Around the World in Eighty Days
without being himself perceived; while Passepartout, laughing in his
sleeve at Fix’s manœuvres, went about his usual errands.
The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are no
mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions. It is a park
checkered by pleasant highways and avenues. A handsome carriage, drawn
by a sleek pair of New Holland horses, carried Phileas Fogg and Aouda
into the midst of rows of palms with brilliant foliage, and of
clove-trees, whereof the cloves form the heart of a half-open flower.
Pepper plants replaced the prickly hedges of European fields;
sago-bushes, large ferns with gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of
this tropical clime; while nutmeg-trees in full foliage filled the air
with a penetrating perfume. Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skipped
about in the trees, nor were tigers wanting in the jungles.
After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr. Fogg
returned to the town, which is a vast collection of heavy-looking,
irregular houses, surrounded by charming gardens rich in tropical
fruits and plants; and at ten o’clock they re-embarked, closely
followed by the detective, who had kept them constantly in sight.
Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes—a fruit as
large as good-sized apples, of a dark-brown colour outside and a bright
red within, and whose white pulp, melting in the mouth, affords
gourmands a delicious sensation—was waiting for them on deck. He was
only too glad to offer some mangoes to Aouda, who thanked him very
gracefully for them.
At eleven o’clock the “Rangoon” rode out of Singapore harbour, and in a
few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their forests, inhabited
by the most beautifully-furred tigers in the world, were lost to view.
Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred miles from the island of
Hong Kong, which is a little English colony near the Chinese coast.
Phileas Fogg hoped to accomplish the journey in six days, so as to be
in time for the steamer which would leave on the 6th of November for
Yokohama, the principal Japanese port.
The “Rangoon” had a large quota of passengers, many of whom disembarked
at Singapore, among them a number of Indians, Ceylonese, Chinamen,
Malays, and Portuguese, mostly second-class travellers.
The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the last
quarter of the moon. The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at intervals
rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from the south-west, and thus
aided the steamer’s progress. The captain as often as possible put up
his sails, and under the double action of steam and sail the vessel
made rapid progress along the coasts of Anam and Cochin China. Owing to
the defective construction of the “Rangoon,” however, unusual
precautions became necessary in unfavourable weather; but the loss of
time which resulted from this cause, while it nearly drove Passepartout
out of his senses, did not seem to affect his master in the least.
Passepartout blamed the captain, the engineer, and the crew, and
consigned all who were connected with the ship to the land where the
pepper grows. Perhaps the thought of the gas, which was remorselessly
burning at his expense in Saville Row, had something to do with his hot
impatience.
“You are in a great hurry, then,” said Fix to him one day, “to reach
Hong Kong?”
“A very great hurry!”
“Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for Yokohama?”
“Terribly anxious.”
“You believe in this journey around the world, then?”
“Absolutely. Don’t you, Mr. Fix?”
“I? I don’t believe a word of it.”
“You’re a sly dog!” said Passepartout, winking at him.
This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why. Had the
Frenchman guessed his real purpose? He knew not what to think. But how
could Passepartout have discovered that he was a detective? Yet, in
speaking as he did, the man evidently meant more than he expressed.
Passepartout went still further the next day; he could not hold his
tongue.
“Mr. Fix,” said he, in a bantering tone, “shall we be so unfortunate as
to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?”
“Why,” responded Fix, a little embarrassed, “I don’t know; perhaps—”
“Ah, if you would only go on with us! An agent of the Peninsular
Company, you know, can’t stop on the way! You were only going to
Bombay, and here you are in China. America is not far off, and from
America to Europe is only a step.”
Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was as serene
as possible, and laughed with him. But Passepartout persisted in
chaffing him by asking him if he made much by his present occupation.
“Yes, and no,” returned Fix; “there is good and bad luck in such
things. But you must understand that I don’t travel at my own expense.”
“Oh, I am quite sure of that!” cried Passepartout, laughing heartily.
Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself up to his
reflections. He was evidently suspected; somehow or other the Frenchman
had found out that he was a detective. But had he told his master? What
part was he playing in all this: was he an accomplice or not? Was the
game, then, up? Fix spent several hours turning these things over in
his mind, sometimes thinking that all was lost, then persuading himself
that Fogg was ignorant of his presence, and then undecided what course
it was best to take.
Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last resolved
to deal plainly with Passepartout. If he did not find it practicable to
arrest Fogg at Hong Kong, and if Fogg made preparations to leave that
last foothold of English territory, he, Fix, would tell Passepartout
all. Either the servant was the accomplice of his master, and in this
case the master knew of his operations, and he should fail; or else the
servant knew nothing about the robbery, and then his interest would be
to abandon the robber.
Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout. Meanwhile Phileas
Fogg moved about above them in the most majestic and unconscious
indifference. He was passing methodically in his orbit around the
world, regardless of the lesser stars which gravitated around him. Yet
there was near by what the astronomers would call a disturbing star,
which might have produced an agitation in this gentleman’s heart. But
no! the charms of Aouda failed to act, to Passepartout’s great
surprise; and the disturbances, if they existed, would have been more
difficult to calculate than those of Uranus which led to the discovery
of Neptune.
It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read in
Aouda’s eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master. Phileas Fogg,
though brave and gallant, must be, he thought, quite heartless. As to
the sentiment which this journey might have awakened in him, there was
clearly no trace of such a thing; while poor Passepartout existed in
perpetual reveries.
One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine-room, and was
observing the engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer threw the
screw out of the water. The steam came hissing out of the valves; and
this made Passepartout indignant.
“The valves are not sufficiently charged!” he exclaimed. “We are not
going. Oh, these English! If this was an American craft, we should blow
up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!”
CHAPTER XVIII.
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG, PASSEPARTOUT, AND FIX GO EACH ABOUT HIS BUSINESS
The weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The wind,
obstinately remaining in the north-west, blew a gale, and retarded the
steamer. The “Rangoon” rolled heavily and the passengers became
impatient of the long, monstrous waves which the wind raised before
their path. A sort of tempest arose on the 3rd of November, the squall
knocking the vessel about with fury, and the waves running high. The
“Rangoon” reefed all her sails, and even the rigging proved too much,
whistling and shaking amid the squall. The steamer was forced to
proceed slowly, and the captain estimated that she would reach Hong
Kong twenty hours behind time, and more if the storm lasted.
Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be
struggling especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity. He
never changed countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty
hours, by making him too late for the Yokohama boat, would almost
inevitably cause the loss of the wager. But this man of nerve
manifested neither impatience nor annoyance; it seemed as if the storm
were a part of his programme, and had been foreseen. Aouda was amazed
to find him as calm as he had been from the first time she saw him.
Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light. The storm
greatly pleased him. His satisfaction would have been complete had the
“Rangoon” been forced to retreat before the violence of wind and waves.
Each delay filled him with hope, for it became more and more probable
that Fogg would be obliged to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now
the heavens themselves became his allies, with the gusts and squalls.
It mattered not that they made him sea-sick—he made no account of this
inconvenience; and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects,
his spirit bounded with hopeful exultation.
Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious weather.
Everything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had seemed to be at
his master’s service; steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and steam
united to speed his journey. Had the hour of adversity come?
Passepartout was as much excited as if the twenty thousand pounds were
to come from his own pocket. The storm exasperated him, the gale made
him furious, and he longed to lash the obstinate sea into obedience.
Poor fellow! Fix carefully concealed from him his own satisfaction,
for, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely have restrained
himself from personal violence.
Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted, being
unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head to aid the
progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew. He overwhelmed
the captain, officers, and sailors, who could not help laughing at his
impatience, with all sorts of questions. He wanted to know exactly how
long the storm was going to last; whereupon he was referred to the
barometer, which seemed to have no intention of rising. Passepartout
shook it, but with no perceptible effect; for neither shaking nor
maledictions could prevail upon it to change its mind.
On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm lessened
its violence; the wind veered southward, and was once more favourable.
Passepartout cleared up with the weather. Some of the sails were
unfurled, and the “Rangoon” resumed its most rapid speed. The time lost
could not, however, be regained. Land was not signalled until five
o’clock on the morning of the 6th; the steamer was due on the 5th.
Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours behind-hand, and the Yokohama
steamer would, of course, be missed.
The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge, to
guide the “Rangoon” through the channels to the port of Hong Kong.
Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for Yokohama;
but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark of hope, which
still remained till the last moment. He had confided his anxiety to Fix
who—the sly rascal!—tried to console him by saying that Mr. Fogg would
be in time if he took the next boat; but this only put Passepartout in
a passion.
Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach the
pilot, and tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would leave
Hong Kong for Yokohama.
“At high tide to-morrow morning,” answered the pilot.
“Ah!” said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.