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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.
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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
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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,
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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.
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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
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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?'
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'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.'
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Chapter XIII
IN WHICH PASSEPARTOUT
RECEIVES A NEW PROOF
THAT FORTUNE FAVORS
THE BRAVE
The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps
impracticable. Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least
liberty, and therefore the success of his tour. But he did
not hesitate, and he found in Sir Francis Cromarty an
enthusiastic ally.
As for Passepartout, he was ready for anything that
might be proposed. His master's idea charmed him; he
perceived a heart, a soul, under that icy exterior. He began
to love Phileas Fogg.
There remained the guide: what course would he
adopt? Would he not take part with the Indians? In default
of his assistance, it was necessary to be assured of his
neutrality.
Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.
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'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
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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,
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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
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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.
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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.
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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
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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
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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.
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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
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increased the distance between them, and ere long found
themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and arrows.
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Chapter XIV
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG
DESCENDS THE WHOLE
LENGTH OF THE BEAUTIFUL
VALLEY OF THE GANGES
WITHOUT EVER THINKING
OF SEEING IT
The rash exploit had been accomplished; and for an
hour Passepartout laughed gaily at his success. Sir Francis
pressed the worthy fellow's hand, and his master said,
'Well done!' which, from him, was high commendation;
to which Passepartout replied that all the credit of the
affair belonged to Mr. Fogg. As for him, he had only been
struck with a 'queer' idea; and he laughed to think that for
a few moments he, Passepartout, the ex-gymnast, ex-
sergeant fireman, had been the spouse of a charming
woman, a venerable, embalmed rajah! As for the young
Indian woman, she had been unconscious throughout of
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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
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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
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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
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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.'
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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
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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
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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
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Around the World in 80 Days
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,
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