"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.