The train started punctually, carrying the usual complement of travellers, including officers of the civil and military classes and merchants. Passe-partout was seated near his master, a third traveller had secured a corner opposite.

This gentleman was General Sir Francis Cromarty, one of Mr. Fogg's whist-party on board the Mongolia, who was en route to take up his command at Benares.

Sir Francis was a tall fair specimen of the British officer, about fifty years old. He had greatly distinguished himself during the Mutiny. He had been in India almost all his life, and only paid occasional visits to his native country. He was a well-informed man, and would willingly have imparted any information he possessed, had Phileas Fogg chosen to apply to him. But the latter did nothing of the kind. He never travelled. He merely made a track across country. He was a heavy body, describing an orbit around the terrestrial globe, according to certain mechanical laws. At that time he was actually engaged in calculating how many hours had passed since he left London, and he would have rubbed his hands joyfully, had he been one of those people who indulge in these needless enthusiastic demonstrations.

Sir Francis Cromarty had already noticed the eccentricity of his companion while at whist, and had questioned seriously whether a human heart actually beat beneath that cold envelope of flesh, whether Fogg really possessed a soul alive to the beauties of nature, and subject to human failings and aspirations. That was what puzzled the gallant soldier. None of the many original characters which it had been his fortune to encounter had, in any way, resembled this product of the action of exact science upon humanity.

Phileas Fogg had not concealed from Sir Francis the object of his journey round the world, nor the conditions under which he had undertaken it. The general saw nothing in this wager but the eccentricity of its surroundings, and the want of transire benefaciendo which ought to guide any reasonable man. If this extraordinary man went on in this manner all his life, he would finally quit the world, having done absolutely nothing for his own benefit or for that of others.

An hour after leaving Bombay, the train crossed the viaduct carrying the line from Salsette to the mainland. At Callyan station they left the branch-line to Kandallah and Poona on the right, and proceeded to Panwell. Here they traversed the gorges of the Western Ghauts, composed of trap and basaltic rocks, the highest summits of which are crowned with thick trees.

Sir Francis Cromarty and Phileas Fogg occasionally exchanged a few words, and at one time the general picked up the thread of conversation by remarking:

"A few years ago, Mr. Fogg, you would have experienced a considerable impediment to your journey here, and would most likely have compromised your success."

"How do you mean, Sir Francis?"

"Because the railway did not go beyond the base of these mountains, and it was then necessary to make the journey in palanquins or on ponies as far as Kandallah on the opposite slope."

"Such an interruption would not in any way have disarranged my plans," replied Mr. Fogg. "I have taken precautions against certain obstacles."

"Nevertheless, Mr. Fogg, you very nearly had an awkward bit of business on hand in consequence of yonder fellow's adventure."

Passe-partout was fast asleep, with his feet well muffled up in the railway-rug, and was quite unconscious that he was the subject of conversation.

"The British Government is extremely strict, and with reason, upon any such offences," continued Sir Francis. "Above everything, it considers that the religious feelings of the native races should be respected, and if your servant had been arrested – "

"Well," interrupted Mr. Fogg, "well. Sir Francis, suppose he had been taken and condemned and punished, he might have returned quietly to Europe afterwards. That would not have been a reason for stopping his master."

And then the conversation again languished. During the night the train crossed the mountains, passed Nassik, and next day, the 21st October, it traversed a comparatively flat district of Kandish. The well-cultivated country was sprinkled with villages, above which the minarets of the pagodas took the place of the English church-spires. Numerous tributaries of the Godavery watered this fertile territory.

Passe-partout awoke and looked about him. He could not at first believe that he actually was crossing India in a carriage upon the G. I. P. Railway. It appeared quite incredible, but it was none the less real. The locomotive, driven by an English engineer and fed with English coal, puffed its steam over coffee, cotton, clove, and pepper plantations. The smoke curled around the palm-trees, amid which picturesque bungalows were frequently visible, and "viharis," a sort of abandoned monasteries, as well as a few temples enriched with wonderful Indian architecture, were here and there apparent. Farther on, they passed immense tracts of land extending as far as the eye could reach, and jungles in which serpents and tigers fled scared at the roar and rattle of the train; then succeeded forests through which the line passed, the abode of elephants which, with pensive gaze, watched the speeding train.

During the forenoon our travellers traversed the blood-stained district beyond Malligaum, sacred to the votaries of the goddess Kâli. Not far from this arose the minarets of Ellora and its pagodas, and the famous Aurungabad, the capital of the ferocious Aurung-Zeb, now the chief town of one of the detached kingdoms of the Nizam. It was in this country that Feringhea, chief of the Thugs – the King of Stranglers – exercised sway. These assassins, united in an invisible and secret association, strangled, in honour of the goddess of death, victims of every age without shedding blood, and in time there was scarcely a place where a corpse was not to be found. The English Government has succeeded in checking very considerably these wholesale massacres, but Thugs still exist and pursue their horrible vocation.

At half-past twelve the train stopped at Burhampore, and Passe-partout succeeded in obtaining a pair of slippers decorated with false pearls, which he wore with evident conceit.

The passengers ate a hurried breakfast, and the train again started for Assinghur, skirting for a moment the river Tapy, a small stream which flows into the Gulf of Cambay, near Surat.

It may now not be out of place to record Passe-partout's reflections. Until his arrival at Bombay he had cherished the idea that the journey would not be continued farther. But now that he was being carried across India he saw things in a different light. His old love of wandering returned in full force. The fantastic ideas of his youthful days came back to him again; he took his master's projects quite seriously; he began to believe in the wager, and consequently in the tour of the world to be completed in that maximum of eighty days which must not on any account be exceeded. Even now he was beginning to feel anxious about possible delays and accidents en route. He felt interested in winning, and trembled when he considered that he had actually compromised the whole thing by his stupidity on the previous day. So he was much more restless than Mr. Fogg, because less phlegmatic. He counted over and over again the days that had already passed since he had started, cursed at the stoppages at stations, found fault with the slow speed, and in his heart blamed Mr. Fogg for not having "tipped" the engine-driver. He quite overlooked the fact that, though such a thing was possible on board a steamer, it was out of question on a railroad where the time of the trains is fixed and the speed regulated.

Towards evening they penetrated the defiles of the mountains of Sutpoor, which separate the territory of Khandeish from that of Bundelcund.

Next day, the 22nd, Passe-partout replied, to a question of Sir Francis Cromarty, that it was three a.m., but, as a matter of fact, this wonderful watch was about four hours slow, as it was always kept at Greenwich time, which was then nearly seventy-seven degrees west, and the watch would of course get slower and slower.

Sir Francis corrected Passe-partout's time, respecting which he made a remark similar to that made by Mr. Fix. He endeavoured to convince the valet that he ought to regulate his watch by each new meridian, and as he was still going east the days became shorter and shorter by four minutes for every degree. But all this was useless. Whether the headstrong fellow understood the general or not, he certainly did not alter his watch, which was steadily kept at London time. At any rate it was a delusion which pleased him and hurt nobody.

At eight o'clock in the morning the train stopped about fifteen miles from Rothal, at a place where there were many bungalows and huts erected. The guard passed along the line, crying out, "All change here!"

Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis Cromarty, who did not appear to understand this unexpected halt.

Passe-partout, not less astonished, leaped down, and in a moment or two returned, exclaiming, "There is no railway beyond this place, sir."

"What do you mean?" inquired Sir Francis.

"I mean that the train does not go any farther."

The general immediately got out. Phileas Fogg followed quietly. Both these gentlemen accosted the guard.

"Where are we?" asked Sir Francis.

"At the village of Kholby, sir," replied the guard.

"Why do we stop here?"

"Because the line is not finished beyond."

"Not finished! How is that?"

"There are about fifty miles yet to be laid between this point and Allahabad, where we take the train again."

"The papers announced the line complete."

"I cannot help that, sir; the papers were mistaken."

"But you book people 'through' from Bombay to Calcutta," persisted Sir Francis, who was waxing angry.

"Certainly we do; but it is an understood thing that the passengers provide their own conveyance between Kholby and Allahabad."

Sir Francis was furious. Passe-partout would have liked to have knocked the guard down, if he had been able. He did not dare to look at his master.

"We had better get on, Sir Francis," said Mr. Fogg; "we must get to Allahabad somehow; let us see how we can do so."

"It strikes me that this delay will upset your arrangements considerably, Mr. Fogg," replied Sir Francis.

"Oh dear no! all this has been discounted," replied Fogg.

"What! did you know that the line was unfinished?"

"No; but I was quite sure that some obstacles would crop up to retard me. Nothing is yet lost I have two days in reserve. The steamer does not leave Calcutta for Hong Kong until the 23rd, at mid-day. This is only the 22nd, and we shall reach Calcutta in good time even now."

What could be urged against such an assured reply as this? It was only too evident that the railway ceased at that point. Newspapers are so fond of anticipating, and in this case they had been decidedly premature in announcing the completion of the line. The majority of the passengers had been made aware of the existing state of things, and provided themselves with conveyance accordingly, whatever they could obtain – "palkigharies" with four wheels, waggons drawn by zebus, a sort of brahma ox, palanquins, ponies, &c. So it happened that there was nothing left for Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty.

"I shall walk," said Phileas Fogg. Passe-partout, who was close to his master, made a very expressive grimace when he gazed at his elegant but very thin slippers. Fortunately he had made a discovery, but hesitated a little to announce it.

"Sir," he said at length, "I think I have found means for our transport."

"What is it?"

"An elephant. It belongs to a native who lives close by."

"Let us go and see this animal," said Mr. Fogg. Five minutes later Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, accompanied by Passe-partout, reached the hut, which was surrounded by a palisade. In the hut resided the native; inside the palisade the elephant lived. The former introduced the new arrivals to the latter, at their particular request.

They found that the animal was half domesticated; it had originally been purchased for a fighting elephant, not for carrying purposes. With this end in view, the owner had begun to alter the naturally placid disposition of the beast by irritating him, and getting him gradually up to that pitch of fury called "mutsh" by the Hindoos, and this is done by feeding the elephant on sugar and butter for three months. This at first sight would appear scarcely the treatment likely to conduce to such an object, but it is successfully employed.

Fortunately, however, for Mr. Fogg, the elephant in question had not been subjected to this treatment for a very long time, and the "mutsh" had not appeared.

Kiouni – for so was the animal called – was no doubt quite competent to perform the journey required, and in the absence of other conveyance, Phileas Fogg determined to hire him.

But elephants in India are dear, for they are becoming somewhat scarce. The males, which only are suited to the circus training, are much in request. They seldom breed when in a domesticated state, so they can only be procured by hunting. They are, therefore, the objects of much solicitude, and when Mr. Fogg asked the owner what he could hire his elephant for, the man declined point-blank to lend him at all.

Fogg persisted, and offered ten pounds an hour for the beast! It was refused. Twenty? Still refused. Forty? Declined with thanks. Passe-partout actually jumped at each "bid." But the native would not yield to the temptation.

Nevertheless the price tendered was a handsome one. Supposing that the elephant took fifteen hours to reach Allahabad, the price would amount to six hundred pounds!

Phileas Fogg, without betraying the least irritation, then proposed to the owner that he should sell the animal outright, and offered one thousand pounds for him.

But the Hindoo declined; perhaps he thought he would make more by so doing.

Sir Francis Cromarty then took Mr. Fogg aside, and requested him to reflect ere he bid higher. Mr. Fogg replied that he was not in the habit of acting on impulse, that a bet of twenty thousand pounds depended upon the accomplishment of the journey, that the elephant was absolutely necessary, and if he paid twenty times the value of the animal, it must be had.

So Mr. Fogg returned to the Indian, who perceived it was only a question of asking. Phileas offered in quick succession twelve hundred, fifteen hundred, eighteen hundred, and finally two thousand pounds. Passe-partout, usually so ruddy, was now pale with emotion. At two thousand pounds the native yielded. "I declare by my slippers, that's a pretty price for an elephant!" exclaimed Passe-partout.

This business over, there was nothing but to obtain a guide. That was easily done. A young and intelligent-looking Parsee offered his services. Mr. Fogg engaged him, and promised him a good reward, which would naturally increase his intelligence.

The elephant was got ready without delay. The Parsee was quite skilled in the business of a "mahout." He placed a sort of saddle on the elephant's back, and at each end of it he fixed a small howdah.

Mr. Fogg paid the native the two thousand pounds in bank-notes, which he took from the inexhaustible carpet-bag. Passe-partout writhed as they were paid over. Then Mr. Fogg offered Sir Francis Cromarty a seat on the elephant, which the general gratefully accepted. One traveller more or less would not signify to such an animal.

Provisions were purchased. Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg each occupied a howdah, while Passe-partout sat astride between them. The Parsee seated himself upon the elephant's neck, and at nine o'clock they quitted the village, the elephant taking a short cut through the thick palm-forest.

CHAPTER XII

Showing what happened to Phileas Fogg and his Companions as they traversed the Forest.

The guide, hoping to shorten the journey, kept to the left of the railroad line, which would be carried in a circuitous manner through the Vindhia Mountains when completed. The Parsee, who was well acquainted with all the byways, declared that twenty miles would be saved by striking directly across the forest; so the party yielded.

Sir Francis and Mr. Fogg, buried up to their necks in the howdahs, got terribly shaken by the rough trotting of the elephant, which was urged by the driver. But they put up with the inconvenience with true British self-restraint; they spoke but seldom and scarcely looked at each other.

Passe-partout was obliged to be very careful not to keep his tongue between his teeth, else it would have been bitten off, so unmercifully was he jogged up and down. The brave fellow, sometimes thrown forward on the animal's neck, sometimes upon the croup, performed a series of vaulting movements something like a circus clown on the "spring-board." But all the time he joked and laughed at the somersaults he performed so involuntarily; occasionally he took out a lump of sugar from his pocket and handed it to Kiouni, who took it in his trunk without slackening his pace for a second.

After proceeding thus for a couple of hours, the driver called a halt and gave the elephant an hour's rest. The animal ate all the branches and shrubs in the vicinity, as soon as he had quenched his thirst at a neighbouring spring. Sir Francis did not complain of this delay; he was terribly bruised. Mr. Fogg did not appear any more discomposed than if he had only got out of bed.

"He is a man of iron!" exclaimed the general, as he gazed at his companion admiringly.

"Of hammered iron," replied Passe-partout, who was preparing a hasty breakfast.

At noon the driver gave the signal for departure. The country soon became very wild. The dense forest was succeeded by groves of dates and palms; then came extensive arid plains dotted here and there with bushes, and sprinkled with immense blocks of syenite. The whole of this region of Bundelcund, which is seldom traversed, is inhabited by a fanatical people inured to the most fearful practices of the Hindoos. The English Government has scarcely yet entirely obtained the control over this region, which is ruled by rajahs, who are very difficult to bring to book from their almost inaccessible mountain fastnesses. Many times the travellers noticed bands of fierce natives, who gesticulated angrily at perceiving the swift-footed elephant pass by; and the Parsee took care to give them all a wide berth. They encountered very few wild animals; even monkeys were not numerous, and they fled away with grimaces and gestures, which amused Passe-partout very much indeed.

One reflection, however, troubled Passe-partout exceedingly, and that was how would his master dispose of the elephant when they reached Allahabad? Would he take it on with him? That was scarcely possible. The price of conveyance, added to the purchase-money, would be ruinous. Would he sell the beast or set him free? No doubt the animal deserved some consideration. Suppose Mr. Fogg made him, Passe-partout, a present of the elephant? He would feel very much embarrassed. So these considerations worried the valet not a little.

At eight o'clock they had crossed the principal heights of the Vindhia chain, and at a ruined bungalow upon the southern slope of the mountains our travellers halted again.

The distance traversed was about twenty-five miles, and they had still as far to go to reach Allahabad. The night was quite chilly. A fire lighted by the Parsee was very acceptable, and the travellers made an excellent supper of the provisions they had purchased at Kholby. The intermittent conversation soon gave way to steady snoring. The guide kept watch by the elephant, which slept outside, supported by the trunk of an enormous tree.

Nothing happened to disturb the party during the night. Now and then the growls of wild animals, or the chattering of monkeys, broke the silence, but nothing more terrible was heard, and the larger animals did not disturb the occupants of the bungalow. Sir Francis Cromarty "lay like a warrior taking his rest." Passe-partout, in a restless sleep, appeared to be practising the gymnastics he had executed on the elephant's back. As for Mr. Fogg, he slept as peacefully as if he were in his quiet bed in Saville Row.

At six o'clock they resumed their journey. The guide hoped to reach Allahabad that evening. In that case Mr. Fogg would only lose a portion of the eight-and-forty hours already saved since the commencement of the trip.

They descended the last slopes of the Vindhias. The elephant resumed his rapid pace. Towards mid-day the guide passed round the village of Kallenger on the Cani, one of the small affluents of the Ganges. He appeared to avoid all inhabited places, feeling more secure in the deserted tracts. Allahabad was thence only a dozen miles off in a north-easterly direction. They halted once more under a banana-tree, the fruit of which, as wholesome as bread and "as succulent as cream," as they said, was highly appreciated by our travellers.

At two o'clock they entered a dense forest, which they had to traverse for some miles. The guide preferred to travel in the shade of the woods. So far at any rate they had encountered nothing unpleasant, and there was every reason to suppose that the journey would be accomplished without accident, when the elephant, after a few premonitory symptoms, stopped suddenly.

It was then four o'clock in the afternoon.

"What is the matter?" asked Sir Francis Cromarty, putting his head up over the top of his howdah.

"I don't know, sir," replied the Parsee, listening intently to a confused murmuring sound which came through the thickly-interlacing branches.

Soon the sound became more defined. One might have fancied it was a concert at a great distance; composed of human voices and brass instruments all performing at once. Passe-partout was all eyes and ears. Mr. Fogg waited patiently without uttering a word.

The Parsee leaped down, fastened the elephant to a tree, and plunged into the thick underwood. In a few moments he came back, exclaiming: "A procession of Brahmins is coming this way! Let us hide ourselves if we can."

As he spoke he loosed the elephant and led him into a thicket, bidding the travellers to stay where they were. He was ready to remount should flight be necessary, but he thought that the procession would pass without noticing the party, for the thick foliage completely concealed them.

The discordant sounds kept approaching – a monotonous kind of chant, mingled with the beating of tom-toms and the clash of cymbals. The head of the procession soon became visible beneath the trees about fifty paces off, and Mr. Fogg and his party easily distinguished the curious individuals who composed it.

The priests, wearing mitres and long robes trimmed with lace, marched in front. They were surrounded by a motley crowd of men, women, and children, who were chanting a sort of funeral hymn, broken at intervals by the sound of the various instruments. Behind these came, on a car (the large wheels of which, spokes and all, were ornamented with the similitude of serpents), a hideous figure drawn by four richly-caparisoned zebus. This idol had four arms, the body was painted a dusky red, with staring eyes, matted hair, a protruding tongue, and lips tinted with henna and betel. Round its neck was hung a necklace of skulls, and it was girt with a zone of human hands; it stood upright upon the headless trunk of a giant figure.

Sir Francis Cromarty recognised the idol at once.

"That is the goddess Káli," he whispered; "the goddess of love and of death."

"Of death I can understand, but not of love," muttered Passe-partout; "what a villainous hag it is!"

The Parsee signed to him to hold his tongue.

Around the idol a number of fakirs danced and twirled about.

These wretches were daubed with ochre, and covered with wounds, from which the blood issued drop by drop; absurd idiots, who would throw themselves under the wheels of Juggernaut's chariot had they the opportunity.

Behind these fanatics marched some Brahmins, clad in all their oriental sumptuousness of garb, dragging a woman along, who faltered at each step.

This female was young, and as white as a European. Her head, neck, shoulders, ears, arms, hands, and ankles were covered with jewels, bracelets, or rings. A gold-laced tunic, over which she wore a thin muslin robe, revealed the swelling contours of her form.

Behind this young woman, and in violent contrast to her, came a guard, armed with naked sabres and long damascened pistols, carrying a dead body in a palanquin.

The corpse was that of an old man clothed in the rich dress of a rajah; the turban embroidered with pearls, the robe of silk tissue and gold, the girdle of cashmere studded with diamonds, and wearing the beautiful weapons of an Indian prince.

The musicians brought up the rear with a guard of fanatics, whose cries even drowned the noise of the instruments at times. These closed the cortége.

Sir Francis Cromarty watched the procession pass by and his face wore a peculiarly saddened expression. Turning to the guide, he said:

"Is it a suttee?"

The Parsee made a sign in the affirmative, and put his fingers on his lips. The long procession wended its way slowly amongst the trees, and before long the last of it disappeared in the depths of the forest. The music gradually died away, occasionally a few cries could be heard, but soon they ceased, and silence reigned around.

Phileas Fogg had heard what Sir Francis had said, and as soon as the procession had passed out of sight, he said:

"What is a suttee?"

"A suttee," replied the general, "is a human sacrifice – but a voluntary one. That woman you saw just now will be burned to-morrow morning at daylight."

"The scoundrels!" exclaimed Passe-partout, who could not repress his indignation.

"And that dead body?" said Mr. Fogg.

"Is that of her husband – a prince," replied the guide. "He was an independent rajah in Bundelcund."

"Do you mean to say that these barbarous customs still obtain in India – under British rule?" said Mr. Fogg, without betraying any emotion whatever.

"In the greater portion of India," replied Sir Francis Cromarty, "these sacrifices do not take place; but we have no authority in the savage districts, one of the principal of which is Bundelcund. The entire district north of the Vindhia range is the theatre of pillage and murder."

"Poor creature," exclaimed Passe-partout; "burned alive!"

"Yes," continued the general, "burned alive; and if she was not, you have no idea to what a wretched condition she would be reduced by her relatives. They would shave off her hair, feed her very scantily upon rice, and hold no communication with her, for she would be regarded as unclean, and would die like a dog. The prospect of such treatment, even more strongly than affection or religious fanaticism, often urges the widows to submit themselves to suttee. Sometimes, however, the act is really voluntary, and energetic interference by the Government is necessary to prevent it. Some years ago, when I was in Bombay, a young widow asked the governor's leave to be burned with her late husband's body. As you may imagine, he refused her request. Then the disconsolate widow left the town, took refuge with an independent rajah, and burned herself, to the satisfaction of all concerned."

As the general proceeded, the guide nodded in assent to the truthfulness of the relation, and when the speaker had finished, the Parsee said:

"But the suttee to take place to-morrow is not voluntary."

"How do you know?"

"Everyone in Bundelcund knows that," replied the guide.

"Yet the unfortunate woman offered no resistance," said Sir Francis Cromarty.

"Because she was drugged with hemp and opium," replied the Parsee.

"But whither are they taking her?"

"To the Pagoda of Pillaji, two miles away from here. There she will pass the night, and wait for the hour appointed for the sacrifice."

"And the sacrifice will take place?"

"At dawn to-morrow."

As he spoke, the guide led forth the elephant and clambered up to his seat on its neck; but just as he was about to whistle to the animal to proceed, Mr. Fogg stopped him, and said to Sir Francis Cromarty, "Suppose we save this woman?"

"Save her!" exclaimed the general.

"I have still twelve hours to spare," continued Fogg; "I can devote that time to the purpose."

"Well, I declare you are a man with a heart in the right place," cried Sir Francis.

"Sometimes it is," replied Mr. Fogg, smiling grimly, "when I have time!"