In which Phileas Fogg secures
a curious means of conveyance
at a fabulous price
The train had started punctually.
Among the passengers were a number
of officers, Government officials,
and opium and indigo merchants,
whose business called them to
the eastern coast. Passepartout
rode in the same carriage with
his master, and a third passenger
occupied a seat opposite to them.
This was Sir Francis Cromarty,
one of Mr. Fogg's whist partners
on the Mongolia, now on his way
to join his corps at Benares.
Sir Francis was a tall, fair
man of fifty, who had greatly
distinguished himself in the
last Sepoy revolt. He made India
his home, only paying brief visits
to England at rare intervals;
and was almost as familiar as
a native with the customs, history,
and character of India and its
people. But Phileas Fogg, who
was not travelling, but only
describing a circumference, took
no pains to inquire into these
subjects; he was a solid body,
traversing an orbit around the
terrestrial globe, according
to the laws of rational mechanics.
He was at this moment calculating
in his mind the number of hours
spent since his departure from
London, and, had it been in his
nature to make a useless demonstration,
would have rubbed his hands for
satisfaction. Sir Francis Cromarty
had observed the oddity of his
travelling companion--although
the only opportunity he had for
studying him had been while he
was dealing the cards, and between
two rubbers--and questioned himself
whether a human heart really
beat beneath this cold exterior,
and whether Phileas Fogg had
any sense of the beauties of
nature. The brigadier-general
was free to mentally confess
that, of all the eccentric persons
he had ever met, none was comparable
to this product of the exact
sciences.
Phileas Fogg had not concealed
from Sir Francis his design of
going round the world, nor the
circumstances under which he
set out; and the general only
saw in the wager a useless eccentricity
and a lack of sound common sense.
In the way this strange gentleman
was going on, he would leave
the world without having done
any good to himself or anybody
else.
An hour after
leaving Bombay the train had
passed the viaducts
and the Island of Salcette, and
had got into the open country.
At Callyan they reached the junction
of the branch line which descends
towards south-eastern India by
Kandallah and Pounah; and, passing
Pauwell, they entered the defiles
of the mountains, with their
basalt bases, and their summits
crowned with thick and verdant
forests. Phileas Fogg and Sir
Francis Cromarty exchanged a
few words from time to time,
and now Sir Francis, reviving
the conversation, observed, "Some
years ago, Mr. Fogg, you would
have met with a delay at this
point which would probably have
lost you your wager."
"How so, Sir
Francis?"
"Because the
railway stopped at the base
of these mountains,
which the passengers were obliged
to cross in palanquins or on
ponies to Kandallah, on the other
side."
"Such a delay would not have
deranged my plans in the least," said
Mr. Fogg. "I have constantly
foreseen the likelihood of certain
obstacles."
"But, Mr. Fogg," pursued Sir
Francis, "you run the risk of
having some difficulty about
this worthy fellow's adventure
at the pagoda." Passepartout,
his feet comfortably wrapped
in his travelling-blanket, was
sound asleep and did not dream
that anybody was talking about
him. "The Government is very
severe upon that kind of offence.
It takes particular care that
the religious customs of the
Indians should be respected,
and if your servant were caught--"
"Very well, Sir Francis," replied
Mr. Fogg; "if he had been caught
he would have been condemned
and punished, and then would
have quietly returned to Europe.
I don't see how this affair could
have delayed his master."
The conversation fell again.
During the night the train left
the mountains behind, and passed
Nassik, and the next day proceeded
over the flat, well-cultivated
country of the Khandeish, with
its straggling villages, above
which rose the minarets of the
pagodas. This fertile territory
is watered by numerous small
rivers and limpid streams, mostly
tributaries of the Godavery.
Passepartout, on waking and
looking out, could not realise
that he was actually crossing
India in a railway train. The
locomotive, guided by an English
engineer and fed with English
coal, threw out its smoke upon
cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove,
and pepper plantations, while
the steam curled in spirals around
groups of palm-trees, in the
midst of which were seen picturesque
bungalows, viharis (sort of abandoned
monasteries), and marvellous
temples enriched by the exhaustless
ornamentation of Indian architecture.
Then they came upon vast tracts
extending to the horizon, with
jungles inhabited by snakes and
tigers, which fled at the noise
of the train; succeeded by forests
penetrated by the railway, and
still haunted by elephants which,
with pensive eyes, gazed at the
train as it passed. The travellers
crossed, beyond Milligaum, the
fatal country so often stained
with blood by the sectaries of
the goddess Kali. Not far off
rose Ellora, with its graceful
pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad,
capital of the ferocious Aureng-Zeb,
now the chief town of one of
the detached provinces of the
kingdom of the Nizam. It was
thereabouts that Feringhea, the
Thuggee chief, king of the stranglers,
held his sway. These ruffians,
united by a secret bond, strangled
victims of every age in honour
of the goddess Death, without
ever shedding blood; there was
a period when this part of the
country could scarcely be travelled
over without corpses being found
in every direction. The English
Government has succeeded in greatly
diminishing these murders, though
the Thuggees still exist, and
pursue the exercise of their
horrible rites.
At half-past twelve the train
stopped at Burhampoor where Passepartout
was able to purchase some Indian
slippers, ornamented with false
pearls, in which, with evident
vanity, he proceeded to encase
his feet. The travellers made
a hasty breakfast and started
off for Assurghur, after skirting
for a little the banks of the
small river Tapty, which empties
into the Gulf of Cambray, near
Surat.
Passepartout was now plunged
into absorbing reverie. Up to
his arrival at Bombay, he had
entertained hopes that their
journey would end there; but,
now that they were plainly whirling
across India at full speed, a
sudden change had come over the
spirit of his dreams. His old
vagabond nature returned to him;
the fantastic ideas of his youth
once more took possession of
him. He came to regard his master's
project as intended in good earnest,
believed in the reality of the
bet, and therefore in the tour
of the world and the necessity
of making it without fail within
the designated period. Already
he began to worry about possible
delays, and accidents which might
happen on the way. He recognised
himself as being personally interested
in the wager, and trembled at
the thought that he might have
been the means of losing it by
his unpardonable folly of the
night before. Being much less
cool-headed than Mr. Fogg, he
was much more restless, counting
and recounting the days passed
over, uttering maledictions when
the train stopped, and accusing
it of sluggishness, and mentally
blaming Mr. Fogg for not having
bribed the engineer. The worthy
fellow was ignorant that, while
it was possible by such means
to hasten the rate of a steamer,
it could not be done on the railway.
The train entered the defiles
of the Sutpour Mountains, which
separate the Khandeish from Bundelcund,
towards evening. The next day
Sir Francis Cromarty asked Passepartout
what time it was; to which, on
consulting his watch, he replied
that it was three in the morning.
This famous timepiece, always
regulated on the Greenwich meridian,
which was now some seventy-seven
degrees westward, was at least
four hours slow. Sir Francis
corrected Passepartout's time,
whereupon the latter made the
same remark that he had done
to Fix; and up on the general
insisting that the watch should
be regulated in each new meridian,
since he was constantly going
eastward, that is in the face
of the sun, and therefore the
days were shorter by four minutes
for each degree gone over, Passepartout
obstinately refused to alter
his watch, which he kept at London
time. It was an innocent delusion
which could harm no one.
The train stopped,
at eight o'clock, in the midst
of a glade
some fifteen miles beyond Rothal,
where there were several bungalows,
and workmen's cabins. The conductor,
passing along the carriages,
shouted, "Passengers will get
out here!"
Phileas Fogg looked at Sir
Francis Cromarty for an explanation;
but the general could not tell
what meant a halt in the midst
of this forest of dates and acacias.
Passepartout,
not less surprised, rushed
out and speedily returned,
crying: "Monsieur, no more railway!"
"What do you mean?" asked
Sir Francis.
"I mean to
say that the train isn't going
on."
The general at once stepped
out, while Phileas Fogg calmly
followed him, and they proceeded
together to the conductor.
"Where are we?" asked
Sir Francis.
"At the hamlet
of Kholby."
"Do we stop
here?"
"Certainly.
The railway isn't finished."
"What! not
finished?"
"No. There's
still a matter of fifty miles
to be laid from
here to Allahabad, where the
line begins again."
"But the papers
announced the opening of the
railway throughout."
"What would
you have, officer? The papers
were mistaken."
"Yet you sell tickets from
Bombay to Calcutta," retorted
Sir Francis, who was growing
warm.
"No doubt," replied the conductor; "but
the passengers know that they
must provide means of transportation
for themselves from Kholby to
Allahabad."
Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout
would willingly have knocked
the conductor down, and did not
dare to look at his master.
"Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg
quietly, "we will, if you please,
look about for some means of
conveyance to Allahabad."
"Mr. Fogg,
this is a delay greatly to
your disadvantage."
"No, Sir Francis;
it was foreseen."
"What! You
knew that the way--"
"Not at all;
but I knew that some obstacle
or other would
sooner or later arise on my route.
Nothing, therefore, is lost.
I have two days, which I have
already gained, to sacrifice.
A steamer leaves Calcutta for
Hong Kong at noon, on the 25th.
This is the 22nd, and we shall
reach Calcutta in time."
There was nothing to say to
so confident a response.
It was but too true that the
railway came to a termination
at this point. The papers were
like some watches, which have
a way of getting too fast, and
had been premature in their announcement
of the completion of the line.
The greater part of the travellers
were aware of this interruption,
and, leaving the train, they
began to engage such vehicles
as the village could provide
four-wheeled palkigharis, waggons
drawn by zebus, carriages that
looked like perambulating pagodas,
palanquins, ponies, and what
not.
Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty,
after searching the village from
end to end, came back without
having found anything.
"I shall go afoot," said
Phileas Fogg.
Passepartout,
who had now rejoined his master,
made a wry grimace,
as he thought of his magnificent,
but too frail Indian shoes. Happily
he too had been looking about
him, and, after a moment's hesitation,
said, "Monsieur, I think I have
found a means of conveyance."
"What?"
"An elephant!
An elephant that belongs to
an Indian who lives
but a hundred steps from here."
"Let's go and see the elephant," replied
Mr. Fogg.
They soon reached a small hut,
near which, enclosed within some
high palings, was the animal
in question. An Indian came out
of the hut, and, at their request,
conducted them within the enclosure.
The elephant, which its owner
had reared, not for a beast of
burden, but for warlike purposes,
was half domesticated. The Indian
had begun already, by often irritating
him, and feeding him every three
months on sugar and butter, to
impart to him a ferocity not
in his nature, this method being
often employed by those who train
the Indian elephants for battle.
Happily, however, for Mr. Fogg,
the animal's instruction in this
direction had not gone far, and
the elephant still preserved
his natural gentleness. Kiouni--this
was the name of the beast--could
doubtless travel rapidly for
a long time, and, in default
of any other means of conveyance,
Mr. Fogg resolved to hire him.
But elephants are far from cheap
in India, where they are becoming
scarce, the males, which alone
are suitable for circus shows,
are much sought, especially as
but few of them are domesticated.
When therefore Mr. Fogg proposed
to the Indian to hire Kiouni,
he refused point-blank. Mr. Fogg
persisted, offering the excessive
sum of ten pounds an hour for
the loan of the beast to Allahabad.
Refused. Twenty pounds? Refused
also. Forty pounds? Still refused.
Passepartout jumped at each advance;
but the Indian declined to be
tempted. Yet the offer was an
alluring one, for, supposing
it took the elephant fifteen
hours to reach Allahabad, his
owner would receive no less than
six hundred pounds sterling.
Phileas Fogg, without getting
in the least flurried, then proposed
to purchase the animal outright,
and at first offered a thousand
pounds for him. The Indian, perhaps
thinking he was going to make
a great bargain, still refused.
Sir Francis Cromarty took Mr.
Fogg aside, and begged him to
reflect before he went any further;
to which that gentleman replied
that he was not in the habit
of acting rashly, that a bet
of twenty thousand pounds was
at stake, that the elephant was
absolutely necessary to him,
and that he would secure him
if he had to pay twenty times
his value. Returning to the Indian,
whose small, sharp eyes, glistening
with avarice, betrayed that with
him it was only a question of
how great a price he could obtain.
Mr. Fogg offered first twelve
hundred, then fifteen hundred,
eighteen hundred, two thousand
pounds. Passepartout, usually
so rubicund, was fairly white
with suspense.
At two thousand pounds the
Indian yielded.
"What a price, good heavens!" cried
Passepartout, "for an elephant.
It only remained now to find
a guide, which was comparatively
easy. A young Parsee, with an
intelligent face, offered his
services, which Mr. Fogg accepted,
promising so generous a reward
as to materially stimulate his
zeal. The elephant was led out
and equipped. The Parsee, who
was an accomplished elephant
driver, covered his back with
a sort of saddle-cloth, and attached
to each of his flanks some curiously
uncomfortable howdahs. Phileas
Fogg paid the Indian with some
banknotes which he extracted
from the famous carpet-bag, a
proceeding that seemed to deprive
poor Passepartout of his vitals.
Then he offered to carry Sir
Francis to Allahabad, which the
brigadier gratefully accepted,
as one traveller the more would
not be likely to fatigue the
gigantic beast. Provisions were
purchased at Kholby, and, while
Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg took
the howdahs on either side, Passepartout
got astride the saddle-cloth
between them. The Parsee perched
himself on the elephant's neck,
and at nine o'clock they set
out from the village, the animal
marching off through the dense
forest of palms by the shortest
cut.
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