Fix，as he bowed，had a stifled feeling，and going forward，where he ensconced himself，did not open his mouth for the rest of the day.
Meanwhile they were progressing famously，and John Bunsby was in high hope.He several times assured Mr Fogg that they would reach Shanghai in time；to which that gentleman responded that he counted upon it.The crew set to work in good earnest，inspired by the reward to be gained.There was not a sheet which was not tightened，not a sail which was not vigorously hoisted；not a lurch could be charged to the man at the helm.They worked as desperately as if they were contesting in a Royal Yacht regatta.
By evening，the log showed that two hundred and twenty miles had been accomplished from Hong Kong，and Mr Fogg might hope that he would be able to reach Yokohama without recording any delay in his journal；in which case，the only misadventure which had overtaken him since he left London would not seriously affect his journey.
TheTankadere'entered the Straits of Fo-Kien，which separate the island of Formosa from the Chinese coast，in the small hours of the night，and crossed the Tropic of Cancer.The sea was very rough in the straits，full of eddies formed by the counter currents，and the chopping waves broke her course，whilst it became very difficult to stand on deck.
At daybreak the wind began to blow hard again，and the heavens seemed to predict a gale.The barometer announced a speedy change，the mercury rising and falling capriciously；the sea also，in the south-east，raised long surges which indicated a tempest.The sun had set the evening before in a red mist，in the midst of the phosphorescent scintillations of the ocean.
John Bunsby long examined the threatening aspect of the heavens，muttering indistinctly between his teeth.At last he said in a low voice to Mr Fogg.Shall I speak out to your honour？
Of course.
Well，we are going to have a squall.
Is the wind north or south？asked Mr Fogg quietly.
South.Look！a typhoon is coming up.
Glad it's a typhoon from the south，for it will carry us forward.
Oh，if you take it that way，said John Bunsby，I've nothing more to say.'John Bunsby's suspicions were confirmed.At a less advanced season of the year the typhoon，according to a famous meteorologist，would have passed away like a luminous cascade of electric flame；but in the winter equinox，it was to be feared that it would burst upon them with great violence.
The pilot took his precautions in advance.He reefed all sail，the pole-masts were dispensed with；all hands went forward to the bows.A single triangular sail，of strong canvas，was hoisted as a storm-jib，so as to hold the wind from behind.Then they waited.
John Bunsby had requested his passengers to go below；but this imprisonment in so narrow a space，with little air，and the boat bouncing in the gale，was far from pleasant.Neither Mr Fogg，Fix，nor Aouda consented to leave the deck.
The storm of rain and wind descended upon them towards eight o'clock.With but its bit of sail，theTankadere'was lifted like a feather by a wind，an idea of whose violence can scarcely be given.To compare her speed to four times that of a locomotive going on full steam would be below the truth.
The boat scudded thus northward during the whole day，borne on by monstrous waves，preserving always，fortunately，a speed equal to theirs.Twenty times she seemed almost to be submerged by these mountains of water which rose behind her；but the adroit management of the pilot saved her.The passengers were often bathed in spray，but they submitted to it philosophically.Fix cursed it，no doubt；but Aouda，with her eyes fastened upon her protector，whose coolness amazed her，showed her-self worthy of h～，and bravely weathered the storm.As for Phileas Fogg，it seemed just as if the typhoon were a part of his programme.