Around the World in 80 Days, by Jules Verne
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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.
Chapter XV
IN WHICH THE BAG OF BANKNOTES DISGORGES
SOME THOUSANDS OF POUNDS MORE
The train entered the station, and Passepartout jumping out first,
was followed by Mr. Fogg, who assisted his fair companion to descend.
Phileas Fogg intended to proceed at once to the Hong Kong steamer,
in order to get Aouda comfortably settled for the voyage.
He was unwilling to leave her while they were still on dangerous ground.
Just as he was leaving the station a policeman came up to him, and said,
"Mr. Phileas Fogg?"
"I am he."
"Is this man your servant?" added the policeman, pointing to Passepartout.
"Yes."
"Be so good, both of you, as to follow me."
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