seven in the morning
What would these divinities think of India , anglicised as it is to-day , with steamers whistling and scudding along the Ganges , frightening the gulls which float upon its surface , the turtles swarming along its banks , and the faithful dwelling upon its borders ? The panorama passed before their eyes like a flash , save when the steam concealed it fitfully from the view ; the travellers could scarcely discern the fort of Chupenie , twenty miles south-westward from Benares , the ancient stronghold of the rajahs of Behar ; or Ghazipur and its famous rose-water factories ; or the tomb of Lord Cornwallis , rising on the left bank of the Ganges ; the fortified town of Buxar , or Patna , a large manufacturing and trading-place , where is held the principal opium market of India ; or Monghir , a more than European town , for it is as English as Manchester or Birmingham , with its iron foundries , edgetool factories , and high chimneys puffing clouds of black smoke heavenward . Night came on ; the train passed on at full speed , in the midst of the roaring of the tigers , bears , and wolves which fled before the locomotive ; and the marvels of Bengal , Golconda ruined Gour , Murshedabad , the ancient capital , Burdwan , Hugly , and the French town of Chandernagor , where Passepartout would have been proud to see his country 's flag flying , were hidden from their view in the darkness . Calcutta was reached at seven in the morning , and the packet left for Hong Kong at noon ; so that Phileas Fogg had five hours before him . According to his journal , he was due at Calcutta on the 25th of October , and that was the exact date of his actual arrival . He was therefore neither behind-hand nor ahead of time . The two days gained between London and Bombay had been lost , as has been seen , in the journey across India .