The trip from Hong Kong to Shanghai was nearly eight hundred miles. For a tiny twenty-ton boat like the Tankadere, making such a journey in early November was extremely dangerous.
The Chinese seas were famous for sudden storms and violent winds. Still, Captain John Bunsby believed his little boat could handle the journey.
Reaching Yokohama would mean a larger payment for every day he spent carrying his passengers, so he had every reason to hurry. But attempting to reach Shanghai in such weather was already a serious gamble.
Late that afternoon, the Tankadere slipped through the narrow channels around Hong Kong and finally reached the open sea.
The wind was behind them, and the little boat moved beautifully.
“I don’t need to tell you to go as fast as possible, Captain,” said Phileas Fogg.
“Don’t worry, sir,” Bunsby replied. “We’re carrying every sail the wind will allow. The poles won’t make us any faster. We only use them when we’re entering port.”
“You’re the sailor, not me,” said Fogg calmly. “I trust you.”
Fogg stood firmly on deck with his legs spread wide, looking completely steady despite the rising waves.
Aouda sat toward the stern and stared out at the darkening sea.
The little boat seemed frighteningly small against the enormous ocean. Above her, the white sails snapped and fluttered in the wind like giant wings.
As the wind pushed the Tankadere forward, she seemed almost to fly across the water.
Night fell.
The moon was only a thin crescent, and its weak light would soon disappear behind the mist and clouds gathering along the horizon.
Bunsby lit the boat’s navigation lights. They were essential in these busy waters, where many ships were sailing toward the coast.
A collision could easily destroy the Tankadere.
Fix sat alone near the bow, lost in thought.
He deliberately kept away from the others. He knew Fogg disliked unnecessary conversation, and Fix still felt uncomfortable speaking to the man whose hospitality he had been forced to accept.
His thoughts turned to what would happen next.
He was convinced that Fogg would not stay in Yokohama. He would immediately board a ship for San Francisco.
Once Fogg reached America, Fix feared that he would be almost impossible to catch.
Fix believed he now understood Fogg’s plan.
Instead of fleeing directly from England to America like an ordinary criminal, Fogg had traveled three-quarters of the way around the world. By the time he reached America, the police would have completely lost his trail.
Then, Fix imagined, Fogg would disappear and enjoy the money he had stolen from the bank.
But what would Fix do once they reached America?
Abandon the chase?
Never.
“I won’t leave him,” Fix muttered to himself. “Not until I have him in custody.”
There was one thing that worried Fix even more.
Passepartout was not with his master.
After everything Fix had told the servant, it was extremely important that Passepartout never got the chance to speak to Fogg again.
Fogg himself was also thinking about Passepartout.
It seemed possible that the servant had somehow managed to board the Carnatic at the last moment.
Aouda thought the same thing. She deeply regretted losing the loyal servant who had helped her so much.
“If he really got on the Carnatic,” she said, “we should find him in Yokohama.”
“Yes,” Fogg replied. “It will be easy enough to find out whether he was aboard.”
Around ten o’clock, the wind grew stronger.
It might have been wiser to reduce the sails, but Bunsby carefully studied the sky and decided to keep them fully spread.
The Tankadere handled the wind remarkably well.
She sat deep in the water, and everything was ready to give her maximum speed if a storm arrived.
At midnight, Fogg and Aouda went below into the cabin.
Fix had already gone down and was lying on one of the bunks.
Bunsby and his crew remained on deck throughout the night.
At sunrise on November 8, they had already traveled more than one hundred miles.
Their average speed had been between eight and nine miles an hour.
The Tankadere was still carrying every sail she could.
If the wind remained favorable, they had a real chance of reaching Shanghai in time.
They stayed close to the coast, where the currents helped them.
The coastline was never more than about five miles away. The sea was also calmer because the wind was blowing from the land.
That was fortunate.
A small boat like the Tankadere could easily be damaged by heavy waves.
Around noon, the wind weakened and shifted toward the southwest.
Bunsby raised the poles, hoping to gain some extra speed.
But two hours later, the wind strengthened again, and he took them down.
Fogg and Aouda remained remarkably calm.
They ate their meal with good appetites.
Fix was invited to join them.
He accepted, although secretly he hated every moment of it.
He disliked traveling at Fogg’s expense and eating Fogg’s food.
But there was nothing else he could do.
When the meal ended, Fix pulled Fogg aside.
“Sir,” he said.
The word almost burned his lips.
He had to control himself to keep from grabbing the man he believed to be a bank robber.
“You’ve been very generous to let me travel on this boat. But I can’t afford to spend money as freely as you do. I would like to pay my share.”
“There’s no need to discuss it,” Fogg replied.
“But if I insist—”
“No, sir,” Fogg said firmly. “Consider it part of my normal expenses.”
Fix bowed.
Inside, he was furious.
He went back to the bow, found a quiet corner, and said nothing for the rest of the day.
Meanwhile, the Tankadere continued to make excellent progress.
John Bunsby was becoming more confident.
“We’ll reach Shanghai in time, sir,” he told Fogg several times.
“I am counting on it,” Fogg replied.
The entire crew worked desperately.
Every rope was tightened.
Every sail was raised as high as possible.
The man at the wheel never allowed the boat to drift from its course.
They worked as though they were competing in a great sailing race, with the two-hundred-pound reward waiting for them at the finish.
By evening, they had covered two hundred and twenty miles from Hong Kong.
Fogg could now hope to reach Yokohama without losing any time from his schedule.
If he succeeded, the many problems that had delayed him since leaving London would not completely destroy his plans.
During the night, the Tankadere entered the Straits of Formosa, between Formosa and the Chinese coast.
The sea became rough again.
Strong currents collided with one another, creating whirlpools and confused waves.
It became difficult even to remain standing on deck.
At dawn, the wind began to blow harder.
The sky looked threatening.
The barometer showed that the weather was changing rapidly, while long waves were building in the southeast.
A storm was coming.
The previous evening, the sun had disappeared behind a strange red haze, while the ocean glowed with tiny flashes of light.
Bunsby stared at the sky for a long time.
Finally, he approached Fogg.
“May I speak frankly, sir?”
“Of course.”
“We’re going to have a storm.”
“Is the wind coming from the north or south?” Fogg asked.
“South. Look there. A typhoon is coming.”
“Then I’m glad it’s coming from the south,” Fogg said calmly. “It will push us toward our destination.”
Bunsby stared at him.
“Well, if that’s how you see it, sir, I have nothing more to say.”
But Bunsby’s fears were justified.
A powerful typhoon was approaching.
The captain immediately began preparing the boat.
He reduced all the sails and removed the poles.
The entire crew moved forward toward the bow.
They raised one strong triangular sail, a storm jib, designed to catch the wind from behind.
Then they waited.
Bunsby urged the passengers to go below deck.
But the cabin was tiny, poorly ventilated, and would be violently tossed around by the storm.
None of them wanted to go down.
Not Fogg.
Not Fix.
Not Aouda.
They stayed on deck.
Around eight o’clock, the storm hit.
Rain and wind came down with incredible force.
With only the small storm sail raised, the Tankadere was lifted and driven forward like a feather.
Her speed was so great that comparing it to a locomotive traveling at full speed would actually underestimate how fast she was moving.
The little boat raced northward throughout the day.
Huge waves chased her from behind.
Again and again, it seemed certain that the waves would swallow her.
But Bunsby handled the boat with extraordinary skill.
The passengers were repeatedly covered in sea spray, but they endured it without complaint.
Fix almost certainly cursed the entire journey.
Aouda, however, kept her eyes on Fogg.
She was amazed by his calmness.
She faced the storm bravely, just as he did.
As for Fogg, he behaved as though the typhoon were simply another part of his travel schedule.
For hours, the Tankadere continued north.
Then, toward evening, the wind suddenly shifted.
It came from the northwest.
The boat dropped into the valleys between the waves and began rolling violently.
The sea slammed against her sides with terrible force.
As darkness fell, the storm became even stronger.
Bunsby watched the approaching night with deep concern.
He thought carefully before speaking to his crew.
“Should we slow down?” he asked.
The sailors discussed the situation.
Finally, Bunsby went to Fogg.
“I think we should head for one of the ports along the coast, sir.”
“I think so too,” Fogg replied.
Bunsby looked relieved.
“But which port?”
“I know only one,” said Fogg calmly.
“Which one?”
“Shanghai.”
For a moment, Bunsby could hardly believe what he had heard.
Then he smiled.
“Yes, sir. You’re right.”
He turned to his crew.
“To Shanghai!”
The Tankadere continued north.
That night was terrifying.
It seemed almost impossible that such a small boat could survive.
Twice, the vessel nearly disappeared beneath the waves.
Only the constant attention of the crew saved them.
Aouda was exhausted, but she never complained.
Several times, Fogg rushed toward her when enormous waves crashed over the deck.
At last, morning came.
The storm was still raging with tremendous force.
But the wind shifted back toward the southeast.
It was exactly the change they needed.
The Tankadere surged forward once again.
The waves were still enormous, crossing one another and striking the boat from different directions.
A weaker vessel would have been destroyed.
From time to time, they could see the coastline through gaps in the mist.
But there were no other ships anywhere.
The Tankadere was completely alone on the sea.
Around noon, the storm finally began to weaken.
As the sun moved toward the horizon, the waves became calmer.
The storm had been brief, but incredibly violent.
The exhausted passengers were finally able to eat something and rest.
That night was much quieter.
Some of the sails were raised again, and the boat made excellent speed.
At dawn the next morning, they finally saw the coast.
Bunsby studied the shoreline.
“We’re less than one hundred miles from Shanghai,” he announced.
Fogg immediately calculated the situation.
“One hundred miles,” he said. “And only one day left.”
He was supposed to reach Shanghai that evening if he wanted to catch the steamer to Yokohama.
If the storm had not delayed them for several hours, they would already have been within thirty miles of the city.
The wind continued to weaken.
Fortunately, the sea became calmer as well.
All the sails were raised.
By noon, they were only forty-five miles from Shanghai.
They had six hours left.
Everyone on board knew the distance would be extremely difficult to cover.
Everyone except Fogg seemed nervous.
They needed an average speed of nine miles an hour.
But the wind was dying with every passing minute.
It was a strange breeze, blowing from the coast.
Whenever it disappeared, the sea became almost perfectly smooth.
Still, the Tankadere was light, and her sails caught even the weakest wind.
With the help of favorable currents, Bunsby managed to reach a point only ten miles from the mouth of the Shanghai River by six o’clock.
But Shanghai itself was another twelve miles upriver.
At seven o’clock, they were still three miles from the city.
Bunsby swore angrily.
The two-hundred-pound reward was slipping away.
He turned toward Fogg.
Fogg remained perfectly calm.
Yet at that moment, his entire fortune and his entire journey were at risk.
Then something appeared on the horizon.
A long black smokestack rose above the water, trailing thick clouds of smoke.
It was the American steamer bound for Yokohama.
And it was leaving exactly on schedule.
“Damn it!” Bunsby shouted, desperately pulling the rudder.
“Signal her,” Fogg said calmly.
A small brass cannon stood on the forward deck of the Tankadere.
It was normally used to send signals through fog.
Bunsby loaded it and prepared to fire.
But just as he was about to touch the cannon with a red-hot coal, Fogg stopped him.
“Raise your flag.”
The crew immediately raised the flag halfway up the mast.
It was the international signal of distress.
They hoped the American steamer would see it and change course slightly to help them.
“Fire,” said Fogg.
The little cannon thundered across the sea.