When the wind came from the African or Asian coast the Mongolia, with her long hull, rolled fearfully.

Then the ladies speedily disappeared below; the pianos were silent; singing and dancing suddenly ceased.

Yet the good ship ploughed straight on, unretarded by wind or wave, towards the straits of Bab-el-Mandeb.

What was Phileas Fogg doing all this time?
It might be thought that, in his anxiety, he would be constantly watching the changes of the wind, the disorderly raging of the billows--every chance, in short, which might force the Mongolia to slacken her speed, and thus interrupt his journey.

But, if he thought of these possibilities, he did not betray the fact by any outward sign.
Always the same impassible member of the Reform Club, whom no incident could surprise, as unvarying as the ship's chronometers, and seldom having the curiosity even to go upon the deck, he passed through the memorable scenes of the Red Sea with cold indifference; did not care to recognise the historic towns and villages which, along its borders, raised their picturesque outlines against the sky; and betrayed no fear of the dangers of the Arabic Gulf, which the old historians always spoke of with horror, and upon which the ancient navigators never ventured without propitiating the gods by ample sacrifices.