Around the World in 80 Days [Junior Edition]
by
Jules Verne
Part 1 out of 5
Prepared by:
Bill Stoddard
hscrr@vgernet.net
AROUND THE WORLD IN EIGHTY DAYS
By JULES VERNE
Junior Deluxe Edition
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
In Which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Accept Each Other,
the One as Master, the Other as Man
Chapter 2
In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has
at Last Found His Ideal
Chapter 3
In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems
Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly
Chapter 4
In Which Phileas Fogg Astounds Passepartout
Chapter 5
In Which a New Security Appears on the London Exchange
Chapter 6
In Which Fix, the Detective, Betrays a Very Natural Impatience
Chapter 7
Which Once More Demonstrates the Uselessness
of Passports as Aids to Detectives
Chapter 8
In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More,
Perhaps, than Is Prudent
Chapter 9
In Which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean Prove
Propitious to the Designs of Phileas Fogg
Chapter 10
In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad
to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes
Chapter 11
In Which Phileas Fogg Buys a Curious
Means of Conveyance at a Fabulous Price
Chapter 12
In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture
across the Indian Forests, and What Follows
Chapter 13
In Which Passepartout Receives a New Proof
That Fortune Favors the Brave
Chapter 14
In Which Phileas Fogg Descends the Whole Length of the
Beautiful Valley of the Ganges without Ever Thinking of Seeing It
Chapter 15
In Which the Bag of Banknotes Disgorges
Some Thousands of Pounds More
Chapter 16
In Which Fix Does Not Seem to Understand
in the Least What is Said to Him
Chapter 17
Showing What Happened on the Voyage from Singapore to Hong Kong
Chapter 18
In Which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout and Fix
Go Each about His Business
Chapter 19
In Which Passepartout Takes a Too Great Interest in His Master,
and What Comes of It
Chapter 20
In Which Fix Comes Face to Face with Phileas Fogg
Chapter 21
In Which the Master of the Tankadere Runs Great Risk
of Losing a Reward of Two Hundred Pounds
Chapter 22
In Which Passepartout Finds Out That, Even at the Antipodes,
It Is Convenient to Have Some Money in One's Pocket
Chapter 23
In Which Passepartout's Nose Becomes Outrageously Long
Chapter 24
During Which Mr. Fogg and Party Cross the Pacific Ocean
Chapter 25
In Which a Slight Glimpse Is Had of San Francisco
Chapter 26
In Which Phileas Fogg and Party Travel by the Pacific Railroad
Chapter 27
In Which Passepartout Undergoes, at a Speed of
Twenty Miles an Hour, a Course of Mormon History
Chapter 28
In Which Passepartout Does Not Succeed
in Making Anybody Listen to Reason
Chapter 29
In Which Certain Incidents Are Narrated Which
Are Only to Be Met with on American Railroads
Chapter 30
In Which Phileas Fogg Simply Does His Duty
Chapter 31
Fix the Detective Considerably Furthers
the Interests of Phileas Fogg
Chapter 32
In Which Phileas Fogg Engages in a
Direct Struggle with Bad Fortune
Chapter 33
In Which Phileas Fogg Shows Himself Equal to the Occasion
Chapter 34
In Which Phileas Fogg at Last Reaches London
Chapter 35
In Which Phileas Fogg Does Not Have to
Repeat His Orders to Passepartout Twice
Chapter 36
In Which Phileas Fogg's Name Is Once More
at a Premium on the Market
Chapter 37
In Which It Is Shown That Phileas Fogg Gained Nothing
by His Tour around the World Except Happiness
Chapter 1
In Which Phileas Fogg and Passepartout Accept Each Other,
the One as Master, the Other as Man
Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No.7, Saville Row, Burlington
Gardens. He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform
Club, though he seemed always to avoid attracting attention. This
Phileas Fogg was a puzzling gentleman, about whom little was
known, except that he was a polished man of the world. People
said that he resembled the poet Byron - at least that his head
was Byronic; but he was a bearded, peaceful Byron, who might live
on a thousand years without growing old.
Certainly Phileas Fogg was an Englishman, but it was more
doubtful whether he 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 he ever pleaded 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.
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
enough.
He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open
credit. His checks 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 go 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 puzzled.
Had he traveled? 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
travelers, 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 traveled everywhere, at least in
the spirit.
It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not been away from
London for many years. Those who were honored 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 quiet one, harmonized 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; neither relatives nor near
friends, which is certainly more unusual. He lived alone in his
house in Saville Row, where none ever entered. A single servant
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. He went home at exactly midnight, only to retire
at once to bed. He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform
provides for its favored 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 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 foods. He was served by the
gravest waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles,
who presented 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 servant, 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 eleven.
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 go 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, appeared.
"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 John?"
"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 left 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, the 2nd of 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 2
In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He Has
at Last Found His Ideal
"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 skillfully 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 rosy, his figure full 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 way of fixing 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 annoyance, he found his masters invariably
whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country, or
on the lookout 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 remark on such conduct;
but when it was 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 traveled 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 began 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
recognized 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. 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 program 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 completely 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. 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 idealized. There was no study, nor were there books, which
would have been quite useless to Mr. Fogg; for at the Reform Club
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 peaceful habits.
Having examined the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his
hands, a broad smile spread over 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 3
In Which a Conversation Takes Place Which Seems
Likely to Cost Phileas Fogg Dearly
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
opened upon a tasteful garden, where the trees were already
gilded with an autumn coloring; 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 walked towards the large
hall, a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly framed
paintings. A porter handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded
to cut with a skill which betrayed familiarity with this delicate
operation. The reading of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until
a quarter before four, while the Standard, his next task,
occupied him till the dinner hour. Dinner passed as breakfast had
done, and Mr. Fogg reappeared 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 Club 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 persons,
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. Skillful 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,
positively.
"What! A fellow who makes off with fifty-five thousand pounds, no
robber?"
"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, while he was 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 has
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, scrutinized it, passed it to his neighbor, 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 promised 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. 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 favor of the
thief, who must be a shrewd fellow."
"Well, but where can he fly to?" asked Ralph. "No country is safe
for him."
"Pshaw!"
"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 thread.
"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, he 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 months -"
"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 days
From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail, 3 days
From Calcutta to Hong Kong, by steamer, 13 days
From Hong Kong to Yokohama (Japan), by steamer, 6 days
From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer, 22 days
From San Francisco to New York, by rail, 7 days
From New York to London, by steamer and rail, 9 days
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 discussion.
"But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails," replied
Stuart. "Suppose they stop the trains, pillage the luggage vans,
and scalp the passengers!"
"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?"
"Yes."
"I should like nothing better."
"When?"
"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 he suddenly
put them down again.
"Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall he 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 it."
"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 he 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 he 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 check 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 friend.
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 4
In Which Phileas Fogg Astounds Passepartout
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 program of his
duties, was more than surprised to see his master guilty of the
inexactness of appearing at this unaccustomed hour. According to
rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.
Mr. Fogg went 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 minutes."
A puzzled grin spread over 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 astonishment.
"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 carpetbag, 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 former
homebody.
By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpetbag,
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 carpetbag, 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?" he asked.
"Nothing, monsieur."
"My mackintosh and cloak?"
"Here they are.
"Good! Take this carpetbag," 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, approached him. Her naked feet were smeared with mud, her
head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered
feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl. She
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 Club.
"Well, gentlemen," he said, "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 honor."
"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-by, 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, leaning back in his corner, did not open his lips.
Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung
mechanically to the carpetbag, 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-"
"What?"
"To turn off the gas in my room!"
"Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg, coolly,
"it will burn - at your expense."
Chapter 5
In Which a New Security Appears on the London Exchange
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 traveling. 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 pass."
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 travelers, 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 traveling 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 the Exchange. "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 confined
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 Englishman."
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 despatch was
put into his hands:
Suez to London
ROWAN, COMMISSIONER OF POLICE, SCOTLAND YARD:
I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send without delay
warrant of arrest to Bombay. FIX, Detective
The effect of this despatch 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
of 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 6
In Which Fix, the Detective, Betrays a Very Natural Impatience
The circumstances under which this telegraphic despatch 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 horsepower, 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
unfavorable 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 cut by at
least a half. The other was a small, slight-built person, 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 despatched 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," he asked for the twentieth time, "that this
steamer is never behind time?"
"No, Mr. Fix," replied the consul. "She was signaled 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 speed."
"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 recognize your man,
even if he is on board the Mongolia."
"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than
recognizes 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 offhand. 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,
scrutinized 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 else."
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 hank robber which he had received from
Scotland Yard.
"Is this your passport?" he asked.
"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
identity."
"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 disturbed."
The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.
Chapter 7
Which Once More Demonstrates the Uselessness
of Passports as Aids to Detectives
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 official.
"Consul," he said, 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 favor to visa it. The consul took the document
and carefully read it, while 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?"
"Yes."
"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 consul.
"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 notebook,
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 AM.
"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, 158-1/2; 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 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 servants.
Chapter 8
In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More,
Perhaps, than Is Prudent
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?"
"Yes."
"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 carpetbag."
"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," he said; "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 from
where his riches came, 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?"
"India."
"In Asia?"
"Certainly."
"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 despatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be
despatched 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, where he sent the despatch 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,
before many more moments, the noble steamer rode out at full
steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.
Chapter 9
In Which the Red Sea and the Indian Ocean Prove
Propitious to the Designs of Phileas Fogg
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
there, 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.
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 attire
twice a day. 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 change, 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. He did not care to recognize 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 seasickness, 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," he said, approaching this person, with
his most amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly
volunteered to guide me at Suez?"
"Ah! I quite recognize you. You are the servant of the strange
Englishman -"
"Just so, monsieur -"
"Fix."
"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 sights."
"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 where date-trees were
growing, was sighted, and on the mountains beyond vast
coffee-fields were seen. 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, northwest of Aden
harbor, to take in coal. This matter of fueling 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 program; 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 Somanlis, Banyas, 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
favorable, the wind being in the north-west, and all sails aiding
the engine. The steamer rolled but little; the ladies, in fresh
dresses, 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 10
In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad
to Get off with the Loss of His Shoes
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 unwieldy
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 northeast as far as Burhampoor, skirts the
nearly independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to
Allahabad, turns towards the east, meeting the Ganges at Benares,
then departs from the river a little, and, descending
southeastward by Burdivan and the French town of Chandernagor,
ends 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-by 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 southeast 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 time."
"For the cats, my lord?"
"Perhaps for the travelers as well."
After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner.
Meanwhile 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 very disappointed, and tried to
obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police.
But the director refused, as the matter concerned the London
office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did
not insist, and resigned 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, civilized, 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-colored 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 see
the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, and was seized with an
irresistible desire to view 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 he 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 suddenly he
found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging. He looked up to
behold three enraged priests, who 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 vigorous kicks. Then, rushing out of the pagoda as fast as
his legs could carry him, he 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
crest-fallen, 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 11
In Which Phileas Fogg Buys a Curious
Means of Conveyance at a Fabulous Price
The train had started punctually. Among the passengers were a
number of officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo
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