Jules Verne · a new plain-English translation from the original language
During this scene, which was perhaps going to compromise his future so gravely, Mr. Fogg, accompanying Mrs. Aouda, was strolling through the streets of the English town. Ever since Mrs. Aouda had accepted his offer to take her to Europe, he had had to think of all the details that so long a journey involves. That an Englishman like himself should go round the world with a bag in his hand, well and good; but a woman could not undertake such a crossing under those conditions. Hence the need to buy the clothes and articles necessary for the trip. Mr. Fogg discharged his task with the calm that was characteristic of him, and to all the excuses or objections of the young widow, embarrassed by so much obligingness:
"It's in the interest of my journey, it's in my program," he replied invariably.
The purchases made, Mr. Fogg and the young woman returned to the hotel and dined at the table d'hôte, which was sumptuously served. Then Mrs. Aouda, a little tired, went back up to her suite, after shaking hands "in the English manner" with her imperturbable rescuer.
The honorable gentleman, for his part, absorbed himself the whole evening in the reading of the Times and the Illustrated London News.
Had he been a man to be surprised at anything, it would have been at not seeing his servant appear at bedtime. But, knowing that the Yokohama steamer was not to leave Hong Kong before the next morning, he gave it no further thought. The next day, Passepartout did not come at Mr. Fogg's ring.
What the honorable gentleman thought on learning that his servant had not come back to the hotel, no one could have told. Mr. Fogg merely took his bag, had Mrs. Aouda informed, and sent for a palanquin.
It was then eight o'clock, and high tide, which the Carnatic was to make use of to clear the channels, was set for half past nine.
When the palanquin had reached the door of the hotel, Mr. Fogg and Mrs. Aouda got into that comfortable conveyance, and the luggage followed behind on a wheelbarrow.
Half an hour later, the travelers were getting down at the boarding quay, and there Mr. Fogg learned that the Carnatic had left the day before.
Mr. Fogg, who had counted on finding both the steamer and his servant at once, found himself reduced to doing without both. But no mark of disappointment showed on his face, and as Mrs. Aouda looked at him anxiously, he merely replied:
"It's an incident, madam, nothing more."
At that moment, a person who was watching him attentively came up to him. It was Inspector Fix, who greeted him and said:
"Are you not, like me, sir, one of the passengers of the Rangoon, arrived yesterday?
—Yes, sir, Mr. Fogg replied coldly, but I have not the honor...
—Forgive me, but I thought I would find your servant here.
—Do you know where he is, sir? the young woman asked eagerly.
—What! replied Fix, feigning surprise, isn't he with you?
—No, replied Mrs. Aouda. Since yesterday he has not reappeared. Could he have boarded the Carnatic without us?
—Without you, madam?... replied the agent. But, excuse my question, you meant to leave on that steamer, then?
—Yes, sir.
—So did I, madam, and you see me very much disappointed. The Carnatic, having finished its repairs, left Hong Kong twelve hours early without warning anyone, and now we shall have to wait eight days for the next departure!"
In uttering these words, "eight days," Fix felt his heart leap with joy. Eight days! Fogg held eight days at Hong Kong! There would be time to receive the warrant of arrest. At last luck was declaring itself for the representative of the law.
One can judge, then, the sledgehammer blow he received when he heard Phileas Fogg say in his calm voice:
"But there are other vessels than the Carnatic, it seems to me, in Hong Kong harbor."
And Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Mrs. Aouda, headed toward the docks in search of a ship about to sail.
Fix, thunderstruck, followed. You would have said a thread bound him to this man.
Still, luck really did seem to abandon the man it had served so well until then. Phileas Fogg, for three hours, roamed the port in every direction, resolved, if need be, to hire a vessel to bear him to Yokohama; but he saw only ships loading or unloading, and which, consequently, could not weigh anchor. Fix began to hope again.
However, Mr. Fogg did not lose countenance, and he was about to continue his search, even as far as Macao, when a sailor accosted him on the outer harbor.
"Is Your Honor looking for a boat? the sailor said to him, taking off his hat.
—Have you a boat ready to leave? asked Mr. Fogg.
—Yes, Your Honor, a pilot boat, No. 43, the best of the flotilla.
—Does she sail well?
—Between eight and nine miles, close-hauled. Would you like to see her?
—Yes.
—Your Honor will be satisfied. Is it a trip out to sea you have in mind?
—No. A voyage.
—A voyage?
—Will you undertake to take me to Yokohama?"
At these words, the sailor stood with his arms hanging, his eyes wide open.
"Your Honor is joking? he said.
—No! I've missed the departure of the Carnatic, and I must reach Yokohama on the 14th at the very latest, to catch the San Francisco steamer.
—I'm sorry, replied the pilot, but it's impossible.
—I'll offer you a hundred pounds (2,500 F) a day, and a reward of two hundred pounds if I arrive in time.
—Is this serious? asked the pilot.
—Very serious," replied Mr. Fogg.
The pilot had drawn aside. He looked at the sea, evidently torn between the wish to earn an enormous sum and his dread of venturing so far. Fix was in an agony of suspense.
During this time, Mr. Fogg had turned back toward Mrs. Aouda.
"You won't be afraid, madam? he asked her.
—With you, no, Mr. Fogg," replied the young woman.
The pilot had come forward again toward the gentleman, and was turning his hat in his hands.
"Well, pilot? said Mr. Fogg.
—Well, Your Honor, replied the pilot, I can't risk my men, or myself, or you either, on so long a crossing in a boat of barely twenty tons, and at this time of year. Besides, we wouldn't arrive in time, for it's sixteen hundred and fifty miles from Hong Kong to Yokohama.
—Sixteen hundred only, said Mr. Fogg.
—It's the same thing."
Fix drew a good breath of air.
"But, added the pilot, there might perhaps be a way to manage things differently."
Fix stopped breathing.
"How? asked Phileas Fogg.
—By going to Nagasaki, the southern tip of Japan, eleven hundred miles, or only to Shanghai, eight hundred miles from Hong Kong. On that last crossing, we would keep close to the Chinese coast, a real advantage, all the more so since the currents there set to the north.
—Pilot, replied Phileas Fogg, it's at Yokohama that I must catch the American mail steamer, and not at Shanghai or Nagasaki.
—Why not? replied the pilot. The San Francisco steamer doesn't start from Yokohama. It calls at Yokohama and Nagasaki, but its port of departure is Shanghai.
—You're certain of what you say?
—Certain.
—And when does the steamer leave Shanghai?
—On the 11th, at seven o'clock in the evening. So we have four days before us. Four days, that's ninety-six hours, and with an average of eight miles an hour, if we're well served, if the wind holds from the southeast, if the sea is calm, we can carry off the eight hundred miles that separate us from Shanghai.
—And you could leave?...
—In an hour. Just time to buy provisions and get under way.
—It's settled... Are you the master of the boat?
—Yes, John Bunsby, master of the Tankadère.
—Do you want a deposit?
—If it doesn't inconvenience Your Honor.
—Here is two hundred pounds on account... Sir, Phileas Fogg added, turning to Fix, if you would care to take advantage...
—Sir, replied Fix resolutely, I was about to ask you this favor.
—Good. In half an hour we'll be aboard.
—But that poor fellow... said Mrs. Aouda, whom Passepartout's disappearance troubled extremely.
—I'm going to do for him all that I can do," replied Phileas Fogg.
And, while Fix, nervous, feverish, seething, made his way to the pilot boat, the two of them headed toward the offices of the Hong Kong police. There, Phileas Fogg gave the description of Passepartout, and left a sum sufficient to repatriate him. The same formality was carried out at the office of the French consular agent, and the palanquin, after touching at the hotel, where the luggage was picked up, brought the travelers back to the outer harbor.
Three o'clock was striking. Pilot boat No. 43, its crew aboard, its provisions embarked, was ready to weigh anchor.
She was a charming little schooner of twenty tons, the Tankadère, well nipped forward, very free in her lines, very drawn out in her waterlines. You would have called her a racing yacht. Her shining brasswork, her galvanized ironwork, her deck white as ivory, showed that master John Bunsby knew how to keep her in good order. Her two masts raked a little aft. She carried a spanker, a foresail, a staysail, jibs, topsails, and could rig a studding sail for a following wind. She was bound to sail marvelously, and, in fact, she had already won several prizes in the pilot boats' "matches."
The crew of the Tankadère was made up of master John Bunsby and four men. They were of those bold sailors who, in all weathers, venture out in search of ships, and know these seas admirably. John Bunsby, a man of about forty-five, vigorous, tanned dark, quick of eye, energetic of face, well set up, well up to his work, would have inspired confidence in the most fearful.
Phileas Fogg and Mrs. Aouda came aboard. Fix was already there. Through the after-hatch of the schooner, one went down into a square cabin, whose walls were hollowed out in the shape of frames, above a circular divan. In the middle, a table lit by a swinging lamp. It was small, but clean.
"I regret having nothing better to offer you," Mr. Fogg said to Fix, who bowed without a word.
The police inspector felt a kind of humiliation at thus profiting from Mr. Fogg's obliging ways.
"To be sure, he thought, he's a very polite scoundrel, but a scoundrel all the same!"
At ten minutes past three, the sails were hoisted. The flag of England flew at the schooner's gaff. The passengers were seated on the deck. Mr. Fogg and Mrs. Aouda cast a last look at the quay, to see whether Passepartout would not appear.
Fix was not without apprehension, for chance might have brought to that very spot the unfortunate fellow he had so shamefully treated, and then an explanation would have burst out, from which the detective would not have come off to his advantage. But the Frenchman did not show himself, and, no doubt, the stupefying narcotic still held him under its influence.
At last, master John Bunsby stood out to sea, and the Tankadère, taking the wind under her spanker, her foresail, and her jibs, leapt bounding over the waves.