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Around the World in 80 Days [Junior Edition] by Jules Verne

Part 2 out of 5

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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.

Chapter 12

In Which Phileas Fogg and His Companions Venture
across the Indian Forests, and What Follows

In order to shorten the journey, the guide passed to the left of
the line where the railway was still in process of being built.
This line, owing to the capricious turnings of the Vindhia
Mountains, did not pursue a straight course. The Parsee, who was
quite familiar with the roads and paths in the district, declared
that they would gain twenty miles by striking directly through
the forest.

Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty, plunged to the neck in the
peculiar howdahs provided for them, were horribly jostled by the
swift trotting of the elephant, spurred on as he was by the
skillful Parsee. But they endured the discomfort with true
British phlegm, talking little, and scarcely able to catch a
glimpse of each other.

As for Passepartout, who was mounted on the beast's back, and
received the direct force of each concussion as he walked along,
he was very careful, in accordance with his master's advice, to
keep his tongue from between his teeth, as it would otherwise
have been bitten off short. The worthy fellow bounced from the
elephant's neck to his rump, and vaulted like a clown on a
spring-board; yet he laughed in the midst of his bouncing, and
from time to time took a piece of sugar out of his pocket, and
inserted it in Kiouni's trunk, who received it without in the
least slackening his regular trot.

After two hours the guide stopped the elephant, and gave him an
hour for rest, during which Kiouni, after quenching his thirst at
a neighboring spring, set to devouring the branches and shrubs
round about him. Neither Sir Francis nor Mr. Fogg regretted the
delay, and both descended with a feeling of relief. "Why, he's
made of iron!" exclaimed the general, gazing admiringly on
Kiouni.

"Of forged iron," replied Passepartout, as he set about preparing
a hasty breakfast.

At noon the Parsee gave the signal of departure. The country soon
presented a very savage aspect. Copses of dates and dwarf-palms
succeeded the dense forests; then vast, dry plains, dotted with
scanty shrubs, and sown with great blocks of syenite. All this
portion of Bundelcund, which is little frequented by travelers,
is inhabited by a fanatical population, hardened in the most
horrible practices of the Hindoo faith. The English have not been
able to secure complete dominion over this territory, which is
subjected to the influence of rajahs, whom it is almost
impossible to reach in their inaccessible mountain retreats. The
travelers several times saw bands of ferocious Indians, who, when
they perceived the elephant striding across-country, made angry
and threatening motions. The Parsee avoided them as much as
possible. Few animals were observed on the route. Even the
monkeys hurried from their path with contortions and grimaces
which convulsed Passepartout with laughter.

In the midst of his gaiety, however, one thought troubled the
worthy servant. What would Mr. Fogg do with the elephant when he
got to Allahabad? Would he carry him on with him? Impossible! The
cost of transporting him would make him ruinously expensive.
Would he sell him, or set him free? The estimable beast certainly
deserved some consideration. Should Mr. Fogg choose to make him,
Passepartout, a present of Kiouni, he would be very much
embarrassed. These thoughts did not cease worrying him for a long
time.

The principal chain of the Vindhias was crossed by eight in the
evening, and another halt was made on the northern slope, in a
ruined bungalow. They had gone nearly twenty-five miles that day,
and an equal distance still separated them from the station of
Allahabad.

The night was cold. The Parsee lit a fire in the bungalow with a
few dry branches, and the warmth was much appreciated. Provisions
purchased at Kholby sufficed for supper, and the travelers ate
ravenously. The conversation, beginning with a few disconnected
phrases, soon gave place to loud and steady snores. The guide
watched Kiouni, who slept standing, bolstering himself against
the trunk of a large tree. Nothing occurred during the night to
disturb the slumberers, although occasional growls from panthers
and chatterings of monkeys broke the silence; the more formidable
beasts made no cries or hostile demonstration against the
occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis slept heavily, like an
honest soldier overcome with fatigue. Passepartout was wrapped in
uneasy dreams of the bouncing of the day before. As for Mr. Fogg,
he slumbered as peacefully as if he had been in his serene
mansion in Saville Row.

The journey was resumed at six in the morning. The guide hoped to
reach Allahabad by evening. In that case, 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 northeast They stopped under a clump of bananas, the fruit
of which, as healthy as bread and as succulent as cream, was
eaten 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.

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 travelers 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 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 colored 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, recognizing the statue, whispered, "The goddess
Kali. The goddess of love and death."

"Of death, perhaps," muttered Passepartout, "but of love - that
ugly old hag? Never!"

The Parsee made a motion to keep silent.

A group of old fakirs were capering and making a wild ado round
the statue. They 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 an European. Her head and neck, shoulders, ears, arms,
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 dress 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.

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
tomorrow 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 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
tomorrow 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 -"

"Tomorrow, 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 13

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.

"Officer," 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 rescuing 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.
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 saw 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 over-hanging
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, told 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 14

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 traveling blanket, was
reposing in one of the howdahs.

The elephant, thanks to the skillful 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 country, and would,
despite the English police, recover their victim at Madras,
Bombay, or Calcutta. She would only be safe by quitting India
forever.

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, while 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, it
was 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 modeled 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
acceptance 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. This 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," he said 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 honor is giving me a fortune!" he cried.

"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 clothes, and with travelers 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. But the Benares of today, which the
Orientalists call the Athens of India, stands quite unpoetically
on 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 were 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. 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
travelers 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? Anglicized as it is
today, 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 travelers could
scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie, twenty miles southwestward
from Benares, the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar; or
Ghazipur and its famous rose-waterfactories; 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, edge-tool 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. 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 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 15

In Which the Bag of Banknotes Disgorges
Some Thousands of Pounds More

The train entered the station. Passepartout jumped out first,
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."

Mr. Fogg betrayed no surprise whatever. The policeman was a
representative of the law, and law is sacred to an Englishman.
Passepartout tried to reason about the matter, but the policeman
tapped him with his stick, and Mr. Fogg made him a signal to
obey.

"May this young lady go with us?" he asked. "She may," replied the
policeman.

Mr. Fogg, Aouda and Passepartout were conducted to a palkighari,
a sort of four-wheeled carriage, drawn by two horses. They took
their places and were driven away. No one spoke during the twenty
minutes which elapsed before they reached their destination.

They first passed through the "black town," with its narrow
streets, its miserable, dirty huts and squalid population; then
through the "European town," which presented a relief in its
bright brick mansions, shaded by coconut-trees and bristling with
masts, where, although it was early morning, elegantly dressed
horsemen and handsome equipages were passing back and forth.

The carriage stopped before a modest-looking house, which,
however, did not have the appearance of a private mansion. The
policeman having requested his prisoners - for so, truly, they
might be called - to descend, conducted them into a room with
barred windows, and said: "You will appear before Judge Obadiah
at half-past eight."

He then retired, and closed the door.

"Why, we are prisoners!" exclaimed Passepartout, falling into a
chair.

Aouda, with an emotion she tried to conceal, said to Mr. Fogg:
"Sir, you must leave me to my fate! It is on my account that you
receive this treatment. It is for having saved me!"

Phileas Fogg contented himself with saying that it was
impossible. It was quite unlikely that he should be arrested for
preventing a suttee. The complainants would not dare present
themselves with such a charge. There was some mistake. Moreover,
he would not, in any event, abandon Aouda, but would escort her
to Hong Kong.

"But the steamer leaves at noon!" observed Passepartout,
nervously.

"We shall be on board by noon," replied his master, placidly. It
was said so positively that Passepartout could not help muttering
to himself, "Parbleu that's certain! Before noon we shall be on
board." But he was by no means reassured.

At half-past eight the door opened, the policeman appeared, and,
requesting them to follow him, led the way to an adjoining hall.
It was evidently a courtroom, and a crowd of Europeans and
natives already occupied the rear of the apartment.

Mr. Fogg and his two companions took their places on a bench
opposite the desks of the magistrate and his clerk. Immediately
after, Judge Obadiah, a fat, round man, followed by the clerk,
entered. He proceeded to take down a wig which was hanging on a
nail, and put it hurriedly on his head.

"The first case," he said. Then, putting his hand to his head, he
exclaimed, "Heh! This is not my wig!"

"No, your worship," returned the clerk, "it is mine."

"My dear Mr. Oysterpuff, how can a judge give a wise sentence in
a clerk's wig?"

The wigs were exchanged.

Passepartout was getting nervous, for the hands on the face of
the big clock over the judge seemed to go around with terrible
rapidity.

"The first case," repeated Judge Obadiah.

"Phileas Fogg?" demanded Oysterpuff.

"I am here," replied Mr. Fogg.

"Passepartout?"

"Present," responded Passepartout.

"Good," said the judge. "You have been looked for, prisoners, for
two days on the trains from Bombay."

"But of what are we accused?" asked Passepartout, impatiently.

"You are about to be informed."

"I am an English subject, sir," said Mr. Fogg, "and I have the
right -"

"Have you been ill-treated?"

"Not at all."

"Very well. Let the complainants come in."

A door was swung open by order of the judge, and three Indian
priests entered.

"That's it," muttered Passepartout. "These are the rogues who
were going to burn our young lady."

The priests took their places in front of the judge, and the
clerk proceeded to read in a loud voice a complaint of sacrilege
against Phileas Fogg and his servant, who were accused of having
violated a place held consecrated by the Brahmin religion.

"You hear the charge?" asked the judge.

"Yes, sir," replied Mr. Fogg, consulting his watch, "and I admit
it."

"You admit it?"

"I admit it, and I wish to hear these priests admit, in their
turn, what they were going to do at the pagoda of Pillaji."

The priests looked at each other. They did not seem to understand
what was said.

"Yes," cried Passepartout, warmly; "at the pagoda of Pillaji,
where they were on the point of burning their victim."

The judge stared with astonishment, and the priests were
stupefied.

"What victim?" said Judge Obadiah. "Burn whom? In Bombay itself?"

"Bombay?" cried Passepartout.

"Certainly. we are not talking of the pagoda of Pillaji, but of
the pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay."

"And as a proof," added the clerk, "here are the desecrator's
very shoes, which he left behind him."

Whereupon he placed a pair of shoes on his desk.

"My shoes!" cried Passepartout, in his surprise permitting this
imprudent exclamation to escape him.

The confusion of master and man, who had quite forgotten the
affair at Bombay, for which they were now detained at Calcutta,
may be imagined.

Fix, the detective, had foreseen the advantage which
Passepartout's escapade gave him, and, delaying his departure for
twelve hours, had consulted the priests of Malabar Hill. Knowing
that the English authorities dealt very severely with this kind
of misdemeanor, he promised them a goodly sum in damages, and
sent them forward to Calcutta by the next train. Owing to the
delay caused by the rescue of the young widow, Fix and the
priests reached the Indian capital before Mr. Fogg and his
servant. The magistrates had been already warned by a despatch to
arrest them should they arrive. Fix's disappointment when he
learned that Phileas Fogg had not made his appearance in Calcutta
may be imagined. He made up his mind that the robber had stopped
somewhere on the route and taken refuge in the southern
provinces. For twenty-four hours Fix watched the station with
feverish anxiety. At last he was rewarded by seeing Mr. Fogg and
Passepartout arrive, accompanied by a young woman, whose
presence he was wholly at a loss to explain. He hastened for a
policeman, and this was how the party came to be arrested and
brought before Judge Obadiah.

Had Passepartout been a little less preoccupied, he would have
seen the detective settled in a corner of the courtroom, watching
the proceedings with an interest easily understood; for the
warrant had failed to reach him at Calcutta, as it had done at
Bombay and Suez.

Judge Obadiah had unfortunately caught Passepartout's rash
exclamation, which the poor fellow would have given the world to
recall.

"The facts are admitted?" asked the judge.

"Admitted," replied Mr. Fogg, coldly.

"Inasmuch," resumed the judge, "as the English law protects
equally and sternly the religions of the Indian people, and as
the man Passepartout has admitted that he violated the sacred
pagoda of Malabar Hill, at Bombay, on the 20th of October, I
condemn the said Passepartout to imprisonment for fifteen days
and a fine of three hundred pounds."

"Three hundred pounds!" cried Passepartout, startled at the
largeness of the sum.

"Silence!" shouted the constable.

"And inasmuch," continued the judge, "as it is not proved that
the act was not done by the connivance of the master with the
servant, and as the master in any case must be held responsible
for the acts of his paid servant, I condemn Phileas Fogg to a
week's imprisonment and a fine of one hundred and fifty pounds."

Fix rubbed his hands softly with satisfaction. If Phileas Fogg
could be detained in Calcutta a week, it would be more than time
for the warrant to arrive. Passepartout was stupefied. This
sentence ruined his master. A wager of twenty thousand pounds
lost, because he, like a precious fool, had gone into that
abominable pagoda!

Phileas Fogg, as self-composed as if the judgment did not in the
least concern him, did not even lift his eyebrows while it was
being pronounced. Just as the clerk was calling the next case, he
rose, and said, "I offer bail."

"You have that right," returned the judge. Fix's blood ran cold,
but he resumed his composure when he heard the judge announce
that the bail required for each prisoner would be one thousand
pounds.

"I will pay it at once," said Mr. Fogg, taking a roll of bank
bills from the carpetbag, which Passepartout had by him, and
placing them on the clerk's desk.

"This sum will be restored to you upon your release from
prison," said the judge. "Meanwhile, you are liberated on bail."

"Come!" said Phileas Fogg to his servant.

"But let them at least give me back my shoes!" cried Passepartout
angrily.

"Ah, these are pretty dear shoes!" he muttered, as they were
handed to him. "More than a thousand pounds apiece. Besides,
they pinch my feet."

Mr. Fogg, offering his arm to Aouda, then departed, followed by
the crestfallen Passepartout. Fix still nourished hopes that the
robber would not, after all, leave the two thousand pounds behind
him, but would decide to serve out his week in jail, and issued
forth on Mr. Fogg's traces. That gentleman took a carriage, and
the party were soon landed on one of the quays.

The Rangoon was moored half a mile off in the harbor. Its signal
of departure was hoisted at the masthead. Eleven o'clock was
striking. Mr. Fogg was an hour in advance of time. Fix saw them
leave the carriage and push off in a boat for the steamer, and
stamped his feet with disappointment.

"The rascal is off, after all!" he exclaimed. "Two thousand
pounds sacrificed! He's as prodigal as a thief! I'll follow him
to the end of the world if necessary; but, at the rate he is
going on, the stolen money will soon be exhausted."

The detective was not far wrong in making this conjecture. Since
leaving London, what with traveling expenses, bribes, the
purchase of the elephant, bails and fines, Mr. Fogg had already
spent more than five thousand pounds on the way, and the
percentage of the sum recovered from the bank robber, promised to
the detectives, was rapidly diminishing.

Chapter 16

In Which Fix Does Not Seem to Understand
in the Least What is Said to Him

The Rangoon - one of the Peninsular and Oriental Company's boats
plying in the Chinese and Japanese seas - was a screw steamer,
built of iron, weighing about seventeen hundred and seventy tons,
and with engines of four hundred horsepower. She was as fast, but
not as well fitted up, as the Mongolia, and Aouda was not as
comfortably provided for on board her as Phileas Fogg could have
wished. However, the trip from Calcutta to Hong Kong only
comprised some three thousand five hundred miles, occupying from
ten to twelve days, and the young woman was not difficult to
please.

During the first days of the journey Aouda became better
acquainted with her protector, and constantly gave evidence of
her deep gratitude for what he had done. The phlegmatic gentleman
listened to her, apparently at least, with coldness, neither his
voice nor his manner betraying the slightest emotion; but he
seemed to be always on the watch that nothing should be wanting
to Aouda's comfort. He visited her regularly each day at certain
hours, not so much to talk himself, as to sit and hear her talk.
He treated her with the strictest politeness, but with the
precision of an automaton, the movements of which had been
arranged for this purpose. Aouda did not quite know what to make
of him, though Passepartout had given her some hints of his
master's eccentricity, and made her smile by telling her of the
wager which was sending him round the world. After all, she owed
Phileas Fogg her life, and she always regarded him through the
exalting medium of her gratitude.

Aouda confirmed the Parsee guide's narrative of her touching
history. She did, indeed, belong to the highest of the native
races of India. Many of the Parsee merchants have made great
fortunes there by dealing in cotton. One of them, Sir Jametsee
Jeejeebhoy, was made a baronet by the English government. Aouda
was a relative of this great man, and it was his cousin, Jeejeeh,
whom she hoped to join at Hong Kong. Whether she would find a
protector in him she could not tell; but Mr. Fogg tried to calm
her anxieties, and to assure her that everything would be
mathematically - he used the very word - arranged. Aouda fastened
her great eyes, "clear as the sacred lakes of the Himalaya," upon
him; but the intractable Fogg, as reserved as ever, did not seem
at all inclined to throw himself into this lake.

The first few days of the voyage passed happily, amid favorable
weather and propitious winds, and the ship soon came in sight of
the great Andaman, the principal of the islands in the Bay of
Bengal, with its picturesque Saddle Peak, two thousand four
hundred feet high, looming above the waters. The steamer passed
along near the shores, but the savage Papuans, who are in the
lowest scale of humanity, but are not, as has been asserted,
cannibals, did not make their appearance.

The panorama of the islands, as they steamed by them, was superb.
Vast forests of palms, arecs, bamboo, teakwood, of the gigantic
mimosa and tree-like ferns covered the foreground. Behind, the
graceful outlines of the mountains were traced against the sky;
and along the coasts swarmed thousands of the precious swallows
whose nests furnish a luxurious dish to the tables of the
Celestial Empire. The varied landscape afforded by the Andaman
Islands was soon passed, however, and the Rangoon rapidly
approached the Straits of Malacca, which give access to the China
seas.

What was detective Fix, so unluckily drawn on from country to
country, doing all this while? He had managed to embark on the
Rangoon at Calcutta without being seen by Passepartout, after
leaving orders that, if the warrant should arrive, it should be
forwarded to him at Hong Kong; and he hoped to conceal his
presence to the end of the voyage. It would have been difficult
to explain why he was on board without awakening Passepartout's
suspicions, who thought him still at Bombay. But necessity
impelled him, nevertheless, to renew his acquaintance with the
worthy servant, as will be seen.

All the detective's hopes and wishes were now centered on Hong
Kong; for the steamer's stay at Singapore would be too brief to
enable him to take any steps there. The arrest must be made at
Hong Kong, or the robber would probably escape him forever. Hong
Kong was the last English ground on which he would set foot.
Beyond, China, Japan, America offered to Fogg an almost certain
refuge. If the warrant should at last make its appearance at Hong
Kong, Fix could arrest him and be no further trouble. But beyond
Hong Kong? a simple warrant would be of no avail. An extradition
warrant would be necessary, and that would result in delays and
obstacles, of which the rascal would take advantage to elude
justice.

Fix thought over these probabilities during the long hours which
he spent in his cabin, and kept repeating to himself, "Now,
either the warrant will be at Hong Kong, in which case I shall
arrest my man, or it will not be there. This time it is
absolutely necessary that I should delay his departure. I have
failed at Bombay, and I have failed at Calcutta. If I fail at
Hong Kong, my reputation is lost. Cost what it may, I must
succeed! But how shall I prevent his departure, if that should
turn out to be my last resource?"

Fix made up his mind that, if worst came to worst, he would make
a confidant of Passepartout, and tell him what kind of a fellow
his master really was. That Passepartout was not Fogg's
accomplice, he was very certain. The servant, enlightened by his
disclosure, and afraid of being himself implicated in the crime,
would doubtless become an ally of the detective. But this method
was a dangerous one, only to be employed when everything else had
failed. A word from Passepartout to his master would ruin all.
The detective was therefore in a sore strait. But suddenly a new
idea struck him. The presence of Aouda on the Rangoon, in company
with Phileas Fogg, gave him new material for reflection.

Who was this woman? What combination of events had made her
Fogg's traveling companion? They had evidently met somewhere
between Bombay and Calcutta; but where? Had they met
accidentally, or had Fogg gone into the interior purposely in
quest of this charming damsel? Fix was fairly puzzled. He asked
himself whether there had not been a wicked elopement. This idea
so impressed itself upon his mind that he determined to make use
of the supposed intrigue. Whether the young woman were married or
not, he would be able to create such difficulties for Mr. Fogg at
Hong Kong that he could not escape by paying any amount of money.
But could he even wait till they reached Hong Kong? Fogg had an
abominable way of jumping from one boat to another, and, before
anything could be effected, might get full under weigh again for
Yokohama.

Fix decided that he must warn the English authorities, and signal
the Rangoon before her arrival. This was easy to do, since the
steamer stopped at Singapore, where there is a telegraphic wire
to Hong Kong. He finally resolved, moreover, before acting more
positively, to question Passepartout. It would not be difficult
to make him talk. As there was no time to lose, Fix prepared to
make himself known.

It was now the 30th of October, and on the following day the
Rangoon was due at Singapore.

Fix emerged from his cabin and went on deck. Passepartout was
promenading up and down in the forward part of the steamer. The
detective rushed forward with every appearance of extreme
surprise, and exclaimed, "You here, on the Rangoon?"

"What, Monsieur Fix, are you on board?" returned the really
astonished Passepartout, recognizing his crony of the Mongolia.
"Why, I left you at Bombay, and here you are on the way to Hong
Kong! Are you going round the world too?"

"No, no," replied Fix. "I shall stop at Hong Kong - at least for
some days."

"Hum!" said Passepartout, who seemed for an instant perplexed.
"But how is it I have not seen you on board since we left
Calcutta?"

"Oh, a trifle of seasickness - I've been staying in my berth. The
Gulf of Bengal does not agree with me as well as the Indian
Ocean. And how is Mr. Fogg?"

"As well and as punctual as ever, not a day behind time! But,
Monsieur Fix, you don't know that we have a young lady with us."

"A young lady?" replied the detective, not seeming to comprehend
what was said.

Passepartout thereupon recounted Aouda's history, the affair at
the Bombay pagoda, the purchase of the elephant for two thousand
pounds, the rescue, the arrest and sentence of the Calcutta
court, and the restoration of Mr. Fogg and himself to liberty on
bail. Fix, who was familiar with the last events, seemed to be
equally ignorant of all that Passepartout related; and the latter
was charmed to find so interested a listener.

"But does your master propose to carry this young woman to
Europe?"

"Not at all. We are simply going to place her under the
protection of one of her relatives, a rich merchant at Hong
Kong."

"Nothing to be done there," said Fix to himself, concealing his
disappointment. "A glass of gin, Mr. Passepartout?"

"Willingly, Monsieur Fix. We must at least have a friendly glass
on board the Rangoon."

Chapter 17

Showing What Happened on the Voyage from Singapore to Hong Kong

The detective and Passepartout met often on deck after this
interview, though Fix was reserved, and did not attempt to induce
his companion to divulge any more facts concerning Mr. Fogg. He
caught a glimpse of that mysterious gentleman once or twice. But
Mr. Fogg usually confined himself to the cabin, where he kept
Aouda company, or, according to his inveterate habit, took a hand
at whist.

Passepartout began very seriously to conjecture what strange
chance kept Fix still on the route that his master was pursuing.
It was really worth considering why this certainly very amiable
and complacent person, whom he had first met at Suez, had then
encountered on board the Mongolia, who disembarked at Bombay,
which he announced as his destination, and now turned up so
unexpectedly on the Rangoon, was following Mr. Fogg's tracks
step by step. What was Fix's object? Passepartout was ready to
wager his Indian shoes - which he religiously preserved - that
Fix would also leave Hong Kong at the same time with them, and
probably on the same steamer.

Passepartout might have cudgeled his brain for a century without
hitting upon the real object which the detective had in view. He
never could have imagined that Phileas Fogg was being tracked as
a robber around the globe. But, as it is in human nature to
attempt the solution of every mystery, Passepartout suddenly
discovered an explanation of Fix's movements, which was in truth
far from unreasonable. Fix, he thought, could only be an agent of
Mr. Fogg's friends at the Reform Club, sent to follow him up, and
to ascertain that he really went round the world as had been
agreed upon.

"It's clear!" repeated the worthy servant to himself, proud of
his shrewdness. "He's a spy sent to keep us in view! That isn't
quite the thing, either, to be spying on Mr. Fogg, who is so
honorable a man! Ah, gentlemen of the Reform, this shall cost you
dear!"

Passepartout, enchanted with his discovery, resolved to say
nothing to his master, lest he should be justly offended at this
mistrust on the part of his adversaries. But he determined to
chaff Fix, when he had the chance, with mysterious allusions,
which, however, need not betray his real suspicions.

During the afternoon of Wednesday, 30th October, the Rangoon
entered the Strait of Malacca, which separates the peninsula of
that name from Sumatra. The mountainous and craggy islets
intercepted the beauties of this noble island from the view of
the travelers. The Rangoon weighed anchor at Singapore the next
day at four A.M., to receive coal, having gained half a day on
the prescribed time of her arrival. Phileas Fogg noted this gain
in his journal, and then, accompanied by Aouda, who betrayed a
desire for a walk on shore, disembarked.

Fix, who suspected Mr. Fogg's every movement, followed them
cautiously, without being himself perceived; while Passepartout,
laughing in his sleeve at Fix's maneuvers, went about his usual
errands.

The island of Singapore is not imposing in aspect, for there are
no mountains; yet its appearance is not without attractions. It
is a park checkered by pleasant highways and avenues. A handsome
carriage, drawn by a sleek pair of New Holland horses, carried
Phileas Fogg and Aouda into the midst of rows of palms with
brilliant foliage, and of clover-trees, whereof the cloves form
the head of a half-open flower. Pepper plants replaced the
prickly hedges of European fields. Sago-bushes, large ferns with
gorgeous branches, varied the aspect of this tropical clime.
Nutmeg trees in full foliage filled the air with a penetrating
perfume. Agile and grinning bands of monkeys skipped about in the
trees, nor were tigers wanting in the jungles.

After a drive of two hours through the country, Aouda and Mr.
Fogg returned to the town, which is a vast collection of
heavy-looking, irregular houses, surrounded by charming gardens
rich in tropical fruits and plants. At ten o'clock they
re-embarked, closely followed by the detective, who had kept them
constantly in sight.

Passepartout, who had been purchasing several dozen mangoes - a
fruit as large as good-sized apples, of a dark brown color
outside and a bright red within, and whose white pulp, melting in
the mouth, affords gourmands a delicious sensation - was waiting
for them on deck. He was only too glad to offer some mangoes to
Aouda, who thanked him very gracefully for them.

At eleven o'clock the Rangoon rode out of Singapore harbor, and
in a few hours the high mountains of Malacca, with their forests,
inhabited by the most beautifully furred tigers in the world,
were lost to view. Singapore is distant some thirteen hundred
miles from the island of Hong Kong, which is a little English
colony near the Chinese coast. Phileas Fogg hoped to accomplish
the journey in six days, so as to be in time for the steamer
which would leave on the 6th of November for Yokohama, the
principal Japanese port.

The Rangoon had a large quota of passengers, many of whom
disembarked at Singapore, among them a number of Indians,
Ceylonese, Chinamen, Malays and Portuguese, mostly second-class
travelers.

The weather, which had hitherto been fine, changed with the last
quarter of the moon. The sea rolled heavily, and the wind at
intervals rose almost to a storm, but happily blew from the
southwest, and thus aided the steamer's progress. The captain as
often as possible put up his sails, and under the double action
of steam and sail the vessel made rapid progress along the coast
of Anam and Cochin China. Owing to the defective construction of
the Rangoon, however, unusual precautions became necessary in
unfavorable weather; but the loss of time which resulted from
this cause, while it nearly drove Passepartout out of his senses,
did not seem to affect his master in the least. Passepartout
blamed the captain, the engineer and the crew, and
consigned all who were connected with the ship to the land where
the pepper grows. Perhaps the thought of the gas, which was
remorselessly burning at his expense in Saville Row, had
something to do with his hot impatience.

"You are in a great hurry, then," said Fix to him one day, "to
reach Hong Kong?"

"A very great hurry!"

"Mr. Fogg, I suppose, is anxious to catch the steamer for
Yokohama?"

"Terribly anxious."

"You believe in this journey around the world, then?"

"Absolutely. Don't you, Mr. Fix?"

"I? I don't believe a word of it."

"You're a sly dog!" said Passepartout, winking at him.

This expression rather disturbed Fix, without his knowing why.
Had the Frenchman guessed his real purpose? He knew not what to
think. But how could Passepartout have discovered that he was a
detective? Yet, in speaking as he did, the man evidently meant
more than he expressed.

Passepartout went still further the next day. He could not hold
his tongue.

"Mr. Fix," said he, in a bantering tone, "shall we be so
unfortunate as to lose you when we get to Hong Kong?"

"Why," responded Fix, a little embarrassed, "I don't know;
perhaps -"

"Ah, if you would only go on with us! An agent of the Peninsular
Company, you know, can't stop on the way! You were only going to
Bombay, and here you are in China. America is not far off, and
from America to Europe is only a step."

Fix looked intently at his companion, whose countenance was as
serene as possible, and laughed with him. But Passepartout
persisted in chaffing him by asking him if he made much by his
present occupation.

"Yes, and no," returned Fix. "There is good and bad luck in such
things. But you must understand that I don't travel at my own
expense."

"Oh, I am quite sure of that!" cried Passepartout, laughing
heartily.

Fix, fairly puzzled, descended to his cabin and gave himself up
to his reflections. He was evidently suspected; somehow or other
the Frenchman had found out that he was a detective. But had he
told his master? What part was he playing in all this. Was he an
accomplice or not? Was the game, then, up? Fix spent several
hours turning these things over in his mind, sometimes thinking
that all was lost, then persuading himself that Fogg was ignorant
of his presence, and then undecided what course it was best to
take.

Nevertheless, he preserved his coolness of mind, and at last
resolved to deal plainly with Passepartout. If he did not find it
practicable to arrest Fogg at Hong Kong, and if Fogg made
preparations to leave that last foothold of English territory,
he, Fix, would tell Passepartout all. Either the servant was the
accomplice of his master, and in this case the master knew of his
operations, and he should fail; or else the servant knew nothing
about the robbery, and then his interest would be to abandon the
robber.

Such was the situation between Fix and Passepartout. Meanwhile
Phileas Fogg moved about above them in the most majestic and
unconscious indifference. He was passing methodically in his
orbit around the world, regardless of the lesser stars which
gravitated around him. Yet there was near by what the astronomers
would call a disturbing star, which might have produced an
agitation in this gentleman's heart. But no! The charms of Aouda
failed to act, to Passepartout's great surprise; and the
disturbances, if they existed, would have been more difficult to
calculate than those of Uranus which led to the discovery of
Neptune.

It was every day an increasing wonder to Passepartout, who read
in Aouda's eyes the depths of her gratitude to his master.
Phileas Fogg, though brave and gallant, must be, he thought,
quite heartless. As to the sentiment which this journey might
have awakened in him, there was clearly no trace of such a thing;
while poor Passepartout existed in perpetual reveries.

One day he was leaning on the railing of the engine room, and was
observing the engine, when a sudden pitch of the steamer threw
the screw out of the water. The steam came hissing out of the
valves; and this made Passepartout indignant.

"The valves are not sufficiently charged!" he exclaimed. "We are
not going. Oh, these English! If this was an American craft, we
should blow up, perhaps, but we should at all events go faster!"

Chapter 18

In Which Phileas Fogg, Passepartout and Fix
Go Each about His Business

The weather was bad during the latter days of the voyage. The
wind, obstinately remaining in the northwest, blew a gale, and
retarded the steamer. The Rangoon rolled heavily and the
passengers became impatient of the long, monstrous waves which
the wind raised before their path. A sort of tempest arose on the
3rd of November, the squall knocking the vessel about with fury,
and the waves running high. The Rangoon reefed all her sails, and
even the rigging proved too much, whistling and shaking amid the
squall. The steamer was forced to proceed slowly, and the captain
estimated that she would reach Hong Kong twenty hours behind
time, and more if the storm lasted.

Phileas Fogg gazed at the tempestuous sea, which seemed to be
struggling especially to delay him, with his habitual
tranquillity. He never changed countenance for an instant, though
a delay of twenty hours, by making him too late for the Yokohama
boat, would almost inevitably cause the loss of the wager. But
this man of nerve manifested neither impatience nor annoyance. It
seemed as if the storm were a part of his program, and had been
foreseen. Aouda was amazed to find him as calm as he had been
from the first time she saw him.

Fix did not look at the state of things in the same light. The
storm greatly pleased him. His satisfaction would have been
complete had the Rangoon been forced to retreat before the
violence of wind and waves. Each delay filled him with hope, for
it became more and more probable that Fogg would be obliged to
remain some days at Hong Kong; and now the heavens themselves
became his allies, with the gusts and squalls. It mattered not
that they made him seasick - he made nothing of this
inconvenience; and, while his body was writhing under their
effects, his spirit bounded with hopeful joy.

Passepartout was enraged beyond expression by the unpropitious
weather. Everything had gone so well till now! Earth and sea had
seemed to be at his master's service. Steamers and railways
obeyed him. Wind and steam united to speed his journey. Had the
hour of adversity come? Passepartout was as much excited as if
the twenty thousand pounds were to come from his own pocket. The
storm exasperated him, the gale made him furious, and he longed
to lash the obstinate sea into obedience. Poor fellow! Fix
carefully concealed from him his own satisfaction, for, had he
betrayed it, Passepartout could scarcely have restrained himself
from personal violence.

Passepartout remained on deck as long as the tempest lasted,
being unable to remain quiet below, and taking it into his head
to aid the progress of the ship by lending a hand with the crew.
He overwhelmed the captain, officers and sailors, who could not
help laughing at his impatience, with all sorts of questions. He
wanted to know exactly how long the storm was going to last. He
was referred to the barometer, which seemed to have no intention
of rising. Passepartout shook it, but with no perceptible effect;
for neither shaking nor maledictions could prevail upon if to
change its mind.

On the 4th, however, the sea became more calm, and the storm
lessened its violence. The wind veered southward, and was once
more favorable. Passepartout cleared up with the weather. Some of
the sails were unfurled, and the Rangoon resumed its most rapid
speed. The time lost could not, however, be regained. Land was
not signaled until five o'clock on the morning of the 6th. The
steamer was due on the 5th. Phileas Fogg was twenty-four hours
behind, and the Yokohama steamer would, of course, be missed.

The pilot went on board at six, and took his place on the bridge,
to guide the Rangoon through the channels to the port of Hong
Kong. Passepartout longed to ask him if the steamer had left for
Yokohama; but he dared not, for he wished to preserve the spark
of hope, which still remained till the last moment. He had
confided his anxiety to Fix who - the sly rascal - tried to
console him by saying that Mr. Fogg would be in time if he took
the next boat. This only put Passepartout in a passion.

Mr. Fogg, bolder than his servant, did not hesitate to approach
the pilot, and tranquilly ask him if he knew when a steamer would
leave Hong Kong for Yokohama.

"At high tide tomorrow morning," answered the pilot.

"Ah!" said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any astonishment.

Passepartout, who heard what passed, would willingly have
embraced the pilot, while Fix would have been glad to twist his
neck.

"What is the steamer's name?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"The Carnatic."

"Ought she not to have gone yesterday?"

"Yes, sir; but they had to repair one of her boilers, and so her
departure was postponed till tomorrow."

"Thank you," returned Mr. Fogg, descending mathematically to the
saloon.

Passepartout clasped the pilot's hand and shook it heartily in
his delight, exclaiming, "Pilot, you are the best of good
fellows!"

The pilot probably does not know to this day why his responses
won him this enthusiastic greeting. He remounted the bridge, and
guided the steamer through the flotilla of junks, tankas and
fishing boats which crowded the harbor of Hong Kong.

At one o'clock the Rangoon was at the quay, and the passengers
were going ashore.

Chance had strangely favored Phileas Fogg, for if the Carnatic
had not been forced to lie over for repairing her boiler, she
would have left on the 6th of November, and the passengers for
Japan would have been obliged to wait a week for the sailing of
the next steamer. Mr. Fogg was, it is true, twenty-four hours
behind his time; but this could not seriously imperil the
remainder of his tour.

The steamer which crossed the Pacific from Yokohama to San
Francisco made a direct connection with that from Hong Kong, and
it could not sail until the latter reached Yokohama. If Mr. Fogg
was twenty-four hours late on reaching Yokohama, this time would
no doubt be easily regained in the voyage of twenty-two days
across the Pacific. He found himself, then, about twenty-four
hours behind time, thirty-five days after leaving London.

The Carnatic was announced to leave Hong Kong at five the next
morning. Mr. Fogg had sixteen hours in which to attend to his
business there, which was to deposit Aouda safely with her
wealthy relative.

On landing, he conducted her to a palanquin, in which they
repaired to the Club Hotel. A room was engaged for the young
woman, and Mr. Fogg, after seeing that she wanted for nothing,
set out in search of her cousin Jeejeeh. He instructed
Passepartout to remain at the hotel until his return, that Aouda
might not be left entirely alone.

Mr. Fogg repaired to the Exchange, where, he did not doubt,
everyone would know so wealthy and considerable a person as the
Parsee merchant. Meeting a broker, he made the inquiry, to learn
that Jeejeeh had left China two years before, and, retiring from
business with an immense fortune, had taken up his residence in
Europe -in- Holland the broker thought, with the merchants of
which country he had principally traded. Phileas Fogg returned to
the hotel, begged a moment's conversation with Aouda, and,
without more ado, told her that Jeejeeh was no longer at Hong
Kong, but probably in Holland.

Aouda at first said nothing. She passed her hand across her
forehead, and reflected a few moments. Then, in her sweet, soft
voice, she said: "What ought I to do, Mr. Fogg?"

"It is very simple," responded the gentleman. "Co on to Europe."

"But I cannot intrude -"

"You do not intrude, nor do you in the least embarrass my
project. Passepartout!"

"Monsieur."

"Go to the Carnatic, and engage three cabins."

Passepartout, delighted that the young woman, who was very
gracious to him, was going to continue the journey with them,
went off at a brisk gait to obey his master's order.

Chapter 19

In Which Passepartout Takes a Too Great Interest in His Master,
and What Comes of It

Hong Kong is an island which came into the possession of the
English by the Treaty of Nankin, after the war of 1842; and the
colonizing genius of the English has created upon it an important
city and an excellent port. The island is situated at the mouth
of the Canton River, and is separated by about sixty miles from
the Portuguese town of Macao, on the opposite coast. Hong Kong
has beaten Macao in the struggle for the Chinese trade, and now
the greater part of the transportation of Chinese goods finds its
depot at the former place. Docks, hospitals, wharves, a Gothic
cathedral, a government house, macadamized streets, give to Hong
Kong the appearance of a town in Kent or Surrey transferred by
some strange magic to the antipodes.

Passepartout wandered, with his hands in his pockets, towards the
Victoria port, gazing as he went at the curious palanquins and
other modes of conveyance, and the groups of Chinese, Japanese
and Europeans who passed to and fro in the streets. Hong Kong
seemed to him not unlike Bombay, Calcutta and Singapore, since,
like them, it betrayed everywhere the evidence of English
supremacy. At the Victoria port he found a confused mass of ships
of all nations: English, French, American and Dutch, men-of-war
and trading vessels, Japanese and Chinese junks, sempas, tankas
and flower-boats, which formed so many floating parterres.
Passepartout noticed in the crowd a number of the natives who
seemed very old and were dressed in yellow. On going into a
barber's to get shaved he learned that these ancient men were all
at least eighty years old, at which age they are permitted to
wear yellow, which is the Imperial color. Passepartout, without

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