latest, to take the boat for San Francisco."


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


"I offer you a hundred pounds per day, and an additional reward of two

hundred pounds if I reach Yokohama in time."


"Are you in earnest?"


"Very much so."


The pilot walked away a little distance, and gazed out to sea,

evidently struggling between the anxiety to gain a large sum and the

fear of venturing so far.  Fix was in mortal suspense.


Mr. Fogg turned to Aouda and asked her, "You would not be afraid, would

you, madam?"


"Not with you, Mr. Fogg," was her answer.


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


"Well, pilot?" said Mr. Fogg.


"Well, your honour," replied he, "I could not risk myself, my men, or

my little boat of scarcely twenty tons on so long a voyage at this time

of year.  Besides, we could not reach Yokohama in time, for it is

sixteen hundred and sixty miles from Hong Kong."


"Only sixteen hundred," said Mr. Fogg.


"It's the same thing."


Fix breathed more freely.


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


Fix ceased to breathe at all.


"How?" asked Mr. Fogg.


"By going to Nagasaki, at the extreme south of Japan, or even to

Shanghai, which is only eight hundred miles from here.  In going to

Shanghai we should not be forced to sail wide of the Chinese coast,

which would be a great advantage, as the currents run northward, and

would aid us."


"Pilot," said Mr. Fogg, "I must take the American steamer at Yokohama,

and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki."


"Why not?" returned the pilot.  "The San Francisco steamer does not

start from Yokohama.  It puts in at Yokohama and Nagasaki, but it

starts from Shanghai."


"You are sure of that?"




"And when does the boat leave Shanghai?"


"On the 11th, at seven in the evening.  We have, therefore, four days

before us, that is ninety-six hours; and in that time, if we had good

luck and a south-west wind, and the sea was calm, we could make those

eight hundred miles to Shanghai."


"And you could go--"


"In an hour; as soon as provisions could be got aboard and the sails

put up."


"It is a bargain.  Are you the master of the boat?"


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


"Would you like some earnest-money?"


"If it would not put your honour out--"


"Here are two hundred pounds on account sir," added Phileas Fogg,

turning to Fix, "if you would like to take advantage--"


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


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


"But poor Passepartout?" urged Aouda, who was much disturbed by the

servant's disappearance.


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


While Fix, in a feverish, nervous state, repaired to the pilot-boat,

the others directed their course to the police-station at Hong Kong.

Phileas Fogg there gave Passepartout's description, and left a sum of

money to be spent in the search for him.  The same formalities having

been gone through at the French consulate, and the palanquin having

stopped at the hotel for the luggage, which had been sent back there,

they returned to the wharf.


It was now three o'clock; and pilot-boat No. 43, with its crew on

board, and its provisions stored away, was ready for departure.


The Tankadere was a neat little craft of twenty tons, as gracefully

built as if she were a racing yacht.  Her shining copper sheathing, her

galvanised iron-work, her deck, white as ivory, betrayed the pride

taken by John Bunsby in making her presentable.  Her two masts leaned a

trifle backward; she carried brigantine, foresail, storm-jib, and

standing-jib, and was well rigged for running before the wind; and she

seemed capable of brisk speed, which, indeed, she had already proved by

gaining several prizes in pilot-boat races.  The crew of the Tankadere

was composed of John Bunsby, the master, and four hardy mariners, who

were familiar with the Chinese seas.  John Bunsby, himself, a man of

forty-five or thereabouts, vigorous, sunburnt, with a sprightly

expression of the eye, and energetic and self-reliant countenance,

would have inspired confidence in the most timid.


Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix already

installed.  Below deck was a square cabin, of which the walls bulged

out in the form of cots, above a circular divan; in the centre was a

table provided with a swinging lamp.  The accommodation was confined,

but neat.


"I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you," said Mr. Fogg to Fix,

who bowed without responding.


The detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting by the

kindness of Mr. Fogg.


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



The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past three.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a last glance at the

quay, in the hope of espying Passepartout.  Fix was not without his

fears lest chance should direct the steps of the unfortunate servant,

whom he had so badly treated, in this direction; in which case an

explanation the reverse of satisfactory to the detective must have

ensued.  But the Frenchman did not appear, and, without doubt, was

still lying under the stupefying influence of the opium.


John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start, and the

Tankadere, taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail, and

standing-jib, bounded briskly forward over the waves.





Chapter XXI






This voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture on a craft of

twenty tons, and at that season of the year.  The Chinese seas are

usually boisterous, subject to terrible gales of wind, and especially

during the equinoxes; and it was now early November.


It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry his

passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day; but he

would have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudent

even to attempt to reach Shanghai.  But John Bunsby believed in the

Tankadere, which rode on the waves like a seagull; and perhaps he was

not wrong.


Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of Hong

Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favourable winds, conducted

herself admirably.


"I do not need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, when they got into the open

sea, "to advise you to use all possible speed."


"Trust me, your honour.  We are carrying all the sail the wind will let

us.  The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we are going

into port."


"Its your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."


Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing like a

sailor, gazed without staggering at the swelling waters.  The young

woman, who was seated aft, was profoundly affected as she looked out

upon the ocean, darkening now with the twilight, on which she had

ventured in so frail a vessel.  Above her head rustled the white sails,

which seemed like great white wings.  The boat, carried forward by the

wind, seemed to be flying in the air.


Night came.  The moon was entering her first quarter, and her

insufficient light would soon die out in the mist on the horizon.

Clouds were rising from the east, and already overcast a part of the



The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in these

seas crowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions are not

uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the least shock

would shatter the gallant little craft.


Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation.  He kept apart

from his fellow-travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg's taciturn tastes;

besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose favours he had

accepted.  He was thinking, too, of the future.  It seemed certain that

Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the boat for

San Francisco; and the vast extent of America would ensure him impunity

and safety.  Fogg's plan appeared to him the simplest in the world.

Instead of sailing directly from England to the United States, like a

common villain, he had traversed three quarters of the globe, so as to

gain the American continent more surely; and there, after throwing the

police off his track, he would quietly enjoy himself with the fortune

stolen from the bank.  But, once in the United States, what should he,

Fix, do?  Should he abandon this man?  No, a hundred times no!  Until

he had secured his extradition, he would not lose sight of him for an

hour.  It was his duty, and he would fulfil it to the end.  At all

events, there was one thing to be thankful for; Passepartout was not

with his master; and it was above all important, after the confidences

Fix had imparted to him, that the servant should never have speech with

his master.


Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so strangely

disappeared.  Looking at the matter from every point of view, it did

not seem to him impossible that, by some mistake, the man might have

embarked on the Carnatic at the last moment; and this was also Aouda's

opinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy fellow to whom

she owed so much.  They might then find him at Yokohama; for, if the

Carnatic was carrying him thither, it would be easy to ascertain if he

had been on board.


A brisk breeze arose about ten o'clock; but, though it might have been

prudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after carefully examining the

heavens, let the craft remain rigged as before.  The Tankadere bore

sail admirably, as she drew a great deal of water, and everything was

prepared for high speed in case of a gale.


Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight, having been

already preceded by Fix, who had lain down on one of the cots.  The

pilot and crew remained on deck all night.


At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had made more

than one hundred miles.  The log indicated a mean speed of between

eight and nine miles.  The Tankadere still carried all sail, and was

accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed.  If the wind held as it

was, the chances would be in her favour.  During the day she kept along

the coast, where the currents were favourable; the coast, irregular in

profile, and visible sometimes across the clearings, was at most five

miles distant.  The sea was less boisterous, since the wind came off

land--a fortunate circumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owing

to its small tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.


The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from the

south-west.  The pilot put up his poles, but took them down again

within two hours, as the wind freshened up anew.


Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the sea, ate

with a good appetite, Fix being invited to share their repast, which he

accepted with secret chagrin.  To travel at this man's expense and live

upon his provisions was not palatable to him.  Still, he was obliged to

eat, and so he ate.


When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said, "sir"--this

"sir" scorched his lips, and he had to control himself to avoid

collaring this "gentleman"--"sir, you have been very kind to give me a

passage on this boat.  But, though my means will not admit of my

expending them as freely as you, I must ask to pay my share--"


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


"But, if I insist--"


"No, sir," repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a reply.

"This enters into my general expenses."


Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward, where he

ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.


Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was in high

hope.  He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would reach Shanghai

in time; to which that gentleman responded that he counted upon it.

The crew set to work in good earnest, inspired by the reward to be

gained.  There was not a sheet which was not tightened not a sail which

was not vigorously hoisted; not a lurch could be charged to the man at

the helm.  They worked as desperately as if they were contesting in a

Royal yacht regatta.


By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had been

accomplished from Hong Kong, and Mr. Fogg might hope that he would be

able to reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal; in

which case, the many misadventures which had overtaken him since he

left London would not seriously affect his journey.


The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate the island

of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours of the night, and

crossed the Tropic of Cancer.  The sea was very rough in the straits,

full of eddies formed by the counter-currents, and the chopping waves

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


At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens seemed

to predict a gale.  The barometer announced a speedy change, the

mercury rising and falling capriciously; the sea also, in the

south-east, raised long surges which indicated a tempest.  The sun had

set the evening before in a red mist, in the midst of the

phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.


John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the heavens,

muttering indistinctly between his teeth.  At last he said in a low

voice to Mr. Fogg, "Shall I speak out to your honour?"


"Of course."


"Well, we are going to have a squall."


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


"South.  Look! a typhoon is coming up."


"Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us forward."


"Oh, if you take it that way," said John Bunsby, "I've nothing more to

say." John Bunsby's suspicions were confirmed.  At a less advanced

season of the year the typhoon, according to a famous meteorologist,

would have passed away like a luminous cascade of electric flame; but

in the winter equinox it was to be feared that it would burst upon them

with great violence.


The pilot took his precautions in advance.  He reefed all sail, the

pole-masts were dispensed with; all hands went forward to the bows.  A

single triangular sail, of strong canvas, was hoisted as a storm-jib,

so as to hold the wind from behind.  Then they waited.


John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but this

imprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the boat

bouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant.  Neither Mr. Fogg, Fix,

nor Aouda consented to leave the deck.


The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o'clock.

With but its bit of sail, the Tankadere was lifted like a feather by a

wind, an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given.  To compare her

speed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam would be

below the truth.


The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on by

monstrous waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal to

theirs.  Twenty times she seemed almost to be submerged by these

mountains of water which rose behind her; but the adroit management of

the pilot saved her.  The passengers were often bathed in spray, but

they submitted to it philosophically.  Fix cursed it, no doubt; but

Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector, whose coolness amazed

her, showed herself worthy of him, and bravely weathered the storm.  As

for Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of his



Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to the north;

but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore down from

the north-west.  The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves, shook

and rolled terribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence.  At

night the tempest increased in violence.  John Bunsby saw the approach

of darkness and the rising of the storm with dark misgivings.  He

thought awhile, and then asked his crew if it was not time to slacken

speed.  After a consultation he approached Mr. Fogg, and said, "I

think, your honour, that we should do well to make for one of the ports

on the coast."


"I think so too."


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


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


"And that is--"




The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend; he could scarcely

realise so much determination and tenacity.  Then he cried, "Well--yes!

Your honour is right.  To Shanghai!"


So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.


The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft did

not founder.  Twice it could have been all over with her if the crew

had not been constantly on the watch.  Aouda was exhausted, but did not

utter a complaint.  More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect her from

the violence of the waves.


Day reappeared.  The tempest still raged with undiminished fury; but

the wind now returned to the south-east.  It was a favourable change,

and the Tankadere again bounded forward on this mountainous sea, though

the waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and counter-shocks

which would have crushed a craft less solidly built.  From time to time

the coast was visible through the broken mist, but no vessel was in

sight.  The Tankadere was alone upon the sea.


There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became more distinct

as the sun descended toward the horizon.  The tempest had been as brief

as terrific.  The passengers, thoroughly exhausted, could now eat a

little, and take some repose.


The night was comparatively quiet.  Some of the sails were again

hoisted, and the speed of the boat was very good.  The next morning at

dawn they espied the coast, and John Bunsby was able to assert that

they were not one hundred miles from Shanghai.  A hundred miles, and

only one day to traverse them!  That very evening Mr. Fogg was due at

Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss the steamer to Yokohama.  Had

there been no storm, during which several hours were lost, they would

be at this moment within thirty miles of their destination.


The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it.  All

sails were now hoisted, and at noon the Tankadere was within forty-five

miles of Shanghai.  There remained yet six hours in which to accomplish

that distance.  All on board feared that it could not be done, and

every one--Phileas Fogg, no doubt, excepted--felt his heart beat with

impatience.  The boat must keep up an average of nine miles an hour,

and the wind was becoming calmer every moment!  It was a capricious

breeze, coming from the coast, and after it passed the sea became

smooth.  Still, the Tankadere was so light, and her fine sails caught

the fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the currents John

Bunsby found himself at six o'clock not more than ten miles from the

mouth of Shanghai River.  Shanghai itself is situated at least twelve

miles up the stream.  At seven they were still three miles from

Shanghai.  The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward of two hundred

pounds was evidently on the point of escaping him.  He looked at Mr.

Fogg.  Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil; and yet his whole fortune w