In which Inspector Fix takes Phileas Fogg’s interests very much to heart

Phileas Fogg was twenty hours late. Passepartout, who had inadvertently been the cause of this delay, was desperate. He had definitely ruined his master.

It was then that the inspector went up to Mr Fogg and, looking him straight in the eye, asked, ‘In all seriousness, sir, are you really in a hurry?’

‘I am indeed,’ replied Phileas Fogg.

‘I shall say it again,’ continued Fix. ‘Do you really need to be in New York on 11 December by nine o’clock in the evening, when the steamer for Liverpool is due to leave?’

‘I really do.’

‘And if your journey hadn’t been interrupted by the Sioux attack, would you have arrived in New York by the morning of the 11th?’

‘Yes, with twelve hours to spare.’

‘Good. So you are twenty hours behind. The difference between twenty and twelve is eight. You have eight hours to make up. Do you want to attempt it?’

‘On foot?’ asked Mr Fogg.

‘No, by sledge,’ replied Fix, ‘a sledge with sails. A man has offered me this means of transport.’

It was the man who had spoken to the police inspector during the night and whose offer Fix had rejected.

Phileas Fogg made no reply, but after Fix had pointed out the man in question, who was walking around outside the station, the gentleman went up to him. A moment later Phileas Fogg and the American, whose name was Mudge, went into a shed below Fort Kearney.

There Mr Fogg was able to examine a strange-looking vehicle. It was a sort of frame built upon two long beams that were turned up at the end like the runners on a sledge, and there was room for about five or six people. A third of the way along the frame, to the front, stood a very tall mast, to which was attached a huge spanker sail. From this mast, which was firmly held in position by cables, stretched an iron stay, the purpose of which was to hoist a very large jib. At the rear a sort of oar-rudder enabled the contraption to be steered.

It was, as can be seen from this description, a sledge, but with the rigging of a sloop. In winter on the ice-bound plain, when the trains are no long running because of the snow, these vehicles travel very fast from station to station. What is more they have an enormous expanse of sail – greater even than a racing cutter, which is liable to capsize – and with the wind behind them they glide along the surface of the prairies as fast if not faster than express trains.

Within a few moments Mr Fogg and the owner of this land craft had struck a deal. The wind was favourable. It was blowing strongly from the west. The snow had become hard and Mudge claimed that he could get Mr Fogg to the station in Omaha in a few hours. From there it would be easy to get to Chicago and New York as there are plenty of trains and various lines. It was therefore quite possible that they could make up the time lost. So there was no point in hesitating about whether or not to attempt this adventure.

Because he did not want to subject Mrs Aouda to the ordeal of an open-air journey in this cold, a situation that could only be made worse by the speed at which they would be travelling, Mr Fogg suggested to her that she should stay behind under Passepartout’s protection at Kearney station. The trusty fellow would see about bringing her back to Europe by a better route and in more favourable circumstances.

Mrs Aouda refused to be separated from Mr Fogg and Passepartout felt very pleased that she was so definite about this. In any case, he wouldn’t have wanted to leave his master for anything in the world since Fix was to remain with him.

What precisely was going through the police inspector’s mind at that moment would be difficult to say. Was he less convinced he was right about Fogg now that he had come back, or did he consider him to be an extremely clever crook, who once he had completed his journey around the world, would be absolutely safe in England? Perhaps Fix’s view of Mr Fogg really had changed. But he was still just as determined to do his duty, and he was more impatient than anyone to do his utmost to speed up their return to England.

By eight o’clock the sledge was ready to leave. The travellers – it would be tempting to call them passengers – took their seats and huddled together under their travel rugs. The two huge sails were hoisted, and with the force of the wind behind it the vehicle raced over the hardened snow at a rate of forty knots.

The distance separating Fort Kearney from Omaha is, in a straight line – a bee-line, as the Americans would say – two hundred miles at the most. If the wind held, they would have covered this distance in five hours. If there were no problems, the sledge should have got to Omaha by one o’clock in the afternoon.

What a journey it turned out to be! The travellers, huddled up against one another, were unable to speak. The cold, intensified by the speed, would have prevented the words from coming out of their mouths. The sledge glided over the surface of the plain as lightly as a vessel over the surface of the water – minus the swell. When the wind came skimming along the ground, it looked as if the sledge would be lifted into the air by its sails, huge wings with a vast span. Mudge, at the rudder, kept it going straight, and with a touch on the oar he prevented the contraption from veering to one side, which it had a tendency to do. All the sails caught the wind. The jib had been perked and was no longer shielded by the spanker. A topmast was hoisted and a topsail, put out into the wind, added its driving force to the other sails. It was impossible to work it out exactly, but the sledge must certainly have attained a speed of no less than forty knots.

‘If nothing gives way,’ said Mudge, ‘we’ll make it.’

It was in Mudge’s interests to arrive within the deadline, because Mr Fogg, in keeping with his normal practice, had given him the incentive of a hefty bonus.

The prairie, which the sledge was directly cutting across, was as flat as the sea. It looked like an enormous frozen pond. The railroad that served this part of the territory went up from the south-west to the north-west via Grand Island, Columbus, a sizeable town in Nebraska, Schuyler, Fremont and then Omaha. It followed the right bank of the Platte River for the whole of the way. The sledge took a shorter route, going in a straight line instead of following the curve chosen by the railroad. There was no need for Mudge to fear being stopped by the Platte River at the small bend it makes before Fremont because its waters were frozen over. The way was therefore completely free of obstacles and so there were only two things for Phileas Fogg to be afraid of: damage to the craft and a change of direction or drop in the wind.

But the wind did not slacken. Far from it. It blew so hard as to bend the mast, which was firmly supported by the iron cables. These metal wires resounded as if they were the strings of a musical instrument being played with a bow. The sledge sped along to the accompaniment of this plaintive harmony, which had an exceptional intensity about it.

‘These cords are in fifths and octaves,’ said Mr Fogg.

These were the only words he uttered during the whole journey. Mrs Aouda, who was carefully wrapped up in furs and travel rugs, was as far as possible protected from the effects of the cold.

Passepartout meanwhile, his face as red as the setting sun seen through the mist, was breathing in the sharp air. With that unshakeable confidence that was an essential part of his make-up, he had started to hope again. Instead of getting to New York in the morning they would get there in the evening, but there was still a possibility that this would be before the steamer for Liverpool left.

Passepartout had even felt a strong desire to shake hands with his ally Fix. He hadn’t forgotten that it was the inspector himself who had got hold of the sailing sledge and therefore the only possible means of reaching Omaha in time. But because of some strange premonition he remained guarded towards Fix as usual.

In any case there was one thing that Passepartout would never forget and that was the sacrifice that Mr Fogg had made, without any hesitation, in rescuing him from the Sioux. In so doing Mr Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No, his servant would never forget that.

While these various thoughts occupied the minds of each traveller, the sledge was flying on across the immense carpet of snow. They hardly had time to notice as they went past the few creeks, tributaries and sub-tributaries of the Little Blue River. The fields and watercourses were covered by a uniform whiteness. The plain was absolutely deserted. Covering the whole area between the Union Pacific Railroad and the branch line that is intended to link Kearney and Saint Joseph, it formed what seemed a huge desert island. There was not a single village or station or even a fort. From time to time a gruesome-looking tree flashed by, its white skeleton twisting in the wind. Sometimes flocks of birds took flight all at the same time. Sometimes, too, large packs of prairie wolves, thin and hungry and driven on by some fearsome need, tried to outrun the sledge. At moments such as these Passepartout, with his revolver in his hand, stood ready to fire at the animals that got nearest. If an accident of some sort had brought the sledge to a standstill at such times, the travellers would have been attacked by these fierce carnivores and would have been in considerable danger. But the sledge stood the strain and soon raced ahead, leaving the whole pack howling behind it.

By midday Mudge recognized the tell-tale signs that he was following the frozen course of the Platte River. He didn’t say anything, but he was already convinced that twenty miles further on he would reach the station at Omaha.

And sure enough, less than an hour later this skilful guide left the helm, rushed to the halyards and lowered the sails while the sledge, carried along by its own momentum, travelled another half a mile with all its sails taken in. At last it came to a standstill and Mudge, pointing to a collection of snow-covered roofs, said, ‘We’ve arrived.’

They had indeed arrived at this station, which has frequent trains and a daily service to the east of the United States.

Passepartout and Fix had jumped out of the vehicle and were moving about to get their circulation back. They helped Mr Fogg and Mrs Aouda to get out of the sledge. Phileas Fogg paid Mudge handsomely and Passepartout shook his hand as if they had been old friends, and they all rushed off towards Omaha station.

This important city in Nebraska is where the Pacific Railroad properly speaking comes to an end, linking the Mississippi basin to the ocean. To go from Omaha to Chicago the railway, known as the Chicago–Rock Island Railroad, runs directly east, serving fifty stations on the way.

A direct train was about to leave. Phileas Fogg and his companions just had time to jump into a carriage. They hadn’t seen anything of Omaha, but Passepartout admitted to himself that this was no cause for regret because it wasn’t the time for sight-seeing.

At great speed the train crossed into the state of Iowa, via Council Bluffs, Des Moines and Iowa City. During the night it crossed the Mississippi at Davenport and entered Illinois via Rock Island. At four o’clock in the afternoon of the following day, the 10th, it reached Chicago, which had already risen again out of its ruins,  looking more impressive than ever in its position overlooking the beautiful Lake Michigan.

There are 900 miles between Chicago and New York. There was no shortage of trains in Chicago. Mr Fogg went straight from one train to another. The frisky locomotive of the Pittsburg–Fort Wayne–Chicago Railroad set off at full speed, as if it was fully aware that the honourable gentleman had no time to lose. It went like lightning through Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania and New Jersey, passing through towns with classical-sounding names, some having streets and tram-cars but as yet no houses. At last the Hudson came into view, and on 11 December at a quarter past eleven in the evening the train pulled up in the station, on the right bank of the river, just in front of the pier for the steamers of the Cunard Line, in other words the British and North American Royal Mail Steam Packet Company.

The China, bound for Liverpool, had left forty-five minutes earlier!