Around the World in Eighty Days Chapter 21

**Vaughan Ullman** (0:02)
Chapter 21 Around the World in Eighty Days This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. Recording by Vaughan Ullman. Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne. Chapter 21 In which the master of the Tankadere runs great risk of losing a reward of 200 pounds. This voyage of 800 miles was a perilous venture on a craft of 20 tons, and at that season of the year, the Chinese seas are usually boisterous, subject to terrible gales of wind, and especially during the Equinox, and it was now early November. It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry his passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day, but he would have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudent even to attempt to reach Shanghai. But John Bunsby believed in the Tankadere, which rode on the waves like a seagull, and perhaps he was not wrong.
Late in the day they passed to the capricious channels of Hong Kong, and the Tankadere, impaled by favourable winds, conducted herself admirably. I do not need pilot, said Julius Fogg when they got into the open sea, to advise you to use all possible speed. Trust me, your honour, we are carrying all the sail the wind will let us. The poles would add nothing, and are only used where you are going into port. It's your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you. Phileas Fogg, with body erected, legs wide apart, standing like a sailor, gazed without staggering at the swelling waters. The young woman, who was seated aft, was profoundly affected as she looked out upon the ocean, darkening now with the twilight, on which she had ventured in so frail a vessel. Above her head rustled the white sails, which seemed like great white wings. The boat, carried forward by the wind, seemed to be flying in the air.
Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter, and her insufficient light would soon die out in the midst of the horizon.
Clouds were rising from the east, and already overcast a part of the heavens. The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in these seas crowded with vessels bound landward, for collisions are not uncommon occurrences, and at the speed she was going, at least shock would shatter the gallant little craft.
Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept apart from his fellow travelers, knowing Mr. Fogg's tacturn taste. Besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose favors he had accepted. He was thinking, too, of the future. Seemed certain that Fogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the boat for San Francisco. And the vast extent of America would insure him impunity and safety. Fogg's plan appeared to him the simplest in the world. Instead of sailing directly from England to the United States like a common villain, he had traversed three quarters of the globe, so as to gain the American continent more surely. And there, after throwing the police off his track, he would quietly enjoy himself with the fortune stolen from the bank. But once in the United States, what should he fix do? Should he abandon this man? No, a hundred times no. Until he had secured his extradition, he would not lose sight of him for an hour. It was his duty, and he would fulfill it to the end. At all events, there was one thing to be thankful for. Passepartout was not with his master, and it was above all important, after the confidence his fix had imparted to him, that the servant should never have speech with his master.
Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so strangely disappeared. Looking at the matter from every point of view, it did not seem to him impossible that by some mistake the man might have embarked on the Carnatic at the last moment, and this was also Auda's opinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy fellow to whom she owed so much. They might then find him at Yokohama, or if the Carnatic was carrying him thither, it would be easy to assert if he had been on board. A brisk breeze arose about ten o'clock, but though it might have been prudent to take in a reef pilot after carefully examining the heavens, let the craft remain rigged as before. The Tankadere bore a sail admirably as she drew a great deal of water, and everything was prepared for high speed in case of a gale. Mr. Fogg and Aude descended into the cabin at midnight, having been already preceded by Fix, who had lain down on one of the cots. The pilot and crew remained on deck all night. At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had made more than a hundred miles. The log indicated a mean speed of between eight and nine miles. The Tankadere still carried all sail and was accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind held as it was, the chances would be in her favor. During the day she kept along the coast, where the currents were favorable. The coast, irregular in profile, and visible sometimes across the clearings, was at most five miles distant. The sea was less boisterous since the wind came off land. A fortunate circumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owing to its small tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea. The breeze subsided a little towards noon and set in from the south-west. The pilot put up his poles, but took them down again within two hours as the wind freshened up anew.