This reply took the pilot aback rather at first; but recognising Mr.
Fogg's firmness, he said: "Yes, your honour is right, Shanghai be it."
So they kept their course.
The night was fearful; it seemed a miracle that the little vessel did not founder. Twice she was caught in the trough of the sea, and would have gone down, but that everything was let fly. Mrs. Aouda was knocked about, and more than once Mr. Fogg rushed to her assistance, though she made no complaint.
At daybreak the storm was still raging, but suddenly the wind backed to the south-east. This was a change for the better, and the Tankadere again proceeded on her course, though the cross-sea gave her some tremendous blows, sufficient to have crushed a less solid craft. The coast was occasionally visible through the mist, but not a sail was in sight.
At noon the weather cleared a little, the gale had blown itself out, and the travellers were enabled to take some rest. The night was comparatively quiet, and the pilot was induced to set a little more sail, and at day-break next morning John Bunsby was able to declare that they were less than a hundred miles from Shanghai.
A hundred miles, and only one day to accomplish the distance. On that evening they ought to be at Shanghai if they wished to catch the steamer for Yokohama; but for the storm, which had delayed them several hours, they would then have been within thirty miles of their destination.
The breeze continued to fall, and the sea went down. All canvas was spread, and at twelve o'clock the Tankadere was only forty-five miles from Shanghai. Six hours still remained, and all were afraid they could not do it. Everyone on board, except Phileas Fogg no doubt, felt the keenest anxiety. They must maintain a speed of nine knots an hour, and the wind was falling rapidly, and coming in puffs.
Nevertheless, the schooner was so light and carried such a spread of canvas, besides being aided by the shore currents, that at six o'clock Bunsby reckoned they were only ten miles from the Shanghai river. The town itself was situated about twelve miles higher up.
At seven o'clock they were still three miles from Shanghai. The pilot swore a formidable oath as he perceived the bonus of two hundred pounds slipping away from him. He looked at Mr. Fogg; Mr. Fogg was impassible, although his whole fortune was in the balance.
At this moment a long black funnel, from which a thick train of smoke was issuing, appeared. This was the American steamer leaving Shanghai at the proper time.