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This voyage of eight hundred miles was a perilous venture on a craft oftwenty tons, and at that season of the year. The Chinese seas areusually boisterous, subject to terrible gales of wind, and especiallyduring the equinoxes; and it was now early November.

It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry hispassengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day; but hewould have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudenteven to attempt to reach Shanghai. But John Bunsby believed in theTankadere, which rode on the waves like a seagull; and perhaps he wasnot wrong.

Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of HongKong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favourable winds, conductedherself admirably.

"I do not need, pilot," said Phileas Fogg, when they got into the opensea, "to advise you to use all possible speed."

"Trust me, your honour. We are carrying all the sail the wind will letus. The poles would add nothing, and are only used when we are goinginto port."

"It's your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."

Phileas Fogg, with body erect and legs wide apart, standing like asailor, gazed without staggering at the swelling waters. The youngwoman, who was seated aft, was profoundly affected as she looked outupon the ocean, darkening now with the twilight, on which she hadventured in so frail a vessel. Above her head rustled the white sails,which seemed like great white wings. The boat, carried forward by thewind, seemed to be flying in the air.

Night came. The moon was entering her first quarter, and herinsufficient light would soon die out in the mist on the horizon.Clouds were rising from the east, and already overcast a part of theheavens.

The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in theseseas crowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions are notuncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the least shockwould shatter the gallant little craft.

Fix, seated in the bow, gave himself up to meditation. He kept apartfrom his fellow-travellers, knowing Mr. Fogg's taciturn tastes;besides, he did not quite like to talk to the man whose favours he hadaccepted. He was thinking, too, of the future. It seemed certain thatFogg would not stop at Yokohama, but would at once take the boat forSan Francisco; and the vast extent of America would ensure him impunityand safety. Fogg's plan appeared to him the simplest in the world.Instead of sailing directly from England to the United States, like acommon villain, he had traversed three quarters of the globe, so as togain the American continent more surely; and there, after throwing thepolice off his track, he would quietly enjoy himself with the fortunestolen from the bank. But, once in the United States, what should he,Fix, do? Should he abandon this man? No, a hundred times no! Untilhe had secured his extradition, he would not lose sight of him for anhour. It was his duty, and he would fulfil it to the end. At allevents, there was one thing to be thankful for; Passepartout was notwith his master; and it was above all important, after the confidencesFix had imparted to him, that the servant should never have speech withhis master.

Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so strangelydisappeared. Looking at the matter from every point of view, it didnot seem to him impossible that, by some mistake, the man might haveembarked on the Carnatic at the last moment; and this was also Aouda'sopinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy fellow to whomshe owed so much. They might then find him at Yokohama; for, if theCarnatic was carrying him thither, it would be easy to ascertain if hehad been on board.

A brisk breeze arose about ten o'clock; but, though it might have beenprudent to take in a reef, the pilot, after carefully examining theheavens, let the craft remain rigged as before. The Tankadere boresail admirably, as she drew a great deal of water, and everything wasprepared for high speed in case of a gale.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda descended into the cabin at midnight, having beenalready preceded by Fix, who had lain down on one of the cots. Thepilot and crew remained on deck all night.

At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had made morethan one hundred miles. The log indicated a mean speed of betweeneight and nine miles. The Tankadere still carried all sail, and wasaccomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind held as itwas, the chances would be in her favour. During the day she kept alongthe coast, where the currents were favourable; the coast, irregular inprofile, and visible sometimes across the clearings, was at most fivemiles distant. The sea was less boisterous, since the wind came offland--a fortunate circumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owingto its small tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.

The breeze subsided a little towards noon, and set in from thesouth-west. The pilot put up his poles, but took them down againwithin two hours, as the wind freshened up anew.

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the sea, atewith a good appetite, Fix being invited to share their repast, which heaccepted with secret chagrin. To travel at this man's expense and liveupon his provisions was not palatable to him. Still, he was obliged toeat, and so he ate.

When the meal was over, he took Mr. Fogg apart, and said, "sir"--this"sir" scorched his lips, and he had to control himself to avoidcollaring this "gentleman"--"sir, you have been very kind to give me apassage on this boat. But, though my means will not admit of myexpending them as freely as you, I must ask to pay my share--"

"Let us not speak of that, sir," replied Mr. Fogg.

"But, if I insist--"

"No, sir," repeated Mr. Fogg, in a tone which did not admit of a reply."This enters into my general expenses."

Fix, as he bowed, had a stifled feeling, and, going forward, where heensconced himself, did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.

Meanwhile they were progressing famously, and John Bunsby was in highhope. He several times assured Mr. Fogg that they would reach Shanghaiin time; to which that gentleman responded that he counted upon it.The crew set to work in good earnest, inspired by the reward to begained. There was not a sheet which was not tightened, not a sail whichwas not vigorously hoisted; not a lurch could be charged to the man atthe helm. They worked as desperately as if they were contesting in aRoyal yacht regatta.

By evening, the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had beenaccomplished from Hong Kong, and Mr. Fogg might hope that he would beable to reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal; inwhich case, the many misadventures which had overtaken him since heleft London would not seriously affect his journey.

The Tankadere entered the Straits of Fo-Kien, which separate the islandof Formosa from the Chinese coast, in the small hours of the night, andcrossed the Tropic of Cancer. The sea was very rough in the straits,full of eddies formed by the counter-currents, and the chopping wavesbroke her course, whilst it became very difficult to stand on deck.

At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again, and the heavens seemedto predict a gale. The barometer announced a speedy change, themercury rising and falling capriciously; the sea also, in thesouth-east, raised long surges which indicated a tempest. The sun hadset the evening before in a red mist, in the midst of thephosphorescent 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 lowvoice 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 tosay." John Bunsby's suspicions were confirmed. At a less advancedseason of the year the typhoon, according to a famous meteorologist,would have passed away like a luminous cascade of electric flame; butin the winter equinox it was to be feared that it would burst upon themwith great violence.

The pilot took his precautions in advance. He reefed all sail, thepole-masts were dispensed with; all hands went forward to the bows. Asingle 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 thisimprisonment in so narrow a space, with little air, and the boatbouncing 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 awind, an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given. To compare herspeed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam would bebelow the truth.

The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day, borne on bymonstrous waves, preserving always, fortunately, a speed equal totheirs. Twenty times she seemed almost to be submerged by thesemountains of water which rose behind her; but the adroit management ofthe pilot saved her. The passengers were often bathed in spray, butthey submitted to it philosophically. Fix cursed it, no doubt; butAouda, with her eyes fastened upon her protector, whose coolness amazedher, showed herself worthy of him, and bravely weathered the storm. Asfor Phileas Fogg, it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of hisprogramme.

Up to this time the Tankadere had always held her course to the north;but towards evening the wind, veering three quarters, bore down fromthe north-west. The boat, now lying in the trough of the waves, shookand rolled terribly; the sea struck her with fearful violence. Atnight the tempest increased in violence. John Bunsby saw the approachof darkness and the rising of the storm with dark misgivings. Hethought awhile, and then asked his crew if it was not time to slackenspeed. After a consultation he approached Mr. Fogg, and said, "Ithink, your honour, that we should do well to make for one of the portson the coast."

"I think so too."

"Ah!" said the pilot. "But which one?"

"I know of but one," returned Mr. Fogg tranquilly.

"And that is--"

"Shanghai."

The pilot, at first, did not seem to comprehend; he could scarcelyrealise so much determination and tenacity. Then he cried, "Well--yes!Your honour is right. To Shanghai!"

So the Tankadere kept steadily on her northward track.

The night was really terrible; it would be a miracle if the craft didnot founder. Twice it could have been all over with her if the crewhad not been constantly on the watch. Aouda was exhausted, but did notutter a complaint. More than once Mr. Fogg rushed to protect her fromthe violence of the waves.

Day reappeared. The tempest still raged with undiminished fury; butthe wind now returned to the south-east. It was a favourable change,and the Tankadere again bounded forward on this mountainous sea, thoughthe waves crossed each other, and imparted shocks and counter-shockswhich would have crushed a craft less solidly built. From time to timethe coast was visible through the broken mist, but no vessel was insight. The Tankadere was alone upon the sea.

There were some signs of a calm at noon, and these became more distinctas the sun descended toward the horizon. The tempest had been as briefas terrific. The passengers, thoroughly exhausted, could now eat alittle, and take some repose.

The night was comparatively quiet. Some of the sails were againhoisted, and the speed of the boat was very good. The next morning atdawn they espied the coast, and John Bunsby was able to assert thatthey were not one hundred miles from Shanghai. A hundred miles, andonly one day to traverse them! That very evening Mr. Fogg was due atShanghai, if he did not wish to miss the steamer to Yokohama. Hadthere been no storm, during which several hours were lost, they wouldbe at this moment within thirty miles of their destination.

The wind grew decidedly calmer, and happily the sea fell with it. Allsails were now hoisted, and at noon the Tankadere was within forty-fivemiles of Shanghai. There remained yet six hours in which to accomplishthat distance. All on board feared that it could not be done, andevery one--Phileas Fogg, no doubt, excepted--felt his heart beat withimpatience. The boat must keep up an average of nine miles an hour,and the wind was becoming calmer every moment! It was a capriciousbreeze, coming from the coast, and after it passed the sea becamesmooth. Still, the Tankadere was so light, and her fine sails caughtthe fickle zephyrs so well, that, with the aid of the currents JohnBunsby found himself at six o'clock not more than ten miles from themouth of Shanghai River. Shanghai itself is situated at least twelvemiles up the stream. At seven they were still three miles fromShanghai. The pilot swore an angry oath; the reward of two hundredpounds was evidently on the point of escaping him. He looked at Mr.Fogg. Mr. Fogg was perfectly tranquil; and yet his whole fortune wasat this moment at stake.

At this moment, also, a long black funnel, crowned with wreaths ofsmoke, appeared on the edge of the waters. It was the Americansteamer, leaving for Yokohama at the appointed time.

"Confound her!" cried John Bunsby, pushing back the rudder with adesperate jerk.

"Signal her!" said Phileas Fogg quietly.

A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the Tankadere, formaking signals in the fogs. It was loaded to the muzzle; but just asthe pilot was about to apply a red-hot coal to the touchhole, Mr. Foggsaid, "Hoist your flag!"

The flag was run up at half-mast, and, this being the signal ofdistress, it was hoped that the American steamer, perceiving it, wouldchange her course a little, so as to succour the pilot-boat.

"Fire!" said Mr. Fogg. And the booming of the little cannon resoundedin the air.