The pilot begged his passengers to go below, but in such a narrow and confined space the imprisonment was far from agreeable, so none of them would quit the deck.
About eight o'clock the hurricane, with torrents of rain, burst upon them. With nothing but the small jib, the Tankadere was almost lifted out of the water by the tempest. She darted through the sea like a locomotive at full-speed.
All that day the vessel was hurried towards the north, borne on the top of the monstrous waves. Time after time she was almost engulfed, but the careful steering of the pilot saved her. The passengers were drenched with spray, but took it philosophically. Fix grumbled, no doubt; but the brave Aouda regarded her companion and admired his coolness, while she endeavoured to imitate it. As for Phileas Fogg, he took it as a matter of course.
Hitherto the Tankadere had been sailing northwards, but towards evening, as the pilot had feared, the wind veered round to the north-west The schooner plunged terribly in the trough of the sea, and it was fortunate she was so solidly built. The tempest increased if possible at night, and John Bunsby began to feel anxious; he consulted his crew as to what they should do.
He then came to Mr. Fogg, and said, "I think we should make for one of the ports hereabouts."
"So do I," replied Fogg.
"Yes," said the pilot; "but which?"
"I only know of one," said Fogg quietly.
"And that is—?"
"Shanghai."