Around the World in 80 Days by Jules Verne (best story books to read .txt) 📕

Chapter IX

IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS

TO THE DESIGNS OF PHILEAS FOGG

 

The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred

and ten miles, and the regulations of the company allow the

steamers one hundred and thirty-eight hours in which to traverse it.

The Mongolia, thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer,

seemed likely, so rapid was her speed, to reach her destination

considerably within that time. The greater part of the passengers

from Brindisi were bound for India some for Bombay, others for Calcutta

by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that a railway crosses

the Indian peninsula. Among the passengers was a number of officials

and military officers of various grades, the latter being either attached

to the regular British forces or commanding the Sepoy troops,

and receiving high salaries ever since the central

government has assumed the powers of the East India Company:

for the sub-lieutenants get 280 pounds, brigadiers, 2,400 pounds,

and generals of divisions, 4,000 pounds. What with the military men,

a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and the hospitable

efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the Mongolia.

The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast,

lunch, dinner, and the eight o’clock supper, and the ladies

scrupulously changed their toilets twice a day; and the hours

were whirled away, when the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games.

 

But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most long

and narrow gulfs. When the wind came from the African or Asian coast

the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled fearfully. Then the ladies

speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancing

suddenly ceased. Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind

or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb. What was Phileas Fogg

doing all this time? It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would

be constantly watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging

of the billows—every chance, in short, which might force the Mongolia

to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey. But, if he thought

of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by any outward sign.

 

Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no

incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship’s chronometers,

and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed

through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference;

did not care to recognise the historic towns and villages which,

along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky;

and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old

historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient

navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices.

How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the Mongolia? He made his

four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent rolling

and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist indefatigably,

for he had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself.

A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith,

returning to his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier-general of the English army,

who was about to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up the party, and,

with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence.

 

As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his meals

conscientiously in the forward cabin. He rather enjoyed the voyage,

for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great interest in the scenes

through which they were passing, and consoled himself with the delusion

that his master’s whim would end at Bombay. He was pleased, on the day after

leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging person with whom he had walked

and chatted on the quays.

 

“If I am not mistaken,” said he, approaching this person, with his most

amiable smile, “you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered

to guide me at Suez?”

 

“Ah! I quite recognise you. You are the servant of the strange Englishman—”

 

“Just so, monsieur—”

 

“Fix.”

 

“Monsieur Fix,” resumed Passepartout, “I’m charmed to find you on board.

Where are you bound?”

 

“Like you, to Bombay.”

 

“That’s capital! Have you made this trip before?”

 

“Several times. I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company.”

 

“Then you know India?”

 

“Why yes,” replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.

 

“A curious place, this India?”

 

“Oh, very curious. Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas, tigers,

snakes, elephants! I hope you will have ample time to see the sights.”

 

“I hope so, Monsieur Fix. You see, a man of sound sense ought not

to spend his life jumping from a steamer upon a railway train,

and from a railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make the tour

of the world in eighty days! No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure,

will cease at Bombay.”

 

“And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?” asked Fix, in the most natural

tone in the world.

 

“Quite well, and I too. I eat like a famished ogre; it’s the sea air.

 

“But I never see your master on deck.”

 

“Never; he hasn’t the least curiosity.”

 

“Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty days

may conceal some secret errand—perhaps a diplomatic mission?”

 

“Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it,

nor would I give half a crown to find out.”

 

After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit

of chatting together, the latter making it a point to gain

the worthy man’s confidence. He frequently offered him a glass

of whiskey or pale ale in the steamer bar-room, which Passepartout

never failed to accept with graceful alacrity, mentally pronouncing

Fix the best of good fellows.

 

Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th,

Mocha, surrounded by its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing,

was sighted, and on the mountains beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.

Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought that,

with its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an immense

coffee-cup and saucer. The following night they passed through the Strait

of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in Arabic The Bridge of Tears, and the

next day they put in at Steamer Point, northwest of Aden harbour,

to take in coal. This matter of fuelling steamers is a serious

one at such distances from the coal-mines; it costs the Peninsular

Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a year. In these

distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds sterling a ton.

 

The Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to traverse

before reaching Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at

Steamer Point to coal up. But this delay, as it was foreseen,

did not affect Phileas Fogg’s programme; besides, the Mongolia,

instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due,

arrived there on the evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.

 

Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport

again visaed; Fix, unobserved, followed them. The visa procured,

Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits; while Passepartout,

according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed population of Somanlis,

Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs, and Europeans who comprise the twenty-five

thousand inhabitants of Aden. He gazed with wonder upon the fortifications

which make this place the Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns

where the English engineers were still at work, two thousand years after

the engineers of Solomon.

 

“Very curious, very curious,” said Passepartout to himself,

on returning to the steamer. “I see that it is by no means useless

to travel, if a man wants to see something new.” At six p.m.

the Mongolia slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon

once more on the Indian Ocean. She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours

in which to reach Bombay, and the sea was favourable, the wind being

in the northwest, and all sails aiding the engine. The steamer

rolled but little, the ladies, in fresh toilets, reappeared

on deck, and the singing and dancing were resumed. The trip

was being accomplished most successfully, and Passepartout

was enchanted with the congenial companion which chance had secured

him in the person of the delightful Fix. On Sunday, October 20th,

towards noon, they came in sight of the Indian coast: two hours

later the pilot came on board. A range of hills lay against the

sky in the horizon, and soon the rows of palms which adorn Bombay

came distinctly into view. The steamer entered the road formed by

the islands in the bay, and at half-past four she hauled up at the

quays of Bombay.

 

Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber

of the voyage, and his partner and himself having, by a bold stroke,

captured all thirteen of the tricks, concluded this fine campaign

with a brilliant victory.

 

The Mongolia was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the

20th. This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his

departure from London, and he calmly entered the fact in the

itinerary, in the column of gains.