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Chapter XI
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SECURES A CURIOUS MEANS OF CONVEYANCE AT A FABULOUS PRICE
The train had started punctually. Among the passengers were
a number of officers, Government officials, and opium and indigo
merchants, whose business called them to the eastern coast.
Passepartout rode in the same carriage with his master, and a
third passenger occupied a seat opposite to them. This was
Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr. Fogg's whist partners
on the Mongolia, now on his way to join his corps at Benares.
Sir Francis was a tall, fair man of fifty, who had greatly
distinguished himself in the last Sepoy revolt. He made India
his home, only paying brief visits to England at rare intervals;
and was almost as familiar as a native with the customs, history,
and character of India and its people. But Phileas Fogg, who was
not travelling, but only describing a circumference, took no pains
to inquire into these subjects; he was a solid body, traversing
an orbit around the terrestrial globe, according to the laws
of rational mechanics. He was at this moment calculating in his mind
the number of hours spent since his departure from London, and,
had it been in his nature to make a useless demonstration,
would have rubbed his hands for satisfaction. Sir Francis Cromarty
had observed the oddity of his travelling companion--although the
only opportunity he had for studying him had been while he was
dealing the cards, and between two rubbers--and questioned himself
whether a human heart really beat beneath this cold exterior,
and whether Phileas Fogg had any sense of the beauties of nature.
The brigadier-general was free to mentally confess that,
of all the eccentric persons he had ever met, none was comparable
to this product of the exact sciences.
Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis his design of going
round the world, nor the circumstances under which he set out;
and the general only saw in the wager a useless eccentricity
and a lack of sound common sense. In the way this strange gentleman
was going on, he would leave the world without having done any good
to himself or anybody else.
An hour after leaving Bombay the train had passed the viaducts
and the Island of Salcette, and had got into the open country.
At Callyan they reached the junction of the branch line which
descends towards south-eastern India by Kandallah and Pounah;
and, passing Pauwell, they entered the defiles of the mountains,
with their basalt bases, and their summits crowned with thick
and verdant forests. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty exchanged
a few words from time to time, and now Sir Francis, reviving the conversation,
observed, "Some years ago, Mr. Fogg, you would have met with a delay
at this point which would probably have lost you your wager."
"How so, Sir Francis?"
"Because the railway stopped at the base of these mountains,
which the passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins
or on ponies to Kandallah, on the other side."
"Such a delay would not have deranged my plans in the least,"
said Mr. Fogg. "I have constantly foreseen the likelihood of
certain obstacles."
"But, Mr. Fogg," pursued Sir Francis, "you run the risk of
having some difficulty about this worthy fellow's adventure
at the pagoda." Passepartout, his feet comfortably wrapped
in his travelling-blanket, was sound asleep and did not dream
that anybody was talking about him. "The Government is very severe
upon that kind of offence. It takes particular care that the
religious customs of the Indians should be respected,
and if your servant were caught--"
"Very well, Sir Francis," replied Mr. Fogg; "if he had been
caught he would have been condemned and punished, and then would
have quietly returned to Europe. I don't see how this affair
could have delayed his master."
The conversation fell again. During the night the train left
the mountains behind, and passed Nassik, and the next day
proceeded over the flat, well-cultivated country of the Khandeish,
with its straggling villages, above which rose the minarets
of the pagodas. This fertile territory is watered by numerous
small rivers and limpid streams, mostly tributaries of the Godavery.
Passepartout, on waking and looking out, could not realise
that he was actually crossing India in a railway train.
The locomotive, guided by an English engineer and fed with English
coal, threw out its smoke upon cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove,
and pepper plantations, while the steam curled in spirals around
groups of palm-trees, in the midst of which were seen picturesque
bungalows, viharis (sort of abandoned monasteries), and marvellous
temples enriched by the exhaustless ornamentation of Indian architecture.
Then they came upon vast tracts extending to the horizon, with jungles
inhabited by snakes and tigers, which fled at the noise of the train;
succeeded by forests penetrated by the railway, and still haunted
by elephants which, with pensive eyes, gazed at the train as it passed.
The travellers crossed, beyond Milligaum, the fatal country so often
stained with blood by the sectaries of the goddess Kali. Not far off
rose Ellora, with its graceful pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad,
capital of the ferocious Aureng-Zeb, now the chief town of one of the
detached provinces of the kingdom of the Nizam. It was thereabouts
that Feringhea, the Thuggee chief, king of the stranglers, held his sway.
These ruffians, united by a secret bond, strangled victims of every age
in honour of the goddess Death, without ever shedding blood; there was
a period when this part of the country could scarcely be travelled over
without corpses being found in every direction. The English Government
has succeeded in greatly diminishing these murders, though the Thuggees
still exist, and pursue the exercise of their horrible rites.
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampoor where
Passepartout was able to purchase some Indian slippers,
ornamented with false pearls, in which, with evident vanity,
he proceeded to encase his feet. The travellers made a hasty breakfast
and started off for Assurghur, after skirting for a little the banks
of the small river Tapty, which empties into the Gulf of Cambray, near Surat.
Passepartout was now plunged into absorbing reverie. Up to
his arrival at Bombay, he had entertained hopes that their journey
would end there; but, now that they were plainly whirling across
India at full speed, a sudden change had come over the spirit of
his dreams. His old vagabond nature returned to him; the fantastic
ideas of his youth once more took possession of him. He came to regard
his master's project as intended in good earnest, believed in the reality
of the bet, and therefore in the tour of the world and the necessity
of making it without fail within the designated period. Already he began
to worry about possible delays, and accidents which might happen on the way.
He recognised himself as being personally interested in the wager,
and trembled at the thought that he might have been the means of losing it
by his unpardonable folly of the night before. Being much less cool-headed
than Mr. Fogg, he was much more restless, counting and recounting the
days passed over, uttering maledictions when the train stopped,
and accusing it of sluggishness, and mentally blaming Mr. Fogg
for not having bribed the engineer. The worthy fellow was ignorant that,
while it was possible by such means to hasten the rate of a steamer,
it could not be done on the railway.
The train entered the defiles of the Sutpour Mountains, which separate
the Khandeish from Bundelcund, towards evening. The next day Sir Francis
Cromarty asked Passepartout what time it was; to which, on consulting
his watch, he replied that it was three in the morning. This famous timepiece,
always regulated on the Greenwich meridian, which was now some seventy-seven
degrees westward, was at least four hours slow. Sir Francis corrected
Passepartout's time, whereupon the latter made the same remark that he had
done to Fix; and up on the general insisting that the watch should be
regulated in each new meridian, since he was constantly going eastward,
that is in the face of the sun, and therefore the days were shorter
by four minutes for each degree gone over, Passepartout obstinately refused
to alter his watch, which he kept at London time. It was an innocent delusion
which could harm no one.
The train stopped, at eight o'clock, in the midst of a glade some
fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows,
and workmen's cabins. The conductor, passing along the carriages,
shouted, "Passengers will get out here!"
Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation;
but the general could not tell what meant a halt in the midst
of this forest of dates and acacias.
Passepartout, not less surprised, rushed out and speedily returned, crying:
"Monsieur, no more railway!"
"What do you mean?" asked Sir Francis.
"I mean to say that the train isn't going on."
The general at once stepped out, while Phileas Fogg calmly followed him,
and they proceeded together to the conductor.
"Where are we?" asked Sir Francis.
"At the hamlet of Kholby."
"Do we stop here?"
"Certainly. The railway isn't finished."
"What! not finished?"
"No. There's still a matter of fifty miles to be laid
from here to Allahabad, where the line begins again."
"But the papers announced the opening of the railway throughout."
"What would you have, officer? The papers were mistaken."
"Yet you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta," retorted Sir Francis,
who was growing warm.
"No doubt," replied the conductor; "but the passengers know
that they must provide means of transportation for themselves
from Kholby to Allahabad."
Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout would willingly have knocked
the conductor down, and did not dare to look at his master.
"Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg quietly, "we will, if you please,
look about for some means of conveyance to Allahabad."
"Mr. Fogg, this is a delay greatly to your disadvantage."
"No, Sir Francis; it was foreseen."
"What! You knew that the way--"
"Not at all; but I knew that some obstacle or other would sooner or later
arise on my route. Nothing, therefore, is lost. I have two days,
which I have already gained, to sacrifice. A steamer leaves Calcutta
for Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th. This is the 22nd, and we shall
reach Calcutta in time."
There was nothing to say to so confident a response.
It was but too true that the railway came to a termination at this point.
The papers were like some watches, which have a way of getting too fast,
and had been premature in their announcement of the completion of the line.
The greater part of the travellers were aware of this interruption, and,
leaving the train, they began to engage such vehicles as the village
could provide four-wheeled palkigharis, waggons drawn by zebus,
carriages that looked like perambulating pagodas, palanquins, ponies,
and what not.
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, after searching the village
from end to end, came back without having found anything.
"I shall go afoot," said Phileas Fogg.
Passepartout, who had now rejoined his master, made a wry grimace,
as he thought of his magnificent, but too frail Indian shoes.
Happily he too had been looking about him, and, after a moment's hesitation,
said, "Monsieur, I think I have found a means of conveyance."
"What?"
"An elephant! An elephant that belongs to an Indian who lives
but a hundred steps from here."
"Let's go and see the elephant," replied Mr. Fogg.
They soon reached a small hut, near which, enclosed within
some high palings, was the animal in question. An Indian came
out of the hut, and, at their request, conducted them within
the enclosure. The elephant, which its owner had reared, not for
a beast of burden, but for warlike purposes, was half domesticated.
The Indian had begun already, by often irritating him, and feeding
him every three months on sugar and butter, to impart to him
a ferocity not in his nature, this method being often employed
by those who train the Indian elephants for battle. Happily,
however, for Mr. Fogg, the animal's instruction in this direction
had not gone far, and the elephant still preserved his natural
gentleness. Kiouni--this was the name of the beast--could
doubtless travel rapidly for a long time, and, in default of
any other means of conveyance, Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him.
But elephants are far from cheap in India, where they are becoming
scarce, the males, which alone are suitable for circus shows,
are much sought, especially as but few of them are domesticated.
When therefore Mr. Fogg proposed to the Indian to hire Kiouni,
he refused point-blank. Mr. Fogg persisted, offering the excessive
sum of ten pounds an hour for the loan of the beast to Allahabad.
Refused. Twenty pounds? Refused also. Forty pounds? Still refused.
Passepartout jumped at each advance; but the Indian declined to be tempted.
Yet the offer was an alluring one, for, supposing it took the elephant
fifteen hours to reach Allahabad, his owner would receive no less than
six hundred pounds sterling.
Phileas Fogg, without getting in the least flurried, then proposed
to purchase the animal outright, and at first offered a thousand pounds
for him. The Indian, perhaps thinking he was going to make a great bargain,
still refused.
Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr. Fogg aside, and begged him to reflect
before he went any further; to which that gentleman replied that
he was not in the habit of acting rashly, that a bet of twenty thousand
pounds was at stake, that the elephant was absolutely necessary to him,
and that he would secure him if he had to pay twenty times his value.
Returning to the Indian, whose small, sharp eyes, glistening with avarice,
betrayed that with him it was only a question of how great a price
he could obtain. Mr. Fogg offered first twelve hundred, then fifteen hundred,
eighteen hundred, two thousand pounds. Passepartout, usually so rubicund,
was fairly white with suspense.
At two thousand pounds the Indian yielded.
"What a price, good heavens!" cried Passepartout, "for an elephant."
It only remained now to find a guide, which was comparatively easy.
A young Parsee, with an intelligent face, offered his services,
which Mr. Fogg accepted, promising so generous a reward as to materially
stimulate his zeal. The elephant was led out and equipped. The Parsee,
who was an accomplished elephant driver, covered his back with a sort
of saddle-cloth, and attached to each of his flanks some curiously
uncomfortable howdahs. Phileas Fogg paid the Indian with some banknotes
which he extracted from the famous carpet-bag, a proceeding that seemed
to deprive poor Passepartout of his vitals. Then he offered to carry
Sir Francis to Allahabad, which the brigadier gratefully accepted,
as one traveller the more would not be likely to fatigue the
gigantic beast. Provisions were purchased at Kholby, and,
while Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg took the howdahs on either side,
Passepartout got astride the saddle-cloth between them.
The Parsee perched himself on the elephant's neck, and at nine o'clock
they set out from the village, the animal marching off through the
dense forest of palms by the shortest cut.
Chapter XII
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IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND HIS COMPANIONS
VENTURE ACROSS THE INDIAN FORESTS, AND WHAT ENSUED
In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of the line
where the railway was still in process of being built. This line,
owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia Mountains,
did not pursue a straight course. The Parsee, who was quite familiar
with the roads and paths in the district, declared that they would gain
twenty miles by striking directly through the forest.
Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck
in the peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled
by the swift trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by
the skilful Parsee; but they endured the discomfort with true
British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catch a glimpse
of each other. As for Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast's back,
and received the direct force of each concussion as he trod along,
he was very careful, in accordance with his master's advice,
to keep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise
have been bitten off short. The worthy fellow bounced from
the elephant's neck to his rump, and vaulted like a clown on a spring-board;
yet he laughed in the midst of his bouncing, and from time to time took
a piece of sugar out of his pocket, and inserted it in Kiouni's trunk,
who received it without in the least slackening his regular trot.
After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him
an hour for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst
at a neighbouring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs
round about him. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted
the delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief. "Why, he's
made of iron!" exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on Kiouni.
"Of forged iron," replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing
a hasty breakfast.
At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country
soon presented a very savage aspect. Copses of dates and
dwarf-palms succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains,
dotted with scanty shrubs, and sown with great blocks of syenite.
All this portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented
by travellers, is inhabited by a fanatical population,
hardened in the most horrible practices of the Hindoo faith.
The English have not been able to secure complete dominion over
this territory, which is subjected to the influence of rajahs,
whom it is almost impossible to reach in their inaccessible
mountain fastnesses. The travellers several times saw bands
of ferocious Indians, who, when they perceived the elephant
striding across-country, made angry arid threatening motions.
The Parsee avoided them as much as possible. Few animals were
observed on the route; even the monkeys hurried from their path
with contortions and grimaces which convulsed Passepartout with laughter.
In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the worthy servant.
What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he got to Allahabad?
Would he carry him on with him? Impossible! The cost of transporting him
would make him ruinously expensive. Would he sell him, or set him free?
The estimable beast certainly deserved some consideration. Should Mr. Fogg
choose to make him, Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much
embarrassed; and these thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long time.
The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the evening,
and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a ruined bungalow.
They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that day, and an equal distance
still separated them from the station of Allahabad.
The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow
with a few dry branches, and the warmth was very grateful,
provisions purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the
travellers ate ravenously. The conversation, beginning with a few
disconnected phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores.
The guide watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself
against the trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the
night to disturb the slumberers, although occasional growls front
panthers and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the more
formidable beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against
the occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily, like an
honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in
uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg,
he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene mansion
in Saville Row.
The journey was resumed at six in the morning; the guide hoped
to reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, Mr. Fogg would only
lose a part of the forty-eight hours saved since the beginning
of the tour. Kiouni, resuming his rapid gait, soon descended
the lower spurs of the Vindhias, and towards noon they passed
by the village of Kallenger, on the Cani, one of the branches
of the Ganges. The guide avoided inhabited places, thinking it safer
to keep the open country, which lies along the first depressions
of the basin of the great river. Allahabad was now only twelve miles
to the north-east. They stopped under a clump of bananas,
the fruit of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream,
was amply partaken of and appreciated.
At two o'clock the guide entered a thick forest which extended
several miles; he preferred to travel under cover of the woods.
They had not as yet had any unpleasant encounters, and the journey
seemed on the point of being successfully accomplished, when the
elephant, becoming restless, suddenly stopped.
It was then four o'clock.
"What's the matter?" asked Sir Francis, putting out his head.
"I don't know, officer," replied the Parsee, listening attentively
to a confused murmur which came through the thick branches.
The murmur soon became more distinct; it now seemed like a distant
concert of human voices accompanied by brass instruments.
Passepartout was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg patiently
waited without a word. The Parsee jumped to the ground,
fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thicket.
He soon returned, saying:
"A procession of Brahmins is coming this way. We must prevent
their seeing us, if possible."
The guide unloosed the elephant and led him into a thicket,
at the same time asking the travellers not to stir. He held himself
ready to bestride the animal at a moment's notice, should flight
become necessary; but he evidently thought that the procession
of the faithful would pass without perceiving them amid
the thick foliage, in which they were wholly concealed.
The discordant tones of the voices and instruments drew nearer,
and now droning songs mingled with the sound of the tambourines and cymbals.
The head of the procession soon appeared beneath the trees,
a hundred paces away; and the strange figures who performed the religious
ceremony were easily distinguished through the branches.
First came the priests, with mitres on their heads,
and clothed in long lace robes. They were surrounded by men,
women, and children, who sang a kind of lugubrious psalm,
interrupted at regular intervals by the tambourines and cymbals;
while behind them was drawn a car with large wheels,
the spokes of which represented serpents entwined with each other.
Upon the car, which was drawn by four richly caparisoned zebus,
stood a hideous statue with four arms, the body coloured a dull red,
with haggard eyes, dishevelled hair, protruding tongue, and lips tinted
with betel. It stood upright upon the figure of a prostrate
and headless giant.
Sir Francis, recognising the statue, whispered, "The goddess Kali;
the goddess of love and death."
"Of death, perhaps," muttered back Passepartout, "but of love--
that ugly old hag? Never!"
The Parsee made a motion to keep silence.
A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round the statue;
these were striped with ochre, and covered with cuts whence their blood
issued drop by drop--stupid fanatics, who, in the great Indian ceremonies,
still throw themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut. Some Brahmins,
clad in all the sumptuousness of Oriental apparel, and leading a woman
who faltered at every step, followed. This woman was young, and as
fair as a European. Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms,
hands, and toes were loaded down with jewels and gems with bracelets,
earrings, and rings; while a tunic bordered with gold, and covered
with a light muslin robe, betrayed the outline of her form.
The guards who followed the young woman presented a violent contrast
to her, armed as they were with naked sabres hung at their waists,
and long damascened pistols, and bearing a corpse on a palanquin.
It was the body of an old man, gorgeously arrayed in the habiliments
of a rajah, wearing, as in life, a turban embroidered with pearls,
a robe of tissue of silk and gold, a scarf of cashmere sewed with diamonds,
and the magnificent weapons of a Hindoo prince. Next came the musicians
and a rearguard of capering fakirs, whose cries sometimes drowned the noise
of the instruments; these closed the procession.
Sir Francis watched the procession with a sad countenance, and,
turning to the guide, said, "A suttee."
The Parsee nodded, and put his finger to his lips. The procession slowly
wound under the trees, and soon its last ranks disappeared in the depths
of the wood. The songs gradually died away; occasionally cries were heard
in the distance, until at last all was silence again.
Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis said, and, as soon as
the procession had disappeared, asked: "What is a suttee?"
"A suttee," returned the general, "is a human sacrifice, but a voluntary one.
The woman you have just seen will be burned to-morrow at the dawn of day."
"Oh, the scoundrels!" cried Passepartout, who could not repress
his indignation.
"And the corpse?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Is that of the prince, her husband," said the guide; "an independent
rajah of Bundelcund."
"Is it possible," resumed Phileas Fogg, his voice betraying not
the least emotion, "that these barbarous customs still exist in India,
and that the English have been unable to put a stop to them?"
"These sacrifices do not occur in the larger portion of India,"
replied Sir Francis; "but we have no power over these savage territories,
and especially here in Bundelcund. The whole district north of the Vindhias
is the theatre of incessant murders and pillage."
"The poor wretch!" exclaimed Passepartout, "to be burned alive!"
"Yes," returned Sir Francis, "burned alive. And, if she were not,
you cannot conceive what treatment she would be obliged to submit
to from her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her
on a scanty allowance of rice, treat her with contempt;
she would be looked upon as an unclean creature, and would die
in some corner, like a scurvy dog. The prospect of so frightful
an existence drives these poor creatures to the sacrifice
much more than love or religious fanaticism. Sometimes, however,
the sacrifice is really voluntary, and it requires the active
interference of the Government to prevent it. Several years ago,
when I was living at Bombay, a young widow asked permission
of the governor to be burned along with her husband's body;
but, as you may imagine, he refused. The woman left the town,
took refuge with an independent rajah, and there carried out
her self-devoted purpose."
While Sir Francis was speaking, the guide shook his head several times,
and now said: "The sacrifice which will take place to-morrow at dawn
is not a voluntary one."
"How do you know?"
"Everybody knows about this affair in Bundelcund."
"But the wretched creature did not seem to be making any resistance,"
observed Sir Francis.
"That was because they had intoxicated her with fumes of hemp and opium."
"But where are they taking her?"
"To the pagoda of Pillaji, two miles from here; she will pass the night there."
"And the sacrifice will take place--"
"To-morrow, at the first light of dawn."
The guide now led the elephant out of the thicket, and leaped upon his neck.
Just at the moment that he was about to urge Kiouni forward with a peculiar
whistle, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and, turning to Sir Francis Cromarty, said,
"Suppose we save this woman."
"Save the woman, Mr. Fogg!"
"I have yet twelve hours to spare; I can devote them to that."
"Why, you are a man of heart!"
"Sometimes," replied Phileas Fogg, quietly; "when I have the time."
Chapter XIII
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Chapter XIII
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT RECEIVES A NEW PROOF
THAT FORTUNE FAVORS THE BRAVE
The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable.
Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and therefore
the success of his tour. But he did not hesitate, and he found in
Sir Francis Cromarty an enthusiastic ally.
As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that might be proposed.
His master's idea charmed him; he perceived a heart, a soul, under that
icy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.
There remained the guide: what course would he adopt? Would he
not take part with the Indians? In default of his assistance,
it was necessary to be assured of his neutrality.
Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.
"Officers," replied the guide, "I am a Parsee, and this woman is a Parsee.
Command me as you will."
"Excellent!" said Mr. Fogg.
"However," resumed the guide, "it is certain, not only that
we shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken."
"That is foreseen," replied Mr. Fogg. "I think we must wait till night
before acting."
"I think so," said the guide.
The worthy Indian then gave some account of the victim, who,
he said, was a celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the
daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant. She had received a
thoroughly English education in that city, and, from her manners
and intelligence, would be thought an European. Her name was Aouda.
Left an orphan, she was married against her will to the old rajah
of Bundelcund; and, knowing the fate that awaited her, she escaped,
was retaken, and devoted by the rajah's relatives, who had an interest
in her death, to the sacrifice from which it seemed she could not escape.
The Parsee's narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions
in their generous design. It was decided that the guide should direct
the elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly approached
as quickly as possible. They halted, half an hour afterwards, in a copse,
some five hundred feet from the pagoda, where they were well concealed;
but they could hear the groans and cries of the fakirs distinctly.
They then discussed the means of getting at the victim. The guide
was familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared,
the young woman was imprisoned. Could they enter any of its doors
while the whole party of Indians was plunged in a drunken sleep,
or was it safer to attempt to make a hole in the walls?
This could only be determined at the moment and the place themselves;
but it was certain that the abduction must be made that night,
and not when, at break of day, the victim was led to her funeral pyre.
Then no human intervention could save her.
As soon as night fell, about six o'clock, they decided to make
a reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were
just ceasing; the Indians were in the act of plunging themselves
into the drunkenness caused by liquid opium mingled with hemp,
and it might be possible to slip between them to the temple itself.
The Parsee, leading the others, noiselessly crept through the wood,
and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream,
whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre of wood,
on the top of which lay the embalmed body of the rajah, which was to be
burned with his wife. The pagoda, whose minarets loomed above the trees
in the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps away.
"Come!" whispered the guide.
He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush,
followed by his companions; the silence around was only broken
by the low murmuring of the wind among the branches.
Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit up
by the torches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians,
motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewn
with the dead. Men, women, and children lay together.
In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillaji
loomed distinctly. Much to the guide's disappointment,
the guards of the rajah, lighted by torches, were watching
at the doors and marching to and fro with naked sabres;
probably the priests, too, were watching within.
The Parsee, now convinced that it was impossible to force
an entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his
companions back again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty
also saw that nothing could be attempted in that direction.
They stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy.
"It is only eight now," said the brigadier, "and these guards
may also go to sleep."
"It is not impossible," returned the Parsee.
They lay down at the foot of a tree, and waited.
The time seemed long; the guide ever and anon left them
to take an observation on the edge of the wood, but the guards
watched steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim light
crept through the windows of the pagoda.
They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards,
and it became apparent that their yielding to sleep could not be counted on.
The other plan must be carried out; an opening in the walls of the pagoda
must be made. It remained to ascertain whether the priests were watching
by the side of their victim as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door.
After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was ready
for the attempt, and advanced, followed by the others. They took
a roundabout way, so as to get at the pagoda on the rear.
They reached the walls about half-past twelve, without having met anyone;
here there was no guard, nor were there either windows or doors.
The night was dark. The moon, on the wane, scarcely left the horizon,
and was covered with heavy clouds; the height of the trees deepened
the darkness.
It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them must
be accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had
their pocket-knives. Happily the temple walls were built of brick
and wood, which could be penetrated with little difficulty;
after one brick had been taken out, the rest would yield easily.
They set noiselessly to work, and the Parsee on one side
and Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks
so as to make an aperture two feet wide. They were getting on rapidly,
when suddenly a cry was heard in the interior of the temple,
followed almost instantly by other cries replying from the outside.
Passepartout and the guide stopped. Had they been heard? Was the
alarm being given? Common prudence urged them to retire, and they
did so, followed by Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis. They again hid
themselves in the wood, and waited till the disturbance, whatever
it might be, ceased, holding themselves ready to resume their attempt
without delay. But, awkwardly enough, the guards now appeared
at the rear of the temple, and there installed themselves,
in readiness to prevent a surprise.
It would be difficult to describe the disappointment of the party,
thus interrupted in their work. They could not now reach the victim;
how, then, could they save her? Sir Francis shook his fists,
Passepartout was beside himself, and the guide gnashed his teeth with rage.
The tranquil Fogg waited, without betraying any emotion.
"We have nothing to do but to go away," whispered Sir Francis.
"Nothing but to go away," echoed the guide.
"Stop," said Fogg. "I am only due at Allahabad tomorrow before noon."
"But what can you hope to do?" asked Sir Francis. "In a few hours
it will be daylight, and--"
"The chance which now seems lost may present itself at the last moment."
Sir Francis would have liked to read Phileas Fogg's eyes.
What was this cool Englishman thinking of? Was he planning
to make a rush for the young woman at the very moment
of the sacrifice, and boldly snatch her from her executioners?
This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg
was such a fool. Sir Francis consented, however, to remain
to the end of this terrible drama. The guide led them to the rear
of the glade, where they were able to observe the sleeping groups.
Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower branches
of a tree, was resolving an idea which had at first struck him like a flash,
and which was now firmly lodged in his brain.
He had commenced by saying to himself, "What folly!" and then he repeated,
"Why not, after all? It's a chance perhaps the only one; and with such sots!"
Thinking thus, he slipped, with the suppleness of a serpent,
to the lowest branches, the ends of which bent almost to the ground.
The hours passed, and the lighter shades now announced the
approach of day, though it was not yet light. This was the moment.
The slumbering multitude became animated, the tambourines sounded,
songs and cries arose; the hour of the sacrifice had come.
The doors of the pagoda swung open, and a bright light escaped
from its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis
espied the victim. She seemed, having shaken off the stupor of intoxication,
to be striving to escape from her executioner. Sir Francis's heart throbbed;
and, convulsively seizing Mr. Fogg's hand, found in it an open knife.
Just at this moment the crowd began to move. The young woman had again
fallen into a stupor caused by the fumes of hemp, and passed among
the fakirs, who escorted her with their wild, religious cries.
Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of the crowd,
followed; and in two minutes they reached the banks of the stream,
and stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the rajah's corpse.
In the semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out
beside her husband's body. Then a torch was brought, and the wood,
heavily soaked with oil, instantly took fire.
At this moment Sir Francis and the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who,
in an instant of mad generosity, was about to rush upon the pyre.
But he had quickly pushed them aside, when the whole scene suddenly changed.
A cry of terror arose. The whole multitude prostrated themselves,
terror-stricken, on the ground.
The old rajah was not dead, then, since he rose of a sudden,
like a spectre, took up his wife in his arms, and descended from
the pyre in the midst of the clouds of smoke, which only
heightened his ghostly appearance.
Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror,
lay there, with their faces on the ground, not daring to lift
their eyes and behold such a prodigy.
The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which
supported her, and which she did not seem in the least to burden.
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis stood erect, the Parsee bowed his head,
and Passepartout was, no doubt, scarcely less stupefied.
The resuscitated rajah approached Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg,
and, in an abrupt tone, said, "Let us be off!"
It was Passepartout himself, who had slipped upon the pyre
in the midst of the smoke and, profiting by the still
overhanging darkness, had delivered the young woman from death!
It was Passepartout who, playing his part with a happy audacity,
had passed through the crowd amid the general terror.
A moment after all four of the party had disappeared in the woods,
and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. But the cries
and noise, and a ball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg's hat,
apprised them that the trick had been discovered.
The old rajah's body, indeed, now appeared upon the burning pyre;
and the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an abduction
had taken place. They hastened into the forest, followed by the soldiers,
who fired a volley after the fugitives; but the latter rapidly increased
the distance between them, and ere long found themselves beyond the reach
of the bullets and arrows.
Chapter XIV
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Chapter XIV
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG DESCENDS THE WHOLE LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL
VALLEY OF THE GANGES WITHOUT EVER THINKING OF SEEING IT
The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an hour
Passepartout laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis pressed
the worthy fellow's hand, and his master said, "Well done!" which,
from him, was high commendation; to which Passepartout replied
that all the credit of the affair belonged to Mr. Fogg. As for him,
he had only been struck with a "queer" idea; and he laughed
to think that for a few moments he, Passepartout, the ex-gymnast,
ex-sergeant fireman, had been the spouse of a charming woman,
a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the young Indian woman,
she had been unconscious throughout of what was passing, and now,
wrapped up in a travelling-blanket, was reposing in one of the howdahs.
The elephant, thanks to the skilful guidance of the Parsee,
was advancing rapidly through the still darksome forest, and,
an hour after leaving the pagoda, had crossed a vast plain.
They made a halt at seven o'clock, the young woman being still
in a state of complete prostration. The guide made her drink a little
brandy and water, but the drowsiness which stupefied her could not
yet be shaken off. Sir Francis, who was familiar with the effects
of the intoxication produced by the fumes of hemp, reassured his
companions on her account. But he was more disturbed at the
prospect of her future fate. He told Phileas Fogg that,
should Aouda remain in India, she would inevitably fall again
into the hands of her executioners. These fanatics were scattered
throughout the county, and would, despite the English police,
recover their victim at Madras, Bombay, or Calcutta. She would
only be safe by quitting India for ever.
Phileas Fogg replied that he would reflect upon the matter.
The station at Allahabad was reached about ten o'clock, and,
the interrupted line of railway being resumed, would enable them
to reach Calcutta in less than twenty-four hours. Phileas Fogg
would thus be able to arrive in time to take the steamer which
left Calcutta the next day, October 25th, at noon, for Hong Kong.
The young woman was placed in one of the waiting-rooms of the station,
whilst Passepartout was charged with purchasing for her various articles
of toilet, a dress, shawl, and some furs; for which his master gave him
unlimited credit. Passepartout started off forthwith, and found himself
in the streets of Allahabad, that is, the City of God, one of the most
venerated in India, being built at the junction of the two sacred rivers,
Ganges and Jumna, the waters of which attract pilgrims from every part
of the peninsula. The Ganges, according to the legends of the Ramayana,
rises in heaven, whence, owing to Brahma's agency, it descends to the earth.
Passepartout made it a point, as he made his purchases, to take
a good look at the city. It was formerly defended by a noble fort,
which has since become a state prison; its commerce has dwindled away,
and Passepartout in vain looked about him for such a bazaar as he used
to frequent in Regent Street. At last he came upon an elderly,
crusty Jew, who sold second-hand articles, and from whom he purchased
a dress of Scotch stuff, a large mantle, and a fine otter-skin pelisse,
for which he did not hesitate to pay seventy-five pounds. He then
returned triumphantly to the station.
The influence to which the priests of Pillaji had subjected Aouda
began gradually to yield, and she became more herself,
so that her fine eyes resumed all their soft Indian expression.
When the poet-king, Ucaf Uddaul, celebrates the charms
of the queen of Ahmehnagara, he speaks thus:
"Her shining tresses, divided in two parts, encircle the harmonious
contour of her white and delicate cheeks, brilliant in their glow
and freshness. Her ebony brows have the form and charm of the bow of Kama,
the god of love, and beneath her long silken lashes the purest reflections
and a celestial light swim, as in the sacred lakes of Himalaya,
in the black pupils of her great clear eyes. Her teeth, fine,
equal, and white, glitter between her smiling lips like dewdrops
in a passion-flower's half-enveloped breast. Her delicately formed ears,
her vermilion hands, her little feet, curved and tender as the lotus-bud,
glitter with the brilliancy of the loveliest pearls of Ceylon,
the most dazzling diamonds of Golconda. Her narrow and supple waist,
which a hand may clasp around, sets forth the outline of her rounded
figure and the beauty of her bosom, where youth in its flower displays
the wealth of its treasures; and beneath the silken folds of her tunic
she seems to have been modelled in pure silver by the godlike hand
of Vicvarcarma, the immortal sculptor."
It is enough to say, without applying this poetical rhapsody to Aouda,
that she was a charming woman, in all the European acceptation of the phrase.
She spoke English with great purity, and the guide had not exaggerated
in saying that the young Parsee had been transformed by her bringing up.
The train was about to start from Allahabad, and Mr. Fogg
proceeded to pay the guide the price agreed upon for his service,
and not a farthing more; which astonished Passepartout,
who remembered all that his master owed to the guide's devotion.
He had, indeed, risked his life in the adventure at Pillaji, and,
if he should be caught afterwards by the Indians, he would with
difficulty escape their vengeance. Kiouni, also, must be disposed of.
What should be done with the elephant, which had been so dearly purchased?
Phileas Fogg had already determined this question.
"Parsee," said he to the guide, "you have been serviceable and devoted.
I have paid for your service, but not for your devotion. Would you like
to have this elephant? He is yours."
The guide's eyes glistened.
"Your honour is giving me a fortune!" cried he.
"Take him, guide," returned Mr. Fogg, "and I shall still be your debtor."
"Good!" exclaimed Passepartout. "Take him, friend. Kiouni is a brave
and faithful beast." And, going up to the elephant, he gave him several
lumps of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, here, here."
The elephant grunted out his satisfaction, and, clasping Passepartout
around the waist with his trunk, lifted him as high as his head.
Passepartout, not in the least alarmed, caressed the animal,
which replaced him gently on the ground.
Soon after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passepartout,
installed in a carriage with Aouda, who had the best seat,
were whirling at full speed towards Benares. It was a run of eighty miles,
and was accomplished in two hours. During the journey, the young woman
fully recovered her senses. What was her astonishment to find herself
in this carriage, on the railway, dressed in European habiliments,
and with travellers who were quite strangers to her! Her companions
first set about fully reviving her with a little liquor,
and then Sir Francis narrated to her what had passed,
dwelling upon the courage with which Phileas Fogg
had not hesitated to risk his life to save her, and recounting
the happy sequel of the venture, the result of Passepartout's rash idea.
Mr. Fogg said nothing; while Passepartout, abashed, kept repeating that
"it wasn't worth telling."
Aouda pathetically thanked her deliverers, rather with tears
than words; her fine eyes interpreted her gratitude better
than her lips. Then, as her thoughts strayed back to the scene
of the sacrifice, and recalled the dangers which still menaced her,
she shuddered with terror.
Phileas Fogg understood what was passing in Aouda's mind, and offered,
in order to reassure her, to escort her to Hong Kong, where she might remain
safely until the affair was hushed up--an offer which she eagerly
and gratefully accepted. She had, it seems, a Parsee relation,
who was one of the principal merchants of Hong Kong, which is wholly
an English city, though on an island on the Chinese coast.
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. The Brahmin legends
assert that this city is built on the site of the ancient Casi, which,
like Mahomet's tomb, was once suspended between heaven and earth;
though the Benares of to-day, which the Orientalists call the Athens of India,
stands quite unpoetically on the solid earth, Passepartout caught glimpses
of its brick houses and clay huts, giving an aspect of desolation to the place,
as the train entered it.
Benares was Sir Francis Cromarty's destination, the troops he
was rejoining being encamped some miles northward of the city.
He bade adieu to Phileas Fogg, wishing him all success,
and expressing the hope that he would come that way again
in a less original but more profitable fashion. Mr. Fogg lightly
pressed him by the hand. The parting of Aouda, who did not forget
what she owed to Sir Francis, betrayed more warmth; and, as for
Passepartout, he received a hearty shake of the hand from the
gallant general.
The railway, on leaving Benares, passed for a while along the
valley of the Ganges. Through the windows of their carriage
the travellers had glimpses of the diversified landscape of Behar,
with its mountains clothed in verdure, its fields of barley,
wheat, and corn, its jungles peopled with green alligators,
its neat villages, and its still thickly-leaved forests.
Elephants were bathing in the waters of the sacred river,
and groups of Indians, despite the advanced season and chilly air,
were performing solemnly their pious ablutions. These were
fervent Brahmins, the bitterest foes of Buddhism, their deities
being Vishnu, the solar god, Shiva, the divine impersonation of
natural forces, and Brahma, the supreme ruler of priests and legislators.
What would these divinities think of India, anglicised as it is to-day,
with steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges, frightening the gulls
which float upon its surface, the turtles swarming along its banks,
and the faithful dwelling upon its borders?
The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash, save when
the steam concealed it fitfully from the view; the travellers
could scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles
south-westward from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs
of Behar; or Ghazipur and its famous rose-water factories; or the
tomb of Lord Cornwallis, rising on the left bank of the Ganges;
the fortified town of Buxar, or Patna, a large manufacturing and
trading-place, where is held the principal opium market of India;
or Monghir, a more than European town, for it is as English as
Manchester or Birmingham, with its iron foundries, edgetool factories,
and high chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke heavenward.
Night came on; the train passed on at full speed, in the midst
of the roaring of the tigers, bears, and wolves which fled before
the locomotive; and the marvels of Bengal, Golconda ruined Gour,
Murshedabad, the ancient capital, Burdwan, Hugly, and the French
town of Chandernagor, where Passepartout would have been proud to see
his country's flag flying, were hidden from their view in the darkness.
Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning,
and the packet left for Hong Kong at noon;
so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him.
According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th
of October, and that was the exact date of his actual arrival.
He was therefore neither behind-hand nor ahead of time.
The two days gained between London and Bombay had been lost,
as has been seen, in the journey across India. But it is not
to be supposed that Phileas Fogg regretted them.
Chapter XV
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Chapter XV
IN WHICH THE BAG OF BANKNOTES DISGORGES
SOME THOUSANDS OF POUNDS MORE
The train entered the station, and Passepartout jumping out first,
was followed by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend.
Phileas Fogg intended to proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer,
in order to get Aouda comfortably settled for the voyage.
He was unwilling to leave her while they were still on dangerous ground.
Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him, and said,
"Mr. Phileas Fogg?"
"I am he."
"Is this man your servant?" added the policeman, pointing to Passepartout.
"Yes."
"Be so good, both of you, as to follow me."
Mr. Fogg betrayed no surprise whatever. The policeman was a
representative of the law, and law is sacred to an Englishman.
Passepartout tried to reason about the matter, but the policeman
tapped him with his stick, and Mr. Fogg made him a signal to obey.
"May this young lady go with us?" asked he.
"She may," replied the policeman.
Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Passepartout were conducted to a palkigahri,
a sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses, in which they
took their places and were driven away. No one spoke during
the twenty minutes which elapsed before they reached their destination.
They first passed through the "black town," with its narrow streets,
its miserable, dirty huts, and squalid population; then through the
"European town," which presented a relief in its bright brick mansions,
shaded by coconut-trees and bristling with masts, where, although it was
early morning, elegantly dressed horsemen and handsome equipages
were passing back and forth.
The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which,
however, did not have the appearance of a private mansion.
The policeman having requested his prisoners for so, truly,
they might be called-to descend, conducted them into a room
with barred windows, and said: "You will appear before
Judge Obadiah at half-past eight."
He then retired, and closed the door.
"Why, we are prisoners!" exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a chair.
Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg:
"Sir, you must leave me to my fate! It is on my account that
you receive this treatment, it is for having saved me!"
Phileas Fogg contented himself with saying that it was impossible.
It was quite unlikely that he should be arrested for preventing a suttee.
The complainants would not dare present themselves with such a charge.
There was some mistake. Moreover, he would not, in any event,
abandon Aouda, but would escort her to Hong Kong.
"But the steamer leaves at noon!" observed Passepartout, nervously.
"We shall be on board by noon," replied his master, placidly.
It was said so positively that Passepartout could not help
muttering to himself, "Parbleu that's certain! Before noon
we shall be on board." But he was by no means reassured.
At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and,
requesting them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall.
It was evidently a court-room, and a crowd of Europeans and natives
already occupied the rear of the apartment.
Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a
bench opposite the desks of the magistrate and his clerk.
Immediately after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, round man, followed by
the clerk, entered. He proceeded to take down a wig which was
hanging on a nail, and put it hurriedly on his head.
"The first case," said he. Then, putting his hand to his
head, he exclaimed, "Heh! This is not my wig!"
"No, your worship," returned the clerk, "it is mine."
"My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence
in a clerk's wig?"
The wigs were exchanged.
Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of the big clock
over the judge seemed to go around with terrible rapidity.
"The first case," repeated Judge Obadiah.
"Phileas Fogg?" demanded Oysterpuff.
"I am here," replied Mr. Fogg.
"Passepartout?"
"Present," responded Passepartout.
"Good," said the judge. "You have been looked for, prisoners,
for two days on the trains from Bombay."
"But of what are we accused?" asked Passepartout, impatiently.
"You are about to be informed."
"I am an English subject, sir," said Mr. Fogg, "and I have the right--"
"Have you been ill-treated?"
"Not at all."
"Very well; let the complainants come in."
A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian priests entered.
"That's it," muttered Passepartout; "these are the rogues
who were going to burn our young lady."
The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the clerk
proceeded to read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege against
Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of having violated
a place held consecrated by the Brahmin religion.
"You hear the charge?" asked the judge.
"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, "and I admit it."
"You admit it?"
"I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their turn,
what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji."
The priests looked at each other; they did not seem to understand
what was said.
"Yes," cried Passepartout, warmly; "at the pagoda of Pillaji,
where they were on the point of burning their victim."
The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were stupefied.
"What victim?" said Judge Obadiah. "Burn whom? In Bombay itself?"
"Bombay?" cried Passepartout.
"Certainly. We are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of the pagoda
of Malabar Hill, at Bombay."
"And as a proof," added the clerk, "here are the desecrator's very shoes,
which he left behind him."
Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.
"My shoes!" cried Passepartout, in his surprise permitting
this imprudent exclamation to escape him.
The confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the
affair at Bombay, for which they were now detained at Calcutta,
may be imagined.
Fix the detective, had foreseen the advantage which Passepartout's
escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for twelve hours,
had consulted the priests of Malabar Hill. Knowing that the English
authorities dealt very severely with this kind of misdemeanour,
he promised them a goodly sum in damages, and sent them forward
to Calcutta by the next train. Owing to the delay caused by the rescue
of the young widow, Fix and the priests reached the Indian capital before
Mr. Fogg and his servant, the magistrates having been already warned
by a dispatch to arrest them should they arrive. Fix's disappointment
when he learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his appearance in Calcutta
may be imagined. He made up his mind that the robber had stopped
somewhere on the route and taken refuge in the southern provinces.
For twenty-four hours Fix watched the station with feverish anxiety;
at last he was rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and Passepartout arrive,
accompanied by a young woman, whose presence he was wholly at a loss
to explain. He hastened for a policeman; and this was how the party came
to be arrested and brought before Judge Obadiah.
Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have
espied the detective ensconced in a corner of the court-room,
watching the proceedings with an interest easily understood;
for the warrant had failed to reach him at Calcutta,
as it had done at Bombay and Suez.
Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout's rash exclamation,
which the poor fellow would have given the world to recall.
"The facts are admitted?" asked the judge.
"Admitted," replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.
"Inasmuch," resumed the judge, "as the English law protects equally
and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as the man
Passepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred pagoda of Malabar Hill,
at Bombay, on the 20th of October, I condemn the said Passepartout
to imprisonment for fifteen days and a fine of three hundred pounds."
"Three hundred pounds!" cried Passepartout, startled at the largeness
of the sum.
"Silence!" shouted the constable.
"And inasmuch," continued the judge, "as it is not proved that
the act was not done by the connivance of the master with the servant,
and as the master in any case must be held responsible for the acts
of his paid servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a week's imprisonment
and a fine of one hundred and fifty pounds."
Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction; if Phileas Fogg
could be detained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than time
for the warrant to arrive. Passepartout was stupefied. This sentence
ruined his master. A wager of twenty thousand pounds lost, because he,
like a precious fool, had gone into that abominable pagoda!
Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not
in the least concern him, did not even lift his eyebrows while
it was being pronounced. Just as the clerk was calling the next case,
he rose, and said, "I offer bail."
"You have that right," returned the judge.
Fix's blood ran cold, but he resumed his composure when he heard
the judge announce that the bail required for each prisoner
would be one thousand pounds.
"I will pay it at once," said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank-bills
from the carpet-bag, which Passepartout had by him, and placing them
on the clerk's desk.
"This sum will be restored to you upon your release from prison,"
said the judge. "Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail."
"Come!" said Phileas Fogg to his servant.
"But let them at least give me back my shoes!" cried Passepartout angrily.
"Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!" he muttered, as they were handed to him.
"More than a thousand pounds apiece; besides, they pinch my feet."
Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed
by the crestfallen Passepartout. Fix still nourished hopes
that the robber would not, after all, leave the two thousand pounds
behind him, but would decide to serve out his week in jail,
and issued forth on Mr. Fogg's traces. That gentleman took a carriage,
and the party were soon landed on one of the quays.
The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbour, its signal
of departure hoisted at the mast-head. Eleven o'clock was striking;
Mr. Fogg was an hour in advance of time. Fix saw them leave the carriage and
push off in a boat for the steamer, and stamped his feet with disappointment.
"The rascal is off, after all!" he exclaimed. "Two thousand pounds sacrificed!
He's as prodigal as a thief! I'll follow him to the end of the world
if necessary; but, at the rate he is going on, the stolen money will
soon be exhausted."
The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture.
Since leaving London, what with travelling expenses, bribes,
the purchase of the elephant, bails, and fines, Mr. Fogg
had already spent more than five thousand pounds on the way,
and the percentage of the sum recovered from the bank robber
promised to the detectives, was rapidly diminishing.
You are now at the end of the section:
"Around the World in 80 Days,
Chapters 11-15"
