Part 1 - Around the World in 80 Days Audiobook by Jules Verne (Chs 01-14)

Chapter I In Which Phileas Fogg And Passepartout
Accept Each Other, The One As Master, The Other As Man
Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington Gardens, the house
in which Sheridan died in 1814.
He was one of the most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always
to avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage, about whom little
was known, except that he was a polished man of the world.
People said that he resembled Byron--at least that his head was Byronic; but he was
a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without growing old.
Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg was a
Londoner.
He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank, nor in the counting-rooms of the
"City"; no ships ever came into London docks of which he was the owner; he had no
public employment; he had never been
entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln's Inn, or Gray's
Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of Chancery, or in the Exchequer,
or the Queen's Bench, or the Ecclesiastical Courts.
He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he a merchant or a gentleman farmer.
His name was strange to the scientific and learned societies, and he never was known
to take part in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London
Institution, the Artisan's Association, or the Institution of Arts and Sciences.
He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies which swarm in the
English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the Entomologists, founded mainly for
the purpose of abolishing pernicious insects.
Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all.
The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple enough.
He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit.
His cheques were regularly paid at sight from his account current, which was always
flush. Was Phileas Fogg rich?
Undoubtedly.
But those who knew him best could not imagine how he had made his fortune, and
Mr. Fogg was the last person to whom to apply for the information.
He was not lavish, nor, on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that
money was needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it quietly
and sometimes anonymously.
He was, in short, the least communicative of men.
He talked very little, and seemed all the more mysterious for his taciturn manner.
His daily habits were quite open to observation; but whatever he did was so
exactly the same thing that he had always done before, that the wits of the curious
were fairly puzzled.
Had he travelled? It was likely, for no one seemed to know
the world more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear to
have an intimate acquaintance with it.
He often corrected, with a few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by
members of the club as to lost and unheard- of travellers, pointing out the true
probabilities, and seeming as if gifted
with a sort of second sight, so often did events justify his predictions.
He must have travelled everywhere, at least in the spirit.
It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself from London for
many years.
Those who were honoured by a better acquaintance with him than the rest,
declared that nobody could pretend to have ever seen him anywhere else.
His sole pastimes were reading the papers and playing whist.
He often won at this game, which, as a silent one, harmonised with his nature; but
his winnings never went into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities.
Mr. Fogg played, not to win, but for the sake of playing.
The game was in his eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a
motionless, unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.
Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which may happen to the
most honest people; either relatives or near friends, which is certainly more
unusual.
He lived alone in his house in Saville Row, whither none penetrated.
A single domestic sufficed to serve him.
He breakfasted and dined at the club, at hours mathematically fixed, in the same
room, at the same table, never taking his meals with other members, much less
bringing a guest with him; and went home at
exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed.
He never used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured members.
He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row, either in sleeping or
making his toilet.
When he chose to take a walk it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its
mosaic flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome supported by twenty red
porphyry Ionic columns, and illumined by blue painted windows.
When he breakfasted or dined all the resources of the club--its kitchens and
pantries, its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his table with their most succulent
stores; he was served by the gravest
waiters, in dress coats, and shoes with swan-skin soles, who proffered the viands
in special porcelain, and on the finest linen; club decanters, of a lost mould,
contained his sherry, his port, and his
cinnamon-spiced claret; while his beverages were refreshingly cooled with ice, brought
at great cost from the American lakes.
If to live in this style is to be eccentric, it must be confessed that there
is something good in eccentricity. The mansion in Saville Row, though not
sumptuous, was exceedingly comfortable.
The habits of its occupant were such as to demand but little from the sole domestic,
but Phileas Fogg required him to be almost superhumanly prompt and regular.
On this very 2nd of October he had dismissed James Forster, because that
luckless youth had brought him shaving- water at eighty-four degrees Fahrenheit
instead of eighty-six; and he was awaiting
his successor, who was due at the house between eleven and half-past.
Phileas Fogg was seated squarely in his armchair, his feet close together like
those of a grenadier on parade, his hands resting on his knees, his body straight,
his head erect; he was steadily watching a
complicated clock which indicated the hours, the minutes, the seconds, the days,
the months, and the years.
At exactly half-past eleven Mr. Fogg would, according to his daily habit, quit Saville
Row, and repair to the Reform.
A rap at this moment sounded on the door of the cosy apartment where Phileas Fogg was
seated, and James Forster, the dismissed servant, appeared.
"The new servant," said he.
A young man of thirty advanced and bowed. "You are a Frenchman, I believe," asked
Phileas Fogg, "and your name is John?"
"Jean, if monsieur pleases," replied the newcomer, "Jean Passepartout, a surname
which has clung to me because I have a natural aptness for going out of one
business into another.
I believe I'm honest, monsieur, but, to be outspoken, I've had several trades.
I've been an itinerant singer, a circus- rider, when I used to vault like Leotard,
and dance on a rope like Blondin.
Then I got to be a professor of gymnastics, so as to make better use of my talents; and
then I was a sergeant fireman at Paris, and assisted at many a big fire.
But I quitted France five years ago, and, wishing to taste the sweets of domestic
life, took service as a valet here in England.
Finding myself out of place, and hearing that Monsieur Phileas Fogg was the most
exact and settled gentleman in the United Kingdom, I have come to monsieur in the
hope of living with him a tranquil life,
and forgetting even the name of Passepartout."
"Passepartout suits me," responded Mr. Fogg.
"You are well recommended to me; I hear a good report of you.
You know my conditions?" "Yes, monsieur."
"Good!
What time is it?" "Twenty-two minutes after eleven," returned
Passepartout, drawing an enormous silver watch from the depths of his pocket.
"You are too slow," said Mr. Fogg.
"Pardon me, monsieur, it is impossible--" "You are four minutes too slow.
No matter; it's enough to mention the error.
Now from this moment, twenty-nine minutes after eleven, a.m., this Wednesday, 2nd
October, you are in my service."
Phileas Fogg got up, took his hat in his left hand, put it on his head with an
automatic motion, and went off without a word.
Passepartout heard the street door shut once; it was his new master going out.
He heard it shut again; it was his predecessor, James Forster, departing in
his turn.
Passepartout remained alone in the house in Saville Row.
>
Chapter II In Which Passepartout Is Convinced That He
Has At Last Found His Ideal
"Faith," muttered Passepartout, somewhat flurried, "I've seen people at Madame
Tussaud's as lively as my new master!"
Madame Tussaud's "people," let it be said, are of wax, and are much visited in London;
speech is all that is wanting to make them human.
During his brief interview with Mr. Fogg, Passepartout had been carefully observing
him.
He appeared to be a man about forty years of age, with fine, handsome features, and a
tall, well-shaped figure; his hair and whiskers were light, his forehead compact
and unwrinkled, his face rather pale, his teeth magnificent.
His countenance possessed in the highest degree what physiognomists call "repose in
action," a quality of those who act rather than talk.
Calm and phlegmatic, with a clear eye, Mr. Fogg seemed a perfect type of that English
composure which Angelica Kauffmann has so skilfully represented on canvas.
Seen in the various phases of his daily life, he gave the idea of being perfectly
well-balanced, as exactly regulated as a Leroy chronometer.
Phileas Fogg was, indeed, exactitude personified, and this was betrayed even in
the expression of his very hands and feet; for in men, as well as in animals, the
limbs themselves are expressive of the passions.
He was so exact that he was never in a hurry, was always ready, and was economical
alike of his steps and his motions.
He never took one step too many, and always went to his destination by the shortest
cut; he made no superfluous gestures, and was never seen to be moved or agitated.
He was the most deliberate person in the world, yet always reached his destination
at the exact moment.
He lived alone, and, so to speak, outside of every social relation; and as he knew
that in this world account must be taken of friction, and that friction retards, he
never rubbed against anybody.
As for Passepartout, he was a true Parisian of Paris.
Since he had abandoned his own country for England, taking service as a valet, he had
in vain searched for a master after his own heart.
Passepartout was by no means one of those pert dunces depicted by Moliere with a bold
gaze and a nose held high in the air; he was an honest fellow, with a pleasant face,
lips a trifle protruding, soft-mannered and
serviceable, with a good round head, such as one likes to see on the shoulders of a
friend.
His eyes were blue, his complexion rubicund, his figure almost portly and
well-built, his body muscular, and his physical powers fully developed by the
exercises of his younger days.
His brown hair was somewhat tumbled; for, while the ancient sculptors are said to
have known eighteen methods of arranging Minerva's tresses, Passepartout was
familiar with but one of dressing his own:
three strokes of a large-tooth comb completed his toilet.
It would be rash to predict how Passepartout's lively nature would agree
with Mr. Fogg.
It was impossible to tell whether the new servant would turn out as absolutely
methodical as his master required; experience alone could solve the question.
Passepartout had been a sort of vagrant in his early years, and now yearned for
repose; but so far he had failed to find it, though he had already served in ten
English houses.
But he could not take root in any of these; with chagrin, he found his masters
invariably whimsical and irregular, constantly running about the country, or on
the look-out for adventure.
His last master, young Lord Longferry, Member of Parliament, after passing his
nights in the Haymarket taverns, was too often brought home in the morning on
policemen's shoulders.
Passepartout, desirous of respecting the gentleman whom he served, ventured a mild
remonstrance on such conduct; which, being ill-received, he took his leave.
Hearing that Mr. Phileas Fogg was looking for a servant, and that his life was one of
unbroken regularity, that he neither travelled nor stayed from home overnight,
he felt sure that this would be the place he was after.
He presented himself, and was accepted, as has been seen.
At half-past eleven, then, Passepartout found himself alone in the house in Saville
Row. He begun its inspection without delay,
scouring it from cellar to garret.
So clean, well-arranged, solemn a mansion pleased him; it seemed to him like a
snail's shell, lighted and warmed by gas, which sufficed for both these purposes.
When Passepartout reached the second story he recognised at once the room which he was
to inhabit, and he was well satisfied with it.
Electric bells and speaking-tubes afforded communication with the lower stories; while
on the mantel stood an electric clock, precisely like that in Mr. Fogg's
bedchamber, both beating the same second at the same instant.
"That's good, that'll do," said Passepartout to himself.
He suddenly observed, hung over the clock, a card which, upon inspection, proved to be
a programme of the daily routine of the house.
It comprised all that was required of the servant, from eight in the morning, exactly
at which hour Phileas Fogg rose, till half- past eleven, when he left the house for the
Reform Club--all the details of service,
the tea and toast at twenty-three minutes past eight, the shaving-water at thirty-
seven minutes past nine, and the toilet at twenty minutes before ten.
Everything was regulated and foreseen that was to be done from half-past eleven a.m.
till midnight, the hour at which the methodical gentleman retired.
Mr. Fogg's wardrobe was amply supplied and in the best taste.
Each pair of trousers, coat, and vest bore a number, indicating the time of year and
season at which they were in turn to be laid out for wearing; and the same system
was applied to the master's shoes.
In short, the house in Saville Row, which must have been a very temple of disorder
and unrest under the illustrious but dissipated Sheridan, was cosiness, comfort,
and method idealised.
There was no study, nor were there books, which would have been quite useless to Mr.
Fogg; for at the Reform two libraries, one of general literature and the other of law
and politics, were at his service.
A moderate-sized safe stood in his bedroom, constructed so as to defy fire as well as
burglars; but Passepartout found neither arms nor hunting weapons anywhere;
everything betrayed the most tranquil and peaceable habits.
Having scrutinised the house from top to bottom, he rubbed his hands, a broad smile
overspread his features, and he said joyfully, "This is just what I wanted!
Ah, we shall get on together, Mr. Fogg and I!
What a domestic and regular gentleman! A real machine; well, I don't mind serving
a machine."
>
Chapter III In Which A Conversation Takes Place Which
Seems Likely To Cost Phileas Fogg Dear
Phileas Fogg, having shut the door of his house at half-past eleven, and having put
his right foot before his left five hundred and seventy-five times, and his left foot
before his right five hundred and seventy-
six times, reached the Reform Club, an imposing edifice in Pall Mall, which could
not have cost less than three millions.
He repaired at once to the dining-room, the nine windows of which open upon a tasteful
garden, where the trees were already gilded with an autumn colouring; and took his
place at the habitual table, the cover of which had already been laid for him.
His breakfast consisted of a side-dish, a broiled fish with Reading sauce, a scarlet
slice of roast beef garnished with mushrooms, a rhubarb and gooseberry tart,
and a morsel of Cheshire cheese, the whole
being washed down with several cups of tea, for which the Reform is famous.
He rose at thirteen minutes to one, and directed his steps towards the large hall,
a sumptuous apartment adorned with lavishly-framed paintings.
A flunkey handed him an uncut Times, which he proceeded to cut with a skill which
betrayed familiarity with this delicate operation.
The perusal of this paper absorbed Phileas Fogg until a quarter before four, whilst
the Standard, his next task, occupied him till the dinner hour.
Dinner passed as breakfast had done, and Mr. Fogg re-appeared in the reading-room
and sat down to the Pall Mall at twenty minutes before six.
Half an hour later several members of the Reform came in and drew up to the
fireplace, where a coal fire was steadily burning.
They were Mr. Fogg's usual partners at whist: Andrew Stuart, an engineer; John
Sullivan and Samuel Fallentin, bankers; Thomas Flanagan, a brewer; and Gauthier
Ralph, one of the Directors of the Bank of
England--all rich and highly respectable personages, even in a club which comprises
the princes of English trade and finance. "Well, Ralph," said Thomas Flanagan, "what
about that robbery?"
"Oh," replied Stuart, "the Bank will lose the money."
"On the contrary," broke in Ralph, "I hope we may put our hands on the robber.
Skilful detectives have been sent to all the principal ports of America and the
Continent, and he'll be a clever fellow if he slips through their fingers."
"But have you got the robber's description?" asked Stuart.
"In the first place, he is no robber at all," returned Ralph, positively.
"What! a fellow who makes off with fifty- five thousand pounds, no robber?"
"No." "Perhaps he's a manufacturer, then."
"The Daily Telegraph says that he is a gentleman."
It was Phileas Fogg, whose head now emerged from behind his newspapers, who made this
remark.
He bowed to his friends, and entered into the conversation.
The affair which formed its subject, and which was town talk, had occurred three
days before at the Bank of England.
A package of banknotes, to the value of fifty-five thousand pounds, had been taken
from the principal cashier's table, that functionary being at the moment engaged in
registering the receipt of three shillings and sixpence.
Of course, he could not have his eyes everywhere.
Let it be observed that the Bank of England reposes a touching confidence in the
honesty of the public.
There are neither guards nor gratings to protect its treasures; gold, silver,
banknotes are freely exposed, at the mercy of the first comer.
A keen observer of English customs relates that, being in one of the rooms of the Bank
one day, he had the curiosity to examine a gold ingot weighing some seven or eight
pounds.
He took it up, scrutinised it, passed it to his neighbour, he to the next man, and so
on until the ingot, going from hand to hand, was transferred to the end of a dark
entry; nor did it return to its place for half an hour.
Meanwhile, the cashier had not so much as raised his head.
But in the present instance things had not gone so smoothly.
The package of notes not being found when five o'clock sounded from the ponderous
clock in the "drawing office," the amount was passed to the account of profit and
loss.
As soon as the robbery was discovered, picked detectives hastened off to
Liverpool, Glasgow, Havre, Suez, Brindisi, New York, and other ports, inspired by the
proffered reward of two thousand pounds,
and five per cent. on the sum that might be recovered.
Detectives were also charged with narrowly watching those who arrived at or left
London by rail, and a judicial examination was at once entered upon.
There were real grounds for supposing, as the Daily Telegraph said, that the thief
did not belong to a professional band.
On the day of the robbery a well-dressed gentleman of polished manners, and with a
well-to-do air, had been observed going to and fro in the paying room where the crime
was committed.
A description of him was easily procured and sent to the detectives; and some
hopeful spirits, of whom Ralph was one, did not despair of his apprehension.
The papers and clubs were full of the affair, and everywhere people were
discussing the probabilities of a successful pursuit; and the Reform Club was
especially agitated, several of its members being Bank officials.
Ralph would not concede that the work of the detectives was likely to be in vain,
for he thought that the prize offered would greatly stimulate their zeal and activity.
But Stuart was far from sharing this confidence; and, as they placed themselves
at the whist-table, they continued to argue the matter.
Stuart and Flanagan played together, while Phileas Fogg had Fallentin for his partner.
As the game proceeded the conversation ceased, excepting between the rubbers, when
it revived again.
"I maintain," said Stuart, "that the chances are in favour of the thief, who
must be a shrewd fellow." "Well, but where can he fly to?" asked
Ralph.
"No country is safe for him." "Pshaw!"
"Where could he go, then?" "Oh, I don't know that.
The world is big enough."
"It was once," said Phileas Fogg, in a low tone.
"Cut, sir," he added, handing the cards to Thomas Flanagan.
The discussion fell during the rubber, after which Stuart took up its thread.
"What do you mean by `once'? Has the world grown smaller?"
"Certainly," returned Ralph.
"I agree with Mr. Fogg. The world has grown smaller, since a man
can now go round it ten times more quickly than a hundred years ago.
And that is why the search for this thief will be more likely to succeed."
"And also why the thief can get away more easily."
"Be so good as to play, Mr. Stuart," said Phileas Fogg.
But the incredulous Stuart was not convinced, and when the hand was finished,
said eagerly: "You have a strange way, Ralph, of proving that the world has grown
smaller.
So, because you can go round it in three months--"
"In eighty days," interrupted Phileas Fogg. "That is true, gentlemen," added John
Sullivan.
"Only eighty days, now that the section between Rothal and Allahabad, on the Great
Indian Peninsula Railway, has been opened.
Here is the estimate made by the Daily Telegraph:
From London to Suez via Mont Cenis and Brindisi, by rail and steamboats...7 days
From Suez to Bombay, by steamer.....13 days
From Bombay to Calcutta, by rail.....3 days From Calcutta to Hong Kong,
by steamer........................13 days From Hong Kong to Yokohama
(Japan), by steamer................6 days
From Yokohama to San Francisco, by steamer........................22 days
From San Francisco to New York, by rail............................7 days
From New York to London, by steamer and rail...................9 days
------ Total..........................80
days"
"Yes, in eighty days!" exclaimed Stuart, who in his excitement made a false deal.
"But that doesn't take into account bad weather, contrary winds, shipwrecks,
railway accidents, and so on."
"All included," returned Phileas Fogg, continuing to play despite the discussion.
"But suppose the Hindoos or Indians pull up the rails," replied Stuart; "suppose they
stop the trains, pillage the luggage-vans, and scalp the passengers!"
"All included," calmly retorted Fogg; adding, as he threw down the cards, "Two
trumps."
Stuart, whose turn it was to deal, gathered them up, and went on: "You are right,
theoretically, Mr. Fogg, but practically--" "Practically also, Mr. Stuart."
"I'd like to see you do it in eighty days."
"It depends on you. Shall we go?"
"Heaven preserve me!
But I would wager four thousand pounds that such a journey, made under these
conditions, is impossible." "Quite possible, on the contrary," returned
Mr. Fogg.
"Well, make it, then!" "The journey round the world in eighty
days?" "Yes."
"I should like nothing better."
"When?" "At once.
Only I warn you that I shall do it at your expense."
"It's absurd!" cried Stuart, who was beginning to be annoyed at the persistency
of his friend. "Come, let's go on with the game."
"Deal over again, then," said Phileas Fogg.
"There's a false deal." Stuart took up the pack with a feverish
hand; then suddenly put them down again. "Well, Mr. Fogg," said he, "it shall be so:
I will wager the four thousand on it."
"Calm yourself, my dear Stuart," said Fallentin.
"It's only a joke." "When I say I'll wager," returned Stuart,
"I mean it."
"All right," said Mr. Fogg; and, turning to the others, he continued: "I have a deposit
of twenty thousand at Baring's which I will willingly risk upon it."
"Twenty thousand pounds!" cried Sullivan.
"Twenty thousand pounds, which you would lose by a single accidental delay!"
"The unforeseen does not exist," quietly replied Phileas Fogg.
"But, Mr. Fogg, eighty days are only the estimate of the least possible time in
which the journey can be made." "A well-used minimum suffices for
everything."
"But, in order not to exceed it, you must jump mathematically from the trains upon
the steamers, and from the steamers upon the trains again."
"I will jump--mathematically."
"You are joking." "A true Englishman doesn't joke when he is
talking about so serious a thing as a wager," replied Phileas Fogg, solemnly.
"I will bet twenty thousand pounds against anyone who wishes that I will make the tour
of the world in eighty days or less; in nineteen hundred and twenty hours, or a
hundred and fifteen thousand two hundred minutes.
Do you accept?" "We accept," replied Messrs.
Stuart, Fallentin, Sullivan, Flanagan, and Ralph, after consulting each other.
"Good," said Mr. Fogg. "The train leaves for Dover at a quarter
before nine.
I will take it." "This very evening?" asked Stuart.
"This very evening," returned Phileas Fogg.
He took out and consulted a pocket almanac, and added, "As today is Wednesday, the 2nd
of October, I shall be due in London in this very room of the Reform Club, on
Saturday, the 21st of December, at a
quarter before nine p.m.; or else the twenty thousand pounds, now deposited in my
name at Baring's, will belong to you, in fact and in right, gentlemen.
Here is a cheque for the amount."
A memorandum of the wager was at once drawn up and signed by the six parties, during
which Phileas Fogg preserved a stoical composure.
He certainly did not bet to win, and had only staked the twenty thousand pounds,
half of his fortune, because he foresaw that he might have to expend the other half
to carry out this difficult, not to say unattainable, project.
As for his antagonists, they seemed much agitated; not so much by the value of their
stake, as because they had some scruples about betting under conditions so difficult
to their friend.
The clock struck seven, and the party offered to suspend the game so that Mr.
Fogg might make his preparations for departure.
"I am quite ready now," was his tranquil response.
"Diamonds are trumps: be so good as to play, gentlemen."
>
Chapter IV IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG ASTOUNDS
PASSEPARTOUT, HIS SERVANT
Having won twenty guineas at whist, and taken leave of his friends, Phileas Fogg,
at twenty-five minutes past seven, left the Reform Club.
Passepartout, who had conscientiously studied the programme of his duties, was
more than surprised to see his master guilty of the inexactness of appearing at
this unaccustomed hour; for, according to
rule, he was not due in Saville Row until precisely midnight.
Mr. Fogg repaired to his bedroom, and called out, "Passepartout!"
Passepartout did not reply.
It could not be he who was called; it was not the right hour.
"Passepartout!" repeated Mr. Fogg, without raising his voice.
Passepartout made his appearance.
"I've called you twice," observed his master.
"But it is not midnight," responded the other, showing his watch.
"I know it; I don't blame you.
We start for Dover and Calais in ten minutes."
A puzzled grin overspread Passepartout's round face; clearly he had not comprehended
his master.
"Monsieur is going to leave home?" "Yes," returned Phileas Fogg.
"We are going round the world."
Passepartout opened wide his eyes, raised his eyebrows, held up his hands, and seemed
about to collapse, so overcome was he with stupefied astonishment.
"Round the world!" he murmured.
"In eighty days," responded Mr. Fogg. "So we haven't a moment to lose."
"But the trunks?" gasped Passepartout, unconsciously swaying his head from right
to left.
"We'll have no trunks; only a carpet-bag, with two shirts and three pairs of
stockings for me, and the same for you. We'll buy our clothes on the way.
Bring down my mackintosh and traveling- cloak, and some stout shoes, though we
shall do little walking. Make haste!"
Passepartout tried to reply, but could not.
He went out, mounted to his own room, fell into a chair, and muttered: "That's good,
that is! And I, who wanted to remain quiet!"
He mechanically set about making the preparations for departure.
Around the world in eighty days! Was his master a fool?
No. Was this a joke, then?
They were going to Dover; good! To Calais; good again!
After all, Passepartout, who had been away from France five years, would not be sorry
to set foot on his native soil again.
Perhaps they would go as far as Paris, and it would do his eyes good to see Paris once
more.
But surely a gentleman so chary of his steps would stop there; no doubt--but,
then, it was none the less true that he was going away, this so domestic person
hitherto!
By eight o'clock Passepartout had packed the modest carpet-bag, containing the
wardrobes of his master and himself; then, still troubled in mind, he carefully shut
the door of his room, and descended to Mr. Fogg.
Mr. Fogg was quite ready.
Under his arm might have been observed a red-bound copy of Bradshaw's Continental
Railway Steam Transit and General Guide, with its timetables showing the arrival and
departure of steamers and railways.
He took the carpet-bag, opened it, and slipped into it a goodly roll of Bank of
England notes, which would pass wherever he might go.
"You have forgotten nothing?" asked he.
"Nothing, monsieur." "My mackintosh and cloak?"
"Here they are." "Good!
Take this carpet-bag," handing it to Passepartout.
"Take good care of it, for there are twenty thousand pounds in it."
Passepartout nearly dropped the bag, as if the twenty thousand pounds were in gold,
and weighed him down.
Master and man then descended, the street- door was double-locked, and at the end of
Saville Row they took a cab and drove rapidly to Charing Cross.
The cab stopped before the railway station at twenty minutes past eight.
Passepartout jumped off the box and followed his master, who, after paying the
cabman, was about to enter the station, when a poor beggar-woman, with a child in
her arms, her naked feet smeared with mud,
her head covered with a wretched bonnet, from which hung a tattered feather, and her
shoulders shrouded in a ragged shawl, approached, and mournfully asked for alms.
Mr. Fogg took out the twenty guineas he had just won at whist, and handed them to the
beggar, saying, "Here, my good woman. I'm glad that I met you;" and passed on.
Passepartout had a moist sensation about the eyes; his master's action touched his
susceptible heart.
Two first-class tickets for Paris having been speedily purchased, Mr. Fogg was
crossing the station to the train, when he perceived his five friends of the Reform.
"Well, gentlemen," said he, "I'm off, you see; and, if you will examine my passport
when I get back, you will be able to judge whether I have accomplished the journey
agreed upon."
"Oh, that would be quite unnecessary, Mr. Fogg," said Ralph politely.
"We will trust your word, as a gentleman of honour."
"You do not forget when you are due in London again?" asked Stuart.
"In eighty days; on Saturday, the 21st of December, 1872, at a quarter before nine
p.m.
Good-bye, gentlemen."
Phileas Fogg and his servant seated themselves in a first-class carriage at
twenty minutes before nine; five minutes later the whistle screamed, and the train
slowly glided out of the station.
The night was dark, and a fine, steady rain was falling.
Phileas Fogg, snugly ensconced in his corner, did not open his lips.
Passepartout, not yet recovered from his stupefaction, clung mechanically to the
carpet-bag, with its enormous treasure.
Just as the train was whirling through Sydenham, Passepartout suddenly uttered a
cry of despair. "What's the matter?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"Alas!
In my hurry--I--I forgot--" "What?"
"To turn off the gas in my room!" "Very well, young man," returned Mr. Fogg,
coolly; "it will burn--at your expense."
>
Chapter V In Which A New Species Of Funds, Unknown To
The Moneyed Men, Appears On 'Change
Phileas Fogg rightly suspected that his departure from London would create a lively
sensation at the West End.
The news of the bet spread through the Reform Club, and afforded an exciting topic
of conversation to its members. From the club it soon got into the papers
throughout England.
The boasted "tour of the world" was talked about, disputed, argued with as much warmth
as if the subject were another Alabama claim.
Some took sides with Phileas Fogg, but the large majority shook their heads and
declared against him; it was absurd, impossible, they declared, that the tour of
the world could be made, except
theoretically and on paper, in this minimum of time, and with the existing means of
travelling.
The Times, Standard, Morning Post, and Daily News, and twenty other highly
respectable newspapers scouted Mr. Fogg's project as madness; the Daily Telegraph
alone hesitatingly supported him.
People in general thought him a lunatic, and blamed his Reform Club friends for
having accepted a wager which betrayed the mental aberration of its proposer.
Articles no less passionate than logical appeared on the question, for geography is
one of the pet subjects of the English; and the columns devoted to Phileas Fogg's
venture were eagerly devoured by all classes of readers.
At first some rash individuals, principally of the gentler sex, espoused his cause,
which became still more popular when the Illustrated London News came out with his
portrait, copied from a photograph in the Reform Club.
A few readers of the Daily Telegraph even dared to say, "Why not, after all?
Stranger things have come to pass."
At last a long article appeared, on the 7th of October, in the bulletin of the Royal
Geographical Society, which treated the question from every point of view, and
demonstrated the utter folly of the enterprise.
Everything, it said, was against the travellers, every obstacle imposed alike by
man and by nature.
A miraculous agreement of the times of departure and arrival, which was
impossible, was absolutely necessary to his success.
He might, perhaps, reckon on the arrival of trains at the designated hours, in Europe,
where the distances were relatively moderate; but when he calculated upon
crossing India in three days, and the
United States in seven, could he rely beyond misgiving upon accomplishing his
task?
There were accidents to machinery, the liability of trains to run off the line,
collisions, bad weather, the blocking up by snow--were not all these against Phileas
Fogg?
Would he not find himself, when travelling by steamer in winter, at the mercy of the
winds and fogs? Is it uncommon for the best ocean steamers
to be two or three days behind time?
But a single delay would suffice to fatally break the chain of communication; should
Phileas Fogg once miss, even by an hour; a steamer, he would have to wait for the
next, and that would irrevocably render his attempt vain.
This article made a great deal of noise, and, being copied into all the papers,
seriously depressed the advocates of the rash tourist.
Everybody knows that England is the world of betting men, who are of a higher class
than mere gamblers; to bet is in the English temperament.
Not only the members of the Reform, but the general public, made heavy wagers for or
against Phileas Fogg, who was set down in the betting books as if he were a race-
horse.
Bonds were issued, and made their appearance on 'Change; "Phileas Fogg bonds"
were offered at par or at a premium, and a great business was done in them.
But five days after the article in the bulletin of the Geographical Society
appeared, the demand began to subside: "Phileas Fogg" declined.
They were offered by packages, at first of five, then of ten, until at last nobody
would take less than twenty, fifty, a hundred!
Lord Albemarle, an elderly paralytic gentleman, was now the only advocate of
Phileas Fogg left.
This noble lord, who was fastened to his chair, would have given his fortune to be
able to make the tour of the world, if it took ten years; and he bet five thousand
pounds on Phileas Fogg.
When the folly as well as the uselessness of the adventure was pointed out to him, he
contented himself with replying, "If the thing is feasible, the first to do it ought
to be an Englishman."
The Fogg party dwindled more and more, everybody was going against him, and the
bets stood a hundred and fifty and two hundred to one; and a week after his
departure an incident occurred which deprived him of backers at any price.
The commissioner of police was sitting in his office at nine o'clock one evening,
when the following telegraphic dispatch was put into his hands:
Suez to London.
Rowan, Commissioner of Police, Scotland Yard:
I've found the bank robber, Phileas Fogg. Send with out delay warrant of arrest to
Bombay.
Fix, Detective. The effect of this dispatch was
instantaneous. The polished gentleman disappeared to give
place to the bank robber.
His photograph, which was hung with those of the rest of the members at the Reform
Club, was minutely examined, and it betrayed, feature by feature, the
description of the robber which had been provided to the police.
The mysterious habits of Phileas Fogg were recalled; his solitary ways, his sudden
departure; and it seemed clear that, in undertaking a tour round the world on the
pretext of a wager, he had had no other end
in view than to elude the detectives, and throw them off his track.
>
Chapter VI In Which Fix, The Detective, Betrays A Very
Natural Impatience
The circumstances under which this telegraphic dispatch about Phileas Fogg was
sent were as follows:
The steamer Mongolia, belonging to the Peninsular and Oriental Company, built of
iron, of two thousand eight hundred tons burden, and five hundred horse-power, was
due at eleven o'clock a.m. on Wednesday, the 9th of October, at Suez.
The Mongolia plied regularly between Brindisi and Bombay via the Suez Canal, and
was one of the fastest steamers belonging to the company, always making more than ten
knots an hour between Brindisi and Suez,
and nine and a half between Suez and Bombay.
Two men were promenading up and down the wharves, among the crowd of natives and
strangers who were sojourning at this once straggling village--now, thanks to the
enterprise of M. Lesseps, a fast-growing town.
One was the British consul at Suez, who, despite the prophecies of the English
Government, and the unfavourable predictions of Stephenson, was in the habit
of seeing, from his office window, English
ships daily passing to and fro on the great canal, by which the old roundabout route
from England to India by the Cape of Good Hope was abridged by at least a half.
The other was a small, slight-built personage, with a nervous, intelligent
face, and bright eyes peering out from under eyebrows which he was incessantly
twitching.
He was just now manifesting unmistakable signs of impatience, nervously pacing up
and down, and unable to stand still for a moment.
This was Fix, one of the detectives who had been dispatched from England in search of
the bank robber; it was his task to narrowly watch every passenger who arrived
at Suez, and to follow up all who seemed to
be suspicious characters, or bore a resemblance to the description of the
criminal, which he had received two days before from the police headquarters at
London.
The detective was evidently inspired by the hope of obtaining the splendid reward which
would be the prize of success, and awaited with a feverish impatience, easy to
understand, the arrival of the steamer Mongolia.
"So you say, consul," asked he for the twentieth time, "that this steamer is never
behind time?"
"No, Mr. Fix," replied the consul. "She was bespoken yesterday at Port Said,
and the rest of the way is of no account to such a craft.
I repeat that the Mongolia has been in advance of the time required by the
company's regulations, and gained the prize awarded for excess of speed."
"Does she come directly from Brindisi?"
"Directly from Brindisi; she takes on the Indian mails there, and she left there
Saturday at five p.m. Have patience, Mr. Fix; she will not be
late.
But really, I don't see how, from the description you have, you will be able to
recognise your man, even if he is on board the Mongolia."
"A man rather feels the presence of these fellows, consul, than recognises them.
You must have a scent for them, and a scent is like a sixth sense which combines
hearing, seeing, and smelling.
I've arrested more than one of these gentlemen in my time, and, if my thief is
on board, I'll answer for it; he'll not slip through my fingers."
"I hope so, Mr. Fix, for it was a heavy robbery."
"A magnificent robbery, consul; fifty-five thousand pounds!
We don't often have such windfalls.
Burglars are getting to be so contemptible nowadays!
A fellow gets hung for a handful of shillings!"
"Mr. Fix," said the consul, "I like your way of talking, and hope you'll succeed;
but I fear you will find it far from easy.
Don't you see, the description which you have there has a singular resemblance to an
honest man?"
"Consul," remarked the detective, dogmatically, "great robbers always
resemble honest folks.
Fellows who have rascally faces have only one course to take, and that is to remain
honest; otherwise they would be arrested off-hand.
The artistic thing is, to unmask honest countenances; it's no light task, I admit,
but a real art." Mr. Fix evidently was not wanting in a
tinge of self-conceit.
Little by little the scene on the quay became more animated; sailors of various
nations, merchants, ship-brokers, porters, fellahs, bustled to and fro as if the
steamer were immediately expected.
The weather was clear, and slightly chilly. The minarets of the town loomed above the
houses in the pale rays of the sun. A jetty pier, some two thousand yards
along, extended into the roadstead.
A number of fishing-smacks and coasting boats, some retaining the fantastic fashion
of ancient galleys, were discernible on the Red Sea.
As he passed among the busy crowd, Fix, according to habit, scrutinised the
passers-by with a keen, rapid glance. It was now half-past ten.
"The steamer doesn't come!" he exclaimed, as the port clock struck.
"She can't be far off now," returned his companion.
"How long will she stop at Suez?"
"Four hours; long enough to get in her coal.
It is thirteen hundred and ten miles from Suez to Aden, at the other end of the Red
Sea, and she has to take in a fresh coal supply."
"And does she go from Suez directly to Bombay?"
"Without putting in anywhere." "Good!" said Fix.
"If the robber is on board he will no doubt get off at Suez, so as to reach the Dutch
or French colonies in Asia by some other route.
He ought to know that he would not be safe an hour in India, which is English soil."
"Unless," objected the consul, "he is exceptionally shrewd.
An English criminal, you know, is always better concealed in London than anywhere
else."
This observation furnished the detective food for thought, and meanwhile the consul
went away to his office.
Fix, left alone, was more impatient than ever, having a presentiment that the robber
was on board the Mongolia.
If he had indeed left London intending to reach the New World, he would naturally
take the route via India, which was less watched and more difficult to watch than
that of the Atlantic.
But Fix's reflections were soon interrupted by a succession of sharp whistles, which
announced the arrival of the Mongolia.
The porters and fellahs rushed down the quay, and a dozen boats pushed off from the
shore to go and meet the steamer.
Soon her gigantic hull appeared passing along between the banks, and eleven o'clock
struck as she anchored in the road.
She brought an unusual number of passengers, some of whom remained on deck
to scan the picturesque panorama of the town, while the greater part disembarked in
the boats, and landed on the quay.
Fix took up a position, and carefully examined each face and figure which made
its appearance.
Presently one of the passengers, after vigorously pushing his way through the
importunate crowd of porters, came up to him and politely asked if he could point
out the English consulate, at the same time
showing a passport which he wished to have visaed.
Fix instinctively took the passport, and with a rapid glance read the description of
its bearer.
An involuntary motion of surprise nearly escaped him, for the description in the
passport was identical with that of the bank robber which he had received from
Scotland Yard.
"Is this your passport?" asked he. "No, it's my master's."
"And your master is--" "He stayed on board."
"But he must go to the consul's in person, so as to establish his identity."
"Oh, is that necessary?" "Quite indispensable."
"And where is the consulate?"
"There, on the corner of the square," said Fix, pointing to a house two hundred steps
off. "I'll go and fetch my master, who won't be
much pleased, however, to be disturbed."
The passenger bowed to Fix, and returned to the steamer.
>
Chapter VII Which Once More Demonstrates The
Uselessness Of Passports As Aids To Detectives
The detective passed down the quay, and rapidly made his way to the consul's
office, where he was at once admitted to the presence of that official.
"Consul," said he, without preamble, "I have strong reasons for believing that my
man is a passenger on the Mongolia." And he narrated what had just passed
concerning the passport.
"Well, Mr. Fix," replied the consul, "I shall not be sorry to see the rascal's
face; but perhaps he won't come here--that is, if he is the person you suppose him to
be.
A robber doesn't quite like to leave traces of his flight behind him; and, besides, he
is not obliged to have his passport countersigned."
"If he is as shrewd as I think he is, consul, he will come."
"To have his passport visaed?"
"Yes. Passports are only good for annoying honest folks, and aiding in the flight of
rogues.
I assure you it will be quite the thing for him to do; but I hope you will not visa the
passport." "Why not?
If the passport is genuine I have no right to refuse."
"Still, I must keep this man here until I can get a warrant to arrest him from
London."
"Ah, that's your look-out. But I cannot--"
The consul did not finish his sentence, for as he spoke a knock was heard at the door,
and two strangers entered, one of whom was the servant whom Fix had met on the quay.
The other, who was his master, held out his passport with the request that the consul
would do him the favour to visa it.
The consul took the document and carefully read it, whilst Fix observed, or rather
devoured, the stranger with his eyes from a corner of the room.
"You are Mr. Phileas Fogg?" said the consul, after reading the passport.
"I am." "And this man is your servant?"
"He is: a Frenchman, named Passepartout."
"You are from London?" "Yes."
"And you are going--" "To Bombay."
"Very good, sir.
You know that a visa is useless, and that no passport is required?"
"I know it, sir," replied Phileas Fogg; "but I wish to prove, by your visa, that I
came by Suez."
"Very well, sir." The consul proceeded to sign and date the
passport, after which he added his official seal.
Mr. Fogg paid the customary fee, coldly bowed, and went out, followed by his
servant. "Well?" queried the detective.
"Well, he looks and acts like a perfectly honest man," replied the consul.
"Possibly; but that is not the question.
Do you think, consul, that this phlegmatic gentleman resembles, feature by feature,
the robber whose description I have received?"
"I concede that; but then, you know, all descriptions--"
"I'll make certain of it," interrupted Fix.
"The servant seems to me less mysterious than the master; besides, he's a Frenchman,
and can't help talking. Excuse me for a little while, consul."
Fix started off in search of Passepartout.
Meanwhile Mr. Fogg, after leaving the consulate, repaired to the quay, gave some
orders to Passepartout, went off to the Mongolia in a boat, and descended to his
cabin.
He took up his note-book, which contained the following memoranda:
"Left London, Wednesday, October 2nd, at 8.45 p.m.
"Reached Paris, Thursday, October 3rd, at 7.20 a.m.
"Left Paris, Thursday, at 8.40 a.m. "Reached Turin by Mont Cenis, Friday,
October 4th, at 6.35 a.m.
"Left Turin, Friday, at 7.20 a.m. "Arrived at Brindisi, Saturday, October
5th, at 4 p.m. "Sailed on the Mongolia, Saturday, at 5
p.m.
"Reached Suez, Wednesday, October 9th, at 11 a.m.
"Total of hours spent, 158+; or, in days, six days and a half."
These dates were inscribed in an itinerary divided into columns, indicating the month,
the day of the month, and the day for the stipulated and actual arrivals at each
principal point Paris, Brindisi, Suez,
Bombay, Calcutta, Singapore, Hong Kong, Yokohama, San Francisco, New York, and
London--from the 2nd of October to the 21st of December; and giving a space for setting
down the gain made or the loss suffered on arrival at each locality.
This methodical record thus contained an account of everything needed, and Mr. Fogg
always knew whether he was behind-hand or in advance of his time.
On this Friday, October 9th, he noted his arrival at Suez, and observed that he had
as yet neither gained nor lost.
He sat down quietly to breakfast in his cabin, never once thinking of inspecting
the town, being one of those Englishmen who are wont to see foreign countries through
the eyes of their domestics.
>
Chapter VIII In Which Passepartout Talks Rather More,
Perhaps, Than Is Prudent
Fix soon rejoined Passepartout, who was lounging and looking about on the quay, as
if he did not feel that he, at least, was obliged not to see anything.
"Well, my friend," said the detective, coming up with him, "is your passport
visaed?" "Ah, it's you, is it, monsieur?" responded
Passepartout.
"Thanks, yes, the passport is all right." "And you are looking about you?"
"Yes; but we travel so fast that I seem to be journeying in a dream.
So this is Suez?"
"Yes." "In Egypt?"
"Certainly, in Egypt." "And in Africa?"
"In Africa."
"In Africa!" repeated Passepartout.
"Just think, monsieur, I had no idea that we should go farther than Paris; and all
that I saw of Paris was between twenty minutes past seven and twenty minutes
before nine in the morning, between the
Northern and the Lyons stations, through the windows of a car, and in a driving
rain!
How I regret not having seen once more Pere la Chaise and the circus in the Champs
Elysees!" "You are in a great hurry, then?"
"I am not, but my master is.
By the way, I must buy some shoes and shirts.
We came away without trunks, only with a carpet-bag."
"I will show you an excellent shop for getting what you want."
"Really, monsieur, you are very kind." And they walked off together, Passepartout
chatting volubly as they went along.
"Above all," said he; "don't let me lose the steamer."
"You have plenty of time; it's only twelve o'clock."
Passepartout pulled out his big watch.
"Twelve!" he exclaimed; "why, it's only eight minutes before ten."
"Your watch is slow." "My watch?
A family watch, monsieur, which has come down from my great-grandfather!
It doesn't vary five minutes in the year. It's a perfect chronometer, look you."
"I see how it is," said Fix.
"You have kept London time, which is two hours behind that of Suez.
You ought to regulate your watch at noon in each country."
"I regulate my watch?
Never!" "Well, then, it will not agree with the
sun." "So much the worse for the sun, monsieur.
The sun will be wrong, then!"
And the worthy fellow returned the watch to its fob with a defiant gesture.
After a few minutes silence, Fix resumed: "You left London hastily, then?"
"I rather think so!
Last Friday at eight o'clock in the evening, Monsieur Fogg came home from his
club, and three-quarters of an hour afterwards we were off."
"But where is your master going?"
"Always straight ahead. He is going round the world."
"Round the world?" cried Fix. "Yes, and in eighty days!
He says it is on a wager; but, between us, I don't believe a word of it.
That wouldn't be common sense. There's something else in the wind."
"Ah! Mr. Fogg is a character, is he?"
"I should say he was." "Is he rich?"
"No doubt, for he is carrying an enormous sum in brand new banknotes with him.
And he doesn't spare the money on the way, either: he has offered a large reward to
the engineer of the Mongolia if he gets us to Bombay well in advance of time."
"And you have known your master a long time?"
"Why, no; I entered his service the very day we left London."
The effect of these replies upon the already suspicious and excited detective
may be imagined.
The hasty departure from London soon after the robbery; the large sum carried by Mr.
Fogg; his eagerness to reach distant countries; the pretext of an eccentric and
foolhardy bet--all confirmed Fix in his theory.
He continued to pump poor Passepartout, and learned that he really knew little or
nothing of his master, who lived a solitary existence in London, was said to be rich,
though no one knew whence came his riches,
and was mysterious and impenetrable in his affairs and habits.
Fix felt sure that Phileas Fogg would not land at Suez, but was really going on to
Bombay.
"Is Bombay far from here?" asked Passepartout.
"Pretty far. It is a ten days' voyage by sea."
"And in what country is Bombay?"
"India." "In Asia?"
"Certainly." "The deuce!
I was going to tell you there's one thing that worries me--my burner!"
"What burner?"
"My gas-burner, which I forgot to turn off, and which is at this moment burning at my
expense.
I have calculated, monsieur, that I lose two shillings every four and twenty hours,
exactly sixpence more than I earn; and you will understand that the longer our
journey--"
Did Fix pay any attention to Passepartout's trouble about the gas?
It is not probable. He was not listening, but was cogitating a
project.
Passepartout and he had now reached the shop, where Fix left his companion to make
his purchases, after recommending him not to miss the steamer, and hurried back to
the consulate.
Now that he was fully convinced, Fix had quite recovered his equanimity.
"Consul," said he, "I have no longer any doubt.
I have spotted my man.
He passes himself off as an odd stick who is going round the world in eighty days."
"Then he's a sharp fellow," returned the consul, "and counts on returning to London
after putting the police of the two countries off his track."
"We'll see about that," replied Fix.
"But are you not mistaken?" "I am not mistaken."
"Why was this robber so anxious to prove, by the visa, that he had passed through
Suez?"
"Why? I have no idea; but listen to me." He reported in a few words the most
important parts of his conversation with Passepartout.
"In short," said the consul, "appearances are wholly against this man.
And what are you going to do?"
"Send a dispatch to London for a warrant of arrest to be dispatched instantly to
Bombay, take passage on board the Mongolia, follow my rogue to India, and there, on
English ground, arrest him politely, with
my warrant in my hand, and my hand on his shoulder."
Having uttered these words with a cool, careless air, the detective took leave of
the consul, and repaired to the telegraph office, whence he sent the dispatch which
we have seen to the London police office.
A quarter of an hour later found Fix, with a small bag in his hand, proceeding on
board the Mongolia; and, ere many moments longer, the noble steamer rode out at full
steam upon the waters of the Red Sea.
>
Chapter IX In Which The Red Sea And The Indian Ocean
Prove Propitious To The Designs Of Phileas Fogg
The distance between Suez and Aden is precisely thirteen hundred and ten miles,
and the regulations of the company allow the steamers one hundred and thirty-eight
hours in which to traverse it.
The Mongolia, thanks to the vigorous exertions of the engineer, seemed likely,
so rapid was her speed, to reach her destination considerably within that time.
The greater part of the passengers from Brindisi were bound for India some for
Bombay, others for Calcutta by way of Bombay, the nearest route thither, now that
a railway crosses the Indian peninsula.
Among the passengers was a number of officials and military officers of various
grades, the latter being either attached to the regular British forces or commanding
the Sepoy troops, and receiving high
salaries ever since the central government has assumed the powers of the East India
Company: for the sub-lieutenants get 280 pounds, brigadiers, 2,400 pounds, and
generals of divisions, 4,000 pounds.
What with the military men, a number of rich young Englishmen on their travels, and
the hospitable efforts of the purser, the time passed quickly on the Mongolia.
The best of fare was spread upon the cabin tables at breakfast, lunch, dinner, and the
eight o'clock supper, and the ladies scrupulously changed their toilets twice a
day; and the hours were whirled away, when
the sea was tranquil, with music, dancing, and games.
But the Red Sea is full of caprice, and often boisterous, like most long and narrow
gulfs.
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.
How did this eccentric personage pass his time on the Mongolia?
He made his four hearty meals every day, regardless of the most persistent rolling
and pitching on the part of the steamer; and he played whist indefatigably, for he
had found partners as enthusiastic in the game as himself.
A tax-collector, on the way to his post at Goa; the Rev. Decimus Smith, returning to
his parish at Bombay; and a brigadier- general of the English army, who was about
to rejoin his brigade at Benares, made up
the party, and, with Mr. Fogg, played whist by the hour together in absorbing silence.
As for Passepartout, he, too, had escaped sea-sickness, and took his meals
conscientiously in the forward cabin.
He rather enjoyed the voyage, for he was well fed and well lodged, took a great
interest in the scenes through which they were passing, and consoled himself with the
delusion that his master's whim would end at Bombay.
He was pleased, on the day after leaving Suez, to find on deck the obliging person
with whom he had walked and chatted on the quays.
"If I am not mistaken," said he, approaching this person, with his most
amiable smile, "you are the gentleman who so kindly volunteered to guide me at Suez?"
"Ah! I quite recognise you.
You are the servant of the strange Englishman--"
"Just so, monsieur--" "Fix."
"Monsieur Fix," resumed Passepartout, "I'm charmed to find you on board.
Where are you bound?" "Like you, to Bombay."
"That's capital!
Have you made this trip before?" "Several times.
I am one of the agents of the Peninsular Company."
"Then you know India?"
"Why yes," replied Fix, who spoke cautiously.
"A curious place, this India?" "Oh, very curious.
Mosques, minarets, temples, fakirs, pagodas, tigers, snakes, elephants!
I hope you will have ample time to see the sights."
"I hope so, Monsieur Fix.
You see, a man of sound sense ought not to spend his life jumping from a steamer upon
a railway train, and from a railway train upon a steamer again, pretending to make
the tour of the world in eighty days!
No; all these gymnastics, you may be sure, will cease at Bombay."
"And Mr. Fogg is getting on well?" asked Fix, in the most natural tone in the world.
"Quite well, and I too.
I eat like a famished ogre; it's the sea air."
"But I never see your master on deck." "Never; he hasn't the least curiosity."
"Do you know, Mr. Passepartout, that this pretended tour in eighty days may conceal
some secret errand--perhaps a diplomatic mission?"
"Faith, Monsieur Fix, I assure you I know nothing about it, nor would I give half a
crown to find out."
After this meeting, Passepartout and Fix got into the habit of chatting together,
the latter making it a point to gain the worthy man's confidence.
He frequently offered him a glass of whiskey or pale ale in the steamer bar-
room, which Passepartout never failed to accept with graceful alacrity, mentally
pronouncing Fix the best of good fellows.
Meanwhile the Mongolia was pushing forward rapidly; on the 13th, Mocha, surrounded by
its ruined walls whereon date-trees were growing, was sighted, and on the mountains
beyond were espied vast coffee-fields.
Passepartout was ravished to behold this celebrated place, and thought that, with
its circular walls and dismantled fort, it looked like an immense coffee-cup and
saucer.
The following night they passed through the Strait of Bab-el-Mandeb, which means in
Arabic The Bridge of Tears, and the next day they put in at Steamer Point, north-
west of Aden harbour, to take in coal.
This matter of fuelling steamers is a serious one at such distances from the
coal-mines; it costs the Peninsular Company some eight hundred thousand pounds a year.
In these distant seas, coal is worth three or four pounds sterling a ton.
The Mongolia had still sixteen hundred and fifty miles to traverse before reaching
Bombay, and was obliged to remain four hours at Steamer Point to coal up.
But this delay, as it was foreseen, did not affect Phileas Fogg's programme; besides,
the Mongolia, instead of reaching Aden on the morning of the 15th, when she was due,
arrived there on the evening of the 14th, a gain of fifteen hours.
Mr. Fogg and his servant went ashore at Aden to have the passport again visaed;
Fix, unobserved, followed them.
The visa procured, Mr. Fogg returned on board to resume his former habits; while
Passepartout, according to custom, sauntered about among the mixed population
of Somalis, Banyans, Parsees, Jews, Arabs,
and Europeans who comprise the twenty-five thousand inhabitants of Aden.
He gazed with wonder upon the fortifications which make this place the
Gibraltar of the Indian Ocean, and the vast cisterns where the English engineers were
still at work, two thousand years after the engineers of Solomon.
"Very curious, very curious," said Passepartout to himself, on returning to
the steamer.
"I see that it is by no means useless to travel, if a man wants to see something
new."
At six p.m. the Mongolia slowly moved out of the roadstead, and was soon once more on
the Indian Ocean.
She had a hundred and sixty-eight hours in which to reach Bombay, and the sea was
favourable, the wind being in the north- west, and all sails aiding the engine.
The steamer rolled but little, the ladies, in fresh toilets, reappeared on deck, and
the singing and dancing were resumed.
The trip was being accomplished most successfully, and Passepartout was
enchanted with the congenial companion which chance had secured him in the person
of the delightful Fix.
On Sunday, October 20th, towards noon, they came in sight of the Indian coast: two
hours later the pilot came on board.
A range of hills lay against the sky in the horizon, and soon the rows of palms which
adorn Bombay came distinctly into view.
The steamer entered the road formed by the islands in the bay, and at half-past four
she hauled up at the quays of Bombay.
Phileas Fogg was in the act of finishing the thirty-third rubber of the voyage, and
his partner and himself having, by a bold stroke, captured all thirteen of the
tricks, concluded this fine campaign with a brilliant victory.
The Mongolia was due at Bombay on the 22nd; she arrived on the 20th.
This was a gain to Phileas Fogg of two days since his departure from London, and he
calmly entered the fact in the itinerary, in the column of gains.
>
Chapter X In Which Passepartout Is Only Too Glad To
Get Off With The Loss Of His Shoes
Everybody knows that the great reversed triangle of land, with its base in the
north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen hundred
thousand square miles, upon which is spread
unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls.
The British Crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the larger portion
of this vast country, and has a governor- general stationed at Calcutta, governors at
Madras, Bombay, and in Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra.
But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousand square
miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten millions of
inhabitants.
A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority; and there are
certain ferocious rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent.
The celebrated East India Company was all- powerful from 1756, when the English first
gained a foothold on the spot where now stands the city of Madras, down to the time
of the great Sepoy insurrection.
It gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them of the native
chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the governor-general and his subordinates,
civil and military.
But the East India Company has now passed away, leaving the British possessions in
India directly under the control of the Crown.
The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, is daily
changing.
Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods of going on
foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches; now fast steamboats ply
on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great
railway, with branch lines joining the main line at many points on its route, traverses
the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days.
This railway does not run in a direct line across India.
The distance between Bombay and Calcutta, as the bird flies, is only from one
thousand to eleven hundred miles; but the deflections of the road increase this
distance by more than a third.
The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows: Leaving
Bombay, it passes through Salcette, crossing to the continent opposite Tannah,
goes over the chain of the Western Ghauts,
runs thence north-east as far as Burhampoor, skirts the nearly independent
territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, turns thence eastwardly, meeting
the Ganges at Benares, then departs from
the river a little, and, descending south- eastward by Burdivan and the French town of
Chandernagor, has its terminus at Calcutta.
The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half-past four p.m.; at exactly eight
the train would start for Calcutta.
Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whist partners, left the steamer, gave his
servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be at the station promptly at
eight, and, with his regular step, which
beat to the second, like an astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport
office.
As for the wonders of Bombay its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts
and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the
noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two
polygonal towers--he cared not a straw to see them.
He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or the
mysterious hypogea, concealed south-east from the docks, or those fine remains of
Buddhist architecture, the Kanherian grottoes of the island of Salcette.
Having transacted his business at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repaired
quietly to the railway station, where he ordered dinner.
Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended a certain
giblet of "native rabbit," on which he prided himself.
Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but, despite its spiced sauce, found it far from
palatable.
He rang for the landlord, and, on his appearance, said, fixing his clear eyes
upon him, "Is this rabbit, sir?" "Yes, my lord," the rogue boldly replied,
"rabbit from the jungles."
"And this rabbit did not mew when he was killed?"
"Mew, my lord! What, a rabbit mew!
I swear to you--"
"Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this: cats were formerly
considered, in India, as sacred animals. That was a good time."
"For the cats, my lord?"
"Perhaps for the travellers as well!" After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his
dinner.
Fix had gone on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the
headquarters of the Bombay police.
He made himself known as a London detective, told his business at Bombay, and
the position of affairs relative to the supposed robber, and nervously asked if a
warrant had arrived from London.
It had not reached the office; indeed, there had not yet been time for it to
arrive.
Fix was sorely disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director
of the Bombay police.
This the director refused, as the matter concerned the London office, which alone
could legally deliver the warrant.
Fix did not insist, and was fain to resign himself to await the arrival of the
important document; but he was determined not to lose sight of the mysterious rogue
as long as he stayed in Bombay.
He did not doubt for a moment, any more than Passepartout, that Phileas Fogg would
remain there, at least until it was time for the warrant to arrive.
Passepartout, however, had no sooner heard his master's orders on leaving the Mongolia
than he saw at once that they were to leave Bombay as they had done Suez and Paris, and
that the journey would be extended at least
as far as Calcutta, and perhaps beyond that place.
He began to ask himself if this bet that Mr. Fogg talked about was not really in
good earnest, and whether his fate was not in truth forcing him, despite his love of
repose, around the world in eighty days!
Having purchased the usual quota of shirts and shoes, he took a leisurely promenade
about the streets, where crowds of people of many nationalities--Europeans, Persians
with pointed caps, Banyas with round
turbans, Sindes with square bonnets, Parsees with black mitres, and long-robed
Armenians--were collected. It happened to be the day of a Parsee
festival.
These descendants of the sect of Zoroaster- -the most thrifty, civilised, intelligent,
and austere of the East Indians, among whom are counted the richest native merchants of
Bombay--were celebrating a sort of
religious carnival, with processions and shows, in the midst of which Indian
dancing-girls, clothed in rose-coloured gauze, looped up with gold and silver,
danced airily, but with perfect modesty, to
the sound of viols and the clanging of tambourines.
It is needless to say that Passepartout watched these curious ceremonies with
staring eyes and gaping mouth, and that his countenance was that of the greenest booby
imaginable.
Unhappily for his master, as well as himself, his curiosity drew him
unconsciously farther off than he intended to go.
At last, having seen the Parsee carnival wind away in the distance, he was turning
his steps towards the station, when he happened to espy the splendid pagoda on
Malabar Hill, and was seized with an irresistible desire to see its interior.
He was quite ignorant that it is forbidden to Christians to enter certain Indian
temples, and that even the faithful must not go in without first leaving their shoes
outside the door.
It may be said here that the wise policy of the British Government severely punishes a
disregard of the practices of the native religions.
Passepartout, however, thinking no harm, went in like a simple tourist, and was soon
lost in admiration of the splendid Brahmin ornamentation which everywhere met his
eyes, when of a sudden he found himself sprawling on the sacred flagging.
He looked up to behold three enraged priests, who forthwith fell upon him; tore
off his shoes, and began to beat him with loud, savage exclamations.
The agile Frenchman was soon upon his feet again, and lost no time in knocking down
two of his long-gowned adversaries with his fists and a vigorous application of his
toes; then, rushing out of the pagoda as
fast as his legs could carry him, he soon escaped the third priest by mingling with
the crowd in the streets.
At five minutes before eight, Passepartout, hatless, shoeless, and having in the
squabble lost his package of shirts and shoes, rushed breathlessly into the
station.
Fix, who had followed Mr. Fogg to the station, and saw that he was really going
to leave Bombay, was there, upon the platform.
He had resolved to follow the supposed robber to Calcutta, and farther, if
necessary.
Passepartout did not observe the detective, who stood in an obscure corner; but Fix
heard him relate his adventures in a few words to Mr. Fogg.
"I hope that this will not happen again," said Phileas Fogg coldly, as he got into
the train. Poor Passepartout, quite crestfallen,
followed his master without a word.
Fix was on the point of entering another carriage, when an idea struck him which
induced him to alter his plan. "No, I'll stay," muttered he.
"An offence has been committed on Indian soil.
I've got my man."
Just then the locomotive gave a sharp screech, and the train passed out into the
darkness of the night.
>
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 upon 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 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 and 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 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 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.
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