In Which Phileas Fogg Shows Himself Equal to the Occasion
An hour later, the Henrietta passed the lighthouse which marks
the entrance of the Hudson, turned the point of Sandy Hook, and
put to sea. During the day she skirted Long Island, passed Fire
Island, and directed her course rapidly eastward.
At noon the next day, a man mounted the bridge to ascertain the
vessel's position. It might be thought that this was Captain
Speedy. Not the least in the world. It was Phileas Fogg, Esquire.
As for Captain Speedy, he was shut up in his cabin under lock and
key, and was uttering loud cries, which signified an anger at
once pardonable and excessive.
What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wished to go to
Liverpool, but the captain would not carry him there. Then
Phileas Fogg had taken passage for Bordeaux, and, during the
thirty hours he had been on board, had so shrewdly managed with
his banknotes that the sailors and stokers, who were only an
occasional crew, and were not on the best terms with the
captain, went over to him in a body. This was why Phileas Fogg
was in command instead of Captain Speedy; why the captain was a
prisoner in his cabin; and why, in short, the Henrietta was
directing her course towards Liverpool. It was very clear, to see
Mr. Fogg manage the craft, that he had been a sailor.
How the adventure ended will be seen soon. Aouda was anxious,
though she said nothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr.
Fogg's maneuver simply glorious. The captain had said "between
eleven and twelve knots," and the Henrietta confirmed his
prediction.
If, then--for there were "ifs" still--the sea did not become
too violent, if the wind did not veer round to the east, if no
accident happened to the boat or its machinery, the Henrietta
might cross the three thousand miles from New York to Liverpool
in the nine days, between the 12th and the 21st of December. It
is true that, once arrived, the affair on board the Henrietta,
added to that of the Bank of England, might create more
difficulties for Mr. Fogg than he imagined or could desire.
During the first days, they went along smoothly enough. The sea
was not very unpropitious, the wind seemed stationary in the
northeast, the sails were hoisted, and the Henrietta ploughed
across the waves like a real trans-Atlantic steamer.
Passepartout was delighted. His master's last exploit, the
consequences of which he ignored, enchanted him. Never had the
crew seen so jolly and dexterous a fellow. He formed warm
friendships with the sailors, and amazed them with his acrobatic
feats. He thought they managed the vessel like gentlemen, and
that the stokers fired up like heroes. His loquacious good-humor
infected everyone. He had forgotten the past, its vexations and
delays. He only thought of the end, so nearly accomplished.
Sometimes he boiled over with impatience, as if heated by the
furnaces of the Henrietta. Often, also, the worthy fellow
revolved around Fix, looking at him with a keen, distrustful eye,
but he did not speak to him, for their old intimacy no longer
existed.
Fix, it must be confessed, understood nothing of what was going
on. The conquest of the Henrietta, the bribery of the crew, Fogg
managing the boat like a skilled seaman, amazed and confused him.
He did not know what to think. For, after all, a man who began by
stealing fifty-five thousand pounds might end by stealing a
vessel; and Fix was not unnaturally inclined to conclude that the
Henrietta, under Fogg's command, was not going to Liverpool at
all, but to some part of the world where the robber, turned into
a pirate, would quietly put himself in safety. The conjecture was
at least a plausible one, and the detective began to seriously
regret that he had embarked on the affair.
As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl and growl in his
cabin. Passepartout, whose duty it was to carry him his meals,
courageous as he was, took the greatest precautions. Mr. Fogg did
not seem even to know that there was a captain on board.
On the 13th they passed the edge of the banks of Newfoundland, a
dangerous locality. During the winter, especially, there are
frequent fogs and heavy gales of wind. Ever since the evening
before, the barometer, suddenly falling, had indicated an
approaching change in the atmosphere. During the night the
temperature varied, the cold became sharper, and the wind veered
to the southeast.
This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to deviate from his
course, furled his sails and increased the force of the steam;
but the vessel's speed slackened, owing to the state of the sea,
the long waves of which broke against the stern. She pitched
violently, and this retarded her progress. The breeze little by
little swelled into a tempest, and it was to be feared that the
Henrietta might not be able to maintain herself upright on the
waves.
Passepartout's visage darkened with the skies, and for two days
the poor fellow experienced constant fright. But Phileas Fogg was
a bold mariner, and knew how to maintain headway against the sea.
He kept on his course, without even decreasing his steam. The
Henrietta, when she could not rise upon the waves, crossed them,
swamping her deck, but passing safely. Sometimes the screw rose
out of the water, beating its protruding end, when a mountain of
water raised the stern above the waves, but the craft always kept
straight ahead.
The wind, however, did not grow as violent as might have been
feared. It was not one of those tempests which burst, and rush on
with a speed of ninety miles an hour. It continued fresh, but,
unhappily, it remained obstinately in the southeast, rendering
the sails useless.
The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day since Phileas
Fogg's departure from London, and the Henrietta had not yet been
seriously delayed. Half of the voyage was almost accomplished,
and the worst localities had been passed. In summer, success
would have been well-nigh certain. In winter, they were at the
mercy of the bad season. Passepartout said nothing; but he
cherished hope in secret, and comforted himself with the
reflection that, if the wind failed them, they might still count
on the steam.
On this day the engineer came on deck, went up to Mr. Fogg, and
began to speak earnestly with him. Without knowing why--it was a
presentiment, perhaps--Passepartout became vaguely uneasy. He
would have given one of his ears to hear with the other what the
engineer was saying. He finally managed to catch a few words, and
was sure he heard his master say, "You are certain of what you
tell me?"
"Certain, sir," replied the engineer. "You must remember that,
since we started, we have kept up hot fires in all our furnaces.
Though we had coal enough to go on short steam from New York to
Bordeaux, we haven't enough to go with all steam from New York to
Liverpool."
"I will consider," replied Mr. Fogg.
Passepartout understood it all. He was seized with mortal
anxiety. The coal was giving out! "Ah, if my master can get over
that," he muttered, "he'll be a famous man!" He could not help
imparting to Fix what he had overheard.
"Then you believe that we really are going to Liverpool?"
"Of course."
"Ass!" replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders and turning
on his heel.
Passepartout was on the point of vigorously resenting the
epithet, the reason of which he could not for the life of him
comprehend; but he reflected that the unfortunate Fix was
probably very much disappointed and humiliated in his
self-esteem, after having so awkwardly followed a false scent
around the world, and he said nothing.
And now what course would Phileas Fogg adopt? It was difficult to
imagine. Nevertheless he seemed to have decided upon one, for
that evening he sent for the engineer, and said to him, "Feed all
the fires until the coal is exhausted."
A few moments after, the funnel of the Henrietta vomited forth
torrents of smoke. The vessel continued to proceed with all steam
on; but on the 18th, the engineer, as he had predicted, announced
that the coal would give out in the course of the day.
"Do not let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg. "Keep them up
to the last. Let the valves be filled."
Towards noon Phileas Fogg, having ascertained their position,
called Passepartout, and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy. It
was as if the honest fellow had been commanded to unchain a
tiger. He went to the poop, saying to himself, "He will be like a
madman!"
In a few moments, with cries and oaths, a bomb appeared on the
poop-deck. The bomb was Captain Speedy. It was clear that he was
on the point of bursting. "Where are we?" were the first words
his anger permitted him to utter. Had the poor man been
apoplectic, he could never have recovered from his paroxysm of
wrath.
"Where are we?" he repeated, with purple face.
"Seven hundred and seven miles from Liverpool," replied Mr. Fogg,
with imperturbable calmness.
"Pirate!" cried Captain Speedy.
"I have sent for you, sir--"
"Pickaroon!"
"--sir," continued Mr. Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your vessel."
"No! By all the devils, no!"
"But I shall be obliged to burn her."
"Burn the Henrietta!"
"Yes, at least the upper part of her. The coal has given
out."
"Burn my vessel!" cried Captain Speedy, who could scarcely
pronounce the words. "A vessel worth fifty thousand dollars!"
"Here are sixty thousand," replied Phileas Fogg, handing the
captain a roll of bank bills. This had a prodigious effect on
Andrew Speedy. An American can scarcely remain unmoved at the
sight of sixty thousand dollars. The captain forgot in an instant
his anger, his imprisonment, and all his grudges against his
passenger. The Henrietta was twenty years old. It was a great
bargain. The bomb would not go off after all. Mr. Fogg had taken
away the match.
"And I shall still have the iron hull," said the captain in a
softer tone.
"The iron hull and the engine. Is it agreed?"
"Agreed."
And Andrew Speedy, seizing the banknotes, counted them and
consigned them to his pocket.
During this colloquy, Passepartout was as white as a sheet, and
Fix seemed on the point of having an apoplectic fit. Nearly
twenty thousand pounds had been expended, and Fogg left the hull
and engine to the captain, that is, near the whole value of the
craft! It was true, however, that fifty-five thousand pounds had
been stolen from the Bank.
When Andrew Speedy had pocketed the money, Mr. Fogg said to him,
"Don't let this astonish you, sir. You must know that I shall
lose twenty thousand pounds, unless I arrive in London by a
quarter before nine of the evening of the 21st of December. I
missed the steamer at New York, and as you refused to take me to
Liverpool--"
"And I did well," cried Andrew Speedy; "for I have gained at
least forty thousand dollars by it!" He added, more sedately, "Do
you know one thing, Captain--"
"Fogg."
"Captain Fogg, you've got something of the Yankee about you."
And, having paid his passenger what he considered a high
compliment, he was going away, when Mr. Fogg said, "The vessel
now belongs to me?"
"Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts--all the
wood, that is."
"Very well. Have the interior seats, bunks, and frames pulled
down, and burn them."
It was necessary to have dry wood to keep the steam up to the
adequate pressure, and on that day the poop, cabins, bunks and
the spare deck were sacrificed. On the next day, the 19th of
December, the masts, rafts and spars were burned. The crew worked
lustily, keeping up the fires. Passepartout hewed, cut and sawed
away with all his might. There was a perfect rage for
demolition.
The railings, fittings, the greater part of the deck and top
sides disappeared on the 20th, and the Henrietta was now only a
flat hulk. But on this day they sighted the Irish coast and
Fastnet Light. By ten in the evening they were passing
Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had only twenty-four hours more in which
to get to London. That length of time was necessary to reach
Liverpool, with all steam on. And the steam was about to give out
altogether!
"Sir," said Captain Speedy, who was now deeply interested in Mr.
Fogg's project, "I really pity you. Everything is against you. We
are only opposite Queenstown."
"Ah," said Mr. Fogg, "is that place where we see the lights
Queenstown?"
"Yes."
"Can we enter the harbor?"
"Not under three hours. Only at high tide."
"Wait," replied Mr. Fogg calmly, without betraying in his
features that by a supreme inspiration he was about to attempt
once more to conquer ill fortune.
Queenstown is the Irish port at which the trans-Atlantic steamers
stop to put off the mails. These mails are carried to Dublin by
express trains always held in readiness to start. From Dublin
they are sent on to Liverpool by the most rapid boats, and thus
gain twelve hours on the Atlantic steamers.
Phileas Fogg counted on gaining twelve hours in the same way.
Instead of arriving at Liverpool the next evening by the
Henrietta, he would be there by noon, and would therefore have
time to reach London before a quarter before nine in the
evening.
The Henrietta entered Queenstown Harbor at one o'clock in the
morning, it then being high tide. Phileas Fogg, after being
grasped heartily by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that
gentleman on the leveled hulk of his craft, which was still worth
half what he had sold it for.
The party went on shore at once. Fix was greatly tempted to
arrest Mr. Fogg on the spot; but he did not. Why? What struggle
was going on within him? Had he changed his mind about "his man"?
Did he understand that he had made a grave mistake? He did not,
however, abandon Mr. Fogg. They all got on the train, which was
just ready to start, at half-past one. At dawn of day they were
in Dublin; and they lost no time in embarking on a steamer which,
disdaining to rise upon the waves, invariably cut through them.
Phileas Fogg at last disembarked on the Liverpool quay, at twenty
minutes before twelve, the 21st of December. He was only six
hours distant from London.
But at this moment Fix came up, put his hand upon Mr. Fogg's
shoulder, and, showing his warrant, said, "You are really Phileas
Fogg?"
"I am."
"I arrest you in the Queen's name!"