The next morning poor, jaded, famished Passepartout said to himself
that he must get something to eat at all hazards, and the sooner he did
so the better. He might, indeed, sell his watch; but he would have
starved first. Now or never he must use the strong, if not melodious
voice which nature had bestowed upon him. He knew several French and
English songs, and resolved to try them upon the Japanese, who must be
lovers of music, since they were for ever pounding on their cymbals,
tam-tams, and tambourines, and could not but appreciate European talent.

It was, perhaps, rather early in the morning to get up a concert, and
the audience prematurely aroused from their slumbers, might not
possibly pay their entertainer with coin bearing the Mikado's features.
Passepartout therefore decided to wait several hours; and, as he was
sauntering along, it occurred to him that he would seem rather too well
dressed for a wandering artist. The idea struck him to change his
garments for clothes more in harmony with his project; by which he
might also get a little money to satisfy the immediate cravings of
hunger. The resolution taken, it remained to carry it out.

It was only after a long search that Passepartout discovered a native
dealer in old clothes, to whom he applied for an exchange. The man
liked the European costume, and ere long Passepartout issued from his
shop accoutred in an old Japanese coat, and a sort of one-sided turban,
faded with long use. A few small pieces of silver, moreover, jingled
in his pocket.

"Good!" thought he. "I will imagine I am at the Carnival!"

His first care, after being thus "Japanesed," was to enter a tea-house
of modest appearance, and, upon half a bird and a little rice, to
breakfast like a man for whom dinner was as yet a problem to be solved.

"Now," thought he, when he had eaten heartily, "I mustn't lose my head.
I can't sell this costume again for one still more Japanese. I must
consider how to leave this country of the Sun, of which I shall not
retain the most delightful of memories, as quickly as possible."

It occurred to him to visit the steamers which were about to leave for
America. He would offer himself as a cook or servant, in payment of
his passage and meals. Once at San Francisco, he would find some means
of going on. The difficulty was, how to traverse the four thousand
seven hundred miles of the Pacific which lay between Japan and the New
World.

Passepartout was not the man to let an idea go begging, and directed
his steps towards the docks. But, as he approached them, his project,
which at first had seemed so simple, began to grow more and more
formidable to his mind. What need would they have of a cook or servant
on an American steamer, and what confidence would they put in him,
dressed as he was? What references could he give?

As he was reflecting in this wise, his eyes fell upon an immense
placard which a sort of clown was carrying through the streets. This
placard, which was in English, read as follows:

ACROBATIC JAPANESE TROUPE,
HONOURABLE WILLIAM BATULCAR, PROPRIETOR,
LAST REPRESENTATIONS,
PRIOR TO THEIR DEPARTURE TO THE UNITED STATES,
OF THE
LONG NOSES! LONG NOSES!
UNDER THE DIRECT PATRONAGE OF THE GOD TINGOU!
GREAT ATTRACTION!

"The United States!" said Passepartout; "that's just what I want!"

He followed the clown, and soon found himself once more in the Japanese
quarter. A quarter of an hour later he stopped before a large cabin,
adorned with several clusters of streamers, the exterior walls of which
were designed to represent, in violent colours and without perspective,
a company of jugglers.

This was the Honourable William Batulcar's establishment. That
gentleman was a sort of Barnum, the director of a troupe of
mountebanks, jugglers, clowns, acrobats, equilibrists, and gymnasts,
who, according to the placard, was giving his last performances before
leaving the Empire of the Sun for the States of the Union.

Passepartout entered and asked for Mr. Batulcar, who straightway
appeared in person.

"What do you want?" said he to Passepartout, whom he at first took for
a native.

"Would you like a servant, sir?" asked Passepartout.

"A servant!" cried Mr. Batulcar, caressing the thick grey beard which
hung from his chin. "I already have two who are obedient and faithful,
have never left me, and serve me for their nourishment and here they
are," added he, holding out his two robust arms, furrowed with veins as
large as the strings of a bass-viol.

"So I can be of no use to you?"

"None."

"The devil! I should so like to cross the Pacific with you!"

"Ah!" said the Honourable Mr. Batulcar. "You are no more a Japanese
than I am a monkey! Who are you dressed up in that way?"

"A man dresses as he can."

"That's true. You are a Frenchman, aren't you?"

"Yes; a Parisian of Paris."

"Then you ought to know how to make grimaces?"

"Why," replied Passepartout, a little vexed that his nationality should
cause this question, "we Frenchmen know how to make grimaces, it is
true but not any better than the Americans do."

"True. Well, if I can't take you as a servant, I can as a clown. You
see, my friend, in France they exhibit foreign clowns, and in foreign
parts French clowns."

"Ah!"

"You are pretty strong, eh?"

"Especially after a good meal."

"And you can sing?"

"Yes," returned Passepartout, who had formerly been wont to sing in the
streets.

"But can you sing standing on your head, with a top spinning on your
left foot, and a sabre balanced on your right?"

"Humph! I think so," replied Passepartout, recalling the exercises of
his younger days.

"Well, that's enough," said the Honourable William Batulcar.

The engagement was concluded there and then.

Passepartout had at last found something to do. He was engaged to act
in the celebrated Japanese troupe. It was not a very dignified
position, but within a week he would be on his way to San Francisco.

The performance, so noisily announced by the Honourable Mr. Batulcar,
was to commence at three o'clock, and soon the deafening instruments of
a Japanese orchestra resounded at the door. Passepartout, though he
had not been able to study or rehearse a part, was designated to lend
the aid of his sturdy shoulders in the great exhibition of the "human
pyramid," executed by the Long Noses of the god Tingou. This "great
attraction" was to close the performance.

Before three o'clock the large shed was invaded by the spectators,
comprising Europeans and natives, Chinese and Japanese, men, women and
children, who precipitated themselves upon the narrow benches and into
the boxes opposite the stage. The musicians took up a position inside,
and were vigorously performing on their gongs, tam-tams, flutes, bones,
tambourines, and immense drums.

The performance was much like all acrobatic displays; but it must be
confessed that the Japanese are the first equilibrists in the world.

One, with a fan and some bits of paper, performed the graceful trick of
the butterflies and the flowers; another traced in the air, with the
odorous smoke of his pipe, a series of blue words, which composed a
compliment to the audience; while a third juggled with some lighted
candles, which he extinguished successively as they passed his lips,
and relit again without interrupting for an instant his juggling.
Another reproduced the most singular combinations with a spinning-top;
in his hands the revolving tops seemed to be animated with a life of
their own in their interminable whirling; they ran over pipe-stems, the
edges of sabres, wires and even hairs stretched across the stage; they
turned around on the edges of large glasses, crossed bamboo ladders,
dispersed into all the corners, and produced strange musical effects by
the combination of their various pitches of tone. The jugglers tossed
them in the air, threw them like shuttlecocks with wooden battledores,
and yet they kept on spinning; they put them into their pockets, and
took them out still whirling as before.

It is useless to describe the astonishing performances of the acrobats
and gymnasts. The turning on ladders, poles, balls, barrels, &c., was
executed with wonderful precision.

But the principal attraction was the exhibition of the Long Noses, a
show to which Europe is as yet a stranger.

The Long Noses form a peculiar company, under the direct patronage of
the god Tingou. Attired after the fashion of the Middle Ages, they
bore upon their shoulders a splendid pair of wings; but what especially
distinguished them was the long noses which were fastened to their
faces, and the uses which they made of them. These noses were made of
bamboo, and were five, six, and even ten feet long, some straight,
others curved, some ribboned, and some having imitation warts upon
them. It was upon these appendages, fixed tightly on their real noses,
that they performed their gymnastic exercises. A dozen of these
sectaries of Tingou lay flat upon their backs, while others, dressed to
represent lightning-rods, came and frolicked on their noses, jumping
from one to another, and performing the most skilful leapings and
somersaults.

As a last scene, a "human pyramid" had been announced, in which fifty
Long Noses were to represent the Car of Juggernaut. But, instead of
forming a pyramid by mounting each other's shoulders, the artists were
to group themselves on top of the noses. It happened that the
performer who had hitherto formed the base of the Car had quitted the
troupe, and as, to fill this part, only strength and adroitness were
necessary, Passepartout had been chosen to take his place.

The poor fellow really felt sad when--melancholy reminiscence of his
youth!--he donned his costume, adorned with vari-coloured wings, and
fastened to his natural feature a false nose six feet long. But he
cheered up when he thought that this nose was winning him something to
eat.

He went upon the stage, and took his place beside the rest who were to
compose the base of the Car of Juggernaut. They all stretched
themselves on the floor, their noses pointing to the ceiling. A second
group of artists disposed themselves on these long appendages, then a
third above these, then a fourth, until a human monument reaching to
the very cornices of the theatre soon arose on top of the noses. This
elicited loud applause, in the midst of which the orchestra was just
striking up a deafening air, when the pyramid tottered, the balance was
lost, one of the lower noses vanished from the pyramid, and the human
monument was shattered like a castle built of cards!

It was Passepartout's fault. Abandoning his position, clearing the
footlights without the aid of his wings, and, clambering up to the
right-hand gallery, he fell at the feet of one of the spectators,
crying, "Ah, my master! my master!"

"You here?"

"Myself."

"Very well; then let us go to the steamer, young man!"

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout passed through the lobby of the
theatre to the outside, where they encountered the Honourable Mr.
Batulcar, furious with rage. He demanded damages for the "breakage" of
the pyramid; and Phileas Fogg appeased him by giving him a handful of
banknotes.

At half-past six, the very hour of departure, Mr. Fogg and Aouda,
followed by Passepartout, who in his hurry had retained his wings, and
nose six feet long, stepped upon the American steamer.

What happened when the pilot-boat came in sight of Shanghai will be
easily guessed. The signals made by the Tankadere had been seen by the
captain of the Yokohama steamer, who, espying the flag at half-mast,
had directed his course towards the little craft. Phileas Fogg, after
paying the stipulated price of his passage to John Busby, and rewarding
that worthy with the additional sum of five hundred and fifty pounds,
ascended the steamer with Aouda and Fix; and they started at once for
Nagasaki and Yokohama.

They reached their destination on the morning of the 14th of November.
Phileas Fogg lost no time in going on board the Carnatic, where he
learned, to Aouda's great delight--and perhaps to his own, though he
betrayed no emotion--that Passepartout, a Frenchman, had really arrived
on her the day before.

The San Francisco steamer was announced to leave that very evening, and
it became necessary to find Passepartout, if possible, without delay.
Mr. Fogg applied in vain to the French and English consuls, and, after
wandering through the streets a long time, began to despair of finding
his missing servant. Chance, or perhaps a kind of presentiment, at
last led him into the Honourable Mr. Batulcar's theatre. He certainly
would not have recognised Passepartout in the eccentric mountebank's
costume; but the latter, lying on his back, perceived his master in the
gallery. He could not help starting, which so changed the position of
his nose as to bring the "pyramid" pell-mell upon the stage.

All this Passepartout learned from Aouda, who recounted to him what had
taken place on the voyage from Hong Kong to Shanghai on the Tankadere,
in company with one Mr. Fix.

Passepartout did not change countenance on hearing this name. He
thought that the time had not yet arrived to divulge to his master what
had taken place between the detective and himself; and, in the account
he gave of his absence, he simply excused himself for having been
overtaken by drunkenness, in smoking opium at a tavern in Hong Kong.

Mr. Fogg heard this narrative coldly, without a word; and then
furnished his man with funds necessary to obtain clothing more in
harmony with his position. Within an hour the Frenchman had cut off
his nose and parted with his wings, and retained nothing about him
which recalled the sectary of the god Tingou.

The steamer which was about to depart from Yokohama to San Francisco
belonged to the Pacific Mail Steamship Company, and was named the
General Grant. She was a large paddle-wheel steamer of two thousand
five hundred tons; well equipped and very fast. The massive
walking-beam rose and fell above the deck; at one end a piston-rod
worked up and down; and at the other was a connecting-rod which, in
changing the rectilinear motion to a circular one, was directly
connected with the shaft of the paddles. The General Grant was rigged
with three masts, giving a large capacity for sails, and thus
materially aiding the steam power. By making twelve miles an hour, she
would cross the ocean in twenty-one days. Phileas Fogg was therefore
justified in hoping that he would reach San Francisco by the 2nd of
December, New York by the 11th, and London on the 20th--thus gaining
several hours on the fatal date of the 21st of December.

There was a full complement of passengers on board, among them English,
many Americans, a large number of coolies on their way to California,
and several East Indian officers, who were spending their vacation in
making the tour of the world. Nothing of moment happened on the
voyage; the steamer, sustained on its large paddles, rolled but little,
and the Pacific almost justified its name. Mr. Fogg was as calm and
taciturn as ever. His young companion felt herself more and more
attached to him by other ties than gratitude; his silent but generous
nature impressed her more than she thought; and it was almost
unconsciously that she yielded to emotions which did not seem to have
the least effect upon her protector. Aouda took the keenest interest
in his plans, and became impatient at any incident which seemed likely
to retard his journey.

She often chatted with Passepartout, who did not fail to perceive the
state of the lady's heart; and, being the most faithful of domestics,
he never exhausted his eulogies of Phileas Fogg's honesty, generosity,
and devotion. He took pains to calm Aouda's doubts of a successful
termination of the journey, telling her that the most difficult part of
it had passed, that now they were beyond the fantastic countries of
Japan and China, and were fairly on their way to civilised places
again. A railway train from San Francisco to New York, and a
transatlantic steamer from New York to Liverpool, would doubtless bring
them to the end of this impossible journey round the world within the
period agreed upon.

On the ninth day after leaving Yokohama, Phileas Fogg had traversed
exactly one half of the terrestrial globe. The General Grant passed,
on the 23rd of November, the one hundred and eightieth meridian, and
was at the very antipodes of London. Mr. Fogg had, it is true,
exhausted fifty-two of the eighty days in which he was to complete the
tour, and there were only twenty-eight left. But, though he was only
half-way by the difference of meridians, he had really gone over
two-thirds of the whole journey; for he had been obliged to make long
circuits from London to Aden, from Aden to Bombay, from Calcutta to
Singapore, and from Singapore to Yokohama. Could he have followed
without deviation the fiftieth parallel, which is that of London, the
whole distance would only have been about twelve thousand miles;
whereas he would be forced, by the irregular methods of locomotion, to
traverse twenty-six thousand, of which he had, on the 23rd of November,
accomplished seventeen thousand five hundred. And now the course was a
straight one, and Fix was no longer there to put obstacles in their way!

It happened also, on the 23rd of November, that Passepartout made a
joyful discovery. It will be remembered that the obstinate fellow had
insisted on keeping his famous family watch at London time, and on
regarding that of the countries he had passed through as quite false
and unreliable. Now, on this day, though he had not changed the hands,
he found that his watch exactly agreed with the ship's chronometers.
His triumph was hilarious. He would have liked to know what Fix would
say if he were aboard!

"The rogue told me a lot of stories," repeated Passepartout, "about the
meridians, the sun, and the moon! Moon, indeed! moonshine more
likely! If one listened to that sort of people, a pretty sort of time
one would keep! I was sure that the sun would some day regulate itself
by my watch!"

Passepartout was ignorant that, if the face of his watch had been
divided into twenty-four hours, like the Italian clocks, he would have
no reason for exultation; for the hands of his watch would then,
instead of as now indicating nine o'clock in the morning, indicate nine
o'clock in the evening, that is, the twenty-first hour after midnight
precisely the difference between London time and that of the one
hundred and eightieth meridian. But if Fix had been able to explain
this purely physical effect, Passepartout would not have admitted, even
if he had comprehended it. Moreover, if the detective had been on
board at that moment, Passepartout would have joined issue with him on
a quite different subject, and in an entirely different manner.

Where was Fix at that moment?

He was actually on board the General Grant.

On reaching Yokohama, the detective, leaving Mr. Fogg, whom he expected
to meet again during the day, had repaired at once to the English
consulate, where he at last found the warrant of arrest. It had
followed him from Bombay, and had come by the Carnatic, on which
steamer he himself was supposed to be. Fix's disappointment may be
imagined when he reflected that the warrant was now useless. Mr. Fogg
had left English ground, and it was now necessary to procure his
extradition!

"Well," thought Fix, after a moment of anger, "my warrant is not good
here, but it will be in England. The rogue evidently intends to return
to his own country, thinking he has thrown the police off his track.
Good! I will follow him across the Atlantic. As for the money, heaven
grant there may be some left! But the fellow has already spent in
travelling, rewards, trials, bail, elephants, and all sorts of charges,
more than five thousand pounds. Yet, after all, the Bank is rich!"

His course decided on, he went on board the General Grant, and was
there when Mr. Fogg and Aouda arrived. To his utter amazement, he
recognised Passepartout, despite his theatrical disguise. He quickly
concealed himself in his cabin, to avoid an awkward explanation, and
hoped--thanks to the number of passengers--to remain unperceived by Mr.
Fogg's servant.

On that very day, however, he met Passepartout face to face on the
forward deck. The latter, without a word, made a rush for him, grasped
him by the throat, and, much to the amusement of a group of Americans,
who immediately began to bet on him, administered to the detective a
perfect volley of blows, which proved the great superiority of French
over English pugilistic skill.

When Passepartout had finished, he found himself relieved and
comforted. Fix got up in a somewhat rumpled condition, and, looking at
his adversary, coldly said, "Have you done?"

"For this time--yes."

"Then let me have a word with you."

"But I--"

"In your master's interests."

Passepartout seemed to be vanquished by Fix's coolness, for he quietly
followed him, and they sat down aside from the rest of the passengers.

"You have given me a thrashing," said Fix. "Good, I expected it. Now,
listen to me. Up to this time I have been Mr. Fogg's adversary. I am
now in his game."

"Aha!" cried Passepartout; "you are convinced he is an honest man?"

"No," replied Fix coldly, "I think him a rascal. Sh! don't budge, and
let me speak. As long as Mr. Fogg was on English ground, it was for my
interest to detain him there until my warrant of arrest arrived. I did
everything I could to keep him back. I sent the Bombay priests after
him, I got you intoxicated at Hong Kong, I separated you from him, and
I made him miss the Yokohama steamer."

Passepartout listened, with closed fists.

"Now," resumed Fix, "Mr. Fogg seems to be going back to England. Well,
I will follow him there. But hereafter I will do as much to keep
obstacles out of his way as I have done up to this time to put them in
his path. I've changed my game, you see, and simply because it was for
my interest to change it. Your interest is the same as mine; for it is
only in England that you will ascertain whether you are in the service
of a criminal or an honest man."

Passepartout listened very attentively to Fix, and was convinced that
he spoke with entire good faith.

"Are we friends?" asked the detective.

"Friends?--no," replied Passepartout; "but allies, perhaps. At the
least sign of treason, however, I'll twist your neck for you."

"Agreed," said the detective quietly.

Eleven days later, on the 3rd of December, the General Grant entered
the bay of the Golden Gate, and reached San Francisco.

Mr. Fogg had neither gained nor lost a single day.

It was seven in the morning when Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout set
foot upon the American continent, if this name can be given to the
floating quay upon which they disembarked. These quays, rising and
falling with the tide, thus facilitate the loading and unloading of
vessels. Alongside them were clippers of all sizes, steamers of all
nationalities, and the steamboats, with several decks rising one above
the other, which ply on the Sacramento and its tributaries. There were
also heaped up the products of a commerce which extends to Mexico,
Chili, Peru, Brazil, Europe, Asia, and all the Pacific islands.

Passepartout, in his joy on reaching at last the American continent,
thought he would manifest it by executing a perilous vault in fine
style; but, tumbling upon some worm-eaten planks, he fell through them.
Put out of countenance by the manner in which he thus "set foot" upon
the New World, he uttered a loud cry, which so frightened the
innumerable cormorants and pelicans that are always perched upon these
movable quays, that they flew noisily away.

Mr. Fogg, on reaching shore, proceeded to find out at what hour the
first train left for New York, and learned that this was at six o'clock
p.m.; he had, therefore, an entire day to spend in the Californian
capital. Taking a carriage at a charge of three dollars, he and Aouda
entered it, while Passepartout mounted the box beside the driver, and
they set out for the International Hotel.

From his exalted position Passepartout observed with much curiosity the
wide streets, the low, evenly ranged houses, the Anglo-Saxon Gothic
churches, the great docks, the palatial wooden and brick warehouses,
the numerous conveyances, omnibuses, horse-cars, and upon the
side-walks, not only Americans and Europeans, but Chinese and Indians.
Passepartout was surprised at all he saw. San Francisco was no longer
the legendary city of 1849--a city of banditti, assassins, and
incendiaries, who had flocked hither in crowds in pursuit of plunder; a
paradise of outlaws, where they gambled with gold-dust, a revolver in
one hand and a bowie-knife in the other: it was now a great commercial
emporium.

The lofty tower of its City Hall overlooked the whole panorama of the
streets and avenues, which cut each other at right-angles, and in the
midst of which appeared pleasant, verdant squares, while beyond
appeared the Chinese quarter, seemingly imported from the Celestial
Empire in a toy-box. Sombreros and red shirts and plumed Indians were
rarely to be seen; but there were silk hats and black coats everywhere
worn by a multitude of nervously active, gentlemanly-looking men. Some
of the streets--especially Montgomery Street, which is to San Francisco
what Regent Street is to London, the Boulevard des Italiens to Paris,
and Broadway to New York--were lined with splendid and spacious
stores, which exposed in their windows the products of the entire world.

When Passepartout reached the International Hotel, it did not seem to
him as if he had left England at all.

The ground floor of the hotel was occupied by a large bar, a sort of
restaurant freely open to all passers-by, who might partake of dried
beef, oyster soup, biscuits, and cheese, without taking out their
purses. Payment was made only for the ale, porter, or sherry which was
drunk. This seemed "very American" to Passepartout. The hotel
refreshment-rooms were comfortable, and Mr. Fogg and Aouda, installing
themselves at a table, were abundantly served on diminutive plates by
negroes of darkest hue.

After breakfast, Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Aouda, started for the
English consulate to have his passport visaed. As he was going out, he
met Passepartout, who asked him if it would not be well, before taking
the train, to purchase some dozens of Enfield rifles and Colt's
revolvers. He had been listening to stories of attacks upon the trains
by the Sioux and Pawnees. Mr. Fogg thought it a useless precaution,
but told him to do as he thought best, and went on to the consulate.

He had not proceeded two hundred steps, however, when, "by the greatest
chance in the world," he met Fix. The detective seemed wholly taken by
surprise. What! Had Mr. Fogg and himself crossed the Pacific
together, and not met on the steamer! At least Fix felt honoured to
behold once more the gentleman to whom he owed so much, and, as his
business recalled him to Europe, he should be delighted to continue the
journey in such pleasant company.

Mr. Fogg replied that the honour would be his; and the detective--who
was determined not to lose sight of him--begged permission to accompany
them in their walk about San Francisco--a request which Mr. Fogg
readily granted.

They soon found themselves in Montgomery Street, where a great crowd
was collected; the side-walks, street, horsecar rails, the shop-doors,
the windows of the houses, and even the roofs, were full of people.
Men were going about carrying large posters, and flags and streamers
were floating in the wind; while loud cries were heard on every hand.

"Hurrah for Camerfield!"

"Hurrah for Mandiboy!"

It was a political meeting; at least so Fix conjectured, who said to
Mr. Fogg, "Perhaps we had better not mingle with the crowd. There may
be danger in it."

"Yes," returned Mr. Fogg; "and blows, even if they are political are
still blows."

Fix smiled at this remark; and, in order to be able to see without
being jostled about, the party took up a position on the top of a
flight of steps situated at the upper end of Montgomery Street.
Opposite them, on the other side of the street, between a coal wharf
and a petroleum warehouse, a large platform had been erected in the
open air, towards which the current of the crowd seemed to be directed.

For what purpose was this meeting? What was the occasion of this
excited assemblage? Phileas Fogg could not imagine. Was it to
nominate some high official--a governor or member of Congress? It was
not improbable, so agitated was the multitude before them.

Just at this moment there was an unusual stir in the human mass. All
the hands were raised in the air. Some, tightly closed, seemed to
disappear suddenly in the midst of the cries--an energetic way, no
doubt, of casting a vote. The crowd swayed back, the banners and flags
wavered, disappeared an instant, then reappeared in tatters. The
undulations of the human surge reached the steps, while all the heads
floundered on the surface like a sea agitated by a squall. Many of the
black hats disappeared, and the greater part of the crowd seemed to
have diminished in height.

"It is evidently a meeting," said Fix, "and its object must be an
exciting one. I should not wonder if it were about the Alabama,
despite the fact that that question is settled."

"Perhaps," replied Mr. Fogg, simply.

"At least, there are two champions in presence of each other, the
Honourable Mr. Camerfield and the Honourable Mr. Mandiboy."

Aouda, leaning upon Mr. Fogg's arm, observed the tumultuous scene with
surprise, while Fix asked a man near him what the cause of it all was.
Before the man could reply, a fresh agitation arose; hurrahs and
excited shouts were heard; the staffs of the banners began to be used
as offensive weapons; and fists flew about in every direction. Thumps
were exchanged from the tops of the carriages and omnibuses which had
been blocked up in the crowd. Boots and shoes went whirling through
the air, and Mr. Fogg thought he even heard the crack of revolvers
mingling in the din, the rout approached the stairway, and flowed over
the lower step. One of the parties had evidently been repulsed; but
the mere lookers-on could not tell whether Mandiboy or Camerfield had
gained the upper hand.

"It would be prudent for us to retire," said Fix, who was anxious that
Mr. Fogg should not receive any injury, at least until they got back to
London. "If there is any question about England in all this, and we
were recognised, I fear it would go hard with us."

"An English subject--" began Mr. Fogg.

He did not finish his sentence; for a terrific hubbub now arose on the
terrace behind the flight of steps where they stood, and there were
frantic shouts of, "Hurrah for Mandiboy! Hip, hip, hurrah!"

It was a band of voters coming to the rescue of their allies, and
taking the Camerfield forces in flank. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix found
themselves between two fires; it was too late to escape. The torrent
of men, armed with loaded canes and sticks, was irresistible. Phileas
Fogg and Fix were roughly hustled in their attempts to protect their
fair companion; the former, as cool as ever, tried to defend himself
with the weapons which nature has placed at the end of every
Englishman's arm, but in vain. A big brawny fellow with a red beard,
flushed face, and broad shoulders, who seemed to be the chief of the
band, raised his clenched fist to strike Mr. Fogg, whom he would have
given a crushing blow, had not Fix rushed in and received it in his
stead. An enormous bruise immediately made its appearance under the
detective's silk hat, which was completely smashed in.

"Yankee!" exclaimed Mr. Fogg, darting a contemptuous look at the
ruffian.

"Englishman!" returned the other. "We will meet again!"

"When you please."

"What is your name?"

"Phileas Fogg. And yours?"

"Colonel Stamp Proctor."

The human tide now swept by, after overturning Fix, who speedily got
upon his feet again, though with tattered clothes. Happily, he was not
seriously hurt. His travelling overcoat was divided into two unequal
parts, and his trousers resembled those of certain Indians, which fit
less compactly than they are easy to put on. Aouda had escaped
unharmed, and Fix alone bore marks of the fray in his black and blue
bruise.

"Thanks," said Mr. Fogg to the detective, as soon as they were out of
the crowd.

"No thanks are necessary," replied. Fix; "but let us go."

"Where?"

"To a tailor's."

Such a visit was, indeed, opportune. The clothing of both Mr. Fogg and
Fix was in rags, as if they had themselves been actively engaged in the
contest between Camerfield and Mandiboy. An hour after, they were once
more suitably attired, and with Aouda returned to the International
Hotel.

Passepartout was waiting for his master, armed with half a dozen
six-barrelled revolvers. When he perceived Fix, he knit his brows; but
Aouda having, in a few words, told him of their adventure, his
countenance resumed its placid expression. Fix evidently was no longer
an enemy, but an ally; he was faithfully keeping his word.

Dinner over, the coach which was to convey the passengers and their
luggage to the station drew up to the door. As he was getting in, Mr.
Fogg said to Fix, "You have not seen this Colonel Proctor again?"

"No."

"I will come back to America to find him," said Phileas Fogg calmly.
"It would not be right for an Englishman to permit himself to be
treated in that way, without retaliating."

The detective smiled, but did not reply. It was clear that Mr. Fogg
was one of those Englishmen who, while they do not tolerate duelling at
home, fight abroad when their honour is attacked.

At a quarter before six the travellers reached the station, and found
the train ready to depart. As he was about to enter it, Mr. Fogg
called a porter, and said to him: "My friend, was there not some
trouble to-day in San Francisco?"

"It was a political meeting, sir," replied the porter.

"But I thought there was a great deal of disturbance in the streets."

"It was only a meeting assembled for an election."

"The election of a general-in-chief, no doubt?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"No, sir; of a justice of the peace."

Phileas Fogg got into the train, which started off at full speed.

"From ocean to ocean"--so say the Americans; and these four words
compose the general designation of the "great trunk line" which crosses
the entire width of the United States. The Pacific Railroad is,
however, really divided into two distinct lines: the Central Pacific,
between San Francisco and Ogden, and the Union Pacific, between Ogden
and Omaha. Five main lines connect Omaha with New York.

New York and San Francisco are thus united by an uninterrupted metal
ribbon, which measures no less than three thousand seven hundred and
eighty-six miles. Between Omaha and the Pacific the railway crosses a
territory which is still infested by Indians and wild beasts, and a
large tract which the Mormons, after they were driven from Illinois in
1845, began to colonise.

The journey from New York to San Francisco consumed, formerly, under
the most favourable conditions, at least six months. It is now
accomplished in seven days.

It was in 1862 that, in spite of the Southern Members of Congress, who
wished a more southerly route, it was decided to lay the road between
the forty-first and forty-second parallels. President Lincoln himself
fixed the end of the line at Omaha, in Nebraska. The work was at once
commenced, and pursued with true American energy; nor did the rapidity
with which it went on injuriously affect its good execution. The road
grew, on the prairies, a mile and a half a day. A locomotive, running
on the rails laid down the evening before, brought the rails to be laid
on the morrow, and advanced upon them as fast as they were put in
position.

The Pacific Railroad is joined by several branches in Iowa, Kansas,
Colorado, and Oregon. On leaving Omaha, it passes along the left bank
of the Platte River as far as the junction of its northern branch,
follows its southern branch, crosses the Laramie territory and the
Wahsatch Mountains, turns the Great Salt Lake, and reaches Salt Lake
City, the Mormon capital, plunges into the Tuilla Valley, across the
American Desert, Cedar and Humboldt Mountains, the Sierra Nevada, and
descends, via Sacramento, to the Pacific--its grade, even on the Rocky
Mountains, never exceeding one hundred and twelve feet to the mile.

Such was the road to be traversed in seven days, which would enable
Phileas Fogg--at least, so he hoped--to take the Atlantic steamer at
New York on the 11th for Liverpool.

The car which he occupied was a sort of long omnibus on eight wheels,
and with no compartments in the interior. It was supplied with two
rows of seats, perpendicular to the direction of the train on either
side of an aisle which conducted to the front and rear platforms.
These platforms were found throughout the train, and the passengers
were able to pass from one end of the train to the other. It was
supplied with saloon cars, balcony cars, restaurants, and smoking-cars;
theatre cars alone were wanting, and they will have these some day.

Book and news dealers, sellers of edibles, drinkables, and cigars, who
seemed to have plenty of customers, were continually circulating in the
aisles.

The train left Oakland station at six o'clock. It was already night,
cold and cheerless, the heavens being overcast with clouds which seemed
to threaten snow. The train did not proceed rapidly; counting the
stoppages, it did not run more than twenty miles an hour, which was a
sufficient speed, however, to enable it to reach Omaha within its
designated time.

There was but little conversation in the car, and soon many of the
passengers were overcome with sleep. Passepartout found himself beside
the detective; but he did not talk to him. After recent events, their
relations with each other had grown somewhat cold; there could no
longer be mutual sympathy or intimacy between them. Fix's manner had
not changed; but Passepartout was very reserved, and ready to strangle
his former friend on the slightest provocation.

Snow began to fall an hour after they started, a fine snow, however,
which happily could not obstruct the train; nothing could be seen from
the windows but a vast, white sheet, against which the smoke of the
locomotive had a greyish aspect.

At eight o'clock a steward entered the car and announced that the time
for going to bed had arrived; and in a few minutes the car was
transformed into a dormitory. The backs of the seats were thrown back,
bedsteads carefully packed were rolled out by an ingenious system,
berths were suddenly improvised, and each traveller had soon at his
disposition a comfortable bed, protected from curious eyes by thick
curtains. The sheets were clean and the pillows soft. It only
remained to go to bed and sleep which everybody did--while the train
sped on across the State of California.

The country between San Francisco and Sacramento is not very hilly.
The Central Pacific, taking Sacramento for its starting-point, extends
eastward to meet the road from Omaha. The line from San Francisco to
Sacramento runs in a north-easterly direction, along the American
River, which empties into San Pablo Bay. The one hundred and twenty
miles between these cities were accomplished in six hours, and towards
midnight, while fast asleep, the travellers passed through Sacramento;
so that they saw nothing of that important place, the seat of the State
government, with its fine quays, its broad streets, its noble hotels,
squares, and churches.

The train, on leaving Sacramento, and passing the junction, Roclin,
Auburn, and Colfax, entered the range of the Sierra Nevada. 'Cisco was
reached at seven in the morning; and an hour later the dormitory was
transformed into an ordinary car, and the travellers could observe the
picturesque beauties of the mountain region through which they were
steaming. The railway track wound in and out among the passes, now
approaching the mountain-sides, now suspended over precipices, avoiding
abrupt angles by bold curves, plunging into narrow defiles, which
seemed to have no outlet. The locomotive, its great funnel emitting a
weird light, with its sharp bell, and its cow-catcher extended like a
spur, mingled its shrieks and bellowings with the noise of torrents and
cascades, and twined its smoke among the branches of the gigantic pines.

There were few or no bridges or tunnels on the route. The railway
turned around the sides of the mountains, and did not attempt to
violate nature by taking the shortest cut from one point to another.

The train entered the State of Nevada through the Carson Valley about
nine o'clock, going always northeasterly; and at midday reached Reno,
where there was a delay of twenty minutes for breakfast.

From this point the road, running along Humboldt River, passed
northward for several miles by its banks; then it turned eastward, and
kept by the river until it reached the Humboldt Range, nearly at the
extreme eastern limit of Nevada.

Having breakfasted, Mr. Fogg and his companions resumed their places in
the car, and observed the varied landscape which unfolded itself as
they passed along the vast prairies, the mountains lining the horizon,
and the creeks, with their frothy, foaming streams. Sometimes a great
herd of buffaloes, massing together in the distance, seemed like a
moveable dam. These innumerable multitudes of ruminating beasts often
form an insurmountable obstacle to the passage of the trains; thousands
of them have been seen passing over the track for hours together, in
compact ranks. The locomotive is then forced to stop and wait till the
road is once more clear.

This happened, indeed, to the train in which Mr. Fogg was travelling.
About twelve o'clock a troop of ten or twelve thousand head of buffalo
encumbered the track. The locomotive, slackening its speed, tried to
clear the way with its cow-catcher; but the mass of animals was too
great. The buffaloes marched along with a tranquil gait, uttering now
and then deafening bellowings. There was no use of interrupting them,
for, having taken a particular direction, nothing can moderate and
change their course; it is a torrent of living flesh which no dam could
contain.

The travellers gazed on this curious spectacle from the platforms; but
Phileas Fogg, who had the most reason of all to be in a hurry, remained
in his seat, and waited philosophically until it should please the
buffaloes to get out of the way.

Passepartout was furious at the delay they occasioned, and longed to
discharge his arsenal of revolvers upon them.

"What a country!" cried he. "Mere cattle stop the trains, and go by in
a procession, just as if they were not impeding travel! Parbleu! I
should like to know if Mr. Fogg foresaw this mishap in his programme!
And here's an engineer who doesn't dare to run the locomotive into this
herd of beasts!"

The engineer did not try to overcome the obstacle, and he was wise. He
would have crushed the first buffaloes, no doubt, with the cow-catcher;
but the locomotive, however powerful, would soon have been checked, the
train would inevitably have been thrown off the track, and would then
have been helpless.

The best course was to wait patiently, and regain the lost time by
greater speed when the obstacle was removed. The procession of
buffaloes lasted three full hours, and it was night before the track
was clear. The last ranks of the herd were now passing over the rails,
while the first had already disappeared below the southern horizon.

It was eight o'clock when the train passed through the defiles of the
Humboldt Range, and half-past nine when it penetrated Utah, the region
of the Great Salt Lake, the singular colony of the Mormons.

During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-easterly
for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a north-easterly
direction, towards the Great Salt Lake.

Passepartout, about nine o'clock, went out upon the platform to take
the air. The weather was cold, the heavens grey, but it was not
snowing. The sun's disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring
of gold, and Passepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value
in pounds sterling, when he was diverted from this interesting study by
a strange-looking personage who made his appearance on the platform.

This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark,
with black moustache, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black
waistcoat, black trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves. He
might have been taken for a clergyman. He went from one end of the
train to the other, and affixed to the door of each car a notice
written in manuscript.

Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated
that Elder William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking advantage of his
presence on train No. 48, would deliver a lecture on Mormonism in car
No. 117, from eleven to twelve o'clock; and that he invited all who
were desirous of being instructed concerning the mysteries of the
religion of the "Latter Day Saints" to attend.

"I'll go," said Passepartout to himself. He knew nothing of Mormonism
except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation.

The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about one
hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the notice,
ensconced themselves in car No. 117. Passepartout took one of the
front seats. Neither Mr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend.

At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated
voice, as if he had already been contradicted, said, "I tell you that
Joe Smith is a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that the
persecutions of the United States Government against the prophets will
also make a martyr of Brigham Young. Who dares to say the contrary?"

No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone
contrasted curiously with his naturally calm visage. No doubt his
anger arose from the hardships to which the Mormons were actually
subjected. The government had just succeeded, with some difficulty, in
reducing these independent fanatics to its rule. It had made itself
master of Utah, and subjected that territory to the laws of the Union,
after imprisoning Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion and polygamy.
The disciples of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and
resisted, by words at least, the authority of Congress. Elder Hitch,
as is seen, was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains.

Then, emphasising his words with his loud voice and frequent gestures,
he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical times: how that, in
Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals of
the new religion, and bequeathed them to his son Mormon; how, many
centuries later, a translation of this precious book, which was written
in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith, junior, a Vermont farmer, who
revealed himself as a mystical prophet in 1825; and how, in short, the
celestial messenger appeared to him in an illuminated forest, and gave
him the annals of the Lord.

Several of the audience, not being much interested in the missionary's
narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch, continuing his lecture,
related how Smith, junior, with his father, two brothers, and a few
disciples, founded the church of the "Latter Day Saints," which,
adopted not only in America, but in England, Norway and Sweden, and
Germany, counts many artisans, as well as men engaged in the liberal
professions, among its members; how a colony was established in Ohio, a
temple erected there at a cost of two hundred thousand dollars, and a
town built at Kirkland; how Smith became an enterprising banker, and
received from a simple mummy showman a papyrus scroll written by
Abraham and several famous Egyptians.

The Elder's story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience grew
gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers. But this
did not disconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with the story of
Joseph Smith's bankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined creditors gave
him a coat of tar and feathers; his reappearance some years afterwards,
more honourable and honoured than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the
chief of a flourishing colony of three thousand disciples, and his
pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and retirement into the Far West.

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout, who was
listening with all his ears. Thus he learned that, after long
persecutions, Smith reappeared in Illinois, and in 1839 founded a
community at Nauvoo, on the Mississippi, numbering twenty-five thousand
souls, of which he became mayor, chief justice, and general-in-chief;
that he announced himself, in 1843, as a candidate for the Presidency
of the United States; and that finally, being drawn into ambuscade at
Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and assassinated by a band of men
disguised in masks.

Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder,
looking him full in the face, reminded him that, two years after the
assassination of Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young, his
successor, left Nauvoo for the banks of the Great Salt Lake, where, in
the midst of that fertile region, directly on the route of the
emigrants who crossed Utah on their way to California, the new colony,
thanks to the polygamy practised by the Mormons, had flourished beyond
expectations.

"And this," added Elder William Hitch, "this is why the jealousy of
Congress has been aroused against us! Why have the soldiers of the
Union invaded the soil of Utah? Why has Brigham Young, our chief, been
imprisoned, in contempt of all justice? Shall we yield to force?
Never! Driven from Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from Ohio,
driven from Missouri, driven from Utah, we shall yet find some
independent territory on which to plant our tents. And you, my
brother," continued the Elder, fixing his angry eyes upon his single
auditor, "will you not plant yours there, too, under the shadow of our
flag?"

"No!" replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring from the
car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.

During the lecture the train had been making good progress, and towards
half-past twelve it reached the northwest border of the Great Salt
Lake. Thence the passengers could observe the vast extent of this
interior sea, which is also called the Dead Sea, and into which flows
an American Jordan. It is a picturesque expanse, framed in lofty crags
in large strata, encrusted with white salt--a superb sheet of water,
which was formerly of larger extent than now, its shores having
encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once reduced its breadth
and increased its depth.

The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is situated
three miles eight hundred feet above the sea. Quite different from
Lake Asphaltite, whose depression is twelve hundred feet below the sea,
it contains considerable salt, and one quarter of the weight of its
water is solid matter, its specific weight being 1,170, and, after
being distilled, 1,000. Fishes are, of course, unable to live in it,
and those which descend through the Jordan, the Weber, and other
streams soon perish.

The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons are
mostly farmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals, fields
of wheat, corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies, hedges of wild
rose, clumps of acacias and milk-wort, would have been seen six months
later. Now the ground was covered with a thin powdering of snow.

The train reached Ogden at two o'clock, where it rested for six hours,
Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt Lake City,
connected with Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours in this
strikingly American town, built on the pattern of other cities of the
Union, like a checker-board, "with the sombre sadness of right-angles,"
as Victor Hugo expresses it. The founder of the City of the Saints
could not escape from the taste for symmetry which distinguishes the
Anglo-Saxons. In this strange country, where the people are certainly
not up to the level of their institutions, everything is done
"squarely"--cities, houses, and follies.

The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o'clock, about the
streets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan and the spurs
of the Wahsatch Range. They saw few or no churches, but the prophet's
mansion, the court-house, and the arsenal, blue-brick houses with
verandas and porches, surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias,
palms, and locusts. A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded
the town; and in the principal street were the market and several
hotels adorned with pavilions. The place did not seem thickly
populated. The streets were almost deserted, except in the vicinity of
the temple, which they only reached after having traversed several
quarters surrounded by palisades. There were many women, which was
easily accounted for by the "peculiar institution" of the Mormons; but
it must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists. They are
free to marry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting that it is
mainly the female citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as,
according to the Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the
possession of its highest joys. These poor creatures seemed to be
neither well off nor happy. Some--the more well-to-do, no doubt--wore
short, open, black silk dresses, under a hood or modest shawl; others
were habited in Indian fashion.

Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women,
charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon. His
common sense pitied, above all, the husband. It seemed to him a
terrible thing to have to guide so many wives at once across the
vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it were, in a body to the
Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them in the company of the
glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that delightful
place, to all eternity. He felt decidedly repelled from such a
vocation, and he imagined--perhaps he was mistaken--that the fair ones
of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his person. Happily,
his stay there was but brief. At four the party found themselves again
at the station, took their places in the train, and the whistle sounded
for starting. Just at the moment, however, that the locomotive wheels
began to move, cries of "Stop! stop!" were heard.

Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one. The gentleman who uttered
the cries was evidently a belated Mormon. He was breathless with
running. Happily for him, the station had neither gates nor barriers.
He rushed along the track, jumped on the rear platform of the train,
and fell, exhausted, into one of the seats.

Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast,
approached him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken
flight after an unpleasant domestic scene.

When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to ask
him politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner in which he
had decamped, it might be thought that he had twenty at least.

"One, sir," replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward--"one, and
that was enough!"

The train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for an
hour as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles
from San Francisco. From this point it took an easterly direction
towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains. It was in the section included
between this range and the Rocky Mountains that the American engineers
found the most formidable difficulties in laying the road, and that the
government granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand dollars per mile,
instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work done on the plains.
But the engineers, instead of violating nature, avoided its
difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks. One
tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to
arrive at the great basin.

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the
Great Salt Lake. From this point it described a long curve, descending
towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the
waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific. There were many creeks in
this mountainous region, and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek,
Green Creek, and others, upon culverts.

Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix
longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than
Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents,
and set foot on English soil.

At ten o'clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, and
twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of
Bitter Creek throughout. The next day, 7th December, they stopped for
a quarter of an hour at Green River station. Snow had fallen
abundantly during the night, but, being mixed with rain, it had half
melted, and did not interrupt their progress. The bad weather,
however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation of snow, by
blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal to Mr.
Fogg's tour.

"What an idea!" he said to himself. "Why did my master make this
journey in winter? Couldn't he have waited for the good season to
increase his chances?"

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and the
depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a
totally different cause.

Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and
down the platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp
Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San
Francisco meeting. Not wishing to be recognised, the young woman drew
back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery. She was
attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily evidences of
the most absolute devotion. She did not comprehend, perhaps, the depth
of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which she
called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was
really more than that. Her heart sank within her when she recognised
the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call to account for
his conduct. Chance alone, it was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor
on this train; but there he was, and it was necessary, at all hazards,
that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his adversary.

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and
Passepartout whom she had seen.

"That Proctor on this train!" cried Fix. "Well, reassure yourself,
madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg; he has got to deal with me! It
seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two."

"And, besides," added Passepartout, "I'll take charge of him, colonel
as he is."

"Mr. Fix," resumed Aouda, "Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge him.
He said that he would come back to America to find this man. Should he
perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might
have terrible results. He must not see him."

"You are right, madam," replied Fix; "a meeting between them might ruin
all. Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be delayed,
and--"

"And," added Passepartout, "that would play the game of the gentlemen
of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York. Well, if my
master does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that
chance will not bring him face to face with this confounded American.
We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it."

The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking
out of the window. Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by his
master or Aouda, whispered to the detective, "Would you really fight
for him?"

"I would do anything," replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined
will, "to get him back living to Europe!"

Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but
his confidence in his master remained unbroken.

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a
meeting between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult
task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious.
The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few
moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, "These are long and slow hours, sir, that
we are passing on the railway."

"Yes," replied Mr. Fogg; "but they pass."

"You were in the habit of playing whist," resumed Fix, "on the
steamers."

"Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards
nor partners."

"Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the
American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays--"

"Certainly, sir," Aouda quickly replied; "I understand whist. It is
part of an English education."

"I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game. Well, here are
three of us, and a dummy--"

"As you please, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resume his
favourite pastime even on the railway.

Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned
with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with
cloth.

The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even
received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg. As for the
detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being matched against
his present opponent.

"Now," thought Passepartout, "we've got him. He won't budge."

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of
the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four
feet above the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by
the track in crossing the Rocky Mountains. After going about two
hundred miles, the travellers at last found themselves on one of those
vast plains which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so
propitious for laying the iron road.

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches of
the North Platte River, already appeared. The whole northern and
eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which
is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest
being Laramie Peak. Between this and the railway extended vast plains,
plentifully irrigated. On the right rose the lower spurs of the
mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas
River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.

At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort
Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky
Mountains were crossed. There was reason to hope, then, that no
accident would mark the journey through this difficult country. The
snow had ceased falling, and the air became crisp and cold. Large
birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and flew off in the distance.
No wild beast appeared on the plain. It was a desert in its vast
nakedness.

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his
partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard,
and the train stopped. Passepartout put his head out of the door, but
saw nothing to cause the delay; no station was in view.

Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get
out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant,
"See what is the matter."

Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers had
already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way. The
engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom
the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent
on before. The passengers drew around and took part in the discussion,
in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner, was conspicuous.

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, "No! you
can't pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear
the weight of the train."

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile from
the place where they now were. According to the signal-man, it was in
a ruinous condition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it was
impossible to risk the passage. He did not in any way exaggerate the
condition of the bridge. It may be taken for granted that, rash as the
Americans usually are, when they are prudent there is good reason for
it.

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard,
listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.

"Hum!" cried Colonel Proctor; "but we are not going to stay here, I
imagine, and take root in the snow?"

"Colonel," replied the conductor, "we have telegraphed to Omaha for a
train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow is less
than six hours."

"Six hours!" cried Passepartout.

"Certainly," returned the conductor, "besides, it will take us as long
as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot."

"But it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers.

"Yes, but it's on the other side of the river."

"And can't we cross that in a boat?" asked the colonel.

"That's impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a rapid,
and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a
ford."

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company
and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not
disinclined to make common cause with him. Here was an obstacle,
indeed, which all his master's banknotes could not remove.

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without
reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles
over a plain covered with snow. They grumbled and protested, and would
certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg's attention if he had not
been completely absorbed in his game.

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what had
occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car, when
the engineer, a true Yankee, named Forster called out, "Gentlemen,
perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over."

"On the bridge?" asked a passenger.

"On the bridge."

"With our train?"

"With our train."

Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.

"But the bridge is unsafe," urged the conductor.

"No matter," replied Forster; "I think that by putting on the very
highest speed we might have a chance of getting over."

"The devil!" muttered Passepartout.

But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the engineer's
proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted, and found the
plan a very feasible one. He told stories about engineers leaping
their trains over rivers without bridges, by putting on full steam; and
many of those present avowed themselves of the engineer's mind.

"We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over," said one.

"Eighty! ninety!"

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to
get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too
American. "Besides," thought he, "there's a still more simple way, and
it does not even occur to any of these people! Sir," said he aloud to
one of the passengers, "the engineer's plan seems to me a little
dangerous, but--"

"Eighty chances!" replied the passenger, turning his back on him.

"I know it," said Passepartout, turning to another passenger, "but a
simple idea--"

"Ideas are no use," returned the American, shrugging his shoulders, "as
the engineer assures us that we can pass."

"Doubtless," urged Passepartout, "we can pass, but perhaps it would be
more prudent--"

"What! Prudent!" cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to
excite prodigiously. "At full speed, don't you see, at full speed!"

"I know--I see," repeated Passepartout; "but it would be, if not more
prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more natural--"

"Who! What! What's the matter with this fellow?" cried several.

The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.

"Are you afraid?" asked Colonel Proctor.

"I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can be
as American as they!"

"All aboard!" cried the conductor.

"Yes, all aboard!" repeated Passepartout, and immediately. "But they
can't prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural for us to
cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!"

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have
acknowledged its justice. The passengers resumed their places in the
cars. Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed. The
whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam,
backed the train for nearly a mile--retiring, like a jumper, in order
to take a longer leap. Then, with another whistle, he began to move
forward; the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became
frightful; a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the piston
worked up and down twenty strokes to the second. They perceived that
the whole train, rushing on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour,
hardly bore upon the rails at all.

And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the bridge.
The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the
engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles beyond the
station. But scarcely had the train passed the river, when the bridge,
completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids of Medicine Bow.

The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption,
passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass.
The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight
thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea. The
travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains,
levelled by nature. A branch of the "grand trunk" led off southward to
Denver, the capital of Colorado. The country round about is rich in
gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already
settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San
Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more
would probably bring them to New York. Phileas Fogg was not as yet
behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek
ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the
territories of Wyoming and Colorado. They entered Nebraska at eleven,
passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch
of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd
of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge. Two powerful
locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was
Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point;
cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian
battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway
Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train. Thus was
celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument
of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to
link together cities and towns which do not yet exist. The whistle of
the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion's lyre, was about to bid
them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three
hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching
Omaha. The road followed the capricious windings of the southern
branch of the Platte River, on its left bank. At nine the train
stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two
arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single
artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a
little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one--not even the
dummy--complained of the length of the trip. Fix had begun by winning
several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself
a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg. During the morning,
chance distinctly favoured that gentleman. Trumps and honours were
showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing
a spade, when a voice behind him said, "I should play a diamond."

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

"Ah! it's you, is it, Englishman?" cried the colonel; "it's you who are
going to play a spade!"

"And who plays it," replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten
of spades.

"Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds," replied Colonel Proctor, in
an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played,
adding, "You don't understand anything about whist."

"Perhaps I do, as well as another," said Phileas Fogg, rising.

"You have only to try, son of John Bull," replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold. She seized Mr. Fogg's arm
and gently pulled him back. Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the
American, who was staring insolently at his opponent. But Fix got up,
and, going to Colonel Proctor said, "You forget that it is I with whom
you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but
struck!"

"Mr. Fix," said Mr. Fogg, "pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine
only. The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should
not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it."

"When and where you will," replied the American, "and with whatever
weapon you choose."

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective
endeavour to make the quarrel his. Passepartout wished to throw the
colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him.
Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the
platform. "Sir," said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, "I am in a great
hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to
my disadvantage."

"Well, what's that to me?" replied Colonel Proctor.

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg, very politely, "after our meeting at San
Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I
had completed the business which called me to England."

"Really!"

"Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?"

"Why not ten years hence?"

"I say six months," returned Phileas Fogg; "and I shall be at the place
of meeting promptly."

"All this is an evasion," cried Stamp Proctor. "Now or never!"

"Very good. You are going to New York?"

"No."

"To Chicago?"

"No."

"To Omaha?"

"What difference is it to you? Do you know Plum Creek?"

"No," replied Mr. Fogg.

"It's the next station. The train will be there in an hour, and will
stop there ten minutes. In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be
exchanged."

"Very well," said Mr. Fogg. "I will stop at Plum Creek."

"And I guess you'll stay there too," added the American insolently.

"Who knows?" replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual.
He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to
be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a
request which the detective could not refuse. Mr. Fogg resumed the
interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o'clock the locomotive's whistle announced that they were
approaching Plum Creek station. Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix,
went out upon the platform. Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a
pair of revolvers. Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the
platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second. But
just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor
hurried up, and shouted, "You can't get off, gentlemen!"

"Why not?" asked the colonel.

"We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop."

"But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman."

"I am sorry," said the conductor; "but we shall be off at once.
There's the bell ringing now."

The train started.

"I'm really very sorry, gentlemen," said the conductor. "Under any
other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you. But, after
all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go
along?"

"That wouldn't be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman," said the
colonel, in a jeering tone.

"It would be perfectly so," replied Phileas Fogg.

"Well, we are really in America," thought Passepartout, "and the
conductor is a gentleman of the first order!"

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the
cars to the rear of the train. The last car was only occupied by a
dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not
be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen
had an affair of honour to settle. The passengers granted the request
with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their
purpose. The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and
fire at their ease. Never was duel more easily arranged. Mr. Fogg and
Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers,
entered the car. The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in. They
were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive. After an
interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be
taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple. Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix
and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack.
They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage
cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did
not issue from the car where the duellists were. The reports continued
in front and the whole length of the train. Cries of terror proceeded
from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their
prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous. They
then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than
once they had waylaid trains on the road. A hundred of them had,
according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the
train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which
the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer
and stoker with blows from their muskets. A Sioux chief, wishing to
stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened
wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was
plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged
monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to
hand with the passengers. Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged
it, throwing the trunks out of the train. The cries and shots were
constant. The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars
were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried
along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first. She defended herself like a
true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows
whenever a savage made his appearance. Twenty Sioux had fallen
mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell
upon the rails as if they had been worms. Several passengers, shot or
stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for
ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the
train was not stopped. Fort Kearney station, where there was a
garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux
would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station
beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell.
At the same moment he cried, "Unless the train is stopped in five
minutes, we are lost!"

"It shall be stopped," said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the
car.

"Stay, monsieur," cried Passepartout; "I will go."

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door
unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and
while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other
over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with
amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the
chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping
from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the
forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender,
with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the
traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar,
had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out. The train, now
detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the
locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for
several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped,
less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux
had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely
stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform
several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman,
whose devotion had just saved them.

Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had they been
killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? It
was impossible to tell.

There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was one of
the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and a ball had entered
his groin. He was carried into the station with the other wounded
passengers, to receive such attention as could be of avail.

Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the
fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in the
arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed down
Aouda's cheeks.

All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of which were
stained with blood. From the tyres and spokes hung ragged pieces of
flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white plain behind, red
trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing in the south,
along the banks of Republican River.

Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious
decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without
speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner,
ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians? "I
will find him, living or dead," said he quietly to Aouda.

"Ah, Mr.--Mr. Fogg!" cried she, clasping his hands and covering them
with tears.

"Living," added Mr. Fogg, "if we do not lose a moment."

Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself; he
pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make him lose
the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly lost. But as
he thought, "It is my duty," he did not hesitate.

The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of his
soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the station,
should the Sioux attack it.

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg to the captain, "three passengers have
disappeared."

"Dead?" asked the captain.

"Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must be solved. Do
you propose to pursue the Sioux?"

"That's a serious thing to do, sir," returned the captain. "These
Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the fort
unprotected."

"The lives of three men are in question, sir," said Phileas Fogg.

"Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save three?"

"I don't know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do so."

"Nobody here," returned the other, "has a right to teach me my duty."

"Very well," said Mr. Fogg, coldly. "I will go alone."

"You, sir!" cried Fix, coming up; "you go alone in pursuit of the
Indians?"

"Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish--him to whom every
one present owes his life? I shall go."

"No, sir, you shall not go alone," cried the captain, touched in spite
of himself. "No! you are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!" he added,
turning to the soldiers.

The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only to
pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed at their
head.

"Thanks, captain," said Mr. Fogg.

"Will you let me go with you?" asked Fix.

"Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour, you will
remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me--"

A sudden pallor overspread the detective's face. Separate himself from
the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step! Leave him
to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively at Mr. Fogg,
and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which was going on
within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm and frank look.

"I will stay," said he.

A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman's hand, and,
having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off with the
sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said to the
soldiers, "My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars among you,
if we save the prisoners."

It was then a little past noon.

Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone, thinking
of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage of Phileas
Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking his life, all
without hesitation, from duty, in silence.

Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal his
agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but soon
resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which he had
been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This man, whom he had
just followed around the world, was permitted now to separate himself
from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself, and, as if he were
director of police, administered to himself a sound lecture for his
greenness.

"I have been an idiot!" he thought, "and this man will see it. He has
gone, and won't come back! But how is it that I, Fix, who have in my
pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by him?
Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!"

So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too slowly. He
did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to tell Aouda all;
but he could not doubt how the young woman would receive his
confidences. What course should he take? He thought of pursuing Fogg
across the vast white plains; it did not seem impossible that he might
overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed on the snow! But soon,
under a new sheet, every imprint would be effaced.

Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing to
abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney station,
and pursue his journey homeward in peace.

Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard, long
whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great shadow,
preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still larger
through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No train was
expected from the east, neither had there been time for the succour
asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from Omaha to San Francisco
was not due till the next day. The mystery was soon explained.

The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening whistles,
was that which, having been detached from the train, had continued its
route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off the unconscious
engineer and stoker. It had run several miles, when, the fire becoming
low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened; and it had finally
stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither
the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and, after remaining for some
time in their swoon, had come to themselves. The train had then
stopped. The engineer, when he found himself in the desert, and the
locomotive without cars, understood what had happened. He could not
imagine how the locomotive had become separated from the train; but he
did not doubt that the train left behind was in distress.

He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue on to
Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train, which the
Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless, he began to
rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again mounted, and the
locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was
which was whistling in the mist.

The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at the
head of the train. They could now continue the journey so terribly
interrupted.

Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the station,
and asked the conductor, "Are you going to start?"

"At once, madam."

"But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers--"

"I cannot interrupt the trip," replied the conductor. "We are already
three hours behind time."

"And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?"

"To-morrow evening, madam."

"To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait--"

"It is impossible," responded the conductor. "If you wish to go,
please get in."

"I will not go," said Aouda.

Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when there was
no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made up his mind to
leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was there, ready to start,
and he had only to take his seat in the car, an irresistible influence
held him back. The station platform burned his feet, and he could not
stir. The conflict in his mind again began; anger and failure stifled
him. He wished to struggle on to the end.

Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them Colonel
Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their places in the
train. The buzzing of the over-heated boiler was heard, and the steam
was escaping from the valves. The engineer whistled, the train
started, and soon disappeared, mingling its white smoke with the eddies
of the densely falling snow.

The detective had remained behind.

Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very cold.
Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have been
thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out of the
waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering through the
tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed the horizon
around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome sound. She heard
and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled through, to issue out
again after the lapse of a few moments, but always in vain.

Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could they
be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict with
them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander of the
fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions. As
night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became
intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither flight
of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.

Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart stifled
with anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains. Her
imagination carried her far off, and showed her innumerable dangers.
What she suffered through the long hours it would be impossible to
describe.

Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep. Once a
man approached and spoke to him, and the detective merely replied by
shaking his head.

Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disc of the sun
rose above a misty horizon; but it was now possible to recognise
objects two miles off. Phileas Fogg and the squad had gone southward;
in the south all was still vacancy. It was then seven o'clock.

The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course to take.

Should he send another detachment to the rescue of the first? Should
he sacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those already
sacrificed? His hesitation did not last long, however. Calling one of
his lieutenants, he was on the point of ordering a reconnaissance, when
gunshots were heard. Was it a signal? The soldiers rushed out of the
fort, and half a mile off they perceived a little band returning in
good order.

Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were
Passepartout and the other two travellers, rescued from the Sioux.

They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort Kearney.
Shortly before the detachment arrived, Passepartout and his companions
had begun to struggle with their captors, three of whom the Frenchman
had felled with his fists, when his master and the soldiers hastened up
to their relief.

All were welcomed with joyful cries. Phileas Fogg distributed the
reward he had promised to the soldiers, while Passepartout, not without
reason, muttered to himself, "It must certainly be confessed that I
cost my master dear!"

Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have been
difficult to analyse the thoughts which struggled within him. As for
Aouda, she took her protector's hand and pressed it in her own, too
much moved to speak.

Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he thought he
should find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and he hoped that the
time lost might be regained.

"The train! the train!" cried he.

"Gone," replied Fix.

"And when does the next train pass here?" said Phileas Fogg.

"Not till this evening."

"Ah!" returned the impassible gentleman quietly.

Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time. Passepartout, the
involuntary cause of this delay, was desperate. He had ruined his
master!

At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and, looking him
intently in the face, said:

"Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?"

"Quite seriously."

"I have a purpose in asking," resumed Fix. "Is it absolutely necessary
that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o'clock in the
evening, the time that the steamer leaves for Liverpool?"

"It is absolutely necessary."

"And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians, you
would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?"

"Yes; with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left."

"Good! you are therefore twenty hours behind. Twelve from twenty
leaves eight. You must regain eight hours. Do you wish to try to do
so?"

"On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"No; on a sledge," replied Fix. "On a sledge with sails. A man has
proposed such a method to me."

It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose offer
he had refused.

Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix, having pointed out the
man, who was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg went
up to him. An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose name was
Mudge, entered a hut built just below the fort.

There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long
beams, a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon
which there was room for five or six persons. A high mast was fixed on
the frame, held firmly by metallic lashings, to which was attached a
large brigantine sail. This mast held an iron stay upon which to hoist
a jib-sail. Behind, a sort of rudder served to guide the vehicle. It
was, in short, a sledge rigged like a sloop. During the winter, when
the trains are blocked up by the snow, these sledges make extremely
rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one station to another.
Provided with more sails than a cutter, and with the wind behind them,
they slip over the surface of the prairies with a speed equal if not
superior to that of the express trains.

Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this land-craft. The
wind was favourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west. The snow
had hardened, and Mudge was very confident of being able to transport
Mr. Fogg in a few hours to Omaha. Thence the trains eastward run
frequently to Chicago and New York. It was not impossible that the
lost time might yet be recovered; and such an opportunity was not to be
rejected.

Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling in the
open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout at Fort
Kearney, the servant taking upon himself to escort her to Europe by a
better route and under more favourable conditions. But Aouda refused
to separate from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout was delighted with her
decision; for nothing could induce him to leave his master while Fix
was with him.

It would be difficult to guess the detective's thoughts. Was this
conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg's return, or did he still regard him
as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world
completed, would think himself absolutely safe in England? Perhaps
Fix's opinion of Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was
nevertheless resolved to do his duty, and to hasten the return of the
whole party to England as much as possible.

At eight o'clock the sledge was ready to start. The passengers took
their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in their
travelling-cloaks. The two great sails were hoisted, and under the
pressure of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened snow with a
velocity of forty miles an hour.

The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly, is at
most two hundred miles. If the wind held good, the distance might be
traversed in five hours; if no accident happened the sledge might reach
Omaha by one o'clock.

What a journey! The travellers, huddled close together, could not
speak for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were
going. The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves. When
the breeze came skimming the earth the sledge seemed to be lifted off
the ground by its sails. Mudge, who was at the rudder, kept in a
straight line, and by a turn of his hand checked the lurches which the
vehicle had a tendency to make. All the sails were up, and the jib was
so arranged as not to screen the brigantine. A top-mast was hoisted,
and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other
sails. Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge
could not be going at less than forty miles an hour.

"If nothing breaks," said Mudge, "we shall get there!"

Mr. Fogg had made it for Mudge's interest to reach Omaha within the
time agreed on, by the offer of a handsome reward.

The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight line, was
as flat as a sea. It seemed like a vast frozen lake. The railroad
which ran through this section ascended from the south-west to the
north-west by Great Island, Columbus, an important Nebraska town,
Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha. It followed throughout the right bank
of the Platte River. The sledge, shortening this route, took a chord
of the arc described by the railway. Mudge was not afraid of being
stopped by the Platte River, because it was frozen. The road, then,
was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to
fear--an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind.

But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to bend the
mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly. These
lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument, resounded as if
vibrated by a violin bow. The sledge slid along in the midst of a
plaintively intense melody.

"Those chords give the fifth and the octave," said Mr. Fogg.

These were the only words he uttered during the journey. Aouda, cosily
packed in furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as possible from the
attacks of the freezing wind. As for Passepartout, his face was as red
as the sun's disc when it sets in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled
the biting air. With his natural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope
again. They would reach New York on the evening, if not on the
morning, of the 11th, and there was still some chances that it would be
before the steamer sailed for Liverpool.

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by the
hand. He remembered that it was the detective who procured the sledge,
the only means of reaching Omaha in time; but, checked by some
presentiment, he kept his usual reserve. One thing, however,
Passepartout would never forget, and that was the sacrifice which Mr.
Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the Sioux. Mr.
Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No! His servant would never
forget that!

While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different, the
sledge flew past over the vast carpet of snow. The creeks it passed
over were not perceived. Fields and streams disappeared under the
uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted. Between the
Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney with Saint
Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island. Neither village, station,
nor fort appeared. From time to time they sped by some phantom-like
tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the wind. Sometimes
flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt, famished, ferocious
prairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge. Passepartout, revolver in
hand, held himself ready to fire on those which came too near. Had an
accident then happened to the sledge, the travellers, attacked by these
beasts, would have been in the most terrible danger; but it held on its
even course, soon gained on the wolves, and ere long left the howling
band at a safe distance behind.

About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was crossing
the Platte River. He said nothing, but he felt certain that he was now
within twenty miles of Omaha. In less than an hour he left the rudder
and furled his sails, whilst the sledge, carried forward by the great
impetus the wind had given it, went on half a mile further with its
sails unspread.

It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white with
snow, said: "We have got there!"

Arrived! Arrived at the station which is in daily communication, by
numerous trains, with the Atlantic seaboard!

Passepartout and Fix jumped off, stretched their stiffened limbs, and
aided Mr. Fogg and the young woman to descend from the sledge. Phileas
Fogg generously rewarded Mudge, whose hand Passepartout warmly grasped,
and the party directed their steps to the Omaha railway station.

The Pacific Railroad proper finds its terminus at this important
Nebraska town. Omaha is connected with Chicago by the Chicago and Rock
Island Railroad, which runs directly east, and passes fifty stations.

A train was ready to start when Mr. Fogg and his party reached the
station, and they only had time to get into the cars. They had seen
nothing of Omaha; but Passepartout confessed to himself that this was
not to be regretted, as they were not travelling to see the sights.

The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council Bluffs,
Des Moines, and Iowa City. During the night it crossed the Mississippi
at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois. The next day, which
was the 10th, at four o'clock in the evening, it reached Chicago,
already risen from its ruins, and more proudly seated than ever on the
borders of its beautiful Lake Michigan.

Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains are not
wanting at Chicago. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one to the other, and
the locomotive of the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, and Chicago Railway left
at full speed, as if it fully comprehended that that gentleman had no
time to lose. It traversed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey
like a flash, rushing through towns with antique names, some of which
had streets and car-tracks, but as yet no houses. At last the Hudson
came into view; and, at a quarter-past eleven in the evening of the
11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of the river,
before the very pier of the Cunard line.

The China, for Liverpool, had started three-quarters of an hour before!

The China, in leaving, seemed to have carried off Phileas Fogg's last
hope. None of the other steamers were able to serve his projects. The
Pereire, of the French Transatlantic Company, whose admirable steamers
are equal to any in speed and comfort, did not leave until the 14th;
the Hamburg boats did not go directly to Liverpool or London, but to
Havre; and the additional trip from Havre to Southampton would render
Phileas Fogg's last efforts of no avail. The Inman steamer did not
depart till the next day, and could not cross the Atlantic in time to
save the wager.

Mr. Fogg learned all this in consulting his Bradshaw, which gave him
the daily movements of the trans-Atlantic steamers.

Passepartout was crushed; it overwhelmed him to lose the boat by
three-quarters of an hour. It was his fault, for, instead of helping
his master, he had not ceased putting obstacles in his path! And when
he recalled all the incidents of the tour, when he counted up the sums
expended in pure loss and on his own account, when he thought that the
immense stake, added to the heavy charges of this useless journey,
would completely ruin Mr. Fogg, he overwhelmed himself with bitter
self-accusations. Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him; and, on
leaving the Cunard pier, only said: "We will consult about what is best
to-morrow. Come."

The party crossed the Hudson in the Jersey City ferryboat, and drove in
a carriage to the St. Nicholas Hotel, on Broadway. Rooms were engaged,
and the night passed, briefly to Phileas Fogg, who slept profoundly,
but very long to Aouda and the others, whose agitation did not permit
them to rest.

The next day was the 12th of December. From seven in the morning of
the 12th to a quarter before nine in the evening of the 21st there were
nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes. If Phileas Fogg had
left in the China, one of the fastest steamers on the Atlantic, he
would have reached Liverpool, and then London, within the period agreed
upon.

Mr. Fogg left the hotel alone, after giving Passepartout instructions
to await his return, and inform Aouda to be ready at an instant's
notice. He proceeded to the banks of the Hudson, and looked about
among the vessels moored or anchored in the river, for any that were
about to depart. Several had departure signals, and were preparing to
put to sea at morning tide; for in this immense and admirable port
there is not one day in a hundred that vessels do not set out for every
quarter of the globe. But they were mostly sailing vessels, of which,
of course, Phileas Fogg could make no use.

He seemed about to give up all hope, when he espied, anchored at the
Battery, a cable's length off at most, a trading vessel, with a screw,
well-shaped, whose funnel, puffing a cloud of smoke, indicated that she
was getting ready for departure.

Phileas Fogg hailed a boat, got into it, and soon found himself on
board the Henrietta, iron-hulled, wood-built above. He ascended to the
deck, and asked for the captain, who forthwith presented himself. He
was a man of fifty, a sort of sea-wolf, with big eyes, a complexion of
oxidised copper, red hair and thick neck, and a growling voice.

"The captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"I am the captain."

"I am Phileas Fogg, of London."

"And I am Andrew Speedy, of Cardiff."

"You are going to put to sea?"

"In an hour."

"You are bound for--"

"Bordeaux."

"And your cargo?"

"No freight. Going in ballast."

"Have you any passengers?"

"No passengers. Never have passengers. Too much in the way."

"Is your vessel a swift one?"

"Between eleven and twelve knots. The Henrietta, well known."

"Will you carry me and three other persons to Liverpool?"

"To Liverpool? Why not to China?"

"I said Liverpool."

"No!"

"No?"

"No. I am setting out for Bordeaux, and shall go to Bordeaux."

"Money is no object?"

"None."

The captain spoke in a tone which did not admit of a reply.

"But the owners of the Henrietta--" resumed Phileas Fogg.

"The owners are myself," replied the captain. "The vessel belongs to
me."

"I will freight it for you."

"No."

"I will buy it of you."

"No."

Phileas Fogg did not betray the least disappointment; but the situation
was a grave one. It was not at New York as at Hong Kong, nor with the
captain of the Henrietta as with the captain of the Tankadere. Up to
this time money had smoothed away every obstacle. Now money failed.

Still, some means must be found to cross the Atlantic on a boat, unless
by balloon--which would have been venturesome, besides not being
capable of being put in practice. It seemed that Phileas Fogg had an
idea, for he said to the captain, "Well, will you carry me to Bordeaux?"

"No, not if you paid me two hundred dollars."

"I offer you two thousand."

"Apiece?"

"Apiece."

"And there are four of you?"

"Four."

Captain Speedy began to scratch his head. There were eight thousand
dollars to gain, without changing his route; for which it was well
worth conquering the repugnance he had for all kinds of passengers.
Besides, passenger's at two thousand dollars are no longer passengers,
but valuable merchandise. "I start at nine o'clock," said Captain
Speedy, simply. "Are you and your party ready?"

"We will be on board at nine o'clock," replied, no less simply, Mr.
Fogg.

It was half-past eight. To disembark from the Henrietta, jump into a
hack, hurry to the St. Nicholas, and return with Aouda, Passepartout,
and even the inseparable Fix was the work of a brief time, and was
performed by Mr. Fogg with the coolness which never abandoned him.
They were on board when the Henrietta made ready to weigh anchor.

When Passepartout heard what this last voyage was going to cost, he
uttered a prolonged "Oh!" which extended throughout his vocal gamut.

As for Fix, he said to himself that the Bank of England would certainly
not come out of this affair well indemnified. When they reached
England, even if Mr. Fogg did not throw some handfuls of bank-bills
into the sea, more than seven thousand pounds would have been spent!

An hour after, 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 anon. Aouda was anxious, though
she said nothing. As for Passepartout, he thought Mr. Fogg's manoeuvre
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
boisterous, 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 north-east,
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-humour infected everyone. He had
forgotten the past, its vexations and delays. He only thought of the
end, so nearly accomplished; and 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; and
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; and during the night the temperature varied, the cold
became sharper, and the wind veered to the south-east.

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; and 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 boisterous 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 south-east, 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, and, 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," muttered
he, "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 refrained.

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 be an 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 on
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 commiserate 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 harbour?"

"Not under three hours. Only at high tide."

"Stay," 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 Harbour at one o'clock in the morning,
it then being high tide; and Phileas Fogg, after being grasped heartily
by the hand by Captain Speedy, left that gentleman on the levelled 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 upon 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, 21st 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!"

Phileas Fogg was in prison. He had been shut up in the Custom House,
and he was to be transferred to London the next day.

Passepartout, when he saw his master arrested, would have fallen upon
Fix had he not been held back by some policemen. Aouda was
thunderstruck at the suddenness of an event which she could not
understand. Passepartout explained to her how it was that the honest
and courageous Fogg was arrested as a robber. The young woman's heart
revolted against so heinous a charge, and when she saw that she could
attempt to do nothing to save her protector, she wept bitterly.

As for Fix, he had arrested Mr. Fogg because it was his duty, whether
Mr. Fogg were guilty or not.

The thought then struck Passepartout, that he was the cause of this new
misfortune! Had he not concealed Fix's errand from his master? When
Fix revealed his true character and purpose, why had he not told Mr.
Fogg? If the latter had been warned, he would no doubt have given Fix
proof of his innocence, and satisfied him of his mistake; at least, Fix
would not have continued his journey at the expense and on the heels of
his master, only to arrest him the moment he set foot on English soil.
Passepartout wept till he was blind, and felt like blowing his brains
out.

Aouda and he had remained, despite the cold, under the portico of the
Custom House. Neither wished to leave the place; both were anxious to
see Mr. Fogg again.

That gentleman was really ruined, and that at the moment when he was
about to attain his end. This arrest was fatal. Having arrived at
Liverpool at twenty minutes before twelve on the 21st of December, he
had till a quarter before nine that evening to reach the Reform Club,
that is, nine hours and a quarter; the journey from Liverpool to London
was six hours.

If anyone, at this moment, had entered the Custom House, he would have
found Mr. Fogg seated, motionless, calm, and without apparent anger,
upon a wooden bench. He was not, it is true, resigned; but this last
blow failed to force him into an outward betrayal of any emotion. Was
he being devoured by one of those secret rages, all the more terrible
because contained, and which only burst forth, with an irresistible
force, at the last moment? No one could tell. There he sat, calmly
waiting--for what? Did he still cherish hope? Did he still believe,
now that the door of this prison was closed upon him, that he would
succeed?

However that may have been, Mr. Fogg carefully put his watch upon the
table, and observed its advancing hands. Not a word escaped his lips,
but his look was singularly set and stern. The situation, in any
event, was a terrible one, and might be thus stated: if Phileas Fogg
was honest he was ruined; if he was a knave, he was caught.

Did escape occur to him? Did he examine to see if there were any
practicable outlet from his prison? Did he think of escaping from it?
Possibly; for once he walked slowly around the room. But the door was
locked, and the window heavily barred with iron rods. He sat down
again, and drew his journal from his pocket. On the line where these
words were written, "21st December, Saturday, Liverpool," he added,
"80th day, 11.40 a.m.," and waited.

The Custom House clock struck one. Mr. Fogg observed that his watch
was two hours too fast.

Two hours! Admitting that he was at this moment taking an express
train, he could reach London and the Reform Club by a quarter before
nine, p.m. His forehead slightly wrinkled.

At thirty-three minutes past two he heard a singular noise outside,
then a hasty opening of doors. Passepartout's voice was audible, and
immediately after that of Fix. Phileas Fogg's eyes brightened for an
instant.

The door swung open, and he saw Passepartout, Aouda, and Fix, who
hurried towards him.

Fix was out of breath, and his hair was in disorder. He could not
speak. "Sir," he stammered, "sir--forgive me--most--unfortunate
resemblance--robber arrested three days ago--you are free!"

Phileas Fogg was free! He walked to the detective, looked him steadily
in the face, and with the only rapid motion he had ever made in his
life, or which he ever would make, drew back his arms, and with the
precision of a machine knocked Fix down.

"Well hit!" cried Passepartout, "Parbleu! that's what you might call a
good application of English fists!"

Fix, who found himself on the floor, did not utter a word. He had only
received his deserts. Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout left the
Custom House without delay, got into a cab, and in a few moments
descended at the station.

Phileas Fogg asked if there was an express train about to leave for
London. It was forty minutes past two. The express train had left
thirty-five minutes before. Phileas Fogg then ordered a special train.

There were several rapid locomotives on hand; but the railway
arrangements did not permit the special train to leave until three
o'clock.

At that hour Phileas Fogg, having stimulated the engineer by the offer
of a generous reward, at last set out towards London with Aouda and his
faithful servant.

It was necessary to make the journey in five hours and a half; and this
would have been easy on a clear road throughout. But there were forced
delays, and when Mr. Fogg stepped from the train at the terminus, all
the clocks in London were striking ten minutes before nine.

Having made the tour of the world, he was behind-hand five minutes. He
had lost the wager!

The dwellers in Saville Row would have been surprised the next day, if
they had been told that Phileas Fogg had returned home. His doors and
windows were still closed, no appearance of change was visible.

After leaving the station, Mr. Fogg gave Passepartout instructions to
purchase some provisions, and quietly went to his domicile.

He bore his misfortune with his habitual tranquillity. Ruined! And by
the blundering of the detective! After having steadily traversed that
long journey, overcome a hundred obstacles, braved many dangers, and
still found time to do some good on his way, to fail near the goal by a
sudden event which he could not have foreseen, and against which he was
unarmed; it was terrible! But a few pounds were left of the large sum
he had carried with him. There only remained of his fortune the twenty
thousand pounds deposited at Barings, and this amount he owed to his
friends of the Reform Club. So great had been the expense of his tour
that, even had he won, it would not have enriched him; and it is
probable that he had not sought to enrich himself, being a man who
rather laid wagers for honour's sake than for the stake proposed. But
this wager totally ruined him.

Mr. Fogg's course, however, was fully decided upon; he knew what
remained for him to do.

A room in the house in Saville Row was set apart for Aouda, who was
overwhelmed with grief at her protector's misfortune. From the words
which Mr. Fogg dropped, she saw that he was meditating some serious
project.

Knowing that Englishmen governed by a fixed idea sometimes resort to
the desperate expedient of suicide, Passepartout kept a narrow watch
upon his master, though he carefully concealed the appearance of so
doing.

First of all, the worthy fellow had gone up to his room, and had
extinguished the gas burner, which had been burning for eighty days.
He had found in the letter-box a bill from the gas company, and he
thought it more than time to put a stop to this expense, which he had
been doomed to bear.

The night passed. Mr. Fogg went to bed, but did he sleep? Aouda did
not once close her eyes. Passepartout watched all night, like a
faithful dog, at his master's door.

Mr. Fogg called him in the morning, and told him to get Aouda's
breakfast, and a cup of tea and a chop for himself. He desired Aouda
to excuse him from breakfast and dinner, as his time would be absorbed
all day in putting his affairs to rights. In the evening he would ask
permission to have a few moment's conversation with the young lady.

Passepartout, having received his orders, had nothing to do but obey
them. He looked at his imperturbable master, and could scarcely bring
his mind to leave him. His heart was full, and his conscience tortured
by remorse; for he accused himself more bitterly than ever of being the
cause of the irretrievable disaster. Yes! if he had warned Mr. Fogg,
and had betrayed Fix's projects to him, his master would certainly not
have given the detective passage to Liverpool, and then--

Passepartout could hold in no longer.

"My master! Mr. Fogg!" he cried, "why do you not curse me? It was my
fault that--"

"I blame no one," returned Phileas Fogg, with perfect calmness. "Go!"

Passepartout left the room, and went to find Aouda, to whom he
delivered his master's message.

"Madam," he added, "I can do nothing myself--nothing! I have no
influence over my master; but you, perhaps--"

"What influence could I have?" replied Aouda. "Mr. Fogg is influenced
by no one. Has he ever understood that my gratitude to him is
overflowing? Has he ever read my heart? My friend, he must not be
left alone an instant! You say he is going to speak with me this
evening?"

"Yes, madam; probably to arrange for your protection and comfort in
England."

"We shall see," replied Aouda, becoming suddenly pensive.

Throughout this day (Sunday) the house in Saville Row was as if
uninhabited, and Phileas Fogg, for the first time since he had lived in
that house, did not set out for his club when Westminster clock struck
half-past eleven.

Why should he present himself at the Reform? His friends no longer
expected him there. As Phileas Fogg had not appeared in the saloon on
the evening before (Saturday, the 21st of December, at a quarter before
nine), he had lost his wager. It was not even necessary that he should
go to his bankers for the twenty thousand pounds; for his antagonists
already had his cheque in their hands, and they had only to fill it out
and send it to the Barings to have the amount transferred to their
credit.

Mr. Fogg, therefore, had no reason for going out, and so he remained at
home. He shut himself up in his room, and busied himself putting his
affairs in order. Passepartout continually ascended and descended the
stairs. The hours were long for him. He listened at his master's door,
and looked through the keyhole, as if he had a perfect right so to do,
and as if he feared that something terrible might happen at any moment.
Sometimes he thought of Fix, but no longer in anger. Fix, like all the
world, had been mistaken in Phileas Fogg, and had only done his duty in
tracking and arresting him; while he, Passepartout. . . . This thought
haunted him, and he never ceased cursing his miserable folly.

Finding himself too wretched to remain alone, he knocked at Aouda's
door, went into her room, seated himself, without speaking, in a
corner, and looked ruefully at the young woman. Aouda was still pensive.

About half-past seven in the evening Mr. Fogg sent to know if Aouda
would receive him, and in a few moments he found himself alone with her.

Phileas Fogg took a chair, and sat down near the fireplace, opposite
Aouda. No emotion was visible on his face. Fogg returned was exactly
the Fogg who had gone away; there was the same calm, the same
impassibility.

He sat several minutes without speaking; then, bending his eyes on
Aouda, "Madam," said he, "will you pardon me for bringing you to
England?"

"I, Mr. Fogg!" replied Aouda, checking the pulsations of her heart.

"Please let me finish," returned Mr. Fogg. "When I decided to bring
you far away from the country which was so unsafe for you, I was rich,
and counted on putting a portion of my fortune at your disposal; then
your existence would have been free and happy. But now I am ruined."

"I know it, Mr. Fogg," replied Aouda; "and I ask you in my turn, will
you forgive me for having followed you, and--who knows?--for having,
perhaps, delayed you, and thus contributed to your ruin?"

"Madam, you could not remain in India, and your safety could only be
assured by bringing you to such a distance that your persecutors could
not take you."

"So, Mr. Fogg," resumed Aouda, "not content with rescuing me from a
terrible death, you thought yourself bound to secure my comfort in a
foreign land?"

"Yes, madam; but circumstances have been against me. Still, I beg to
place the little I have left at your service."

"But what will become of you, Mr. Fogg?"

"As for me, madam," replied the gentleman, coldly, "I have need of
nothing."

"But how do you look upon the fate, sir, which awaits you?"

"As I am in the habit of doing."

"At least," said Aouda, "want should not overtake a man like you. Your
friends--"

"I have no friends, madam."

"Your relatives--"

"I have no longer any relatives."

"I pity you, then, Mr. Fogg, for solitude is a sad thing, with no heart
to which to confide your griefs. They say, though, that misery itself,
shared by two sympathetic souls, may be borne with patience."

"They say so, madam."

"Mr. Fogg," said Aouda, rising and seizing his hand, "do you wish at
once a kinswoman and friend? Will you have me for your wife?"

Mr. Fogg, at this, rose in his turn. There was an unwonted light in
his eyes, and a slight trembling of his lips. Aouda looked into his
face. The sincerity, rectitude, firmness, and sweetness of this soft
glance of a noble woman, who could dare all to save him to whom she
owed all, at first astonished, then penetrated him. He shut his eyes
for an instant, as if to avoid her look. When he opened them again, "I
love you!" he said, simply. "Yes, by all that is holiest, I love you,
and I am entirely yours!"

"Ah!" cried Aouda, pressing his hand to her heart.

Passepartout was summoned and appeared immediately. Mr. Fogg still
held Aouda's hand in his own; Passepartout understood, and his big,
round face became as radiant as the tropical sun at its zenith.

Mr. Fogg asked him if it was not too late to notify the Reverend Samuel
Wilson, of Marylebone parish, that evening.

Passepartout smiled his most genial smile, and said, "Never too late."

It was five minutes past eight.

"Will it be for to-morrow, Monday?"

"For to-morrow, Monday," said Mr. Fogg, turning to Aouda.

"Yes; for to-morrow, Monday," she replied.

Passepartout hurried off as fast as his legs could carry him.

It is time to relate what a change took place in English public opinion
when it transpired that the real bankrobber, a certain James Strand,
had been arrested, on the 17th day of December, at Edinburgh. Three
days before, Phileas Fogg had been a criminal, who was being
desperately followed up by the police; now he was an honourable
gentleman, mathematically pursuing his eccentric journey round the
world.

The papers resumed their discussion about the wager; all those who had
laid bets, for or against him, revived their interest, as if by magic;
the "Phileas Fogg bonds" again became negotiable, and many new wagers
were made. Phileas Fogg's name was once more at a premium on 'Change.

His five friends of the Reform Club passed these three days in a state
of feverish suspense. Would Phileas Fogg, whom they had forgotten,
reappear before their eyes! Where was he at this moment? The 17th of
December, the day of James Strand's arrest, was the seventy-sixth since
Phileas Fogg's departure, and no news of him had been received. Was he
dead? Had he abandoned the effort, or was he continuing his journey
along the route agreed upon? And would he appear on Saturday, the 21st
of December, at a quarter before nine in the evening, on the threshold
of the Reform Club saloon?

The anxiety in which, for three days, London society existed, cannot be
described. Telegrams were sent to America and Asia for news of Phileas
Fogg. Messengers were dispatched to the house in Saville Row morning
and evening. No news. The police were ignorant what had become of the
detective, Fix, who had so unfortunately followed up a false scent.
Bets increased, nevertheless, in number and value. Phileas Fogg, like
a racehorse, was drawing near his last turning-point. The bonds were
quoted, no longer at a hundred below par, but at twenty, at ten, and at
five; and paralytic old Lord Albemarle bet even in his favour.

A great crowd was collected in Pall Mall and the neighbouring streets
on Saturday evening; it seemed like a multitude of brokers permanently
established around the Reform Club. Circulation was impeded, and
everywhere disputes, discussions, and financial transactions were going
on. The police had great difficulty in keeping back the crowd, and as
the hour when Phileas Fogg was due approached, the excitement rose to
its highest pitch.

The five antagonists of Phileas Fogg had met in the great saloon of the
club. John Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, the bankers, Andrew Stuart,
the engineer, Gauthier Ralph, the director of the Bank of England, and
Thomas Flanagan, the brewer, one and all waited anxiously.

When the clock indicated twenty minutes past eight, Andrew Stuart got
up, saying, "Gentlemen, in twenty minutes the time agreed upon between
Mr. Fogg and ourselves will have expired."

"What time did the last train arrive from Liverpool?" asked Thomas
Flanagan.

"At twenty-three minutes past seven," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and the
next does not arrive till ten minutes after twelve."

"Well, gentlemen," resumed Andrew Stuart, "if Phileas Fogg had come in
the 7:23 train, he would have got here by this time. We can,
therefore, regard the bet as won."

"Wait; don't let us be too hasty," replied Samuel Fallentin. "You know
that Mr. Fogg is very eccentric. His punctuality is well known; he
never arrives too soon, or too late; and I should not be surprised if
he appeared before us at the last minute."

"Why," said Andrew Stuart nervously, "if I should see him, I should not
believe it was he."

"The fact is," resumed Thomas Flanagan, "Mr. Fogg's project was
absurdly foolish. Whatever his punctuality, he could not prevent the
delays which were certain to occur; and a delay of only two or three
days would be fatal to his tour."

"Observe, too," added John Sullivan, "that we have received no
intelligence from him, though there are telegraphic lines all along is
route."

"He has lost, gentleman," said Andrew Stuart, "he has a hundred times
lost! You know, besides, that the China the only steamer he could have
taken from New York to get here in time arrived yesterday. I have seen
a list of the passengers, and the name of Phileas Fogg is not among
them. Even if we admit that fortune has favoured him, he can scarcely
have reached America. I think he will be at least twenty days
behind-hand, and that Lord Albemarle will lose a cool five thousand."

"It is clear," replied Gauthier Ralph; "and we have nothing to do but
to present Mr. Fogg's cheque at Barings to-morrow."

At this moment, the hands of the club clock pointed to twenty minutes
to nine.

"Five minutes more," said Andrew Stuart.

The five gentlemen looked at each other. Their anxiety was becoming
intense; but, not wishing to betray it, they readily assented to Mr.
Fallentin's proposal of a rubber.

"I wouldn't give up my four thousand of the bet," said Andrew Stuart,
as he took his seat, "for three thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine."

The clock indicated eighteen minutes to nine.

The players took up their cards, but could not keep their eyes off the
clock. Certainly, however secure they felt, minutes had never seemed
so long to them!

"Seventeen minutes to nine," said Thomas Flanagan, as he cut the cards
which Ralph handed to him.

Then there was a moment of silence. The great saloon was perfectly
quiet; but the murmurs of the crowd outside were heard, with now and
then a shrill cry. The pendulum beat the seconds, which each player
eagerly counted, as he listened, with mathematical regularity.

"Sixteen minutes to nine!" said John Sullivan, in a voice which
betrayed his emotion.

One minute more, and the wager would be won. Andrew Stuart and his
partners suspended their game. They left their cards, and counted the
seconds.

At the fortieth second, nothing. At the fiftieth, still nothing.

At the fifty-fifth, a loud cry was heard in the street, followed by
applause, hurrahs, and some fierce growls.

The players rose from their seats.

At the fifty-seventh second the door of the saloon opened; and the
pendulum had not beat the sixtieth second when Phileas Fogg appeared,
followed by an excited crowd who had forced their way through the club
doors, and in his calm voice, said, "Here I am, gentlemen!"

Yes; Phileas Fogg in person.

The reader will remember that at five minutes past eight in the
evening--about five and twenty hours after the arrival of the
travellers in London--Passepartout had been sent by his master to
engage the services of the Reverend Samuel Wilson in a certain marriage
ceremony, which was to take place the next day.

Passepartout went on his errand enchanted. He soon reached the
clergyman's house, but found him not at home. Passepartout waited a
good twenty minutes, and when he left the reverend gentleman, it was
thirty-five minutes past eight. But in what a state he was! With his
hair in disorder, and without his hat, he ran along the street as never
man was seen to run before, overturning passers-by, rushing over the
sidewalk like a waterspout.

In three minutes he was in Saville Row again, and staggered back into
Mr. Fogg's room.

He could not speak.

"What is the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"My master!" gasped Passepartout--"marriage--impossible--"

"Impossible?"

"Impossible--for to-morrow."

"Why so?"

"Because to-morrow--is Sunday!"

"Monday," replied Mr. Fogg.

"No--to-day is Saturday."

"Saturday? Impossible!"

"Yes, yes, yes, yes!" cried Passepartout. "You have made a mistake of
one day! We arrived twenty-four hours ahead of time; but there are
only ten minutes left!"

Passepartout had seized his master by the collar, and was dragging him
along with irresistible force.

Phileas Fogg, thus kidnapped, without having time to think, left his
house, jumped into a cab, promised a hundred pounds to the cabman, and,
having run over two dogs and overturned five carriages, reached the
Reform Club.

The clock indicated a quarter before nine when he appeared in the great
saloon.

Phileas Fogg had accomplished the journey round the world in eighty
days!

Phileas Fogg had won his wager of twenty thousand pounds!

How was it that a man so exact and fastidious could have made this
error of a day? How came he to think that he had arrived in London on
Saturday, the twenty-first day of December, when it was really Friday,
the twentieth, the seventy-ninth day only from his departure?

The cause of the error is very simple.

Phileas Fogg had, without suspecting it, gained one day on his journey,
and this merely because he had travelled constantly eastward; he would,
on the contrary, have lost a day had he gone in the opposite direction,
that is, westward.

In journeying eastward he had gone towards the sun, and the days
therefore diminished for him as many times four minutes as he crossed
degrees in this direction. There are three hundred and sixty degrees
on the circumference of the earth; and these three hundred and sixty
degrees, multiplied by four minutes, gives precisely twenty-four
hours--that is, the day unconsciously gained. In other words, while
Phileas Fogg, going eastward, saw the sun pass the meridian eighty
times, his friends in London only saw it pass the meridian seventy-nine
times. This is why they awaited him at the Reform Club on Saturday,
and not Sunday, as Mr. Fogg thought.

And Passepartout's famous family watch, which had always kept London
time, would have betrayed this fact, if it had marked the days as well
as the hours and the minutes!

Phileas Fogg, then, had won the twenty thousand pounds; but, as he had
spent nearly nineteen thousand on the way, the pecuniary gain was
small. His object was, however, to be victorious, and not to win
money. He divided the one thousand pounds that remained between
Passepartout and the unfortunate Fix, against whom he cherished no
grudge. He deducted, however, from Passepartout's share the cost of
the gas which had burned in his room for nineteen hundred and twenty
hours, for the sake of regularity.

That evening, Mr. Fogg, as tranquil and phlegmatic as ever, said to
Aouda: "Is our marriage still agreeable to you?"

"Mr. Fogg," replied she, "it is for me to ask that question. You were
ruined, but now you are rich again."

"Pardon me, madam; my fortune belongs to you. If you had not suggested
our marriage, my servant would not have gone to the Reverend Samuel
Wilson's, I should not have been apprised of my error, and--"

"Dear Mr. Fogg!" said the young woman.

"Dear Aouda!" replied Phileas Fogg.

It need not be said that the marriage took place forty-eight hours
after, and that Passepartout, glowing and dazzling, gave the bride
away. Had he not saved her, and was he not entitled to this honour?

The next day, as soon as it was light, Passepartout rapped vigorously
at his master's door. Mr. Fogg opened it, and asked, "What's the
matter, Passepartout?"

"What is it, sir? Why, I've just this instant found out--"

"What?"

"That we might have made the tour of the world in only seventy-eight
days."

"No doubt," returned Mr. Fogg, "by not crossing India. But if I had
not crossed India, I should not have saved Aouda; she would not have
been my wife, and--"

Mr. Fogg quietly shut the door.

Phileas Fogg had won his wager, and had made his journey around the
world in eighty days. To do this he had employed every means of
conveyance--steamers, railways, carriages, yachts, trading-vessels,
sledges, elephants. The eccentric gentleman had throughout displayed
all his marvellous qualities of coolness and exactitude. But what
then? What had he really gained by all this trouble? What had he
brought back from this long and weary journey?

Nothing, say you? Perhaps so; nothing but a charming woman, who,
strange as it may appear, made him the happiest of men!

Truly, would you not for less than that make the tour around the world?