Around the World in Eighty Days (eBook)

Jules Verne (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2018
474 Seiten
Seltzer Books (Verlag)
978-1-4553-8976-6 (ISBN)

Infos

The delightful adventures of Phileas Fogg and Passepartout. According to Wikipedia: 'Jules Gabriel Verne (February 8, 1828 - March 24, 1905) was a French author who pioneered the science-fiction genre. He is best known for his novels Journey to the Center of the Earth (written in 1864), From the Earth to the Moon (1865), Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1869-1870), and Around the World in Eighty Days (1873). Verne wrote about space, air, and underwater travel before navigable aircraft and practical submarines were invented, and before any means of space travel had been devised. Consequently he is often referred to as the 'Father of science fiction', along with H. G. Wells.Verne is the second most translated author of all time, only behind Agatha Christie with 4162 translations, according to Index Translationum. Some of his work has been made into films.'

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The delightful adventures of Phileas Fogg and Passepartout. According to Wikipedia: "e;Jules Gabriel Verne (February 8, 1828 - March 24, 1905) was a French author who pioneered the science-fiction genre. He is best known for his novels Journey to the Center of the Earth (written in 1864), From the Earth to the Moon (1865), Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea (1869-1870), and Around the World in Eighty Days (1873). Verne wrote about space, air, and underwater travel before navigable aircraft and practical submarines were invented, and before any means of space travel had been devised. Consequently he is often referred to as the "e;Father of science fiction"e;, along with H. G. Wells. Verne is the second most translated author of all time, only behind Agatha Christie with 4162 translations, according to Index Translationum. Some of his work has been made into films."e;

Textauszug

Chapter XXI

 

IN WHICH THE MASTER OF THE "TANKADERE" RUNS GREAT RISK OF LOSING A REWARD OF TWO HUNDRED POUNDS

 

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

 

It would clearly have been to the master's advantage to carry his passengers to Yokohama, since he was paid a certain sum per day; but he would have been rash to attempt such a voyage, and it was imprudent even to attempt to reach Shanghai.  But John Bunsby believed in the Tankadere, which rode on the waves like a seagull; and perhaps he was not wrong.

 

Late in the day they passed through the capricious channels of Hong Kong, and the Tankadere, impelled by favourable winds, conducted herself admirably.

 

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

 

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

 

"Its your trade, not mine, pilot, and I confide in you."

 

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

 

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

 

The pilot had hung out his lights, which was very necessary in these seas crowded with vessels bound landward; for collisions are not uncommon occurrences, and, at the speed she was going, the least shock would shatter the gallant little craft.

 

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

 

Phileas Fogg was also thinking of Passepartout, who had so strangely disappeared.  Looking at the matter from every point of view, it did not seem to him impossible that, by some mistake, the man might have embarked on the Carnatic at the last moment; and this was also Aouda's opinion, who regretted very much the loss of the worthy fellow to whom she owed so much.  They might then find him at Yokohama; for, if the Carnatic was carrying him thither, it would be easy to ascertain if he had been on board.

 

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

 

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

 

At sunrise the next day, which was 8th November, the boat had made more than one hundred miles.  The log indicated a mean speed of between eight and nine miles.  The Tankadere still carried all sail, and was accomplishing her greatest capacity of speed. If the wind held as it was, the chances would be in her favour. During the day she kept along the coast, where the currents were favourable; the coast, irregular in profile, and visible sometimes across the clearings, was at most five miles distant.  The sea was less boisterous, since the wind came off land--a fortunate circumstance for the boat, which would suffer, owing to its small tonnage, by a heavy surge on the sea.

 

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

 

Mr. Fogg and Aouda, happily unaffected by the roughness of the sea, ate with a good appetite, Fix being invited to share their repast, which he accepted with secret chagrin.  To travel at this man's expense and live upon his provisions was not palatable to him. Still, he was obliged to eat, 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 avoid collaring this "gentleman"--"sir, you have been very kind to give me a passage on this boat.  But, though my means will not admit of my expending 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 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,...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 1.3.2018
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Anthologien
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Klassiker / Moderne Klassiker
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Romane / Erzählungen
• ISBN-10: 1-4553-8976-5 / 1455389765
• ISBN-13: 978-1-4553-8976-6 / 9781455389766