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Around the World in Eighty Days
Chapter 21. IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE "TANKADERE" RUNS GREAT RISK OF LOSING A REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS
This trip of eight hundred miles was a dangerous plan on a small boat of twenty tons, and at that time of year.
The Chinese seas are often rough, with terrible winds, and especially in the equinoxes, it was now early November.
It would clearly have been better for the master to take his passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a set sum each day.
But it would have been rash to try that voyage, and it wasn't safe even to try to reach Shanghai.
Still John Bunsby trusted the "Tankadere," which moved on the waves like a seagull, and maybe he wasn't wrong.
Late in the day they passed through the changeable channels of Hong Kong, and the "Tankadere," driven by good winds, behaved very well.
"I don't need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, when they reached the open sea, "to tell you to use all possible speed."
"Trust me, your honour."
"We're carrying all the sail the wind will let us."
"The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we're going into port."
"It's your trade, not mine, pilot, and I trust you."
Phileas Fogg stood upright with his legs apart, like a sailor, and looked steadily at the swelling waters.
The young woman, seated at the back, was deeply moved as she looked out at the ocean growing dark with the evening.
She had ventured onto that ocean in such a weak boat.
Above her head the white sails rustled like great white wings.
The boat, pushed by the wind, seemed to be flying.
Night came, the moon was in her first quarter, and her weak light would soon die in the mist on the horizon.
Clouds were rising from the east, and part of the sky was already covered.
The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in these seas full of ships going to land.
Collisions aren't rare, and at the speed they were going the least shock would break the brave little boat.
Fix, seated in the front, gave himself up to thought.
He kept away from his fellow travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg's quiet ways.
Also, he didn't much like to talk to the man whose help he had accepted.
He was thinking of the future.
It seemed certain that Fogg wouldn't stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the boat for San Francisco.
The wide land of America would give him safety.
Fogg's plan seemed the simplest thing in the world.
Instead of sailing from England to the United States like a thief, he sailed most of the world to reach America safely.
There, after putting the police off his track, he'd quietly enjoy himself with the money taken from the bank.
But once in the United States, what should Fix do?
Should he leave this man? No, a hundred times no.
Until he had secured his arrest and return, he wouldn't lose sight of him for an hour.
It was his duty, and he'd do it to the end.
At least one thing made him glad, Passepartout wasn't with his master.
And it was very important, after the secrets Fix had told him, that the servant should never speak with his master.
Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so strangely disappeared.
Looking at it from every side, it didn't seem impossible that by some mistake the man might have boarded the "Carnatic" at the last moment.
Aouda thought so too, and she was very sorry to have lost the kind fellow who had helped her so much.
They might find him at Yokohama.
If the "Carnatic" was taking him there, it would be easy to see if he had sailed on her.
A fresh breeze rose about ten o'clock.
Though it might have been wise to reduce sail, the pilot, after looking carefully at the sky, left the rig as it was.
The "Tankadere" held sail well, drawing a lot of water, and everything was ready for high speed if a gale came.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda went down to the cabin at midnight, Fix having already gone to lie on one of the cots.
The pilot and crew stayed on deck all night.
At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had made more than one hundred miles.
The log showed an average speed between eight and nine miles.
The "Tankadere" still had all sail up, and was reaching her top speed.
If the wind stayed like that, the chances were in her favour.
During the day she kept near the coast, where the currents helped.
The coast, with an uneven shape, was sometimes seen through breaks, and was at most five miles away.
The sea was less wild because the wind came from the land.
This was good for the boat, which would have suffered in heavy seas because of her small size.
The breeze dropped a little toward noon, then came from the south-west.
The pilot put up his poles, but took them down again within two hours as the wind became stronger.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, luckily not sick from the rough sea, ate well.
Fix was asked to join them, and he agreed with secret shame.
To travel at this man's cost and live on his food didn't please him.
Still, he had to eat, and so he ate.
When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg aside and said "sir."
That "sir" burned his lips, and he had to control himself to stop grabbing this "gentleman.".
"Sir, you have been very kind to give me a place on this boat."
"But, though I don't have as much money as you, I must ask to pay my share, ".
"Let us not speak of that, sir," replied Mr. Fogg.
"But, if I insist, "
"No, sir," said Mr. Fogg, in a tone that didn't allow an answer.
"This is part of my general expenses."
Fix, as he bowed, felt choked, and went forward to hide himself.
He didn't speak again that day.
Meanwhile they were going very well, and John Bunsby was full of hope.
He told Mr. Fogg several times that they'd reach Shanghai in time, and Mr. Fogg answered that he counted on it.
The crew worked hard, driven by the reward they hoped to get.
Every sheet was tightened, every sail was hoisted with strength, and the man at the helm gave no false move.
They worked as if they were fighting in a royal yacht race.
By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had been done from Hong Kong.
Mr. Fogg might hope to reach Yokohama without a delay in his diary.
If so, the many bad events that followed him since he left London wouldn't badly affect his journey.
The "Tankadere" entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, separating Formosa from the Chinese coast, at night and crossed the Tropic of Cancer.
The sea was very rough in the straits and full of whirlpools made by the opposite currents.
The chopping waves broke her path and it became very hard to stand on deck.
At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the sky seemed to warn of a gale.
The barometer showed a quick change, the mercury rising and falling oddly.
The sea in the south-east had long swells that showed a storm.
The sun had set the evening before in a red mist among the glowing flashes of the ocean.
John Bunsby long looked at the threatening sky, muttering under his breath.
At last he said softly to Mr. Fogg, "Shall I speak out to your honour?"
"Of course."
"Well, we're going to have a squall."
"Is the wind north or south?" asked Mr. Fogg calmly.
"South. Look, a typhoon is coming up."
"Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it'll carry us forward."
"Oh, if you take it that way," said John Bunsby, "I have nothing more to say." John Bunsby's fears were right.
At a less advanced season the typhoon, said a famous weather expert, would have passed like a bright flow of electric light.
But in the winter equinox it was feared it would break on them with great force.
The pilot took care in advance.
He reduced all sail, the pole masts were removed, and all hands went to the front.
A single triangular sail of strong canvas was hoisted as a storm jib to hold the wind from behind, then they waited.
John Bunsby asked his passengers to go below.
But that prison in such a small space, with little air, and the boat jumping in the gale, wasn't pleasant.
Mr. Fogg, Fix, and Aouda wouldn't leave the deck.
The storm of rain and wind came on them around eight o'clock.
With only its small sail, the "Tankadere" was lifted like a feather by a wind whose force is hard to tell.
To compare her speed to four times that of a full steam train would be too small.
The boat ran north during the whole day, carried by huge waves, keeping, luckily, a speed equal to theirs.
Twenty times she seemed nearly swallowed by the mountains of water that rose behind her, but the clever work of the pilot saved her.
The passengers were often wet with spray, but they took it calmly.
Fix may have cursed, but Aouda, eyes on her protector whose calm amazed her, proved worthy and bravely faced the storm.
As for Phileas Fogg, it seemed as if the typhoon were part of his plan.
Until this time the "Tankadere" had always kept north.
But toward evening the wind turned three quarters and came from the north-west.
The boat, now in the trough of the waves, shook and rolled badly.
The sea hit her with frightful force.
At night the storm grew stronger.
John Bunsby saw the coming darkness and the rising storm with dark fear.
He thought a while, then asked his crew if it was time to slow down.
After a talk he went to Mr. Fogg and said,
"I think, your honour, that we should try to reach one of the ports on the coast."
"I think so too."
"Ah," said the pilot.
"But which one?"
"I know of only one," answered Mr. Fogg calmly.
"And that's, "
"Shanghai."
The pilot at first didn't seem to understand.
He could hardly believe such decision and strength.
Then he cried, "Well yes, your honour is right. To Shanghai!"
So the "Tankadere" kept on her northward course.
The night was truly terrible, it would be a miracle if the boat didn't sink.
Twice it could have been over if the crew hadn't been always watching.
Aouda was worn out but didn't complain.
More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect her from the waves.
Day came again, the storm still raged, but the wind now returned to the south-east.
It was a good change, and the "Tankadere"
Again leaped forward on this huge sea, though the waves crossed and gave shocks and counter shocks that would have crushed a weaker boat.
From time to time the coast was seen through the broken mist, but no ship was in sight.
The "Tankadere" was alone on the sea.
There were signs of calm at noon, and they became clearer as the sun moved toward the horizon.
The storm had been short and very fierce.
The passengers, completely exhausted, could now eat a little and rest.
The night was rather quiet, Some sails were hoisted again, and the boat's speed was good.
The next morning at dawn they saw the coast, and John Bunsby could say they weren't one hundred miles from Shanghai.
One hundred miles, and only one day to go.
That very evening Mr. Fogg had to be at Shanghai if he didn't want to miss the steamer to Yokohama.
If there had been no storm that cost them hours, they'd now be within thirty miles of their goal.
The wind grew calmer, and happily the sea dropped with it.
All sails were now up, and at noon the "Tankadere" was within forty five miles of Shanghai.
There were still six hours to go to cover that distance.
Everyone on board feared it couldn't be done, and every one, except Phileas Fogg, felt his heart beat with worry.
The boat had to keep an average of nine miles an hour, and the wind was getting weaker every moment.
It was a changeable breeze from the coast, and after it passed the sea became smooth.
Still, the "Tankadere" was so light and her fine sails caught the slow winds so well.
With the help of the currents, John Bunsby found himself at six o'clock not more than ten miles from the mouth of the Shanghai River.
Shanghai itself is at least twelve miles up the river.
At seven they were still three miles from Shanghai.
The pilot swore an angry oath.
The reward of two hundred pounds was clearly on the point of escaping him.
He looked at Mr. Fogg, Mr. Fogg was perfectly calm, and yet his whole fortune was at that moment at risk.
At this moment a long black funnel, crowned with wreaths of smoke, appeared at the edge of the waters.
It was the American steamer, leaving for Yokohama at the set time.
"Confound her!" cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder with a desperate jerk.
"Signal her!" said Phileas Fogg calmly.
A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the "Tankadere" for making signals in fog.
It was loaded to the muzzle.
But just as the pilot was about to put a red hot coal to the touchhole, Mr. Fogg said, "Hoist your flag!"
The flag was run up at half mast as a signal of distress.
They hoped the American steamer would see it and change course a little to help the pilot boat.
"Fire!" said Mr. Fogg.
And the booming of the little cannon rang in the air.