In which Passe-partout thinks himself lucky in escaping with only the
Loss of his Shoes.
Everybody is aware that the peninsula of Hindostan has a superficial
area of one million four hundred thousand square miles, in which the
unequally-distributed population numbers one hundred and eighty
millions. The British Government rules absolutely over the greater
portion of this immense tract of country. The Governor-General resides
at Calcutta, and there are also governors of presidencies at Madras
and Bombay, and a deputy-governor at Agra, as well as a governor for
Bengal.
British India proper only includes an area of seven hundred thousand
square miles, and a population of one hundred to one hundred and ten
millions; so there is still a large portion of India independent, and,
in fact, there are rajahs in the interior who wield absolute
authority.
From the year 1756 to the great Sepoy Mutiny, the East India Company
was the supreme authority in British India; but now the country is
under the rule of the English Crown. The manners and customs of India
are in a continual state of change. Till lately, travelling was only
by antiquated modes of conveyance, but now steamers cover the Ganges,
and the railways have opened up the country, and one can go from
Bombay to Calcutta in three days. But the railroad does not cut the
peninsula in a direct line. As the crow flies, the distance from
Calcutta to Bombay is only about eleven hundred miles, and the trains
would not occupy three days in accomplishing that distance; but the
journey is lengthened at least one-third of that distance by the loop
the line describes up to Allahabad.
The Great Indian Peninsula Railway line is as follows: leaving Bombay
Island, it crosses Salsette, reaches the mainland at Tannah, crosses
the Western Ghauts, thence runs north-east to Burhampoor, skirts the
independent territory of Bundelcund, ascends to Allahabad, and then,
turning eastward, meets the Ganges at Benares; then, quitting it
again, the line descends in a south-easterly direction, by Burdivan
and Chandernagore, to the terminal station at Calcutta.
It was half-past four p.m. when the Bombay passengers landed from the
_Mongolia_, and the train for Calcutta was timed to start at eight
o'clock.
Mr. Fogg took leave of his colleagues of the whist-table, and going
ashore, gave his servant orders concerning a few necessary purchases,
enjoining him to be at the railroad station before eight o'clock, and
then, at his own regular pace, he started for the Consul's office.
He saw nothing of the sights of Bombay--the town-hall, the magnificent
library, the forts, the docks, the cotton market, the bazaars,
mosques, &c., were all disregarded. Elephanta was ignored, and the
grottos of Salsette unexplored by Phileas Fogg.
After leaving the consulate, he walked calmly to the railroad station
and dined. The proprietor of the hotel particularly recommended "a
native rabbit." Phileas accepted the dish as put before him, but found
it horrible.
He rang the bell. The landlord was sent for.
"Is that a rabbit?" inquired Mr. Fogg.
"Yes, my lord, a jungle rabbit."
"Has that rabbit never mewed, do you think?"
"Oh, my lord, a jungle-rabbit mew! I swear--"
"Don't swear," said Fogg calmly, "and remember that formerly cats were
sacred animals in India. Those were happy days."
"For the cats, my lord?"
"And perhaps for travellers too," said Fogg, as he proceeded with his
dinner.
Soon afterwards Mr. Fix landed, and his first act was to go to the
police-office. He said who and what he was, and stated his business
and how matters stood regarding the robbery. Had any warrant been
forwarded? No, nothing of the kind had been received, and of course it
could not have reached Bombay, as it was despatched after Fogg's
departure.
Fix was disappointed. He wanted the Commissioner to grant him a
warrant on the spot, but the request was refused. The business was the
Home Government's affair, not his, and he could not issue the warrant.
This red-tapeism is quite British style. Fix of course did not insist,
and made up his mind to await the arrival of the warrant. But he
resolved not to lose sight of the robber meanwhile. He had no doubt
whatever that Fogg would remain some time in Bombay--we know that was
also Passe-partout's notion--and the warrant would probably arrive
before the criminal left the town.
But it was now evident to Passe-partout that his master intended to
push on from Bombay as rapidly as he had left Paris and Suez; that the
journey was not to end at Bombay, it was to be continued to Calcutta
at any rate, and perhaps even farther still. Passe-partout then began
to think that perhaps the bet was really the object, and that fate had
indeed condemned him, with all his wish for rest, to journey around
the world in eighty days.
However, having purchased some necessary articles, he walked about the
streets of Bombay. There were a great number of people about--Europeans
of all nationalities; Persians, wearing pointed caps; Buntryas, with
round turbans; Scindees, with square caps; Armenians, in their flowing
robes; Parsees, with black mitres. It was a Parsee festival that day.
These Parsees are followers of Zoroaster, and are the most industrious,
most intelligent, and most civilised of the native races, and to which
the majority of the Bombay merchants belong. On that occasion a sort
of religious carnival was being held; there were processions, and
numbers of dancing-girls clad in gauzy rose-coloured garments, who
danced modestly and gracefully to the sound of the tom-tom and viols.
Passe-partout, as may be imagined, drank in all these sights and
sounds with delight; and his expression at the unusual spectacle was
that of the greatest astonishment.
Unfortunately, his curiosity very nearly compromised the object of his
master's journey. He wandered on, after watching the carnival, on his
way to the station; but seeing the splendid pagoda on Malabar Hill, he
thought he would like to go in. He was quite unaware of two things:
first, that certain pagodas are closed to all Christians, and even the
believers can only obtain admittance by leaving their shoes or
slippers at the doors of the temple. The British Government,
respecting the native creed, severely punishes anyone attempting to
violate the sanctity of the native mosques or temples.
But Passe-partout, innocent of harm, tourist-like, went in, and was
admiring the pagoda and the lavish ornamentation of the interior, when
he suddenly found himself sprawling on his back on the pavement Over
him stood three angry men, who rushed upon him, tore off his shoes,
and began to pommel him soundly, uttering savage cries as they did so.
The agile Frenchman was quickly upon his feet again, and with a couple
of well-directed blows of his fists upset two of his adversaries, who
were much encumbered in their long robes; then, rushing out of the
temple, he quickly distanced the remaining Hindoo and evaded him in
the crowd.
At five minutes to eight he presented himself at the railroad station,
without his hat and shoes and minus the parcel in which all his
purchases were wrapped. Fix was there on the platform. Having tracked
Fogg, he perceived that that worthy was about to leave Bombay at once.
Fix made up his mind to go with him as far as Calcutta, and even
beyond if necessary. Passe-partout did not notice the detective, who
kept in the shade; but the policeman heard the recital of the valet's
adventures, which Passe-partout told to his master in a few sentences.
"I trust this will not happen again," replied Fogg, quietly, as he
took his seat in the carriage.
The poor lad, quite upset and minus his hat and shoes, took his place
also without replying.
Fix was getting into another compartment, when suddenly a thought
struck him, and he muttered:
"No, I will remain. An offence has been committed upon Indian ground.
I've got my man!"
At that moment the engine uttered a piercing whistle, and the train
moved out into the night.