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Page 53
Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward,
where he ensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.
Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was
in high hope. He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would
reach Shanghai in time; to which that gentleman responded
that he counted upon it. The crew set to work in good earnest,
inspired by the reward to be gained. There was not a sheet
which was not tightened not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted;
not a lurch could be charged to the man at the helm. They worked
as desperately as if they were contesting in a Royal yacht regatta.
By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had been
accomplished from Hong Kong, and Mr. Fogg might hope that he would be able
to reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal; in which case,
the many misadventures which had overtaken him since he left London
would not seriously affect his journey.
The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate
the island of Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours
of the night, and crossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very
rough in the straits, full of eddies formed by the counter-currents,
and the chopping waves broke her course, whilst it became very difficult
to stand on deck.
At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens
seemed to predict a gale. The barometer announced a speedy change,
the mercury rising and falling capriciously; the sea also,
in the south-east, raised long surges which indicated a tempest.
The sun had set the evening before in a red mist,
in the midst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.
John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the heavens,
muttering indistinctly between his teeth. At last he said in a low voice
to Mr. Fogg, "Shall I speak out to your honour?"
"Of course."
"Well, we are going to have a squall."
"Is the wind north or south?" asked Mr. Fogg quietly.
"South. Look! a typhoon is coming up."
"Glad it's a typhoon from the south, for it will carry us forward."
"Oh, if you take it that way," said John Bunsby, "I've nothing more to say."
John Bunsby's suspicions were confirmed. At a less advanced season of the year
the typhoon, according to a famous meteorologist, would have passed away
like a luminous cascade of electric flame; but in the winter equinox
it was to be feared that it would burst upon them with great violence.
The pilot took his precautions in advance. He reefed all sail,
the pole-masts were dispensed with; all hands went forward to the bows.
A single triangular sail, of strong canvas, was hoisted as a storm-jib,
so as to hold the wind from behind. Then they waited.
John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below; but this
imprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the boat
bouncing in the gale, was far from pleasant. Neither Mr. Fogg,
Fix, nor Aouda consented to leave the deck.
The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o'clock.
With but its bit of sail, the Tankadere was lifted like a feather by a wind,
an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To compare her speed
to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam would be below
the truth.
The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on
by monstrous waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal
to theirs. Twenty times she seemed almost to be submerged by
these mountains of water which rose behind her; but the adroit
management of the pilot saved her. The passengers were often
bathed in spray, but they submitted to it philosophically.
Fix cursed it, no doubt; but Aouda, with her eyes fastened upon
her protector, whose coolness amazed her, showed herself worthy
of him, and bravely weathered the storm. As for Phileas Fogg,
it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of his programme.
Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to the north;
but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore down from
the north-west. The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves,
shook and rolled terribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence.
At night the tempest increased in violence. John Bunsby saw the approach
of darkness and the rising of the storm with dark misgivings.
He thought awhile, and then asked his crew if it was not time to slacken speed.
After a consultation he approached Mr. Fogg, and said, "I think, your honour,
that we should do well to make for one of the ports on the coast."
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