The train rushed across the State of Iowa, past Conneil Bluffs, Des Morines, and Iowa city. During the night they crossed the Mississippi at Davenport and entered Illinois. Next day, the 10th, at four p.m., they reached Chicago, which had risen from its ashes, and, more proudly than ever, was seated on the borders of the beautiful Lake of Michigan.
They were still nine hundred miles from New York, but there were plenty of trains. Mr. Fogg passed at once from one train to another, which started at full-speed as if it knew he had no time to lose. It crossed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey like lightning, through towns with antique names containing streets and tramways, but as yet no houses. At length the Hudson Plain appeared, and at a quarter-past eleven p.m., on the 11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of the river, before the very pier from which the Cunard, otherwise known as the British and North American, Royal Mail Steam Packet Company's steamers start.
The China had left for Liverpool three-quarters of an hour previously.
CHAPTER XXXII.
In which Phileas Fogg struggles against Ill-luck.
The China seemed to have carried off Mr. Fogg's last hope, for no other steamers of any other line would be of use. The Pereire, of the French Transatlantic Company, did not leave till the 14th, while the boats of the Hamburg American Company also went to Havre, and not direct to Liverpool or London; and this extra passage from Havre to Southampton would upset his calculations.
The Inman steamer City of Paris would not start till next day—that would be too late. Nor would the White Star Line serve his purpose; all of which Mr. Fogg learnt from "Bradshaw." Passe-partout was completely upset; it was maddening to lose the steamer by three-quarters of an hour, and it was his fault, too, for putting obstacles in his master's way; and when he looked back at the incidents of the journey, the sums expended on his account, the enormous wager, and tremendous charges of the now useless trip, he was overwhelmed. Mr. Fogg, however, did not reproach him, but as he quitted the pier, said: "We will see to-morrow what is best to be done. Come along."
The party crossed the river, and drove to the St. Nicholas Hotel, in Broadway, where they engaged rooms; but Fogg was the only one who slept. Next day was the 12th of December. From that day, at seven in the morning, to the 21st, at a quarter to nine in the evening, was a period of nine days, thirteen hours, and forty-five minutes; so if Phileas Fogg had sailed in the China, he would have reached London in time to win his wager.
Mr. Fogg left the hotel by himself, telling the others to wait his return, but to be ready to leave at a moment's notice. He went down to the Hudson River, to see if there were any vessels about to start. Several were getting ready to go to sea, but the majority of them were sailing ships, which of course did not suit Mr. Fogg. He appeared to have lost his last hope, when he perceived a small screw-steamer moored off the battery; the funnel was pouring forth black smoke, and everything looked like a speedy departure. Mr. Fogg hailed a boat, and soon found himself on board the Henrietta, which was an iron steamer. The captain was on board, and approached Mr. Fogg to answer his inquiries. This captain was a man about fifty, a regular sea-wolf.
"Are you the captain?" asked Mr. Fogg.