Works of Jules Verne/Round the World in Eighty Days/Chapter 32
CHAPTER XXXII
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ENGAGES IN A DIRECT STRUGGLE WITH ILL LUCK
The China, in leaving, seemed to have carried away with her Phileas Fogg's last hope. In fact, none of the other steamers in the direct service between America and Europe, neither the French Transatlantic steamers, nor the ships of the White Star line, nor those of the Inman Company, nor those of the Hamburg line, nor any others, could serve the gentleman's projects.
The Pereire, of the French Atlantic Company, would not start until the 14th of December. And besides, like those of the Hamburg Company, she would not go directly to Liverpool or London, but to Havre, and this additional trip from Havre to Southampton, delaying Phileas Fogg, would have rendered his last efforts of no avail.
The gentleman posted himself thoroughly about all this by consulting his Bradshaw, which gave him, day by day, the movements of the transoceanic vessels.
Passepartout was annihilated. It killed him to miss the steamer by thirty-five minutes. It was his fault, he who, instead of aiding his master, had not ceased to scatter obstacles in his way! And when he reviewed in his mind all the incidents of the journey; when he calculated the sums spent, which was pure loss, and for his own interest; when he thought that this enormous bet, added to the heavy expenses of this now useless journey, would completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himself with opprobrium.
Mr. Fogg did not reproach him at all, and leaving the pier of the ocean steamers, he said only these words: "We will consult to-morrow. Come."
Mr. Fogg, Aouda, Fix, and Passepartout crossed the Hudson from Jersey City in the ferry boat, and got into a carriage, which took them to the St. Nicholas hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were put at their disposal, and the night passed,—a very short one for Phileas Fogg, who slept soundly, but very long for Aouda and her companions, whose agitation did not allow them to rest.
The next day was the 12th of December. From the 12th, at seven in the morning, to the 21st, at eight forty-five in the evening, there remained nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes. If, then, Phileas Fogg had left the night before in the China, one of the best sailers of the Cunard line, he would have arrived at Liverpool, and then in London, in the desired time!
Phileas Fogg left the hotel alone, having recommended his servant to wait for him, and to notify Aouda to hold herself in readiness at any moment.
Mr. Fogg repaired to the banks of the Hudson, and among the ships moored to the wharf, or anchored in the stream, he sought with care those which were about to leave. Several vessels had their signals for departure up and were preparing to put to sea at the morning high tide, for in this immense and admirable port, there is not a day when a hundred vessels do not set sail for every quarter of the globe; but the most of them were sailing vessels, and they would not suit Phileas Fogg.
This gentleman was seeming to fail in his last attempt, when he perceived, moored in front of the battery, at a cable's length at most, a merchantman, with screw, of fine outlines, whose smoke-stack, emitting clouds of smoke, indicated that she was preparing to sail.
Phileas Fogg hailed a boat, got in it, and with a few strokes of the oar, he found himself at the ladder of the Henrietta, an iron-hulled steamer, with her upper parts of wood.
The captain of the Henrietta was on board. Phileas Fogg went up on deck and asked for the captain, who presented himself immediately.
He was a man fifty years old, a sort of sea wolf, a grumbler who would not be very accommodating. His large eyes, his complexion oxydized copper, his red hair, his large chest and shoulders, indicated nothing of the appearance of a man of the world.
"The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"I am he."
"I am Phileas Fogg, of London."
"And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff."
"You are going to start?"
"In an hour."
"You are loaded for———?"
"Bordeaux."
"And your cargo?"
"Gravel in the hold. I have no freight. I sail in ballast."
"You have passengers?"
"No passengers. Never have passengers. A merchandise that's in the way and reasons."
"Your vessel sails swiftly?"
"Between eleven and twelve knots. The Henrietta, well known."
"Do you wish to convey me to Liverpool, myself and three persons?"
"To Liverpool? Why not to China?"
"I said Liverpool."
"No!"
"No?"
"No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and I shall go to Bordeaux."
"It don't matter what price?"
"It don't matter what price!"
The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply.
"But the owners of the Henrietta———" replied Phileas Fogg.
"The owners of the Henrietta are myself," replied the captain. "The vessel belongs to me."
"I will freight it for you."
"No."
"No?"
"I will buy it from you."
Phileas Fogg did not change countenance. But the situation was serious. It was not at New York as at Hong Kong, nor with the captain of the Henrietta as with the captain of the Tankadere. Until the present the gentleman's money had always overcome obstacles. This time the money failed.
But the means of crossing the Atlantic in a vessel must be found, unless they went across in a balloon, which would have been very venturesome, and which, besides, was not practicable.
Phileas Fogg, however, appeared to have an idea, for he said to the captain: "Well, will you take me to Bordeaux?"
"No, even if you would pay me two hundred dollars."
"I offer you two thousand."
"For each person?"
"For each person."
"And there are four of you?"
"Four."
Captain Speedy commenced to scratch his forehead as if he would tear the skin off. Eight thousand dollars to be made, without changing his course; it was well worth the trouble of putting aside his decided antipathy for every kind of passenger. Passengers at two thousand dollars apiece, besides, are no longer passengers, but valuable merchandise.
"I leave at nine o'clock," said Captain Speedy, "simply, and you and yours will be there?"
"At nine o'clock we will be on board!" simply replied Mr. Fogg.
It was half past eight. To land from the Henrietta, get in a carriage, repair to the St. Nicholas Hotel, and take back with him Aouda, Passepartout, and even the inseparable Fix, to whom he graciously offered a passage, this was all done by the gentleman with the quiet which never deserted him under any circumstances. At the moment that the Henrietta was ready to sail, all four were aboard.
When Passepartout learned what this last voyage would cost, he uttered one of those prolonged "Oh's!" which run through all the spaces of the descending chromatic scale! As for Detective Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would not come out whole from this affair. In fact, by the time of their arrival, and admitting that this Mr. Fogg would not throw a few handfuls besides into the sea, more than seven thousand pounds would be missing from the bank notes in the traveling bag!