Around the World in 8
Days
'But it is not midnight,' responded the other, showing
his watch.
'I know it; I don't blame you. We start for Dover and
Calais in ten minutes.'
A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout's round face;
clearly he had not comprehended his master.
'Monsieur is going to leave home?'
'Yes,' returned Phileas Fogg. 'We are going round the
world.'
Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows,
held up his hands, and seemed about to collapse, so
overcome was he with stupefied astonishment.
'Round the world!' he murmured.
'In eighty days,' responded Mr. Fogg. 'So we haven't a
moment to lose.'
'But the trunks?' gasped Passepartout, unconsciously
swaying his head from right to left.
'We'll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two
shirts and three pairs of stockings for me, and the same for
you. We'll buy our clothes on the way. Bring down my
mackintosh and traveling-cloak, and some stout shoes,
though we shall do little walking. Make haste!'
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Passepartout tried to reply, but could not. He went out,
mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered:
'That's good, that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!'
He mechanically set about making the preparations for
departure. Around the world in eighty days! Was his
master a fool? No. Was this a joke, then? They were going
to Dover; good! To Calais; good again! After all,
Passepartout, who had been away from France five years,
would not be sorry to set foot on his native soil again.
Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would do his
eyes good to see Paris once more. But surely a gentleman
so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt— but,
then, it was none the less true that he was going away, this
so domestic person hitherto!
By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest
carpet-bag, containing the wardrobes of his master and
himself; then, still troubled in mind, he carefully shut the
door of his room, and descended to Mr. Fogg.
Mr. Fogg was quite ready. Under his arm might have
been observed a red-bound copy of Bradshaw's
Continental Railway Steam Transit and General Guide,
with its timetables showing the arrival and departure of
steamers and railways. He took the carpet-bag, opened it,
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and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of England notes,
which would pass wherever he might go.
'You have forgotten nothing?' asked he.
'Nothing, monsieur.'
'My mackintosh and cloak?'
'Here they are.'
'Good! Take this carpet-bag,' handing it to
Passepartout. 'Take good care of it, for there are twenty
thousand pounds in it.'
Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty
thousand pounds were in gold, and weighed him down.
Master and man then descended, the street-door was
double-locked, and at the end of Saville Row they took a
cab and drove rapidly to Charing Cross. The cab stopped
before the railway station at twenty minutes past eight.
Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his master,
who, after paying the cabman, was about to enter the
station, when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in her
arms, her naked feet smeared with mud, her head covered
with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered
feather, and her shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl,
approached, and mournfully asked for alms.
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Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won
at whist, and handed them to the beggar, saying, 'Here,
my good woman. I'm glad that I met you;' and passed on.
Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his
master's action touched his susceptible heart.
Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily
purchased, Mr. Fogg was crossing the station to the train,
when he perceived his five friends of the Reform.
'Well, gentlemen,' said he, 'I'm off, you see; and, if you
will examine my passport when I get back, you will be
able to judge whether I have accomplished the journey
agreed upon.'
'Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg,' said
Ralph politely. 'We will trust your word, as a gentleman
of honour.'
'You do not forget when you are due in London
again?' asked Stuart.
'In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December,
1872, at a quarter before nine p.m. Good-bye,
gentlemen.'
Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-
class carriage at twenty minutes before nine; five minutes
later the whistle screamed, and the train slowly glided out
of the station.
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The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling.
Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open
his lips. Passepartout, not yet recovered from his
stupefaction, clung mechanically to the carpet-bag, with its
enormous treasure.
Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham,
Passepartout suddenly uttered a cry of despair.
'What's the matter?' asked Mr. Fogg.
'Alas! In my hurry—I—I forgot—'
'What?'
'To turn off the gas in my room!'
'Very well, young man,' returned Mr. Fogg, coolly; 'it
will burn— at your expense.'
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Chapter V
IN WHICH A NEW SPECIES
OF FUNDS, UNKNOWN TO
THE MONEYED MEN,
APPEARS ON 'CHANGE
Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from
London would create a lively sensation at the West End.
The news of the bet spread through the Reform Club,
and afforded an exciting topic of conversation to its
members. From the club it soon got into the papers
throughout England. The boasted 'tour of the world' was
talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth as if
the subject were another Alabama claim. Some took sides
with Phileas Fogg, but the large majority shook their
heads and declared against him; it was absurd, impossible,
they declared, that the tour of the world could be made,
except theoretically and on paper, in this minimum of
time, and with the existing means of travelling. The
Times, Standard, Morning Post, and Daily News, and
twenty other highly respectable newspapers scouted Mr.
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Fogg's project as madness; the Daily Telegraph alone
hesitatingly supported him. People in general thought him
a lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for having
accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration of
its proposer.
Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the
question, for geography is one of the pet subjects of the
English; and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg's
venture were eagerly devoured by all classes of readers. At
first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler sex,
espoused his cause, which became still more popular when
the Illustrated London News came out with his portrait,
copied from a photograph in the Reform Club. A few
readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say, 'Why
not, after all? Stranger things have come to pass.'
At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October,
in the bulletin of the Royal Geographical Society, which
treated the question from every point of view, and
demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.
Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every
obstacle imposed alike by man and by nature. A
miraculous agreement of the times of departure and
arrival, which was impossible, was absolutely necessary to
his success. He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of
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trains at the designated hours, in Europe, where the
distances were relatively moderate; but when he calculated
upon crossing India in three days, and the United States in
seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon
accomplishing his task? There were accidents to
machinery, the liability of trains to run off the line,
collisions, bad weather, the blocking up by snow—were
not all these against Phileas Fogg? Would he not find
himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the
mercy of the winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the best
ocean steamers to be two or three days behind time? But a
single delay would suffice to fatally break the chain of
communication; should Phileas Fogg once miss, even by
an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the next,
and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.
This article made a great deal of noise, and, being
copied into all the papers, seriously depressed the
advocates of the rash tourist.
Everybody knows that England is the world of betting
men, who are of a higher class than mere gamblers; to bet
is in the English temperament. Not only the members of
the Reform, but the general public, made heavy wagers
for or against Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the
betting books as if he were a race-horse. Bonds were
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issued, and made their appearance on 'Change; 'Phileas
Fogg bonds' were offered at par or at a premium, and a
great business was done in them. But five days after the
article in the bulletin of the Geographical Society
appeared, the demand began to subside: 'Phileas Fogg'
declined. They were offered by packages, at first of five,
then of ten, until at last nobody would take less than
twenty, fifty, a hundred!
Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was
now the only advocate of Phileas Fogg left. This noble
lord, who was fastened to his chair, would have given his
fortune to be able to make the tour of the world, if it took
ten years; and he bet five thousand pounds on Phileas
Fogg. When the folly as well as the uselessness of the
adventure was pointed out to him, he contented himself
with replying, 'If the thing is feasible, the first to do it
ought to be an Englishman.'
The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody
was going against him, and the bets stood a hundred and
fifty and two hundred to one; and a week after his
departure an incident occurred which deprived him of
backers at any price.
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The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at
nine o'clock one evening, when the following telegraphic
dispatch was put into his hands:
Suez to London.
Rowan, Commissioner of Police, Scotland Yard:
I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send with
out delay warrant of arrest to Bombay.
Fix, Detective.
The effect of this dispatch was instantaneous. The
polished gentleman disappeared to give place to the bank
robber. His photograph, which was hung with those of
the rest of the members at the Reform Club, was minutely
examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the
description of the robber which had been provided to the
police. The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were
recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden departure; and it
seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour round the world
on the pretext of a wager, he had had no other end in
view than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his
track.
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Chapter VI
IN WHICH FIX, THE
DETECTIVE, BETRAYS A
VERY NATURAL IMPATIENCE
The circumstances under which this telegraphic
dispatch about Phileas Fogg was sent were as follows:
The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and
Oriental Company, built of iron, of two thousand eight
hundred tons burden, and five hundred horse-power, was
due at eleven o'clock a.m. on Wednesday, the 9th of
October, at Suez. The Mongolia plied regularly between
Brindisi and Bombay via the Suez Canal, and was one of
the fastest steamers belonging to the company, always
making more than ten knots an hour between Brindisi and
Suez, and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.
Two men were promenading up and down the
wharves, among the crowd of natives and strangers who
were sojourning at this once straggling village— now,
thanks to the enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing
town. One was the British consul at Suez, who, despite
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the prophecies of the English Government, and the
unfavourable predictions of Stephenson, was in the habit
of seeing, from his office window, English ships daily
passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old
roundabout route from England to India by the Cape of
Good Hope was abridged by at least a half. The other was
a small, slight-built personage, with a nervous, intelligent
face, and bright eyes peering out from under eyebrows
which he was incessantly twitching. He was just now
manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously
pacing up and down, and unable to stand still for a
moment. This was Fix, one of the detectives who had
been dispatched from England in search of the bank
robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every passenger
who arrived at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to
be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the
description of the criminal, which he had received two
days before from the police headquarters at London. The
detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining
the splendid reward which would be the prize of success,
and awaited with a feverish impatience, easy to
understand, the arrival of the steamer Mongolia.
'So you say, consul,' asked he for the twentieth time,
'that this steamer is never behind time?'
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'No, Mr. Fix,' replied the consul. 'She was bespoken
yesterday at Port Said, and the rest of the way is of no
account to such a craft. I repeat that the Mongolia has
been in advance of the time required by the company's
regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of
speed.'
'Does she come directly from Brindisi?'
'Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails
there, and she left there Saturday at five p.m. Have
patience, Mr. Fix; she will not be late. But really, I don't
see how, from the description you have, you will be able
to recognise your man, even if he is on board the
Mongolia.'
'A man rather feels the presence of these fellows,
consul, than recognises them. You must have a scent for
them, and a scent is like a sixth sense which combines
hearing, seeing, and smelling. I've arrested more than one
of these gentlemen in my time, and, if my thief is on
board, I'll answer for it; he'll not slip through my fingers.'
'I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery.'
'A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand
pounds! We don't often have such windfalls. Burglars are
getting to be so contemptible nowadays! A fellow gets
hung for a handful of shillings!'
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'Mr. Fix,' said the consul, 'I like your way of talking,
and hope you'll succeed; but I fear you will find it far from
easy. Don't you see, the description which you have there
has a singular resemblance to an honest man?'
'Consul,' remarked the detective, dogmatically, 'great
robbers always resemble honest folks. Fellows who have
rascally faces have only one course to take, and that is to
remain honest; otherwise they would be arrested off-hand.
The artistic thing is, to unmask honest countenances; it's
no light task, I admit, but a real art.'
Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a tinge of self-
conceit.
Little by little the scene on the quay became more
animated; sailors of various nations, merchants, ship-
brokers, porters, fellahs, bustled to and fro as if the steamer
were immediately expected. The weather was clear, and
slightly chilly. The minarets of the town loomed above the
houses in the pale rays of the sun. A jetty pier, some two
thousand yards along, extended into the roadstead. A
number of fishing-smacks and coasting boats, some
retaining the fantastic fashion of ancient galleys, were
discernible on the Red Sea.
As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to
habit, scrutinised the passers-by with a keen, rapid glance.
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It was now half-past ten.
'The steamer doesn't come!' he exclaimed, as the port
clock struck.
'She can't be far off now,' returned his companion.
'How long will she stop at Suez?'
'Four hours; long enough to get in her coal. It is
thirteen hundred and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the
other end of the Red Sea, and she has to take in a fresh
coal supply.'
'And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?'
'Without putting in anywhere.'
'Good!' said Fix. 'If the robber is on board he will no
doubt get off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch or French
colonies in Asia by some other route. He ought to know
that he would not be safe an hour in India, which is
English soil.'
'Unless,' objected the consul, 'he is exceptionally
shrewd. An English criminal, you know, is always better
concealed in London than anywhere else.'
This observation furnished the detective food for
thought, and meanwhile the consul went away to his
office. Fix, left alone, was more impatient than ever,
having a presentiment that the robber was on board the
Mongolia. If he had indeed left London intending to reach
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the New World, he would naturally take the route via
India, which was less watched and more difficult to watch
than that of the Atlantic. But Fix's reflections were soon
interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which
announced the arrival of the Mongolia. The porters and
fellahs rushed down the quay, and a dozen boats pushed
off from the shore to go and meet the steamer. Soon her
gigantic hull appeared passing along between the banks,
and eleven o'clock struck as she anchored in the road. She
brought an unusual number of passengers, some of whom
remained on deck to scan the picturesque panorama of the
town, while the greater part disembarked in the boats, and
landed on the quay.
Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each
face and figure which made its appearance. Presently one
of the passengers, after vigorously pushing his way through
the importunate crowd of porters, came up to him and
politely asked if he could point out the English consulate,
at the same time showing a passport which he wished to
have visaed. Fix instinctively took the passport, and with a
rapid glance read the description of its bearer. An
involuntary motion of surprise nearly escaped him, for the
description in the passport was identical with that of the
bank robber which he had received from Scotland Yard.
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'Is this your passport?' asked he.
'No, it's my master's.'
'And your master is—'
'He stayed on board.'
'But he must go to the consul's in person, so as to
establish his identity.'
'Oh, is that necessary?'
'Quite indispensable.'
'And where is the consulate?'
'There, on the corner of the square,' said Fix, pointing
to a house two hundred steps off.
'I'll go and fetch my master, who won't be much
pleased, however, to be disturbed.'
The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the
steamer.
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Chapter VII
WHICH ONCE MORE
DEMONSTRATES THE
USELESSNESS OF PASSPORTS
AS AIDS TO DETECTIVES
The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made
his way to the consul's office, where he was at once
admitted to the presence of that official.
'Consul,' said he, without preamble, 'I have strong
reasons for believing that my man is a passenger on the
Mongolia.' And he narrated what had just passed
concerning the passport.
'Well, Mr. Fix,' replied the consul, 'I shall not be sorry
to see the rascal's face; but perhaps he won't come here—
that is, if he is the person you suppose him to be. A robber
doesn't quite like to leave traces of his flight behind him;
and, besides, he is not obliged to have his passport
countersigned.'
'If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will
come.'
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'To have his passport visaed?'
'Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks,
and aiding in the flight of rogues. I assure you it will be
quite the thing for him to do; but I hope you will not visa
the passport.'
'Why not? If the passport is genuine I have no right to
refuse.'
'Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a
warrant to arrest him from London.'
'Ah, that's your look-out. But I cannot—'
The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a
knock was heard at the door, and two strangers entered,
one of whom was the servant whom Fix had met on the
quay. The other, who was his master, held out his passport
with the request that the consul would do him the favour
to visa it. The consul took the document and carefully
read it, whilst Fix observed, or rather devoured, the
stranger with his eyes from a corner of the room.
'You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?' said the consul, after
reading the passport.
'I am.'
'And this man is your servant?'
'He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout.'
'You are from London?'
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'Yes.'
'And you are going—'
'To Bombay.'
'Very good, sir. You know that a visa is useless, and
that no passport is required?'
'I know it, sir,' replied Phileas Fogg; 'but I wish to
prove, by your visa, that I came by Suez.'
'Very well, sir.'
The consul proceeded to sign and date the passport,
after which he added his official seal. Mr. Fogg paid the
customary fee, coldly bowed, and went out, followed by
his servant.
'Well?' queried the detective.
'Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man,'
replied the consul.
'Possibly; but that is not the question. Do you think,
consul, that this phelgmatic gentleman resembles, feature
by feature, the robber whose description I have received?'
'I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions—'
'I'll make certain of it,' interrupted Fix. 'The servant
seems to me less mysterious than the master; besides, he's a
Frenchman, and can't help talking. Excuse me for a little
while, consul.'
Fix started off in search of Passepartout.
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Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate,
repaired to the quay, gave some orders to Passepartout,
went off to the Mongolia in a boat, and descended to his
cabin. He took up his note-book, which contained the
following memoranda:
'Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.
'Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m. 'Left
Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m. 'Reached Turin by Mont
Cenis, Friday, October 4th, at 6.35 a.m. 'Left Turin,
Friday, at 7.20 a.m. 'Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October
5th, at 4 p.m. 'Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5 p.m.
'Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.
'Total of hours spent, 158+; or, in days, six days and a
half.'
These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into
columns, indicating the month, the day of the month, and
the day for the stipulated and actual arrivals at each
principal point Paris, Brindisi, Suez, Bombay, Calcutta,
Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco, New
York, and London—from the 2nd of October to the 21st
of December; and giving a space for setting down the gain
made or the loss suffered on arrival at each locality. This
methodical record thus contained an account of
everything needed, and Mr. Fogg always knew whether
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he was behind-hand or in advance of his time. On this
Friday, October 9th, he noted his arrival at Suez, and
observed that he had as yet neither gained nor lost. He sat
down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never once
thinking of inspecting the town, being one of those
Englishmen who are wont to see foreign countries
through the eyes of their domestics.
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Chapter VIII
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT
TALKS RATHER MORE,
PERHAPS, THAN IS PRUDENT
Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and
looking about on the quay, as if he did not feel that he, at
least, was obliged not to see anything.
'Well, my friend,' said the detective, coming up with
him, 'is your passport visaed?'
'Ah, it's you, is it, monsieur?' responded Passepartout.
'Thanks, yes, the passport is all right.'
'And you are looking about you?'
'Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying
in a dream. So this is Suez?'
'Yes.'
'In Egypt?'
'Certainly, in Egypt.'
'And in Africa?'
'In Africa.'
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