|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 51
It was now three o'clock; and pilot-boat No. 43, with its crew
on board, and its provisions stored away, was ready for departure.
The Tankadere was a neat little craft of twenty tons,
as gracefully built as if she were a racing yacht.
Her shining copper sheathing, her galvanised iron-work,
her deck, white as ivory, betrayed the pride taken by John Bunsby
in making her presentable. Her two masts leaned a trifle backward;
she carried brigantine, foresail, storm-jib, and standing-jib,
and was well rigged for running before the wind; and she seemed capable
of brisk speed, which, indeed, she had already proved by gaining
several prizes in pilot-boat races. The crew of the Tankadere
was composed of John Bunsby, the master, and four hardy mariners,
who were familiar with the Chinese seas. John Bunsby, himself,
a man of forty-five or thereabouts, vigorous, sunburnt, with a
sprightly expression of the eye, and energetic and self-reliant
countenance, would have inspired confidence in the most timid.
Phileas Fogg and Aouda went on board, where they found Fix
already installed. Below deck was a square cabin, of which
the walls bulged out in the form of cots, above a circular divan;
in the centre was a table provided with a swinging lamp.
The accommodation was confined, but neat.
"I am sorry to have nothing better to offer you," said Mr.
Fogg to Fix, who bowed without responding.
The detective had a feeling akin to humiliation in profiting
by the kindness of Mr. Fogg.
"It's certain," thought he, "though rascal as he is, he is a polite one!"
The sails and the English flag were hoisted at ten minutes past three.
Mr. Fogg and Aouda, who were seated on deck, cast a last glance at the quay,
in the hope of espying Passepartout. Fix was not without his fears
lest chance should direct the steps of the unfortunate servant,
whom he had so badly treated, in this direction; in which case
an explanation the reverse of satisfactory to the detective
must have ensued. But the Frenchman did not appear, and, without doubt,
was still lying under the stupefying influence of the opium.
John Bunsby, master, at length gave the order to start, and
the Tankadere, taking the wind under her brigantine, foresail,
and standing-jib, bounded briskly forward over the waves.
Chapter XXI
IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE "TANKADERE" RUNS
GREAT RISK OF LOSING A REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS
This voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture
on a craft of twenty tons, and at that season of the year.
The Chinese seas are usually boisterous, subject to terrible
gales of wind, and especially during the equinoxes;
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 through the capricious channels of Hong Kong,
and the Tankadere, impelled by favourable winds, conducted herself admirably.
"I do not need, pilot," said Phileas 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 when we are going into port."
"Its your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."
Phileas Fogg, with body erect and 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.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|