# Works of Jules Verne/Round the World in Eighty Days/Chapter 33

CHAPTER XXXIII IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SHOWS HIMSELF EQUAL TO CIRCUMSTANCES
An hour afterwards the steamer Henrietta passed the light-boat which marks the entrance of the Hudson, turned Sandy Hook Point, and put to sea. During the day she skirted Long Island, in the offing of the Fire Island Light, and rapidly ran towards the east.
At noon of the next day, the 13th of December, a man went upon the bridge to take charge of the vessel. It would certainly be supposed that this man was Captain Speedy! Not at all. It was Phileas Fogg.
As for Captain Speedy, he was very snugly locked up in his cabin, and was howling at a rate that denoted an anger very pardonable, which amounted to a paroxysm.
What had happened was very simple. Phileas Fogg wanted to go to Liverpool; the captain would not take him there. Then Phileas Fogg had agreed to take passage for Bordeaux, and during the thirty hours that he had been ​on board, he had maneuvered so well with his bank notes, that the crew, sailors and firemen—an occasional crew, on bad terms with the captain—belonged to him. And this is why Phileas Fogg commanded in the place of Captain Speedy, why the captain was shut up in his cabin, and why, finally, the Henrietta was steering her course towards Liverpool. It was very clear, seeing Mr. Fogg maneuver, that he had been a sailor.
Now, how the adventure would come out, would be known later. Aouda's uneasiness did not cease, although she said nothing. Fix was stunned at first. Passepartout found the thing simply splendid.
"Between eleven and twelve knots," Captain Speedy had said, and the Henrietta did indeed maintain this average of speed.
If then—how many "ifs" yet!—if the sea did not become too rough, if the wind did not rise in the east, if no mishap occurred to the vessel, no accident to the engine, the Henrietta in the nine days, counting from the 12th of December to the 21st, could accomplish the three thousand miles separating New York from Liverpool. It is true that once arrived, the Henrietta affair on top of the bank affair might take the gentleman a little farther than he would like.
During the first few days they went along under excellent conditions. The wind was not too rough; the sails were hoisted, and with them the Henrietta sailed like a genuine transatlantic steamer.
Passepartout was delighted. The last exploit of his master, the consequences of which he preferred not to consider, filled him with enthusiasm. The crew had never seen a gayer, more agile fellow. He made a thousand friendships with the sailors and astonished them by his acrobatic feats. He lavished upon them the best names and the most attractive drinks. He thought that they maneuvered like gentlemen, and that the firemen coaled up like heroes. His good humor was very communicative, and impressed itself upon all. He had forgotten the past, with its annoyances and its perils. He thought only of the end, so nearly reached, and sometimes he boiled over with impatience, as if he had been heated by the furnaces of the Henrietta. Frequently, also, the worthy fellow revolved around Fix; ​he looked at him with a distrustful eye, but he did not speak to him, for there no longer existed any intimacy between these two old friends.
Besides, Fix, it must be confessed, did not understand this thing at all. The conquest of the Henrietta, the purchase of her crew, and Fogg maneuvering like an accomplished seaman—this combination of things confused him. He did not know what to think. But, after all, a man who commenced by stealing fifty-five thousand pounds could finish by stealing a vessel. And Fix was naturally led to believe that the Henrietta, directed by Fogg, was not going to Liverpool at all, but into some quarter of the world where the robber, become a pirate, would quietly place himself in safety! This hypothesis, it must be confessed, could not be more plausible, and the detective commenced to regret very seriously having entered upon this affair.
As for Captain Speedy, he continued to howl in his cabin, and Passepartout, whose duty it was to provide his meals, did it only with the greatest precautions, although he was so strong. Phileas Fogg had no longer the appearance of even suspecting that there was a captain on board.
On the 13th, they passed the edge of the Banks of Newfoundland. Those are bad latitudes. During the winter, especially, the fogs are frequent there, the blows dreadful. Since the day before, the barometer, suddenly fallen, indicated an approaching change in the atmosphere. In fact, during the night the temperature varied, the cold became keener, and at the same time the wind shifted into the southeast.
This was a misfortune. Mr. Fogg, in order not to be driven out of his course, had to reef his sails and increase his steam. But the progress of the ship was slackened, owing to the condition of the sea, whose long waves broke against her stern. She was violently tossed about, and to the detriment of her speed. The breeze increased by degrees to a hurricane, and it was already a probable event that the Henrietta might not be able to hold herself upright against the waves. Now, if she had to fly before the storm, the unknown, with all its bad chances, threatened them.
Passepartout's face darkened at the same time as the sky, and for two days the good fellow was in mortal dread. ​But Phileas Fogg was a bold sailor, who knew how to keep head against the sea, and he kept on his course, without even putting the vessel under a small head of steam. The Henrietta, whenever she could rise with the wave, passed over it, but her deck was swept from end to end. Sometimes, too, when a mountain wave raised the stern out of the water, the screw came out of the water, beating the air with its blades, but the ship still moved right on.
Still the wind did not become as severe as might have been feared. It was not one of those hurricanes which sweep on with a velocity of ninety miles an hour. It continued quite fresh, but unfortunately it blew obstinately from the southeast, and did not allow the sails to be hoisted. And yet, as we will see, it would have been very useful if they could have come to the aid of the steam.
The 16th of December was the seventy-fifth day that had elapsed since leaving London. The Henrietta had not yet been seriously delayed. The half of the voyage was nearly accomplished, and the worst localities had been passed. In summer, success would have been certain. In winter they were at the mercy of the bad weather. Passepartout did not speak. Secretly he hoped, and if the wind failed them, he counted at least upon the steam.
Now, on this day, the engineer ascended to the deck, met Mr. Fogg, and talked very earnestly with him. Without knowing why—by a presentiment, doubtless—Passepartout felt a sort of vague uneasiness. He would have given one of his ears to have heard with the other what was said. But he could catch a few words, these among others, uttered by his master: "You are certain of what you say?"
"I am certain, sir," replied the engineer. "Do not forget that, since our departure, all our furnaces have been going, and although we had enough coal to go under a small head of steam from New York to Bordeaux, we have not enough for a full head of steam from New York to Liverpool!"
"I will take the matter under consideration," replied Mr. Fogg.
Passepartout understood. A mortal fear took possession of him.
The coal was about to give out.
​"Ah! if my master wards that off," he said to himself, he will certainly be a famous man!"
And having met Fix, he could not help posting him as to the situation.
"Then," replied the detective, with set teeth, "you believe that we are going to Liverpool?"
"I do, indeed!"
"Idiot!" replied the detective, shrugging his shoulders as he turned away.
Passepartout was on the point of sharply resenting the epithet, whose true signification he could not understand; but he said to himself that the unfortunate Fix must be very much disappointed, and humiliated in his self esteem, having so awkwardly followed a false scent around the world, and he refrained from condemning him.
And now what course was Phileas Fogg going to take? It was difficult to guess. But it appeared that the phlegmatic gentleman decided upon one, for that evening he sent for the engineer and said to him: "Keep up your fires and continue on your course until the complete exhaustion of the fuel."
A few moments after, the smoke stack of the Henrietta was vomiting torrents of smoke.
The vessel continued, then, to sail under full steam; but, as he had announced, two days later, the 18th, the engineer informed him that the coal would give out during the day.
"Don't let the fires go down," replied Mr. Fogg. "On the contrary, let the valves be charged."
About noon of this day, having taken observations and calculated the position of the vessel, Phileas Fogg sent for Passepartout and ordered him to go for Captain Speedy. This good fellow felt as if he had been commanded to unchain a tiger, and he descended into the poop, saying to himself, "Positively I shall find a madman!"
In fact, a few minutes later a bomb came on the poop deck, in the midst of cries and oaths. This bomb was Captain Speedy. It was evident that it was going to burst.
"Where are we?" were the first words he uttered in the midst of his choking anger, and certainly if the worthy man had been apoplectic, he would never have recovered from it.
"Where are we?" he repeated, his face purple.
​"Seven hundred and seventy miles from Liverpool," replied Mr. Fogg, with imperturbable calmness.
"Pirate!" cried Andrew Speedy.
"I have sent for you, sir———"
"Sea-skimmer!"
—"Sir," continued Phileas Fogg, "to ask you to sell me your ship."
"No! by all the devils, no!"
"I shall be obliged to burn her."
"To burn my ship!"
"At least her upper portions, for we are out of fuel."
"Burn my ship!" cried Captain Speedy, who could no longer pronounce his syllables. "A ship that is worth fifty thousand dollars!"
"Here are sixty thousand!" replied Phileas Fogg, offering him a roll of bank notes.
This produced a powerful effect upon Andrew Speedy. No American is without emotion at the sight of sixty thousand dollars. The captain forgot in an instant his anger, his imprisonment, all his grievances from his passenger. His ship was twenty years old. It might be quite a bargain! The bomb could not explode. Mr. Fogg had withdrawn the fuse.
"And the iron hull will be left me," he said in a singularly softened tone.
"The iron hull and the engine, sir. It is a bargain?"
"A bargain."
And Andrew Speedy, snatching the roll of bank notes, counted them and slipped them into his pocket.
During this scene, Passepartout was white as a sheet. As for Fix he narrowly escaped an apoplectic fit. Nearly twenty thousand pounds spent, and yet this Fogg was going to relinquish to the seller the hull and the engine, that is, nearly the entire value of the vessel! It is true that the sum stolen from the bank amounted to fifty-five thousand pounds!
When Andrew Speedy had pocketed his money, Mr. Fogg said to him: "Sir, don't let all this astonish you. Know that I lose twenty thousand pounds if I am not in London on the 21st of December, at a quarter before nine in the evening. Now, I had missed the steamer from New York, and as you refused to take me to Liverpool———"
​"And I have done well, by all the imps of the lower regions," cried Andrew Speedy, "since I make by it at least forty thousand dollars."
Then he added, more calmly: "Do you know one thing, captain———?"
"Fogg."
"Well, Captain Fogg, there is something of the Yankee in you."
And having paid his passenger what he thought to be a compliment, he went away, when Phileas Fogg said to him: "Now this ship belongs to me?"
"Certainly, from the keel to the truck of the masts, all the wood, understand."
"Very well. Cut away the inside arrangements and fire up with the débris."
It may be judged how much of this dry wood was necessary to maintain the steam at a sufficient pressure. This day, the poop deck, the cabins, the bunks, and the spare deck all went.
The next day, the 19th of December, they burned the masts, the rafts, and the spars. They cut down the masts, and delivered them to the ax. The crew displayed an incredible zeal. Passepartout, hewing, cutting, sawing, did the work of ten men. It was a perfect fury of demolition.
The next day, the 20th, the railings, the armor, all of the ship above water, the greater part of the deck, were consumed. The Henrietta was now a vessel cut down like a pontoon.
But on this day they sighted the coast of Ireland and Fastnet Light.
However, at ten o'clock in the evening, the ship was only passing Queenstown. Phileas Fogg had only twenty-four hours to reach London! Now, this was the time the Henrietta needed to reach Liverpool, even under full headway. And the steam was about to fail the bold gentleman!
"Sir," said Captain Speedy to him then, who had come to be interested in his projects, "I really pity you. Everything is against you. We are as yet only in front of Queenstown."
"Ah!" said Mr. Fogg, "that is Queenstown, the place where we perceive the light?"
"Yes."
​"Can we enter the harbor?"
"Not for three hours. Only at high tide."
"Let us wait," Phileas Fogg replied calmly, without letting it be seen on his face that, by a last inspiration, he was going to try to conquer once more his contrary fate!
Queenstown is a port on the coast of Ireland, at which the transatlantic steamers coming from the United States deposit their mail bag. These letters are carried to Dublin by express trains always ready to start. From Dublin they arrive in Liverpool by very swift vessels, thus gaining twelve hours over the most rapid sailers of the ocean. These twelve hours which the American couriers gained, Phileas Fogg intended to gain, too. Instead of arriving by the Henrietta in the evening of the next day, at Liverpool, he would be there by noon, and, consequently, he would have time enough to reach London before a quarter of nine in the evening.
Towards one o'clock in the morning, the Henrietta entered Queenstown harbor at high tide, and Phileas Fogg, having received a vigorous shake of the hand from Captain Speedy, left him on the leveled hulk of his vessel, still worth the half of what he had sold it for!
The passengers landed immediately. Fix, at this moment, had a fierce desire to arrest Mr. Fogg. He did not do it, however. Why? What conflict was going on within him? Had he changed his mind with reference to Mr. Fogg? Did he finally perceive that he was mistaken? Fix, however, did not leave Mr. Fogg. With him, Aouda, and Passepartout, who did not take time to breathe, he jumped into the train at Queenstown at half past one in the morning, arrived in Dublin at break of day, and immediately embarked on one of those steamers—regular steel spindles, all engine—which, disdaining to rise with the waves, invariably pass right through them.
At twenty minutes before noon, the 21st of December, Phileas Fogg finally landed on the quay at Liverpool. He was now only six hours from London.
But at this moment Fix approached him, put his hand on his shoulder, and, showing his warrant, said: "You are really Phileas Fogg?"
"Yes, sir."
"I arrest you, in the name of the Queen!"
Layout 2