Showing what happened to Phileas Fogg and his Companions as they traversed the Forest.
The guide, hoping to shorten the journey, kept to the left of the railroad line, which would be carried in a circuitous manner through the Vindhia Mountains when completed. The Parsee, who was well acquainted with all the byways, declared that twenty miles would be saved by striking directly across the forest; so the party yielded.
Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, buried up to their necks in the howdahs, got terribly shaken by the rough trotting of the elephant, which was urged by the driver. But they put up with the inconvenience with true British self-restraint; they spoke but seldom and scarcely looked at each other.
Passe-partout was obliged to be very careful not to keep his tongue between his teeth, else it would have been bitten off, so unmercifully was he jogged up and down. The brave fellow, sometimes thrown forward on the animal's neck, sometimes upon the croup, performed a series of vaulting movements something like a circus clown on the "spring-board." But all the time he joked and laughed at the somersaults he performed so involuntarily; occasionally he took out a lump of sugar from his pocket and handed it to Kiouni, who took it in his trunk without slackening his pace for a second.
After proceeding thus for a couple of hours, the driver called a halt and gave the elephant an hour's rest. The animal ate all the branches and shrubs in the vicinity, as soon as he had quenched his thirst at a neighbouring spring. Sir Francis did not complain of this delay; he was terribly bruised. Mr. Fogg did not appear any more discomposed than if he had only got out of bed.
"He is a man of iron!" exclaimed the general, as he gazed at his companion admiringly.
"Of hammered iron," replied Passe-partout, who was preparing a hasty breakfast.
At noon the driver gave the signal for departure. The country soon became very wild. The dense forest was succeeded by groves of dates and palms; then came extensive arid plains dotted here and there with bushes, and sprinkled with immense blocks of syenite. The whole of this region of Bundelcund, which is seldom traversed, is inhabited by a fanatical people inured to the most fearful practices of the Hindoos. The English Government has scarcely yet entirely obtained the control over this region, which is ruled by rajahs, who are very difficult to bring to book from their almost inaccessible mountain fastnesses. Many times the travellers noticed bands of fierce natives, who gesticulated angrily at perceiving the swift-footed elephant pass by; and the Parsee took care to give them all a wide berth. They encountered very few wild animals; even monkeys were not numerous, and they fled away with grimaces and gestures, which amused Passe-partout very much indeed.
One reflection, however, troubled Passe-partout exceedingly, and that was how would his master dispose of the elephant when they reached Allahabad? Would he take it on with him? That was scarcely possible. The price of conveyance, added to the purchase-money, would be ruinous. Would he sell the beast or set him free? No doubt the animal deserved some consideration. Suppose Mr. Fogg made him, Passe-partout, a present of the elephant? He would feel very much embarrassed. So these considerations worried the valet not a little.
At eight o'clock they had crossed the principal heights of the Vindhia chain, and at a ruined bungalow upon the southern slope of the mountains our travellers halted again.
The distance traversed was about twenty-five miles, and they had still as far to go to reach Allahabad. The night was quite chilly. A fire lighted by the Parsee was very acceptable, and the travellers made an excellent supper of the provisions they had purchased at Kholby. The intermittent conversation soon gave way to steady snoring. The guide kept watch by the elephant, which slept outside, supported by the trunk of an enormous tree.
Nothing happened to disturb the party during the night. Now and then the growls of wild animals, or the chattering of monkeys, broke the silence, but nothing more terrible was heard, and the larger animals did not disturb the occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis Cromarty "lay like a warrior taking his rest." Passe-partout, in a restless sleep, appeared to be practising the gymnastics he had executed on the elephant's back. As for Mr. Fogg, he slept as peacefully as if he were in his quiet bed in Saville Row.
At six o'clock they resumed their journey. The guide hoped to reach Allahabad that evening. In that case Mr. Fogg would only lose a portion of the eight-and-forty hours already saved since the commencement of the trip.
They descended the last slopes of the Vindhias. The elephant resumed his rapid pace. Towards mid-day the guide passed round the village of Kallenger on the Cani, one of the small affluents of the Ganges. He appeared to avoid all inhabited places, feeling more secure in the deserted tracts. Allahabad was thence only a dozen miles off in a north-easterly direction. They halted once more under a banana-tree, the fruit of which, as wholesome as bread and "as succulent as cream," as they said, was highly appreciated by our travellers.
At two o'clock they entered a dense forest, which they had to traverse for some miles. The guide preferred to travel in the shade of the woods. So far at any rate they had encountered nothing unpleasant, and there was every reason to suppose that the journey would be accomplished without accident, when the elephant, after a few premonitory symptoms, stopped suddenly.
It was then four o'clock in the afternoon.
"What is the matter?" asked Sir Francis Cromarty, putting his head up over the top of his howdah.
"I don't know, sir," replied the Parsee, listening intently to a confused murmuring sound which came through the thickly-interlacing branches.
Soon the sound became more defined. One might have fancied it was a concert at a great distance; composed of human voices and brass instruments all performing at once. Passe-partout was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg waited patiently without uttering a word.
The Parsee leaped down, fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thick underwood. In a few moments he came back, exclaiming: "A procession of Brahmins is coming this way! Let us hide ourselves if we can."
As he spoke he loosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, bidding the travellers to stay where they were. He was ready to remount should flight be necessary, but he thought that the procession would pass without noticing the party, for the thick foliage completely concealed them.
The discordant sounds kept approaching—a monotonous kind of chant, mingled with the beating of tom-toms and the clash of cymbals. The head of the procession soon became visible beneath the trees about fifty paces off, and Mr. Fogg and his party easily distinguished the curious individuals who composed it.
The priests, wearing mitres and long robes trimmed with lace, marched in front. They were surrounded by a motley crowd of men, women, and children, who were chanting a sort of funeral hymn, broken at intervals by the sound of the various instruments. Behind these came, on a car (the large wheels of which, spokes and all, were ornamented with the similitude of serpents), a hideous figure drawn by four richly-caparisoned zebus. This idol had four arms, the body was painted a dusky red, with staring eyes, matted hair, a protruding tongue, and lips tinted with henna and betel. Round its neck was hung a necklace of skulls, and it was girt with a zone of human hands; it stood upright upon the headless trunk of a giant figure.
Sir Francis Cromarty recognised the idol at once.
"That is the goddess Káli," he whispered; "the goddess of love and of death."
"Of death I can understand, but not of love," muttered Passe-partout; "what a villainous hag it is!"
The Parsee signed to him to hold his tongue.
Around the idol a number of fakirs danced and twirled about.
These wretches were daubed with ochre, and covered with wounds, from which the blood issued drop by drop; absurd idiots, who would throw themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut's chariot had they the opportunity.
Behind these fanatics marched some Brahmins, clad in all their oriental sumptuousness of garb, dragging a woman along, who faltered at each step.
This female was young, and as white as a European. Her head, neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and ankles were covered with jewels, bracelets, or rings. A gold-laced tunic, over which she wore a thin muslin robe, revealed the swelling contours of her form.
Behind this young woman, and in violent contrast to her, came a guard, armed with naked sabres and long damascened pistols, carrying a dead body in a palanquin.
The corpse was that of an old man clothed in the rich dress of a rajah; the turban embroidered with pearls, the robe of silk tissue and gold, the girdle of cashmere studded with diamonds, and wearing the beautiful weapons of an Indian prince.
The musicians brought up the rear with a guard of fanatics, whose cries even drowned the noise of the instruments at times. These closed thecortége.
Sir Francis Cromarty watched the procession pass by and his face wore a peculiarly saddened expression. Turning to the guide, he said:
"Is it a suttee?"
The Parsee made a sign in the affirmative, and put his fingers on his lips. The long procession wended its way slowly amongst the trees, and before long the last of it disappeared in the depths of the forest. The music gradually died away, occasionally a few cries could be heard, but soon they ceased, and silence reigned around.
Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis had said, and as soon as the procession had passed out of sight, he said:
"What is a suttee?"
"A suttee," replied the general, "is a human sacrifice—but a voluntary one. That woman you saw just now will be burned to-morrow morning at daylight."
"The scoundrels!" exclaimed Passe-partout, who could not repress his indignation.
"And that dead body?" said Mr. Fogg.
"Is that of her husband—a prince," replied the guide. "He was an independent rajah in Bundelcund."
"Do you mean to say that these barbarous customs still obtain in India—under British rule?" said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any emotion whatever.
"In the greater portion of India," replied Sir Francis Cromarty, "these sacrifices do not take place; but we have no authority in the savage districts, one of the principal of which is Bundelcund. The entire district north of the Vindhia range is the theatre of pillage and murder."
"Poor creature," exclaimed Passe-partout; "burned alive!"
"Yes," continued the general, "burned alive; and if she was not, you have no idea to what a wretched condition she would be reduced by her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her very scantily upon rice, and hold no communication with her, for she would be regarded as unclean, and would die like a dog. The prospect of such treatment, even more strongly than affection or religious fanaticism, often urges the widows to submit themselves to suttee. Sometimes, however, the act is really voluntary, and energetic interference by the Government is necessary to prevent it. Some years ago, when I was in Bombay, a young widow asked the governor's leave to be burned with her late husband's body. As you may imagine, he refused her request. Then the disconsolate widow left the town, took refuge with an independent rajah, and burned herself, to the satisfaction of all concerned."
As the general proceeded, the guide nodded in assent to the truthfulness of the relation, and when the speaker had finished, the Parsee said:
"But the suttee to take place to-morrow is not voluntary."
"How do you know?"
"Everyone in Bundelcund knows that," replied the guide.
"Yet the unfortunate woman offered no resistance," said Sir FrancisCromarty.
"Because she was drugged with hemp and opium," replied the Parsee.
"But whither are they taking her?"
"To the Pagoda of Pillaji, two miles away from here. There she will pass the night, and wait for the hour appointed for the sacrifice."
"And the sacrifice will take place?"
"At dawn to-morrow."
As he spoke, the guide led forth the elephant and clambered up to his seat on its neck; but just as he was about to whistle to the animal to proceed, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and said to Sir Francis Cromarty, "Suppose we save this woman?"
"Save her!" exclaimed the general.
"I have still twelve hours to spare," continued Fogg; "I can devote that time to the purpose."
"Well, I declare you are a man with a heart in the right place," criedSir Francis.
"Sometimes it is," replied Mr. Fogg, smiling grimly, "when I have time!"
Showing how Passe-partout perceives once again that Fortune favours the Brave.
The project was a difficult one and a bold, almost impossible to carry out. Mr. Fogg was about to risk his life, or at least his liberty, and consequently the success of his undertaking; but, nevertheless, he hesitated not a moment. Besides, he found in Sir Francis Cromarty a sturdy ally. Passe-partout also was at their disposal; he was quite ready, and his opinion of his master was rising every moment. He possessed a heart, after all, beneath that cold exterior. Passe-partout was beginning to love Mr. Fogg.
The guide remained. What course would he take in this business? He would probably side with the natives. At any rate, if he would not assist, his neutrality must be assured.
Sir Francis put the question to him plainly.
"Your honour," replied the man, "I am a Parsee. The woman is a Parsee also. You may dispose of me as you wish."
"Good," replied Sir Francis.
"But," continued the guide, "you must remember that not only do we risk our lives in this affair, but we may be horribly tortured if we are taken alive. So take care."
"We have made up our minds to run the risk," said Mr. Fogg. "I think we had better wait till nightfall before we act."
"I think so too," said the guide, who then proceeded to give his employers some information respecting the lady. He said she was a Parsee, a celebrated Indian beauty, daughter of one of the richest merchants in Bombay. She had received a complete English education; her manners and tastes were all European. Her name was Aouda. She was, moreover, an orphan, and had been married against her will to the rajah. She had only been three months wed. Knowing the fate that awaited her, she had attempted to escape, but was immediately retaken; and the rajah's relatives, who were desirous, from motives of interest, for her death, had devoted her to the suttee, which now appeared inevitable.
These particulars only served to confirm Mr. Fogg and his companions in their generous resolve. It was then decided that the guide should take them as near to the pagoda as possible without attracting attention.
In about half an hour the elephant was halted in the brushwood about five hundred yards from the temple, which was not visible; but the shouts of the fanatics were distinctly audible.
The best manner of releasing the intended victim was then discussed. The guide was acquainted with the pagoda in which he declared the young woman was imprisoned. Was it possible to enter by one of the doors, when all the band of priests, etc., were wrapped in a drunken sleep? or, should they enter through a hole in the wall? This could only be decided when they reached the pagoda. But one thing was very certain, and that was that the deed must be done at night, and not at daybreak, when the victim was being led to the sacrifice. Then human aid would be powerless to save her.
So the party waited till night. At about six o'clock in the evening it would be dark, and then they would make a reconnaissance. The last cries of the fakirs would by that time be hushed. The Hindoos would by that time, according to custom, be wrapped in the intoxicating arms of "bang"—liquid opium mixed with hemp; and it would be possible to glide past them into the temple.
The whole party, guided by the Parsee, then advanced stealthily through the forest. After ten minutes' creeping beneath the branches of the trees, they reached a rivulet, whence, by the glare of the torches, they were enabled to distinguish the funeral pyre, composed of the fragrant sandal-wood, and already saturated with perfumed oil. Upon this pile lay the dead body of the deceased prince, which was to be burned with his widow. A hundred paces from the pyre was the pagoda, the minarets of which uprose beyond the tops of the surrounding trees.
"Come on," whispered the guide.
With increasing caution the Parsee, followed by his companions, glided silently amongst the tall grasses. The murmur of the breeze through the trees was the only sound that broke the silence.
The Parsee soon halted on the border of the clearing. Some torches lit up the space. The ground was covered with groups of tipsy sleepers, and bore a great resemblance to a battle-field strewn with dead bodies. Men, women, and children lay all together. Some drunken individuals still staggered about here and there. In the background the temple loomed amid the thick trees. But greatly to the disappointment of the guide, armed rajpoots kept watch by torchlight upon the doors, in front of which they paced up and down with naked swords. No doubt the priests within were equally vigilant.
The Parsee advanced no farther. He perceived at once that it was impossible to force an entrance to the temple, and he led his companions back again. Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg also understood that no more could be done in that direction. They stopped and consulted together in undertones.
"Let us wait a little," whispered the brigadier. "It is only eight o'clock. Those sentries may go to sleep later."
"That is possible, certainly," said the Parsee.
So they all lay down under the trees and waited.
The time passed very slowly. At intervals the guide would go forward and reconnoitre. But the guards were always there; the torches burned brightly still, and an uncertain glimmer penetrated through the windows of the temple from the inside.
They waited until nearly midnight. There was no change in the situation. The sentries were sleepless, and it became evident that they intended to keep watch all night. They were probably quite sober. It now became necessary to try another plan and to cut through the walls of the pagoda. There was then the chance of finding the priests awake inside, watching their intended victim as closely as the soldiers guarded the door.
After a final consultation, the guide expressed himself ready to proceed. Mr. Fogg, Sir Francis, and Passe-partout followed. They made a long detour with the intention of approaching the pagoda from behind. About half-past twelve they gained the walls without having encountered anyone. Evidently no watch was kept at the side, but it was equally evident that there was neither window nor door at the back.
The night was dark. The moon, then in her last quarter, appeared scarcely above the horizon, and was covered frequently by thick clouds. The trees also served to render the darkness more profound. It was enough to have reached the wall, an opening must be discovered or made. To accomplish this, Mr. Fogg and his companions had nothing but their pocket-knives. Fortunately, the temple walls were only composed of bricks and wood, which would not be very hard to cut through. Once the first brick had been taken out, the rest was easy.
They set about the work immediately, and as noiselessly as possible. The Parsee and Passe-partout worked away to loosen the bricks in a space about two feet wide. The labour was continued, and they were getting on capitally, when a cry was heard from the interior of the temple, and was immediately succeeded by others from the outside. Passe-partout and the guide ceased working. Had they been heard, and had the alarm been given? Common prudence necessitated a retreat, which was effected in company with Sir Francis Cromarty and Phileas Fogg. They ensconced themselves again beneath the trees to wait until the alarm, if it were an alarm, had subsided, and ready in that event to resume their operations. But, alas! the guards now completely surrounded the pagoda and prevented all approach. It would be difficult to depict the disappointment of these four men at this unfortunatecontretemps. As they were prevented from approaching the victim, how could they hope to save her? Sir Francis Cromarty clenched his hands, Passe-partout was almost beside himself, and even the guide had some difficulty in preserving his self-restraint. The impassible Phileas Fogg alone preserved his equanimity.
"I suppose we may as well go away now?" whispered Sir FrancisCromarty.
"That's all we can do," the guide assented.
"Don't be in a hurry," said Mr. Fogg. "It will suit me well enough if we reach Allahabad at mid-day."
"But what do you expect to do if we remain here?" said Sir Francis."It will be daylight in a couple of hours, and—"
"We may get a chance at the last moment."
The brigadier would have liked to have been able to read the expression of Mr. Fogg's face. What was he thinking about, this cool-headed Englishman? Would he, at the last moment, throw himself upon the burning pile, and snatch her from the clutches of her executioners openly?
Such a proceeding would have been the height of folly, and no one could for a moment imagine that Mr. Fogg was so foolhardy as that. Nevertheless, Sir Francis consented to wait thedénouementof this terrible scene. But the guide led the party to the edge of the clearing, where, from behind a thicket, they could observe all the proceedings. Meanwhile, Passe-partout had been hatching a project in his busy brain, and at last the idea came forth like a flash of lightning. His first conception of the notion he had repudiated as ridiculously foolish, but at length he began to look upon the project as feasible. "It is a chance," he muttered, "but perhaps the only one with such bigoted idiots." At any rate he wriggled himself to the end of the lowest branch of a tree, the extremity of which almost touched the ground.
The hours passed slowly on, and at length some faint indications of day became visible in the sky. But it was still quite dark in the neighbourhood of the pagoda.
This was the time chosen for the sacrifice. The sleeping groups arose as if the resurrection had arrived. The tom-toms sounded. Chants and cries were once more heard. The sublime moment had come!
Just then the doors of the pagoda were opened, and a strong light flashed out from the interior. The victim could be perceived being dragged by two priests to the door. It appeared to the spectators that the unhappy woman, having shaken off the effects of her enforced intoxication, was endeavouring to escape from her executioners. Sir Francis Cromarty was deeply agitated, and seizing Mr. Fogg's hand convulsively he perceived that the hand grasped an open knife.
The crowd now began to move about. The young woman had been again stupefied with hemp-fumes, and passed between the lines of fakirs who escorted her, uttering wild cries as they proceeded.
Phileas Fogg and his companions followed on the outskirts of the crowd. Two minutes later they reached the bank of the stream, and stopped about fifty paces from the funeral pyre, upon which the corpse was extended. In the dim religious light, they could perceive the outline of the victim close beside her deceased husband.
A lighted torch was then quickly applied to the pile of wood, which, saturated with oil, was instantly in a blaze. Sir Francis Cromarty and the guide had to exert all their strength to restrain Mr. Fogg, who, in his generous indignation, appeared about to rush upon the blazing pile.
But just as Phileas Fogg had succeeded in throwing them off, a change came o'er the scene. A cry of terror rose from the natives, and they bowed themselves to the earth in indescribable terror.
The old rajah was not dead after all; there he was standing upright upon the fiery funeral pile, clasping his young wife in his arms; ready to leap from amid the smoke into the midst of the horror-stricken crowd. The fakirs, the guards, the priests were all seized with superstitious fear, and lay, faces to the earth, not daring to lift their eyes to behold such a stupendous miracle.
The resuscitated man was thus practically quite close to the place where Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty were standing with the guide.
"Let us be off," exclaimed the "spectre."
It was only Passe-partout, who had, unperceived, gained the pyre under cover of the smoke, and had rescued the young lady from certain death. It was Passe-partout himself who, thanks to his happy audacity, was enabled to pass unharmed through the terrified assemblage.
In an instant the four friends had disappeared in the woods, and the elephant was trotting rapidly away. But very soon the loud cries and the clamour that arose told them that the trick had been discovered, and a bullet whizzed by as an additional confirmation. For there upon the blazing pile lay the rajah's corpse; and the priests quickly understood that a rescue had been so far successfully accomplished. They immediately dashed into the forest, accompanied by the soldiers, who fired a volley; but the fugitives had got away, and in a few moments more were out of reach of arrows and bullets both.
In which Phileas Fogg descends the charming Valley of the Ganges, without noticing its Beauties.
The rash attempt had proved successful. An hour later, Passe-partout was laughing at the result of his venturous plan. Sir Francis Cromarty had shaken hands with him. His master had said, "Well done!" which from him was high commendation indeed. To which expressions of approbation, Passe-partout had replied that all the credit of the affair belonged to his master. His own share in it had been an absurd notion after all; and he laughed again when he thought that he, Passe-partout, the ex-gymnast, ex-sergeant of the fire brigade, had actually played the part of spouse of a beautiful young lady, the widow of an embalmed rajah!
As for the young lady herself, she was still insensible, and quite unconscious of all that was passing or had lately passed. Wrapped up in a railroad-rug, she was now reclining in one of the howdahs.
Meanwhile the elephant, guided with unerring care by the Parsee, was progressing rapidly through the still gloomy forest. After an hour's ride, they arrived at an extensive plain. At seven o'clock they halted. The young lady was still quite unconscious. The guide poured some brandy down her throat, but she remained insensible for some time afterwards. Sir Francis Cromarty, who was aware that no serious evil effects supervened from the inhalation of the fumes of hemp, was in no way anxious about her.
But if her restoration to consciousness was not a subject of anxiety to the brigadier, he was less assured respecting her life in the future. He did not hesitate to tell Mr. Fogg that if Madame Aouda remained in India, she would sooner or later be taken by her would-be executioners. Those fanatics were scattered everywhere through the peninsula, and there was not a doubt that, despite the English police, the Hindoos would claim their victim, no matter in what presidency she might endeavour to take refuge. And in support of his assertion, Sir Francis instanced a similar case which had recently taken place. His opinion, therefore, was that she would only be in absolute safety when she quitted India for ever.
Mr. Fogg replied that he would consider the matter, and give his opinion later.
About ten o'clock the guide announced that they were close to Allahabad. Then they would be able to continue their journey by the railroad, and in about four-and-twenty hours they would reach Calcutta. Phileas Fogg would in that case be in time to catch the Hong Kong steamer, which was to sail at noon on the 25th of October. The young woman was safely bestowed in a private waiting-room, while Passe-partout was hurriedly despatched to purchase various necessary articles of clothing, etc, for her use. His master supplied the funds for the purpose.
Passe-partout hastened away, and ran through the streets of Allahabad—the City of God—one of the most sacred cities of India, inasmuch as it is built at the junction of the two holy streams of the Ganges and the Jumna, whose waters attract pilgrims from every part of the peninsula. We are also told that the Ganges has its source in heaven, whence, owing to the influence of Bramah, it condescends to earth.
While he made his purchases diligently, Passe-partout did not forget to look about him and see something of the city. It was at one time defended by a splendid fort, which has since become the State prison. Commerce and business no longer occupy their former places in Allahabad. Vainly did the worthy European seek for such emporiums as he would have met in Regent Street; he could find nothing better than the shop of an old Jew clothesman—a crusty old man he was too. From him he purchased a tweed dress, a large cloak, and a magnificent otter-skin pelisse which cost seventy-five pounds. With these garments he returned in triumph to the railway station.
Mrs. Aouda had by that time partly recovered consciousness. The influence of the drug administered by the priests was passing away by degrees, and her bright eyes were once again resuming their soft and charming Indian expression.
The poet-king, Uçaf Uddaul, celebrating the charms of the Queen ofAhundnagara, thus sings:
"Her shining locks, parted in the centre of her forehead, set off the harmonious contours of her white and delicate cheeks, all glowing in their freshness. Her ebon brows have the shape and power of the bow of Kama, the god of love; and beneath her silken lashes, her dark eyes swim in liquid tenderness, as in the sacred lakes of the Himalayas is reflected the celestial light. Her glittering, even, pearl-like teeth shine between the smiling lips as the dewdrops in the half-closed petals of the passion-flower. Her tiny ears, with curves divine, her small hands, her little feet, tender as the buds of lotus, sparkle with the pearls of Ceylon and the dazzling diamonds of the famed Golconda. Her rounded, supple waist, which hand may circle round, displays the curving outline of the hips, and swelling bosom, where youth in all its loveliness expands its perfect treasures. Beneath the tunic-folds the limbs seem formed within a silver mould by the god-like hand of Vicvarcarnia, the immortal sculptor."
Without exactly comparing Mrs. Aouda with the foregoing description, it may be stated that she was a most charming woman, in the fullest acceptation of the term. She spoke English with fluency and purity, and the guide had only stated the truth when he had averred that the Parsee lady had been transformed by her education.
The train was about to start; Mr. Fogg was paying the Parsee guide his hire as agreed—not a farthing in excess. This business-like arrangement rather astonished Passe-partout, when he recalled all they owed to the guide's devotion. In fact, the Parsee had risked his life voluntarily by engaging in the affair at Pillaji, and if he should be caught by the Hindoos he would very likely be severely dealt with. There was still Kiouni, however. What was to be done with the elephant, which had cost so much? But Phileas Fogg had already made up his mind on that point.
"Parsee," said he to the guide, "you have been most useful and devoted to us. I have paid for your services, but not for your devotion. Would you like to have the elephant? If so, he is yours." The eyes of the guide sparkled.
"Your honour is giving me a fortune!" he exclaimed.
"Take him," replied Mr. Fogg, "and then I shall still be in your debt."
"Hurrah!" cried Passe-partout; "take him, my friend. Kiouni is a fine animal;" and going up to the beast, he gave him some pieces of sugar, saying, "Here, Kiouni, take this, and this."
The elephant gave vent to some grunts of satisfaction, and then seizing Passe-partout by the waist with his trunk, he lifted him up. Passe-partout, not in the least afraid, continued to caress the animal, which replaced him gently on the ground, and to the pressure of the honest Kiouni's trunk, Passe-partout responded with a kindly blow.
Some short time after, Phileas Fogg, Sir Francis Cromarty, and Passe-partout were seated with Mrs. Aouda, who occupied the best place in a comfortable compartment of the train, which was speeding towards Benares. This run of eighty miles from Allahabad was accomplished in two hours, and in that time the young lady had quite recovered from the drugs she had inhaled. Her astonishment at finding herself in the train, dressed in European garments, and with three travellers utterly unknown to her, may be imagined.
Her companions in the first place showed her every attention, even to the administration of a few drops of liqueur, and then the general told her what had happened. He particularly dwelt upon the devotedness of Phileas Fogg, who had risked his life to save hers, and upon the termination of the adventure, of which Passe-partout was the hero. Mr. Fogg made no remark whatever, and Passe-partout looked very bashful, and declared it was not worth speaking of.
Mrs. Aouda thanked her deliverers effusively by tears at least as much as by words. Her beautiful eyes even more than her lips expressed her gratitude. Then her thoughts flew back to the suttee, and as she remarked she was still on Indian territory, she shuddered with horror. Phileas Fogg, guessing her thoughts, hastened to reassure her, and quietly offered to escort her to Hong Kong, where she could remain till the affair had blown over. This offer the lady moat gratefully accepted, for—curiously enough—a relative of hers, a Parsee like herself, was then residing at Hong Kong, and was one of the principal merchants of that British settlement.
At half-past twelve the train stopped at Benares. Brahmin legends state that this town is built upon the site of the ancient Casi, which was at one time suspended between heaven and earth, like Mahomet's coffin. But in these practical days, Benares, which orientals call the Athens of India, rests prosaically upon the ground, and Passe-partout caught many a glimpse of brick houses and numerous clay huts, which gave the place a desolate appearance, without any local colour.
Sir Francis Cromarty had now reached his destination; the troops he was to command were encamped a few miles to the north of the town. He took farewell of Phileas Fogg, wished him every success, and expressed a hope that he would continue his journey in a more profitable and less original manner. Mr. Fogg gently pressed his companion's hand. Mrs. Aouda was more demonstrative; she could not forget what she owed to Sir Francis Cromarty. As for Passe-partout, he was honoured with a hearty shake of the general's hand, and was much impressed thereby. So they parted.
From Benares the railway traverses the valley of the Ganges. The travellers had many glimpses of the varied country of Behar, the hills covered with verdure, and a succession of barley, wheat, and com fields, jungles full of alligators, neat villages, and thick forests. Elephants and other animals were bathing in the sacred river, as were also bands of Hindoos of both sexes, who, notwithstanding the advanced season of the year, were accomplishing their pious ablutions. These devotees were declared enemies of Buddhism, and were strict Brahmins, believing in Vishnu, the sun god; Shiva, the personification of nature; and Brahma, the head of priests and rulers. But how do Brahma, Shiva, and Vishnu regard India, now completely Anglicised, with hundreds of steamers darting and screaming along the holy waters of the Ganges, frightening the birds and beasts and faithful followers of the gods dwelling along the banks?
The landscape passed rapidly by, and was occasionally hidden by the stream. The travellers could now discern the fort of Chunar, twenty miles south-west of Benares; then Ghazipore and its important rose-water manufactories came in sight; then they caught a glimpse of the tomb of Lord Cornwallis, which rises on the left bank of the river; then the fortified town of Buxar; Patna, the great commercial city and principal opium-market of India; Monghir, an European town, as English as Manchester or Birmingham, with its foundries, factories, and tall chimneys vomiting forth volumes of black smoke.
Night fell, and still the train rushed on, in the midst of the roaring and growling of wild animals, which fled from the advancing locomotive. Nothing could of course then be seen of those wonders of Bengal, Golconda, the ruins of Gom, and Morschabad, Burdwan, the ancient capital, Hooghly, Chandernagore, in French territory, where Passe-partout would have been glad to see his country's ensign.
At last, at seven o'clock in the morning, they reached Calcutta. The steamer for Hong Kong was not to leave till mid-day, so Phileas Fogg had still five hours to spare.
According to his journal, he was due at Calcutta on the 25th October—twenty-three days from London; and at Calcutta he was as arranged. He had neither gained nor lost so far. Unfortunately, the two days he had had to spare he spent as we have seen while crossing the peninsula; but we must not suppose that Phileas Fogg regretted his actions for a moment.
In which the Bag of Bank-notes is lightened by some Thousands ofPounds more.
Passe-partout was the first to alight from the train; Mr. Fogg followed, and helped out his fair companion. Phileas had counted upon proceeding directly to the steamer, so as to settle Mrs. Aouda comfortably on board. He was unwilling to leave her so long, as she was on such dangerous ground.
As Mr. Fogg was leaving the station a policeman approached him, and said, "Mr. Phileas Fogg, is it not?"
"It is," replied Phileas.
"And this is your servant?" continued the policeman, indicatingPasse-partout.
"Yes."
"Will you be so good as to follow me?"
Mr. Fogg did not appear in the least degree surprised. The policeman was a representative of the law, and to an Englishman the law is sacred. Passe-partout, like a Frenchman, wanted to argue the point, but the policeman touched him with his cane, and his master made him a sign to obey.
"This young lady can accompany us?" said Mr. Fogg.
"Certainly," replied the policeman.
Mr. Fogg, Mrs. Aouda, and Passe-partout were then conducted to a "palkighari," a sort of four-wheeled carriage, holding four people, and drawn by two horses. They drove away, and no one spoke during the twenty minutes' drive.
The carriage passed through the "Black Town," and then through the European quarter, which, with its brick houses, well-dressed people, and handsome equipages, presented a marked contrast to the native town. The carriage stopped before a quiet-looking house, which, however, did not appear to be a private mansion. The policeman directed his prisoners—for so we may term them—to alight, and conducted them to a room, the windows of which were barred.
"At half-past eight," he said, "you will be brought before JudgeObadiah." He then went out and locked the door.
"So we are prisoners," exclaimed Passe-partout, dropping into a chair.
Mrs. Aouda, turning to Mr. Fogg, said tearfully: "Oh sir, pray do not think of me any longer. It is on my account that you have been arrested. It is for having saved me."
Phileas Fogg calmly replied that such a thing was not possible. It was quite out of the question that they could be arrested on account of the suttee. The complainants would not dare to present themselves. There must be some mistake, and Mr. Fogg added that in any case he would see the young lady safe to Hong Kong.
"But the steamer starts at twelve o'clock," said Passe-partout.
"We shall be on board before that," replied the impassible Fogg.
This was said so decidedly that Passe-partout could not help muttering, "That's all right then, we shall be on board in time no doubt." But in his soul he was not so very certain of it.
At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman entered, and conducted the friends into an adjoining room. This was the court, and was pretty well filled by Europeans and natives. The three companions were allotted seats on a bench lacing the magistrate's desk. Judge Obadiah, followed by the clerk, entered almost immediately. He was a fat, round-faced man. He took down a wig from a nail and put it on.
"Call the first case," he began, but immediately putting his hand to his head he said, "This is not my wig."
"The fact is, your honour, it is mine," replied the clerk.
"My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can you expect a judge to administer justice in a clerk's wig?"
The exchange was made. All this time Passe-partout was boiling over with impatience, for the hands of the clock were getting on terribly fast towards noon.
"Now, then, the first case," said the judge.
"Phileas Fogg," called out the clerk.
"Here I am."
"Passe-partout."
"Here."
"Good," said the judge.
"For two days we have been awaiting you."
"But of what do you accuse us?" cried Passe-partout impatiently.
"You are going to hear," said the judge quietly.
"Your honour," said Mr. Fogg, "I am a British citizen, and I have the right—"
"Have you not been properly treated?" asked the judge,
"Oh yes, but—"
"Very well, then. Call the plaintiffs."
As the judge spoke the door opened, and three Hindoo priests were introduced by an usher.
"It is that, after all," muttered Passe-partout. "Those are the fellows that wanted to burn our young lady."
The priests stood erect before the judge, and the clerk read aloud the complaint of sacrilege against Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of having defiled a place consecrated to the Brahmin religion.
"You hear the charge," said the judge to Phileas Fogg.
"Yes, your honour," replied the accused, looking at his watch, "and I confess it."
"You admit it?"
"I admit it, and I wait to see what these priests in their turn will confess respecting their doings at the Pagoda of Pillaji."
The priests looked at each other. They evidently did not understand the reference.
"Of course," cried Passe-partout impetuously, "at the Pagoda ofPillaji, where they were about to burn their victim."
The priests looked stupefied, and the judge was almost equally astonished.
"What victim?" he asked. "To burn whom? In Bombay?"
"Bombay!" exclaimed Passe-partout.
"Of course. We are not talking of the Pagoda of Pillaji but of thePagoda of Malabar Hill at Bombay."
"And as a proof," added the clerk, "here are the shoes of the profaner of the temple;" and he placed a pair of shoes upon the desk as he spoke.
"My shoes!" exclaimed Passe-partout, who was surprised into this incautious admission.
One can imagine the confusion which ensued. The incident at the pagoda in Bombay had been quite forgotten by both master and man, and it was on account of that that they were both detained.
The detective Fix had seen at once the advantage he could derive from thatcontretemps; so, delaying his departure for twelve hours, he consulted with the priests at Malabar Hill and had promised them a large reward, knowing very well that the English Government would punish with extreme severity any trespass of such a description. Then he had sent the priests by train on the track of the offenders. Owing to the time spent by Phileas Fogg and his party in releasing the young widow from the suttee, Fix and the Hindoo priests had reached Calcutta first, but in any case Mr. Fogg and his servant would have been arrested as they left the train in consequence of a telegraphic despatch which had been forwarded to Calcutta by the authorities. The disappointment of Fix may be imagined when he heard on his arrival that Fogg had not reached Calcutta. He thought that his victim had stopped at one of the intermediate stations, and Had taken refuge in the southern provinces. For four-and-twenty hours Fix had restlessly paced the railway station at Calcutta. What was his joy when that very morning he perceived his man descending from the train in company with a lady whose presence he could not account for. He had immediately directed a policeman to arrest Mr. Fogg, and that is how the whole party came to be brought before Judge Obadiah.
If Passe-partout had been less wrapped up in his own business he would have noticed the detective seated in the corner of the court, watching the proceedings with an interest easy to be understood, for at Calcutta, as heretofore, he still wanted the warrant to arrest the supposed thief.
But Judge Obadiah had noticed the avowal, which Passe-partout would have given the world to recall.
"So the facts are admitted," said the judge.
"They are," replied Fogg coldly.
"Well," continued the judge, "inasmuch as the English law is intended to protect rigorously, and without distinction, all religions in India, and as this fellow, Passe-partout, has confessed his crime, and is convicted of having violated with sacrilegious feet the Pagoda of Malabar Hill at Bombay during the day of the 20th of October, the said Passe-partout is condemned to fifteen days' imprisonment and to pay a fine of three hundred pounds."
"Three hundred pounds!" exclaimed Passe-partout, who was scarcely conscious of anything but the amount of the fine.
"Silence!" shouted the usher.
"And," continued the judge, "seeing that it is not proved that this sacrilege was connived at by the master, but as he must be held responsible for the acts and deeds of his servant, the said Phileas Fogg is sentenced to eight days' imprisonment and a fine of one hundred and fifty pounds. Usher, call the next case."
Fix, in his corner, rubbed his hands to his satisfaction. Phileas Fogg detained eight days at Calcutta! This was fortunate, by that time the warrant would have arrived from England. Passe-partout was completely dumbfoundered. This conviction would ruin his master. His wager of twenty thousand pounds would be lost; and all because he, like an idiot, had gone into that cursed pagoda.
But Phileas Fogg was as cool and collected as if he were in no way concerned in the matter. At the moment the usher was calling on the next cause, Phileas rose and said, "I offer bail."
"That is within your right," said the judge.
Fix's blood ran cold; but he revived again, when he heard the judge say, that as the prisoners were strangers, a bail of a thousand pounds each would be necessary. So it would cost Mr. Fogg two thousand pounds, if he did not put in an appearance when called upon.
"I will pay the money now," said that gentleman; and from the bag which Passe-partout still held, he drew bank-notes for two thousand pounds, and placed them on the clerk's desk.
"This sum will be restored to you, when you come out of prison," said the judge. "Meantime you are free on bail."
"Come along," said Phileas Fogg to his servant.
"But I suppose they will give me back my shoes?" said Passe-partout angrily.
They gave him back his shoes. "They have cost us pretty dearly," he muttered, "more than one thousand pounds apiece, without counting the inconvenience to myself;" and with the most hang-dog appearance, Passe-partout followed his master, who had offered his arm to the young lady. Fix was still in hopes that his prey would not abandon such a sum as two thousand pounds; so he followed Mr. Fogg closely.
Phileas took a fly, and the whole party were driven down to the quays. Half-a-mile from the pier theRangoonwas moored, the "blue-peter" at the mast-head. Eleven o'clock was striking, so Mr. Fogg had an hour to spare. Fix saw him put off in a boat, with Mrs. Aouda and his servant. The detective stamped with rage.
"The rascal!" he exclaimed; "he is going then. Two thousand pounds sacrificed. He is as reckless as a thief. I will follow him to the end of the world, if necessary; but at the rate he is going, the stolen money will soon be spent."
The detective was not far wrong. In fact, since he had left London, what with travelling expenses, "tips," the money paid for the elephant, in fines, and in bail, Phileas Fogg had already disbursed more than five thousand pounds, so that the percentage upon the sum likely to be recovered by the detective (as he imagined) was growing small by degrees and beautifully less.