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13 - Around The World in Eighty Days - Jules Verne · Science Fiction Books

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  Chapter thirteen, in which Passepartout receives a new proof that fortune favors the brave.
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  The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable.
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  Mister Fogg was going to risk life or at least liberty, and therefore the
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  success of his tour. But he did not hesitate, and he found in
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  Sir Francis Cromarty an enthusiastic ally. As for Passepartout, he was ready for
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  anything that might be proposed. His master's idea charmed him. He perceived a
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  heart, a soul under that icy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.
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  There remained the Guide. What course would he adopt? Would he not
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  take part with the Indians in default of his assistance? It was necessary to
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  be assured of his neutrality. Sir Francis frankly put the question to him.
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  Officers replied the Guide, I am a Parsi, and this woman is a
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  Parsi. Command me as you will, excellent, said mister Fogg, However,
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  resumed the Guide. It is certain not only that we shall risk our
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  lives, but horrible tortures if we are taken. That is foreseen, replied
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  mister Fogg. I think we must wait till night before acting, I think
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  so, said the guide. The worthy Indian then gave some account of the
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  victim, who he said was a celebrated beauty of the Parsi race and the
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  daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant. She had received a thoroughly English education in
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  that city, and from her manners and intelligence would be thought a European.
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  Her name was Aouda, left an orphan. She was married against her will
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  to the old Raja of Bundukund, and, knowing the fate that awaited her,
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  she escaped, was retaken and devoted by the raja's relatives, who had
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  an interest in her death, to the sacrifice from which it seemed she could
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  not escape. The Parsis narrative only confirmed mister Fogg and his companions in their
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  generous design. It was decided that the guide should direct the elephant towards the
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  pagoda of Pelagi, which he accordingly approached as quickly as possible. They halted
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  half an hour afterwards in a copse some five hundred feet from the pagoda,
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  where they were well concealed, but they could hear the groans and cries of
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  the fakirs distinctly. They then discussed the means of getting at the victim.
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  The guide was familiar with the pagoda of Pelagi, in which, as he
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  declared, the young woman was imprisoned. Could they enter any of its doors
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  while the whole party of Indians was plunged in a drunken sleep, or was
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  it safer to attempt to make a hole in the walls? This could only
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  be determined at the moment and the place themselves. But it was certain that
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  the abduction must be made that night night, and not when at break of
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  day the victim was led to her funeral pyre. Then no human intervention could
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  save her. As soon as night fell about six o'clock, they decided to
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  make a reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs were just ceasing.
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  The Indians were in the act of plunging themselves into the drunkenness caused by
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  liquid opium mingled with hemp, and it might be possible to slip between them
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  to the temple itself. The parsee leading the others noiselessly crept through the wood,
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  and in ten minutes they found themselves on the banks of a small stream,
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  whence, by the light of the rosin torches, they perceived a pyre
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  of wood, on the top of which lay the embalmed body of the Raja,
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  which was to be burned with his wife. The pagoda, whose minarets
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  loomed above the trees in the deepening dusk, stood a hundred steps away.
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  Come, whispered the guide. He slipped more cautiously than ever through the brush,
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  followed by his companions. The silence around was only broken by the low
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  murmuring of the wind among the branches. Soon the Parsi stopped on the borders
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  of the glade, which was lit up by the torches. The ground was
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  covered by groups of the Indians, motionless in their drunken sleep. It seemed
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  a battlefield strewn with the dead men. Women and children lay together in the
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  background among the trees. The pagoda of Pelagi loomed distinctly, much to the
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  guide's disappointment. The guards of the Raja, lighted by torches, were watching
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  at the doors and marching to and fro with naked sabers. Probably the priests
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  too were watching within the Parsi, now convinced that it was impossible to force
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  on entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led his companions back
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  again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromarty also saw that nothing could be attempted
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  in that direction. They stopped and engaged in a whispered colloquy. It is
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  only eight now, said the brigadier, and these gods may also go to
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  sleep. It is not impossible, returned the Parsi. They lay down at
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  the foot of a tree and waited. The time seemed long. The guide,
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  ever and Anon left them to take an observation on the edge of the
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  wood, but the guards watched steadily by the glare of the torches, and
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  a dim light crept through the windows of the pagoda. They waited till midnight,
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  but no change took place among the guards, and it became apparent that
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  their yielding to sleep could not be counted on. The other plan must be
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  carried out. An opening in the walls of the pagoda must be made.
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  It remained to ascertain whether the priests were watching by the side of their victim
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  as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door. After a less consultation,
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  the guide announced that he was ready for the attempt, and advanced, followed
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  by the others. They took a roundabout way so as to get at the
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  pagoda on the rear. They reached the walls about half past twelve without having
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  met any one either. There was no guard, nor were there either windows
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  or doors. The night was dark, the moon on the wane scarcely left
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  the horizon and was covered with heavy clouds. The height of the trees deepened
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  the darkness. It was not enough to reach the walls, and opening in
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  them must be accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only had their
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  pocket knives. Happily, the temple walls were built of brick and wood,
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  which could be penetrated with little difficulty. After one brick had been taken out,
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  the rest would yield easily. They set noiselessly to work, and the
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  Parsie on one side and Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricks so
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  as to make an aperture two feet wide. They were getting on rapidly when
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  suddenly a cry was heard in the interior of the temple, followed almost instantly
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  by other cries replying from the outside. Passepartout and the guide stopped. Had
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  they been heard? Was the alarm being given? Common prudence urged them to
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  retire, and they did so, followed by Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis.
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  They again hid themselves in the wood and waited till the disturbance, whatever it
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  might be, ceased, holding themselves ready to resume their attempt without delay.
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  But awkwardly enough, the guards now appeared at the rear of the temple,
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  and there installed themselves in readiness to prevent a surprise. It would be difficult
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  to describe the disappointment of the party thus interrupted in their works. They could
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  not now reach the victim. How then could they save her? Sir Francis
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  shook his fists, passepartout, was beside himself, and the Guide gnashed his
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  teeth with rage. The tranquil Fogg waited without betraying any emotion. We have
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  nothing to do but to go away, whispered Sir Francis. Nothing but to
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  go away, echoed the guide. Stop, said Fogg. I am only
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  due at Allahabad tomorrow before noon. But what can you hope to do?
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  Asked Sir Francis. In a few hours it will be daylight, and the
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  chance which now seems lost, may present itself at the last moment. Sir
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  Francis would have liked to read phileas Fogg's eyes. What was this cool englishman
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  thinking of? Was he planning to make a rush for the young woman at
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  the very moment of the sacrifice and oldly snatcher from her executioners. This would
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  be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Fogg was such a
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  fool. Sir Francis consented, however, to remain to the end of this
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  terrible drama. The guide led them to the rear of the glade, where
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  they were able to observe the sleeping groups. Meanwhile, Passepartout, who had
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  perched himself on the lower branches of a tree, was resolving an idea which
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  had first struck him like a flash, and which was now firmly lodged in
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  his brain. He had commenced by saying to himself, what folly? And
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  then he repeated, why not? After all, it's a chance, perhaps
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  the only one. And with such sots thinking thus he slipped, with the
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  suppleness of a serpent, to the lowest branches, the ends of which bent
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  almost to the ground. The hours passed and The lighter shades now announced the
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  approach of day, though it was not yet light. This was the moment
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  the slumbering multitude became animated. The tambourines sounded, songs, and cries arose.
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  The hour of the sacrifice had come. The doors of the pagoda swung
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  open, and a bright light escaped from its interior, in the midst of
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  which mister Fogg and Sir Francis espied the victim. She seemed, having shaken
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  off the stupor of intoxication, to be striving to escape from her executioner.
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  Sir Francis's heart throbbed, and convulsively, seizing mister Fogg's hand, found in
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  it an open knife. Just at this moment the crowd began to move.
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  The young woman had again fallen into a stupor caused by the fumes of hemp,
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  and passed among the fakirs, who escorted her with their wild religious cries.
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  Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of the crowd,
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  followed, and in two minutes they reached the banks of the stream and
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  stopped fifty paces from the pyre, upon which still lay the Raja's corpse.
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  In the semi obscurity, they saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out
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  beside her husband's body. Then a torch was brought and the wood, heavily
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  soaked with oil, instantly took fire. At this moment, Sir Francis and
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  the guide seized Phileas Fogg, who, in an instant of mad generosity,
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  was about to rush upon the pyre, But he had quickly pushed them aside.
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  When the whole scene suddenly changed, a cry of terror arose. The
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  whole multitude prostrated themselves, terror stricken on the ground. The old Raja was
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  not dead then, since he rose of a sudden like a specter, took
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  up his wife in his arms, and descended from the pyre in the midst
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  of the clouds of smoke, which only heightened his ghostly appearance. Fakirs and
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  soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror, lay there with their faces on
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  the grid, not daring to lift their eyes and behold such a prodigy.
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  The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms which supported her, and
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  which she did not seem in the least to burden. Mister Fogg and Sir
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  Francis stood erect, The Parsi bowed his head, and Passepartout was, no
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  doubt scarcely less stupefied. The resuscitated Raja approached Sir Francis and mister Fogg,
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  and in an abrupt tone, said, let us be off. It was
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  Passepartout himself who had slipped upon the pyre in the midst of the smoke,
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  and, profiting by the still overhanging darkness, had delivered the young woman from
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  death. It was Passpartou, who, playing his part with a happy audacity,
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  had passed through the crowd amid the general terror. A moment after all
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  four of the party had disappeared in the woods, and the elephant was bearing
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  them away at a rapid pace. But the cries and noise, and a
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  ball which whiz through Phileas Fogg's hat apprized them that the trick had been discovered.
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  The old Raja's body indeed now appeared upon the burning pyre, and the
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  priests, recovering from their terror, perceived that an abduction had taken place.
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  They hastened into the forest, followed by the soldiers, who fired a volley
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  after the fugitives, but the latter rapidly increased the distance between them, and
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  ere long found themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and arrows. End of chapter