Friday, December 12th, 8:41 PM, 1872

 Two days ago, December 10th, we were transported from Fort Kearney to Omaha by sledge. A Mr Mudge had a large sledge with sails for speeding across the ice and snow such as there was, and Mr Fogg paid him dearly to gain transport for five persons. Aouda and I were ordered to stay behind with Passepartout, but we would not hear of it. Though I tried to be as brave and outwardly confident for the benefit of the others, it was so cold on the journey I was too numb to write, and barely said three words together. I could barely walk by the time we reached Omaha.


 We saw nothing of Omaha. We immediately boarded a train exactly on time and reached Chicago at four o'clock. From there we took the train to New York, reaching our destination on the 11th. Here we met a stop. We had missed our boat, The China, by three quarters of an hour!

 Passepartout, of course, blamed himself, when he should have blamed the Indians. No other boats were available to sail to London, and they would not be leaving for a few days. We had to take rooms, and search again the this morning.

 That is where Phileas is now, searching the docks for a boat. He told me and Aouda to be ready for quick departure, and we are, so I now write. But wait, I hear footsteps. It is him!

 I must hurry! He has found us a boat to Bordeaux, where we shall go to London from. We must leave. I will write again at sea or in Bordeaux.