In Which Phileas Fogg Buys 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
traveling, 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 traveling
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 traveled into the open
country. At Callyan they reached the junction of the branch line
which descends towards southeastern 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, and
the passengers were obliged to cross in palanquins or on ponies
to Kandallah, on the other side."
"Such a delay would not have spoiled 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
traveling blanket, was sound asleep and did not dream that
anybody was talking about him. "The Government is very severe
about 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 realize 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 (like abandoned monasteries) and
marvelous 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 travelers 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 honor of the goddess Death, without ever shedding blood. There
was a period when this part of the country could scarcely be
traveled 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 travelers 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
recognized 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. But Passepartout made the same remark that
he had done to Fix; and upon the general insisting that the watch
should be regulated in each new meridian, since he was constantly
going eastward, that is in the face of the sun, and therefore the
days were shorter by four minutes for each degree gone over,
Passepartout obstinately refused to alter his watch, which he
kept at London time. It was an innocent delusion which could harm
no one.
The train stopped at eight o'clock in the midst of a glade some
fifteen miles beyond Rothal, where there were several bungalows,
and workmen's cabins. The conductor, passing along the
carriages, shouted, "Passengers will get out here!"
Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty for an explanation;
but the general did not know why a halt had been called 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 running too fast, and had been premature in their announcement
of the completion of the line. The greater part of the travelers
were aware of this interruption, and, leaving the train, they
began to engage such vehicles as the village could
provide--four-wheeled palkigharis, wagons 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, without 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. Mr. Fogg 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 ruddy, 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 carpetbag, 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 traveler 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.