Chapter 21
In Which the Master of the Tankadere Runs Great Riskof Losing a Reward of Two Hundred Pounds
This voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture on acraft of twenty tons, and at that season of the year. The Chineseseas are usually boisterous, subject to terrible gales of wind,especially during the equinoxes, and it was now early November.
It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry hispassengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day.But he would have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it wasimprudent even to attempt to reach Shanghai. But John Bunsbybelieved in the Tankadere, which rode on the waves like aseagull; and perhaps he was not wrong.
Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels ofHong Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favorable winds,conducted herself admirably.
"I do not need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, when they got into theopen sea, "to advise you to use all possible speed."
"Trust me, your honor. We are carrying all the sail the wind willlet us. The poles would add nothing, and are only used when weare going into port."
"It's your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."
Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing likea sailor, gazed without staggering at the swelling waters. Theyoung woman, who was seated aft, was profoundly affected as shelooked out upon the ocean, darkening now with the twilight, onwhich she had ventured in so frail a vessel. Above her headrustled the white sails, which seemed like great white wings. Theboat, carried forward by the wind, seemed to be flying in theair.
Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter, and herinsufficient light would soon die out in the mist on the horizon.Clouds were rising from the east, and already overcast a part ofthe heavens.
The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary inthese seas crowded with vessels bound landward. Collisions arenot uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, theleast shock would shatter the gallant little craft.
Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He keptapart from his fellow-travelers, knowing Mr. Fogg's taciturntastes. Besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whosefavors he had accepted. He was thinking, too, of the future. Itseemed certain that Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would atonce take the boat for San Francisco; and the vast extent ofAmerica would ensure him impunity and safety. Fogg's planappeared to him the simplest in the world.
Instead of sailing directly from England to the United States,like a common villain, he had traveled three quarters of theglobe, so as to gain the American continent more surely. There,after throwing the police off his track, he would quietly enjoyhimself with the fortune stolen from the bank. But, once in theUnited States, what should he, Fix, do? Should he abandon thisman? No, a hundred times no! Until he had secured hisextradition, he would not lose sight of him for an hour. It washis duty, and he would fulfill it to the end. At all events,there was one thing to be thankful for. Passepartout was not withhis master; and it was above all important, after the confidencesFix had imparted to him, that the servant should never havespeech with his master.
Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had sostrangely disappeared. Looking at the matter from every point ofview, it did not seem to him impossible that, by some mistake,the man might have embarked on the Carnatic at the last moment.This was also Aouda's opinion, who regretted very much the lossof the worthy fellow to whom she owed so much. They might thenfind him at Yokohama, for, if the Carnatic was carrying himthither, it would be easy to ascertain if he had been on board.
A brisk breeze arose about ten o'clock; but, though it might havebeen prudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after carefullyexamining the heavens, let the craft remain rigged as before. TheTankadere bore sail admirably, as she drew a great deal of water,and everything was prepared for high speed in case of a gale.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight, havingbeen already preceded by Fix, who had lain down on one of thecots. The pilot and crew remained on deck all night.
At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat hadmade more than one hundred miles. The log indicated a mean speedof between eight and nine miles. The Tankadere still carried allsail, and was accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. Ifthe wind held as it was, the chances would be in her favor.During the day she kept along the coast, where the currents werefavorable. The coast, regular in profile, and visible sometimesacross the clearings, was at most five miles distant. The sea wasless violent, since the wind came off land--a fortunatecircumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owing to its smalltonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.
The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from thesouthwest. The pilot put up his poles, but took them down againwithin two hours, as the wind freshened up anew.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of thesea, ate with a good appetite. Fix was invited to share theirrepast, and he accepted with secret chagrin. To travel at thisman's expense and live upon his provisions was not palatable tohim. Still, he was obliged to eat, and so he ate.
When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said,"sir"--this "sir" scorched his lips, and he had to control himself toavoid collaring this "gentleman"--"sir, you have been very kindto give me a passage on this boat. But, though my means will notadmit of my expending them as freely as you, I must ask to pay myshare--"
"Let us not speak of that, sir," replied Mr. Fogg.
"But, if I insist--"
"No, sir," repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of areply. "This enters into my general expenses."
Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward,where he ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the restof the day.
Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was inhigh hope. He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they wouldreach Shanghai in time; to which that gentleman responded that hecounted upon it. The crew set to work in good earnest, inspiredby the reward to be gained. There was not a sheet which was nottightened, not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted; not alurch could be charged to the man at the helm. They worked asdesperately as if they were contesting in a Royal yacht regatta.
By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles hadbeen accomplished from Hong Kong. Mr. Fogg might hope that hewould be able to reach Yokohama without recording any delay inhis journal; in which case, the many misadventures which hadovertaken him since he left London would not seriously affecthis journey.
The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate theisland of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours ofthe night, and crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was veryrough in the straits, full of eddies formed by thecounter-currents, and the chopping waves broke her course, whileit became very difficult to stand on deck.
At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavensseemed to predict a gale. The barometer announced a speedychange, the mercury rising and falling capriciously. The seaalso, in the southeast, raised long surges which indicated atempest. The sun had set the evening before in a red mist, in themidst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.
John Bunsby examined the threatening aspect of the heavens,muttering indistinctly between his teeth. At last he said in alow voice to Mr. Fogg, "Shall I speak out to your honor?"
"Of course."
"Well, we are going to have a squall."
"Is the wind north or south?" asked Mr. Fogg quietly.
"South. Look! A typhoon is coming up."
"Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it will carry usforward."
"Oh, if you take it that way," said John Bunsby, "I've nothingmore to say." John Bunsby's suspicions were confirmed. At a lessadvanced season of the year the typhoon, according to a famousmeteorologist, would have passed away like a luminous cascade ofelectric flame; but in the winter equinox it was to be fearedthat it would burst upon them with grea
t violence.
The pilot took his precautions in advance. He reefed all sail,the pole-masts were dispensed with; all hands went forward to thebows. A single triangular sail, of strong canvas, was hoisted asa storm-jib, so as to hold the wind from behind. Then theywaited.
John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but thisimprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the boatbouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant. Neither Mr. Fogg,Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the deck. The storm of rain andwind descended upon them towards eight o'clock. With but its bitof sail, the Tankadere was lifted like a feather by a wind, anidea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To compare herspeed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steamwould be below the truth.
The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on bymonstrous waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal totheirs. Twenty times she seemed almost to be submerged by thesemountains of water which rose behind her, but the adroitmanagement of the pilot saved her. The passengers were oftenbathed in spray, but they submitted to it philosophically. Fixcursed it, but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector,whose coolness amazed her, showed herself worthy of him, andbravely weathered the storm. As for Phileas Fogg, it seemed justas if the typhoon were a part of his program.
Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to thenorth; but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, boredown from the northwest. The boat, now lying in the trough of thewaves, shook and rolled terribly. The sea struck her with fearfulviolence. At night the tempest increased in violence. John Bunsbysaw the approach of darkness and the rising of the storm withdark misgivings. He thought awhile, and then asked his crew if itwas not time to slacken speed. After a consultation he approachedMr. Fogg, and said, "I think, your honor, that we should do wellto make for one of the ports on the coast."
"I think so too."
"Ah!" said the pilot. "But which one?"
"I know of but one," returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly.
"And that is--"
"Shanghai."
The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend. He couldscarcely realize so much determination and tenacity. Then hecried, "Well--yes! Your honor is right. To Shanghai!"
So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.
The night was really terrible. It would be a miracle if the craftdid not founder. Twice it would have been all over with her ifthe crew had not been constantly on the watch. Aouda wasexhausted, but did not utter a complaint. More than once Mr. Foggrushed to protect her from the violence of the waves.
Day reappeared. The tempest still raged with undiminished fury,but the wind now returned to the southeast. It was a favorablechange, and the Tankadere again bounded forward on thismountainous sea, though the waves crossed each other, andimparted shocks and countershocks which would have crushed acraft less solidly built. From time to time the coast was visiblethrough the broken mist, but no vessel was in sight. TheTankadere was alone upon the sea.
There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became moredistinct as the sun descended towards the horizon. The tempesthad been as brief as terrific. The passengers, thoroughlyexhausted, could now eat a little, and take some repose.
The night was comparatively quiet. Some of the sails were againhoisted, and the speed of the boat was very good. The nextmorning at dawn they saw the coast, and John Bunsby was able toassert that they were not one hundred miles from Shanghai. Ahundred miles, and only one day to cross them! That very eveningMr. Fogg was due at Shanghai, if he did not wish to miss thesteamer to Yokohama. Had there been no storm, during whichseveral hours were lost, they would be at this moment withinthirty miles of their destination.
The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it.All sails were now hoisted, and at noon the Tankadere was withinforty-five miles of Shanghai. There remained yet six hours inwhich to accomplish that distance. All on board feared that itcould not be done, and every one--Phileas Fogg, no doubt,excepted--felt his heart beat with impatience. The boat mustkeep up an average of nine miles an hour, and the wind wasbecoming calmer every moment! It was a capricious breeze, comingfrom the coast, and after it passed the sea became smooth. Still,the Tankadere was so light, and her fine sails caught the ficklezephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the current, John Bunsbyfound himself at six o'clock not more than ten miles from themouth of Shanghai River. Shanghai itself is situated at leasttwelve miles up the stream. At seven they were still three milesfrom Shanghai. The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward of twohundred pounds was evidently on the point of escaping him. Helooked at Mr. Fogg. Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil, yet hiswhole fortune was at this moment at stake.
At this moment, also, a long black funnel, crowned with wreathsof smoke, appeared on the edge of the waters. It was the Americansteamer, leaving for Yokohama at the appointed time.
"Confound her!" cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder with adesperate jerk.
"Signal her!" said Phileas Fogg quietly.
A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the Tankaderefor making signals in the fogs. It was loaded to the muzzle, butjust as the pilot was about to apply a red-hot coal to thetouchhole, Mr. Fogg said, "Hoist your flag!"
The flag was run up at half-mast, and, this being the signal ofdistress, it was hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it,would change her course a little, so as to help the pilot boat.
"Fire!" said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little cannonresounded in the air.