Works of Jules Verne/Round the World in Eighty Days/Chapter 21
CHAPTER XXI
IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE "TANKADERE" RUNS GREAT RISK OF LOSING A REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS
This Voyage of eight hundred miles, undertaken in a craft of twenty tons, and especially in that season of the year, was venturesome. The Chinese seas are generally rough, exposed to terrible blows, principally during the equinoxes, and this was in the first days of November.
It would have very evidently been to the advantage of the pilot to take his passengers as far as Yokohama, as he was paid so much per day. But it would have been great imprudence on his part to attempt such a voyage under such conditions, and it was a bold act, if not a rash one, to go as far as Shanghai. But John Bunsby had confidence in his Tankadere, which rode the waves like a gull, and perhaps he was not wrong.
During the later hours of this day the Tankadere sailed through the capricious channels of Hong Kong, and, in all her movements, from whatever quarter the wind came, she behaved handsomely.
"I do not need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, the moment the schooner touched the open sea, "to recommend to you all possible diligence."
"Your honor may depend upon me," replied John Bunsby. "In the matter of sails, we are carrying all that the wind will allow us to carry. Our poles would add nothing, and would only interfere with the sailing of our craft."
"It is your trade, and not mine, pilot, and I trust to you."
Phileas Fogg, his body erect, and legs wide apart, standing straight as a sailor, looked at the surging sea without staggering. The young woman seated aft, felt quite affected looking at the ocean, already darkened by the twilight, which she was braving upon so frail a craft. Above her head were unfurled the white sails, looking in space like immense wings. The schooner, impelled by the wind, seemed to fly through the air.
Night set in. The moon was entering her first quarter, and her scanty light was soon extinguished in the haze of the horizon. Clouds were rising from the east, and already covered a portion of the heavens.
The pilot had put his lights in position—an indispensable precaution to take in these seas, so much frequented by vessels bound landward. Collisions were not rare, and at the rate she was going, the schooner would be shattered by the least shock.
Fix was dreaming forward on the vessel. He kept himself apart, knowing Fogg naturally to be not much of a talker. Besides, he hated to speak to this man, whose accommodations he had accepted. He was thinking thus of the future. It appeared certain to him that Mr. Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, that he would immediately take the San Francisco steamer to reach America, whose vast extent would assure him impunity with security. It seemed to him that Phileas Fogg's plan could not be simpler.
Instead of embarking in England for the United States, like a common rogue, this Fogg had made the grand rounds, and traversed three-quarters of the globe, in order to gain more surely the American continent, where he would quietly consume the large sum stolen from the bank, after having thrown the police off his track. But, once upon the soil of the United States, what would Fix do? Abandon this man? No, a hundred times no! And until he had obtained an extradition order he would not leave him for an instant. It was his duty, and he would fulfill it to the end. In any event one happy result had been obtained. Passepartout was no longer with his master; and, especially after the confidence Fix had reposed in him, it was important that the master and servant should never see each other again.
Phileas Fogg was constantly thinking of his servant, who had disappeared so singularly. After having thought over everything, it seemed not impossible to him that, in consequence of a misunderstanding, the poor fellow had set sail upon the Carnatic at the last moment. It was the opinion of Aouda also, who regretted very much this good servant, to whom she owed so much. It might be that they would find him again at Yokohama, and if the Carnatic had taken him thither, it would be easy to find it out.
Towards ten o'clock the breeze began to freshen. Perhaps it would have been prudent to take in a reef, but the pilot, having carefully examined the state of the heavens, left the rigging as it was. Besides, the Tankadere carried sail admirably, having a deep draft of water, and everything was prepared to go rapidly, in case of a gale.
At midnight Phileas Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin. Fix had preceded them, and was stretched on one of the cots. As for the pilot and his men, they remained on deck all night.
The next day, the 8th of November, at sunrise, the schooner had made more than one hundred miles. Her course, frequently tried, showed that the average of her speed was between eight and nine knots an hour. The Tankadere carried full sail, and in this rig she obtained the maximum of rapidity. If the wind kept the same, the chances were in her favor.
The Tankadere, during the whole day, did not go far from the coast, whose currents were favorable to her, and which was five miles off at the most from her larboard quarter, and irregularly outlined appeared sometimes across the clearings. The wind coming from the land was, on that account, not quite so strong, a fortunate circumstance for the schooner, for vessels of a small tonnage suffer above all from the roll of the sea which interferes with their speed, "killing" them, to use the sailors' expression.
Towards noon the breeze abated a little and set in from the southeast. The pilot put up his poles; but at the end of two hours it was necessary to take them down, as the wind freshened up again.
Mr. Fogg and the young woman, very fortunately unaffected by seasickness, ate with a good appetite the preserves and ship biscuit. Fix was invited to share their repast, and was compelled to accept, knowing very well that it is as necessary to ballast stomachs as vessels, but it vexed him! To travel at this man's expense, to be fed from his provisions, was rather against his grain. He ate, daintily, it is true, but finally he ate.
However, this repast finished, he took Mr. Fogg aside and said to him: "Sir———"
This "sir" scorched his lips, and he controlled himself so as not to collar this "gentleman"! "Sir, you have been very kind to offer me a passage on your vessel. But, although my resources do not permit me to expend as freely as you, I intend to pay my share———"
"Let us not speak of that, sir," replied Mr. Fogg.
"But, if I insist———"
"No, sir," repeated Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of reply. "That will enter into the general expenses."
Fix bowed; he had a stifling feeling, and going forward, he lay down, and did not say a word more during the day.
In the meantime they were moving on rapidly. John Bunsby had high hopes. He said to Mr. Fogg several times that they would arrive at Shanghai at the desired time. Mr. Fogg simply replied that he counted on it. The whole crew went to work in earnest. The reward enticed these good people. So there was not a sheet which was not conscientiously tightened! Not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted! Not a lurch for which the man at the helm could be blamed. They would not have maneuvered more rigorously in a regatta of the Royal Yacht Club.
In the evening, the pilot marked on the log a distance of two hundred and twenty miles from Hong Kong, and Phileas Fogg might hope that on arriving at Yokohama he would not have to note any delay in his journal. Thus, the first serious mischance that he had suffered since his departure from London would probably not affect his journey worth mentioning.
During the night, towards the early morning hours, the Tankadere entered, without difficulty, the Straits of Fo Kien, which separate the large Island of Formosa from the Chinese coast, and she crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very rough in these straits, full of eddies formed by counter-currents. The schooner labored heavily. The short waves broke her course. It became very difficult to stand upon the deck.
With daybreak, the wind became fresher. There was the appearance of a squall in the heavens. Besides, the barometer announced a speedy change of the atmosphere; its daily movement was irregular, and the mercury oscillated capriciously. The sea was seen rising towards the southeast in long swells, betokening a tempest. The evening before the sun had set in a red haze, amid the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.
The pilot examined the threatening aspect of the sky for a long time, and muttered between his teeth indistinctly. At a certain moment, finding himself near his passenger, he said in a low voice: "Can I speak freely to your honor?"
"You can," replied Phileas Fogg.
"Well, we are going to have a squall."
"Will it come from the north or the south," asked Mr. Fogg simply.
"From the south. See. A typhoon is coming up."
"Good for the typhoon from the south, since it will send us in the right direction," replied Mr. Fogg.
"If you take it so," replied the pilot, "I have nothing more to say."
John Bunsby's presentiments did not deceive him. At a less advanced season of the year, the typhoon, according to the expression of a celebrated meteorologist, would have passed off like a luminous cascade of electric flames, but in November it was to be feared that it would burst with violence.
The pilot took his precautions in advance. He had all the schooner's sails reefed, and the yards brought on deck. The pole-masts were dispensed with. All hands went forward. The hatches were carefully fastened. Not a drop of water could then enter the hull of the vessel. A single triangular sail, a foresail of strong canvas, was hoisted as a storm-jib, so as to hold the schooner to the wind behind. And they waited.
John Bunsby had begged his passengers to go down into the cabin; but in the narrow space, almost deprived of air, and knocked about by the waves, this imprisonment had in it nothing agreeable. Neither Mr. Fogg, nor Aouda, nor even Fix was contented to leave the deck.
Towards eight o'clock the storm of rain and wind struck the deck. With nothing but her little bit of sail, the Tankadere was raised like a feather by the wind, the violence of which could not well be described in words. Compare her speed to quadruple that of a locomotive rushing along under full head of steam, and it would still be below the truth.
During the whole day the vessel ran on thus towards the north, carried by the tremendous waves, preserving, fortunately, a rapidity equal to theirs. Twenty times she was almost submerged by these mountains of water which rose upon her from the rear, but an adroit turn of the helm by the pilot warded off the catastrophe. The passengers were sometimes covered all over by the showers of spray, which they received philosophically. Fix did not like it, doubtless, but the intrepid Aouda, with her eyes fixed upon her companion, whose coolness she could only admire, showed herself worthy of him, and braved the storm at his side. As for Phileas Fogg, it seemed as if this typhoon formed a part of his programme.
Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course towards the north; but, toward evening, as might have been feared, the wind, shifting three-quarters, blew from the northwest. The schooner, now having her side to the waves, was terribly shaken. The sea struck her with a violence well calculated to terrify anyone who does not know how solidly every part of a vessel is fastened together.
With nightfall the tempest grew wilder. Seeing darkness come on, and with it the increase of the storm, John Bunsby felt great uneasiness. He asked himself if it would not be time to put in somewhere, and he consulted his crew.
His men consulted, John Bunsby approached Mr. Fogg, and said to him: "I belive, your honor, that we would do well to make one of the ports of the coast."
"I believe so, also," replied Phileas Fogg.
"Ah!" said the pilot, "but which one?"
"I only know one," replied Mr. Fogg quietly.
"And that is——?"
"Shanghai!"
The pilot could not at first comprehend for a few moments what this answer meant; how much obstinacy and tenacity it comprised. Then he cried: "Ah, well, yes! your honor is right. On to Shanghai!"
And the direction of the Tankadere was unwaveringly kept to the north.
It was truly a terrible night! It was a miracle that the little craft did not capsize. Twice she was submerged, and everything would have been carried off the deck, if the fastening of the ropes had given way. Aouda was worn out, but she did not utter a complaint. More than once Mr. Fogg had to rush towards her to protect her from the violence of the waves.
Daylight reappeared. The tempest was still raging with the greatest fury. However, the wind fell again into the southeast. It was a favorable change, and the Tankadere resumed her way on this high sea, whose waves then struck
PASSEPARTOUT RETRIEVES HIMSELF.
It was thirty-five minutes past eight when he left the clergyman's house. But in what a condition ! His hair disordered, hatless, running, running as has never been seen in the memory of man, upsetting passers-by, rushing along the sidewalks like a water spout.
In three minutes, he had returned to the house in Saville Row, and fell, out of breath, in Mr. Fogg's room.
He could not speak.
"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.—Page 340.
those produced by the new direction of the wind. Thence a shock of counter-rolling waves, which would have crushed a less solidly built bark.
From time to time through the broken mist the coast could be perceived, but not a ship in sight The Tankadere was the only one keeping the sea.
At noon there were some signs of a calm, which, with the sinking of the sun towards the horizon, were more distinct. The short duration of the tempest was owing to its very violence. The passengers, completely worn out, could eat a little and take some rest.
The night was comparatively quiet. The pilot had the sails again hoisted at a low reef. The speed of the vessel was considerable. The next day, the 11th, at day-dawn, the coast being sighted, John Bunsby was able to assert that they were not one hundred miles from the wharfs at Shanghai.
One hundred miles, and only this day left to make the distance! That very evening Mr. Fogg ought to arrive at Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss the departure of the Yokohama steamer. Without this storm, during which he lost several hours, he would not, at this moment, have been thirty miles from port.
The breeze sensibly slackened, but fortunately the sea fell with it. The schooner was covered with canvas. Poles, stay-sails, counter-jibs, all were carried, and the sea foamed under her keel.
At noon, the Tankadere was not more than forty-five miles from Shanghai. She had six hours more to make that port before the departure of the steamer for Yokohama.
The fears of all were great; they wanted to arrive at any cost. All felt their hearts impatiently beating—Phileas Fogg doubtless excepted. The little schooner must keep up an average of nine knots an hour, and the wind was constantly going down! It was an irregular breeze, with capricious puffs coming from the coast. They passed, and the sea became more smooth immediately after.
But the vessel was so light, and her high sails, of a fine material, caught the capricious breeze so well that, with the current in their favor, at six o'clock John Bunsby counted only ten miles to Shanghai river, for the city itself is situated at a distance of twelve miles at least above the mouth. At seven o'clock they were still three miles from Shanghai. A formidable oath escaped from the pilot's lips. It was evident that the reward of two hundred pounds was going to slip from him. He looked at Mr. Fogg. Mr. Fogg was impassible, and yet his whole fortune was at stake at this moment.
At this moment, too, a long, black funnel, crowned with a wreath of smoke, appeared on the edge of the water. It was the American steamer going at the regular hour. “Maledictions on her!” cried John Bunsby, who pushed back the rudder desperately.
"Signal her!" said Phileas Fogg, simply.
A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the Tankadere. It served to make signals in hazy weather.
The cannon was loaded to the muzzle, but at the moment that the pilot was going to apply a red-hot coal to the touchhole, Mr. Fogg said: “Hoist your flag.”
The flag was hoisted half-mast. It was a signal of distress, and it was to be hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it, would change her course for a moment to assist the little craft.
“Fire!” said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little cannon sounded through the air.