Around the World in Eighty Days Chapters 10-11

**Alex Foster** (0:00)
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer yourself, please visit librivox.org. Today's reading by Alex Foster dot me dot uk. Around the World in Eighty Days by Jules Verne. Chapter 10 In which Passepartout is only too glad to get off with the loss of his shoes.
Everybody knows that the great reverse triangle of land, with its base in the north and its apex in the south, which is called India, embraces fourteen hundred thousand square miles, upon which is spread unequally a population of one hundred and eighty millions of souls. The British crown exercises a real and despotic dominion over the larger portion of this vast country, and has a governor-general stationed at Calcutta, governors at Madras, Bombay, and Bengal, and a lieutenant-governor at Agra. But British India, properly so called, only embraces seven hundred thousand square miles, and a population of from one hundred to one hundred and ten millions of inhabitants. A considerable portion of India is still free from British authority, and there are certain ferocious Rajahs in the interior who are absolutely independent. The celebrated East India Company was all-powerful from 1756, when the English first gained a foothold on the spot, where now stands the city of Madras, down to the time of the Great Sepoy Insurrection. It gradually annexed province after province, purchasing them off the native chiefs, whom it seldom paid, and appointed the Governor General and his subordinates, civil and military. But the East India Company has now passed away, leaving the British possessions in India directly under the control of the Crown. The aspect of the country, as well as the manners and distinctions of race, is daily changing.
Formerly one was obliged to travel in India by the old cumbrous methods of going on foot or on horseback, in palanquins or unwieldy coaches. Now, fast steamboats ply on the Indus and the Ganges, and a great railway with branch lines joining from the main line at many points on its route traverses the peninsula from Bombay to Calcutta in three days. This railway does not run in a direct line across India. The distance between Bombay and Calcutta as the bird flies is only from 1000 to 1100 miles, but the deflections of the road increase this way by more than a third.
The general route of the Great Indian Peninsula Railway is as follows. Leaving Bombay, it passes through Salsette, crossing to the continent opposite Tanna, goes over the chain of the Western Ghouts, runs thence north-east as far as Burampur, skirts to the nearly independent territory of Bundelkund, ascends to Al-Alabad, turns thence eastwardly meeting the Ganges at Benares, then departs from the river a little, and descending south-eastward by Burjivan and the French town of Chandanagor as its terminus at Calcutta. The passengers of the Mongolia went ashore at half-past four p.m. At exactly eight the train would start for Calcutta. Mr. Fogg, after bidding good-bye to his whisked partners, left the steamer, gave his servant several errands to do, urged it upon him to be back at the station promptly at eight, and with his regular step, which beat to the second like an astronomical clock, directed his steps to the passport office. As for the wonders of Bombay, its famous city hall, its splendid library, its forts and docks, its bazaars, mosques, synagogues, its Armenian churches, and the noble pagoda on Malabar Hill, with its two polygonal towers, he cared not a straw to see them. He would not deign to examine even the masterpieces of Elephanta, or the mysterious hypergea concealed southeast from the docks, or those fine remains of Buddhist architecture, the cannery and grottoes at the island of Salsette.
Having transacted his businesses at the passport office, Phileas Fogg repaired quietly to the railway station where he ordered dinner. Among the dishes served up to him, the landlord especially recommended a certain gibbet of native rabbit, on which he prided himself. Mr. Fogg accordingly tasted the dish, but despite its spiced sauce, found it far from palatable. He rang for the landlord, and on his appearance said, fixing his clear eyes upon him, Is this rabbit, sir? Yes, my lord, the rogue boldly replied, Rabbit from the jungles. And did this rabbit not mew when he was killed? Mew, my lord? What, the rabbit's mew? I swear to you. Be so good, landlord, as not to swear, but remember this, cats were formerly considered in India as sacred animals. That was a good time. For the cats, my lord? Perhaps for the travellers as well.
After which Mr. Fogg quietly continued his dinner. Fix had gone on shore shortly after Mr. Fogg, and his first destination was the headquarters of the Bombay police. He made himself known as a London detective, told his business at Bombay and the position of affairs relative to the supposed robber, and nervously asked if a warrant had arrived from London. It had not reached the office. Indeed, there had not yet been time for it to arrive. Fix was sorely disappointed, and tried to obtain an order of arrest from the director of the Bombay police. This the director refused, as the matter concerned the London office, which alone could legally deliver the warrant. Fix did not insist, and was feigned to resign himself to wait the arrival of the important document, but he was determined not to lose sight of the mysterious rogue as long as he stayed in Bombay. He did not doubt for a moment any more than Passepartout that Phileas Fogg would remain there, at least until it was time for the warrant to arrive.