第 九 章 · IN WHICH THE RED SEA AND THE INDIAN OCEAN PROVE PROPITIOUS TO THE

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, brigadiers, £2,400, and

generals of divisions, £4,000. 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,

north-west 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

Somalis, 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

north-west, 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.