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The wind, obstinately remaining in the north-west, blew a gale,
and retarded the steamer. The Rangoon rolled heavily and the
passengers became impatient of the long, monstrous waves which
the wind raised before their path. A sort of tempest arose on
the 3rd of November, the squall knocking the vessel about with fury,
and the waves running high. The Rangoon reefed all her sails, and even
the rigging proved too much, whistling and shaking amid the squall.
The steamer was forced to proceed slowly, and the captain estimated
that she would reach Hong Kong twenty hours behind time, and more
if the storm lasted.

Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be struggling
especially to delay him, with his habitual tranquillity. He never changed
countenance for an instant, though a delay of twenty hours, by making him
too late for the Yokohama boat, would almost inevitably cause the loss
of the wager. But this man of nerve manifested neither impatience
nor annoyance; it seemed as if the storm were a part of his programme,
and had been foreseen. Aouda was amazed to find him as calm as he had been
from the first time she saw him.

Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light.
The storm greatly pleased him. His satisfaction would have
been complete had the Rangoon been forced to retreat before
the violence of wind and waves. Each delay filled him with hope,
for it became more and more probable that Fogg would be obliged
to remain some days at Hong Kong; and now the heavens themselves
became his allies, with the gusts and squalls. It mattered not
that they made him sea-sick--he made no account of this inconvenience;
and, whilst his body was writhing under their effects, his spirit bounded
with hopeful exultation.

Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious weather.
Everything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had seemed to be
at his master's service; steamers and railways obeyed him; wind and steam
united to speed his journey. Had the hour of adversity come?
Passepartout was as much excited as if the twenty thousand pounds
were to come from his own pocket. The storm exasperated him,
the gale made him furious, and he longed to lash the obstinate sea
into obedience. Poor fellow! Fix carefully concealed from him
his own satisfaction, for, had he betrayed it, Passepartout could
scarcely have restrained himself from personal violence.

Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted,
being unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head
to aid the progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew.
He overwhelmed the captain, officers, and sailors, who could not
help laughing at his impatience, with all sorts of questions.
He wanted to know exactly how long the storm was going to last;
whereupon he was referred to the barometer, which seemed to have
no intention of rising. Passepartout shook it, but with no
perceptible effect; for neither shaking nor maledictions

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