Kitabı oku: «Round the World in Eighty Days», sayfa 12

CHAPTER XXXI

In which the Detective forwards Mr. Fogg's Interest considerably.

Phileas Fogg was twenty hours behind time, and Passe-partout, the involuntary cause of the delay, was desperate; he had decidedly ruined his master.

The detective approached Mr. Fogg, and, looking at him attentively, said, "Seriously, sir, are you really in such a hurry?"

"Very seriously I am," replied Fogg.

"It is absolutely necessary, then, for you to be in New York on the 11th – before the departure of the English mail-steamer?"

"I have a very great interest in so doing."

"If, then, your voyage had not been interrupted, you would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?"

"Yes, with twelve hours to spare."

"Well, you are now twenty hours late. Twelve from twenty leaves eight – you must regain those eight hours. Do you wish to try?"

"On foot?"

"No, on a sledge," replied Fix; "on a sledge with sails; a man has proposed it to me."

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

Mr. Fogg did not immediately reply, but Fix pointed out the man, and Fogg went up and spoke to him. Shortly after they entered a hut built just beyond the fort. Here Mr. Fogg was shown a very curious vehicle – a sort of sledge, with room for five or six people. A high mast was firmly supported by wire rigging, and carried a large sail; it was also furnished with a rudder. In fact it was a sledge rigged like a cutter. During the winter, on the frozen plains, the trains cannot run, and these sledges make rapid passages from station to station, and when running before the wind they equal, if they do not exceed, the speed of the train.

The arrangement was soon made. The strong west wind was in their favour. The snow was hard, and Mr. Mudge, the owner, was confident of being able to reach Omaha in a few hours. Thence were plenty of trains to Chicago and New York. It was just possible to recover the lost time, and they did not hesitate to make the attempt.

Mr. Fogg did not wish to expose Aouda to the cold, and suggested that she should remain at the station with Passe-partout, who would escort her to England under more favourable circumstances; but she refused to leave Mr. Fogg, greatly to the delight of Passe-partout, who would not leave his master alone with Fix.

The detective's thoughts would be difficult to guess. Was his conviction shaken by Fogg's return, or did he still regard him as a scoundrel who hoped to be safe in England on his return? Perhaps Fix's opinion concerning Fogg had altered; but he would do his duty, nevertheless; and he would do his duty and hasten his return to England as much as possible.

At eight o'clock the sledge was ready. The passengers took their places, the sails were hoisted, and the vehicle sped over the snow at forty miles an hour. The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the crow flies, is two hundred miles at most. If the wind held they could reach Omaha by one o'clock, if no accident happened.

What a journey it was! The travellers huddled close together, unable to speak in consequence of the intense cold. The sledge glided over the snow like a boat on a lake, and when the wind rose it was almost lifted off the ground. Mudge steered in a straight line, and counteracted the occasional lurches of the vessel. They hoisted all sail, and certainly could not be going less than forty miles an hour.

"If nothing carries away," said Mudge, "we shall get there in time."

Mr. Mudge had an interest in accomplishing the journey, for Mr. Fogg, as usual, had promised him a handsome reward.

The prairie was as flat as possible, and Mudge steered perfectly straight, taking the chord of the arc described by the railroad, which follows the right bank of the Platte River. Mudge was not afraid of being stopped by the stream, for it was frozen over. So the way was free from all obstacles, and there were but two things to fear – an accident or a change of wind. But the breeze blew steadily in the same direction, and even increased in force. The wire lashing hummed like the chords of a musical instrument, and the sledge sped along accompanied by a plaintive harmony of peculiar intensity.

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

These were the only words he spoke throughout the passage. Mrs. Aouda was well wrapped up in furs. Passe-partout's face was as red as the setting sun, and, with his usual confidence, began to hope again. Instead of reaching New York in the morning they would get there in the evening, perhaps before the departure of the steamer for Liverpool. Passe-partout had a great desire to clasp Fix by the hand, for he did not forget that it was the detective who had procured the sledge, the only means of reaching Omaha in good time; but some presentiment induced him to remain quiet. However, Passe-partout would never forget Mr. Fogg's devotion in rescuing him from the Indians.

The sledge still flew along. The plain and the streams were covered with the mantle of snow. A great uninhabited island appeared to be enclosed between the Union and Pacific Railroad and the branch-line which unites Kearney with St. Joseph. Not a house was in sight. They occasionally passed some gaunt tree, and sometimes flocks of wild birds rose about them, or a band of starving wolves pursued the sledge. On these occasions Passe-partout, revolver in hand, was ready to fire on those which came too near. Had an accident happened, the wolves would have made short work of the travellers; but the sledge held on its course, and soon left the howling brutes behind.

At midday Mudge thought they were crossing the Platte River. He said nothing, but he was sure that Omaha was only twenty miles farther on. And in fact in less than an hour their skilful steersman left the helm and hauled down his sails, while the sledge ran on with its acquired impetus. At length it stopped, and Mudge, pointing to a cluster of snow-covered houses, said, "Here we are!"

They had arrived at the desired station, which was in constant communication with the Eastern States. Passe-partout and Fix jumped down and stretched their stiffened limbs. They then assisted Mr. Fogg and Mrs. Aouda to alight. The former paid Mudge handsomely. Passe-partout shook his hands warmly, and then the whole party rushed towards the railway-station.

A train was ready to start, and they had only just time to jump in; though they had seen nothing of Omaha, they did not regret it, as they were not travelling for pleasure.

The train rushed across the State of Iowa, past Conneil Bluffs, Des Morines, and Iowa city. During the night they crossed the Mississippi at Davenport and entered Illinois. Next day, the 10th, at four p.m., they reached Chicago, which had risen from its ashes, and, more proudly than ever, was seated on the borders of the beautiful Lake of Michigan.

They were still nine hundred miles from New York, but there were plenty of trains. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one train to another, which started at full-speed as if it knew he had no time to lose. It crossed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey like lightning, through towns with antique names containing streets and tramways, but as yet no houses. At length the Hudson Plain appeared, and at a quarter-past eleven p.m., on the 11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of the river, before the very pier from which the Cunard, otherwise known as the British and North American, Royal Mail Steam Packet Company's steamers start.

The China had left for Liverpool three-quarters of an hour previously.

CHAPTER XXXII

In which Phileas Fogg struggles against Ill-luck.

The China seemed to have carried off Mr. Fogg's last hope, for no other steamers of any other line would be of use. The Pereire, of the French Transatlantic Company, did not leave till the 14th, while the boats of the Hamburg American Company also went to Havre, and not direct to Liverpool or London; and this extra passage from Havre to Southampton would upset his calculations.

The Inman steamer City of Paris would not start till next day – that would be too late. Nor would the White Star Line serve his purpose; all of which Mr. Fogg learnt from "Bradshaw." Passe-partout was completely upset; it was maddening to lose the steamer by three-quarters of an hour, and it was his fault, too, for putting obstacles in his master's way; and when he looked back at the incidents of the journey, the sums expended on his account, the enormous wager, and tremendous charges of the now useless trip, he was overwhelmed. Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him, but as he quitted the pier, said: "We will see to-morrow what is best to be done. Come along."

The party crossed the river, and drove to the St. Nicholas Hotel, in Broadway, where they engaged rooms; but Fogg was the only one who slept. Next day was the 12th of December. From that day, at seven in the morning, to the 21st, at a quarter to nine in the evening, was a period of nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes; so if Phileas Fogg had sailed in the China, he would have reached London in time to win his wager.

Mr. Fogg left the hotel by himself, telling the others to wait his return, but to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. He went down to the Hudson River, to see if there were any vessels about to start. Several were getting ready to go to sea, but the majority of them were sailing ships, which of course did not suit Mr. Fogg. He appeared to have lost his last hope, when he perceived a small screw-steamer moored off the battery; the funnel was pouring forth black smoke, and everything looked like a speedy departure. Mr. Fogg hailed a boat, and soon found himself on board the Henrietta, which was an iron steamer. The captain was on board, and approached Mr. Fogg to answer his inquiries. This captain was a man about fifty, a regular sea-wolf.

"Are you the captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"I am."

"I am Phileas Fogg, of London."

"And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff."

"You are about to sail, I suppose?"

"In an hour."

"Where are you bound?"

"For Bordeaux."

"And your cargo?"

"I am only in ballast."

"Have you any passengers?"

"I never take passengers; they are always in the way, and always talking."

"Does your ship steam well?"

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

"Would you like to take me and my three friends to Liverpool?"

"To Liverpool! Why not China at once?"

"I said Liverpool."

"No."

"No?"

"No, I tell you. I am bound for Bordeaux, and to Bordeaux I shall go."

"Will money have any effect?"

"Not the least."

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

"But the owners of the Henrietta?" began Fogg.

"I am the owner. The vessel belongs to me."

"I will hire it from you."

"No."

"I will buy it, then."

"No."

Mr. Fogg did not betray the slightest disappointment, notwithstanding the gravity of the situation. Things were not at New York as at Hong Kong, nor was the captain of the Henrietta like the pilot of the Tankadere. Hitherto money had smoothed all obstacles. Now it failed.

Nevertheless, some means of crossing the Atlantic must be found, and Phileas Fogg, apparently, had an idea, for he said to the captain:

"Will you take me to Bordeaux, then?"

"Not if you gave me two hundred dollars."

"I will give you two thousand dollars."

"What, for each passenger?"

"Yes."

"And there are four of you?"

"Yes."

This reply caused Captain Speedy to scratch his head. There were eight thousand dollars to be gained, by simply going his own route; and such a sum might well overcome his antipathy to passengers. Besides, passengers at two thousand dollars apiece become valuable merchandise.

"I start at nine o'clock," said Captain Speedy quietly; "and if you and your party are ready, why, there you are."

"We shall be on board at nine," replied Mr. Fogg, not less quietly.

It was then half-past eight. To land again, drive up to the hotel, and bring off his party to the Henrietta, did not take Mr. Fogg very long. He even offered a passage to the inseparable Fix. All this was done by Mr. Fogg as coolly as possible.

They were all on board by the time the Henrietta was ready to start.

When Passe-partout heard what the voyage was going to cost, he uttered a prolonged "Oh!" which descended through all the notes of the gamut.

As for Fix, he concluded at once that the Bank of England would not recover much of the money, for by the time they reached England, if Mr. Fogg did not throw away any more money, at least seven thousand pounds would have been spent.

CHAPTER XXXIII

In which Phileas Fogg rises to the Occasion.

An hour later the Henrietta passed the light-ship at the mouth of the Hudson, rounded Sandy Hook, and skirting Fire Island and Long Island, steamed rapidly eastward.

At noon next day Phileas Fogg mounted the bridge, to ascertain the ship's position, for Captain Speedy was safely locked up in his cabin, where he was using some very strong, but, under the circumstances, excusable language.

The fact was that Mr. Fogg wished to go to Liverpool, and the captain did not; and had made such good use of the time he had been on board, and of his money, that he had won the whole crew, who were not on the best terms with the captain, over to his side. And this is why Phileas Fogg was in command, why the captain was shut up in his cabin, and why the ship was heading for Liverpool. By the way Mr. Fogg managed the vessel, it was evident he had been a sailor.

How the adventure ended will be seen later on. Aouda was anxious, but said nothing. Fix had been completely upset from the first; but Passe-partout thought the manoeuvre simply splendid. The captain had said that the Henrietta could make between eleven and twelve knots, and he had not exaggerated.

If, then – for there were still ifs – if the sea did not get too rough, nor the wind shift to the east, nor any accident happen to the machinery, it was possible for the Henrietta to cross the Atlantic in nine days. But it was not improbable that, when he reached Liverpool, Mr. Fogg would have to answer some awkward questions about the Henrietta, as well as about the bank business.

For the first few days everything went well, and the Henrietta steamed and sailed like a transatlantic liner.

Passe-partout was charmed. This last exploit of his master delighted him above everything; he was the life and soul of the crew, and his good spirits were infectious. He had forgotten the past vexation, and only looked forward to the future. He kept his eye warily upon Fix, but scarcely spoke, for the old intimacy no longer existed between them.

It must be confessed that Fix did not understand what was going on. The seizure of the Henrietta, the bribery of the crew, and Fogg's seamanlike qualities perfectly astounded him; he did not know what to think; for a gentleman who had begun by stealing fifty-five thousand pounds might end by stealing a vessel, and Fix not unnaturally came to the conclusion that the Henrietta would not reach Liverpool at all, but proceed to some port where Mr. Fogg, turned pirate, would be in safety. The detective was sorry he had gone into the business.

All this time Captain Speedy continued to grumble and swear in his cabin, and Passe-partout, who took him his meals, was obliged to be very circumspect. Mr. Fogg did not seem to care whether there was a captain on board or not.

On the 13th they passed the Banks of Newfoundland. This was a dangerous part of the coast, particularly in winter, when fogs and gales are frequent. On this occasion the barometer had been falling all the preceding day, and during the night the cold became more intense, and the wind chopped to the south-east.

This was unfortunate. Mr. Fogg furled his sails and put on full-steam; nevertheless the speed fell off, as the vessel pitched heavily. The wind rose, and the position of the Henrietta became precarious.

Passe-partout's face darkened as the sky, and for two days he was in mortal terror. But Mr. Fogg was a bold sailor, and kept the ship head to sea without even reducing the steam. The Henrietta rushed through the waves and deluged her decks. Sometimes the screw was clear out of the water, but still they kept on.

Although the wind did not increase to a tempest, it held to the south-east, so the sails were rendered useless, and a great aid to the screw was thus lost.

The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Fogg's departure from London, and half the voyage across the Atlantic had been accomplished, and the worst was over. In the summer, success would have been assured, but in winter the weather had them at its mercy. Passe-partout said nothing, but consoled himself with the reflection that the steam would not fail them, and he hoped on.

One day the engineer came on deck and spoke anxiously to Mr. Fogg. This consultation made Passe-partout very uneasy; he would have given his ears to have heard what they were saying; he managed to catch a few words, and heard his master say, "Are you sure?"

"Quite certain," replied the engineer; "you must not forget that we have been piling up the fire ever since we left, and though we had sufficient coal to go under easy steam to Bordeaux, we had not enough to carry us to Liverpool at full pressure."

"I will think about it," said Mr. Fogg; and then Passe-partout understood it all.

The coal was failing!

"If my master can get over this," he thought, "he will be a clever fellow."

He was so agitated he could not help imparting his knowledge to Fix, who replied, "Then you really think we are going to Liverpool?"

"Of course we are."

"You idiot!" replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders, as he turned away.

Passe-partout would have revenged himself for this insult if he had not reflected that the unlucky Fix was very probably disappointed and humiliated at having followed a false scent all the way round the world.

But what would Phileas Fogg do now? No one could say; but he himself appeared as cool as ever, and to have decided, for he told the engineer, the same evening, to keep the full-steam on till the coal was exhausted.

So the Henrietta proceeded at full-steam until, on the 18th, the coals began to give out, as the engineer had foretold.

"Keep up the steam as much as possible," said Mr. Fogg.

About midday, Phileas Fogg, having taken the ship's reckoning, told Passe-partout to release Captain Speedy. The Frenchman would rather have unloosed a tiger, and said, as he went aft, "What an awful rage he will be in."

A few minutes later a bomb appeared on deck. This bomb was Captain Speedy, and looked ready to burst.

"Where are we?" was his first remark, as soon as his anger would allow him to speak. "Where are we?" he repeated, looking round.

"Seven hundred and seventy miles from Liverpool," replied Mr. Fogg calmly.

"Pirate!" roared Andrew Speedy.

"I requested your attendance, sir."

"You robber!"

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg, "I wish to ask you to sell me your vessel."

"Never, by all the devils!"

"Then I shall be obliged to burn her."

"Burn my ship?"

"Yes, at least the upper works, as we are in want of fuel."

"Burn my ship!" roared Captain Speedy; "why she is worth fifty thousand dollars!"

"Here are sixty thousand dollars," replied Fogg, as he offered him a roll of bank-notes.

This had a great effect upon Captain Speedy. In an instant he forgot his anger, his incarceration, and all his complaints. The ship was twenty years old, he would make his fortune. The bomb would not burst after all. Mr. Fogg had extinguished the fuze.

"I shall still keep the hulk, I suppose?"

"The hulk and the engine are yours. Is it a bargain?"

"Yes." And Speedy, seizing the proffered money, put it (speedily) into his pocket.

All this time Passe-partout was as pale as a ghost, while Fix looked as if he were going into a fit. Twenty thousand pounds expended, and the captain still possessed the hull and the machinery, the most valuable portion of the vessel! It was true that fifty-five thousand pounds had been stolen.

When Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him: "Don't be astonished at all this; you must know that if I do not reach London on the 21st of December, I shall lose twenty thousand pounds. Now you see I lost the steamer at New York – you refused to take me to Liverpool – "

"And I was right," replied the captain, "for I have made twenty thousand dollars by the refusal." Then he added, more seriously:

"Do you know one thing, Captain – "

"Fogg," said that worthy.

"Captain Fogg; you've got a spice of the Yankee in you!" And having paid him this compliment, as he fancied, he was going below, when Fogg said, "Now the vessel is mine!"

"Certainly; from truck to keelson – the wood I mean!"

"All right. Please have all the woodwork cut away and burnt."

It was absolutely necessary to burn the dry wood for fuel; and that day the poop, cabin fittings, bunks, and the spar-deck were consumed.

Next day, the 19th December, they burned the masts and spars. The crew worked with a will, and Passe-partout sawed away as lustily as any ten men. Next day the upper works disappeared, and the Henrietta was then only a hulk. But on that day they sighted the Fastnet Light and the Irish coast. By ten o'clock they passed Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had now only twenty-four hours left to reach Liverpool, even if he kept up full-speed; and the steam was likely to give out apparently.

"Sir," said Speedy, who was now almost as much interested as the rest, "I should really suggest your giving up the game. Everything is against you. We are only just passing Queenstown."

"Ah," exclaimed Fogg, "is that Queenstown where the lights are?"

"Yes."

"Cannot we enter the harbour?"

"Not before three o'clock; the tide will not serve."

"Let us wait then," said Fogg calmly, without betraying any emotion that, by a last effort, he was about to conquer his ill-luck.

Queenstown is the port at which the American mails are landed, which are then forwarded to Dublin by an express train, and from thence to Liverpool¹ by fast steamers, thus gaining twelve hours upon the fastest vessels.

Mr. Fogg calculated upon gaining this space of time, and so, instead of reaching Liverpool next evening, he would be there at noon, and be able to reach London by a quarter to nine p.m.

About one a.m. the Henrietta entered Queenstown, and Mr. Fogg, exchanging a clasp of the hand with Captain Speedy, left that personage upon the vessel, now a mere hulk.

All the party went ashore at once. Fix was much inclined to arrest Fogg on the spot, but refrained. Why? Did he think he was mistaken after all? At any rate he would not abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got into the train at half-past one a.m., and were in Dublin at daybreak, and immediately embarked on the mail-steamer which, disdaining to ride over the waves, cut through them.

At twenty minutes to twelve (noon) Mr. Fogg disembarked at Liverpool.² He was within six hours' run from London now.

But at that moment Fix approached him, and putting his hand upon Mr. Fogg's shoulder, said:

"Are you really Phileas Fogg?"

"Yes," was the reply.

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