Chapter: 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.

"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 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 getting at 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 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 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 espied 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 overhanging 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, 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 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.

 The project of rescuing the girl was a bold one, full of difficulty. Mr. Fogg was going to risk liberty and 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. He began to perceive a heart, a soul, under his masters icy exterior. He began to love Phileas Fogg. The Indian guide too agreed to take part in the rescue willingly. He gave an account of the victim, who, he said, was a celebrated beauty of the Parsee race, and the daughter of a wealthy Bombay merchant. Left an orphan, she was married against her will to the old rajah of Bundelcund; and after he died, knowing the fate that awaited her, she tried to escape but was retaken. Now, she was being forced to commit a sacrifice that she did not want to. The Parsees narrative confirmed Mr. Fogg and his companions in their generous design and they form a plan of action. The guide was familiar with the pagoda of Pillaji, in which, as he declared, the young woman was imprisoned. 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, 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 leads the little group stealthily toward the pagoda. Much to the guides disappointment, the guards of the rajah, lighted by torches, were watching at the doors and marching around with swords; 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. They stopped, and engaged in a whispered colloquy. They decide to wait and see whether the guards will sleep off. They waited till midnight; but no change took place among the guards. The other plan must be carried out; an opening in the walls of the pagoda must be made. 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. The night was very dark. 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 pocketknives. Luckily 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. 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. The group hid in the woods and saw that guards came and stood at the rear of the temple too. The party was disappointed, having been interrupted in their work. The guide and Sir Francis feel that nothing can be done now but Fogg requests them to hold on till the morning to see whether they get a chance then. 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 is struck by an idea and he slips out. The hours passed and day approached. 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 Mr. Fogg and Sir Francis espied the victim. She seemed to be striving to escape from her executioner. The crowd began to move and the fakirs escorted the young woman with their wild, religious cries. Phileas Fogg and his companions, mingling in the rear ranks of the crowd, followed; and reached the banks of the stream. The rajahs corpse lay upon a pyre. In the semi-obscurity they saw the victim, quite senseless, stretched out beside her husbands 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 rose all of a sudden, like a ghost, 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. 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 overhanging darkness, had delivered the young woman from death! Soon, all four of the party had run into the woods, and the elephant was bearing them away at a rapid pace. The cries and noise, and a ball, which whizzed through Phileas Foggs hat, apprised them that the trick had been discovered. The old rajahs body, now appeared upon the burning pyre; and the priests, recovered from their terror, perceived that an abduction had taken place. The soldiers fired a volley after the fugitives; but the latter rapidly increased the distance between them and before long found themselves beyond the reach of the bullets and arrows.

