XIII. In which Passepartout Receives a New Proof that Fortune Favors the Brave

by Jules Verne

　　The project was a bold one, full of difficulty, perhaps impracticable.Mr. Fogg was going to risk life, or at least liberty, and thereforethe success of his tour. But he did not hesitate, and he found inSir 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 thaticy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg.There remained the guide: what course would he adopt? Would henot 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."Officers," 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 thatwe shall risk our lives, but horrible tortures, if we are taken.""That is foreseen," replied Mr. Fogg. "I think we must wait till nightbefore 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 thedaughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant. She had received athoroughly English education in that city, and, from her mannersand intelligence, would be thought an European. Her name was Aouda.Left an orphan, she was married against her will to the old rajahof Bundelcund; and, knowing the fate that awaited her, she escaped,was retaken, and devoted by the rajah's relatives, who had an interestin her death, to the sacrifice from which it seemed she could not escape.The Parsee's narrative only confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companionsin their generous design. It was decided that the guide should directthe elephant towards the pagoda of Pillaji, which he accordingly approachedas 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 getting at the victim. The guidewas familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared,the young woman was imprisoned. Could they enter any of its doorswhile 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 themselves;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 makea reconnaissance around the pagoda. The cries of the fakirs werejust ceasing; the Indians were in the act of plunging themselvesinto 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 beburned with his wife. The pagoda, whose minarets loomed above the treesin 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 brokenby the low murmuring of the wind among the branches.Soon the Parsee stopped on the borders of the glade, which was lit upby the torches. The ground was covered by groups of the Indians,motionless in their drunken sleep; it seemed a battlefield strewnwith the dead. Men, women, and children lay together.In the background, among the trees, the pagoda of Pillajiloomed distinctly. Much to the guide's disappointment,the guards of the rajah, lighted by torches, were watchingat 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 forcean entrance to the temple, advanced no farther, but led hiscompanions back again. Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis Cromartyalso 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 guardsmay 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 themto take an observation on the edge of the wood, but the guardswatched steadily by the glare of the torches, and a dim lightcrept 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 pagodamust be made. It remained to ascertain whether the priests were watchingby the side of their victim as assiduously as were the soldiers at the door.After a last consultation, the guide announced that he was readyfor the attempt, and advanced, followed by the others. They tooka 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 deepenedthe darkness.It was not enough to reach the walls; an opening in them mustbe accomplished, and to attain this purpose the party only hadtheir pocket-knives. Happily the temple walls were built of brickand 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 sideand Passepartout on the other began to loosen the bricksso 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 thealarm being given? Common prudence urged them to retire, and theydid so, followed by Phileas Fogg and Sir Francis. They again hidthemselves in the wood, and waited till the disturbance, whateverit might be, ceased, holding themselves ready to resume their attemptwithout delay. But, awkwardly enough, the guards now appearedat 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 hoursit 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 planningto make a rush for the young woman at the very momentof the sacrifice, and boldly snatch her from her executioners?This would be utter folly, and it was hard to admit that Foggwas such a fool. Sir Francis consented, however, to remainto the end of this terrible drama. The guide led them to the rearof the glade, where they were able to observe the sleeping groups.Meanwhile Passepartout, who had perched himself on the lower branchesof 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 theapproach 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 escapedfrom its interior, in the midst of which Mr. Fogg and Sir Francisespied 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 againfallen into a stupor caused by the fumes of hemp, and passed amongthe 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 outbeside 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 fromthe pyre in the midst of the clouds of smoke, which onlyheightened his ghostly appearance.Fakirs and soldiers and priests, seized with instant terror,lay there, with their faces on the ground, not daring to lifttheir eyes and behold such a prodigy.The inanimate victim was borne along by the vigorous arms whichsupported 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 pyrein the midst of the smoke and, profiting by the stilloverhanging 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 criesand noise, and a ball which whizzed through Phileas Fogg's hat,apprised 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 abductionhad taken place. They hastened into the forest, followed by the soldiers,who fired a volley after the fugitives; but the latter rapidly increasedthe distance between them, and ere long found themselves beyond the reachof the bullets and arrows.