The train from Bombay to Calcutta set out punctually at 8:00 p.m.
Among the passengers, to Mr. Fogg's delight, was Sir Francis Cromarty, a fellow whist player from the Mongolia.
Sir Francis had made India his home and was returning after a trip to England.
He asked to sit with Mr. Fogg, and they quickly fell into friendly conversation.
Sir Francis had never seen Mr. Fogg take in the sights during the boat voyage, and he noticed that on the train his companion was no different.
Phileas Fogg talked with Sir Francis, ignoring Passepartout.
He never looked out the window and didn't comment on the scenery at all.
"Does the man have any sense of the beauties of nature?" he wondered.
On the Mongolia Mr. Fogg had explained to Sir Francis the reason for his trip around the world.
Sir Francis thought the extravagant bet was a pointless eccentricity. "It lacks common sense!" he thought.
"The way this strange gentleman is going on, he will leave this world without having done anything good for himself or for anyone else."
He watched Mr. Fogg enter their departure from Bombay in his travel journal.
"Some years ago, Mr. Fogg," said Sir Francis, "you would have met a delay at this point, which probably would have lost you your wager."
"How so, Sir Francis?" asked Mr. Fogg.
"The railway stopped at the base of these mountains, which the passengers were obliged to cross in hand-carried carts, called palanquins.
Then they would board another train in Kandallah, on the other side."
"Such a delay would not have thrown off my plans in the least," replied Mr. Fogg.
"I have foreseen the likelihood of certain obstacles."
"But, Mr. Fogg," continued Sir Francis, "you do run the risk of having some difficulty about your servant's adventure at the pagoda."
Passepartout, his feet wrapped in a blanket, was sound asleep, with no idea that the men were talking about him.
"The government is very severe about that kind of offense.
It takes particular care that the religious customs of the Indians are respected. If your servant were caught . . ."
"Very well, Sir Francis," replied Mr. Fogg.
"If Passepartout had been caught, he would have been condemned and punished, and then he would have quietly returned to Europe.
It wouldn't have stopped me from completing my journey, nor would it have delayed me in the least!"
After this exchange the men fell silent.
During the night the train left the mountains behind.
Passepartout woke the next morning, and when he looked out his window, he saw the splendor of the great Indian subcontinent.
The train passed cotton, coffee, nutmeg, clove, and pepper plantations.
The fertile land was watered by many rivers and streams.
He saw picturesque low houses and marvelous temples surrounded by groves of palm trees.
Further on, the train entered a vast jungle that extended to the horizon.
The jungle was inhabited by snakes and tigers, which fled at the noise of the train.
Elephants with pensive eyes gazed at the train as it passed.
At half past 12, the train stopped at Burhampoor, where Passepartout was able to purchase some Indian slippers ornamented with false pearls.
Back on the train, the sights from the car window entranced Passepartout.
His old vagabond nature was coming back to him, and he recalled all the fantastic ideas of his youth.
He monitored the train's progress anxiously, getting impatient whenever it slowed or paused.
At eight o'clock the train stopped in the middle of a clearing where there were several huts and workmen's cabins.
The conductor passed through the cars and shouted, "Passengers will get out here!"
Phileas Fogg looked at Sir Francis for an explanation, but Sir Francis had no idea what was going on.
Passepartout, also surprised, rushed out of the car to see what the problem was.
He speedily returned, crying, "Monsieur, no more railway! No more railway!"
"What do you mean?" asked Sir Francis.
"I mean to say that the train isn't going on," said Passepartout, breathless.
Sir Francis immediately stepped out and, with Mr. Fogg following calmly behind, walked over to the conductor.
"Where are we?" asked Sir Francis.
"At the village of Kholby," replied the conductor.
"Do we stop here?" asked Sir Francis.
"Certainly," said the conductor. "The railway isn't finished."
"What! Not finished?" cried Sir Francis.
"There are still fifty miles of track to be laid from here to Allahabad," said the conductor.
"But you sell tickets from Bombay to Calcutta," said Sir Francis with exasperation.
"Yes," said the conductor. "But the passengers know they must find their own transport from Kholby to Allahabad."
Sir Francis was furious. Passepartout was angry enough to knock the conductor down.
They both turned to Mr. Fogg, who regarded them as calmly as ever.
As I sat on that train from Bombay to Calcutta, I never stopped looking out the window, except to sleep—ha-ha!
India is such a lush green country, and I saw so many plantations growing all sorts of crops.
By colonizing India and setting up railways, the British have been able to turn India into a center of commercial agriculture.
The three most important crops in India are coffee, indigo, and tea.
Tea is especially important. There are over three-hundred tea plantations in India!
They produce three-thousand tons of the stuff!
It's a shame though. Despite all that rich, fertile land and all those crops, many Indians are starving to death.
The crops are exported by Great Britain and sold overseas for profit.