Sandokan: The Tigers of Mompracem (The Sandokan Series Book 1)

by Emilio Salgari

  “Captain, we’re under attack,” said Giro-Batol. “There’s a cruiser blocking the mouth of the brook.”

  “Ah!” exclaimed the Tiger. “The British are looking for a fight. Well, my friends, we’ll give them one. We’ll show them what the Tigers of Mompracem can do!”

  “Long live the Tiger!” his men cried in unison, “Attack! Attack!”

  Moments later, the two ships began descending the river and soon reached the open sea. Six hundred metres from the coast, a large heavily armed ship of fifteen hundred tons was slowly patrolling the waters, barring the way westward. Shouted orders and pounding drums were summoning all hands to battle.

  Sandokan coldly studied that formidable foe. She was enormous, well armed and manned by a crew four times larger than his own. Undaunted, he turned to his men and thundered, “Man the oars!”

  The pirates rushed to their stations as the gunners quickly aimed the cannons and swivel guns.

  “Come measure yourself against us, wretched ship,” said Sandokan, as the prahus, driven by the power of their oars, shot forward like two arrows.

  A light flashed on the cruiser’s deck and seconds later a large cannonball whistled past the prahus’ masts.

  “Patan!” shouted Sandokan. “Man your cannon!”

  The Malay, one of the best gunners ever to pirate those waters, fired. The shell smashed through the gangway of the enemy bridge, simultaneously snapping the flagpole in two. Instead of returning fire, the warship tacked and presented her port gun ports, home to a half dozen cannons.

  “Patan, make every shot count,” said Sandokan as a cannon thundered from Giro-Batol’s prahu, “Take down her masts and destroy her wheel; when your aim starts to falter, have yourself killed.”

  The cruiser quickly began to voice her might. A hurricane of steel whizzed through the air, sweeping the prahus from bow to stern. Cries of anger and rage thundered from the decks of the pirate vessels, only to be quickly silenced by a second volley that sent oarsmen and gunners flying.

  Engulfed in a whirlwind of black and white smoke, the warship suddenly tacked and sailed to within four hundred paces of the prahus. However, instead of halting, she continued on for another kilometre then began to fire once again.

  That third volley knocked Sandokan to the ground, felled by a yardarm, but he was unharmed and quickly shot back to his feet.

  “Wretches!” he thundered, shaking his fist at the enemy vessel. “You won’t escape us!”

  He whistled loudly to summon his men.

  “Raise barricades in front of the cannons, then full speed ahead!”

  Within minutes, extra masts, old cannon parts, barrels filled with cannonballs, and whatever loose wreckage could be found, had been stacked upon the bows of both ships. Once their defences were complete, the twenty strongest men went below to man the oars, while the others crowded behind the barricades, carbines levelled, daggers clenched between their teeth.

  “Full ahead!” commanded the Tiger.

  The cruiser had stopped retreating and now advanced slowly, spewing torrents of black smoke.

  “Fire!” shouted the Tiger.

  The gunfire resumed, each side matching shot for shot, volley for volley, cannonball for cannonball.

  Engulfed in thick clouds of smoke, the three crews could barely find their marks, but their artillery continued to thunder, as fire was met with fire, both sides intent on victory, determined to fight to the death.

  Though facing a larger and better armed opponent, the two prahus led by the brave Tiger refused to yield. Riddled with holes, sails shredded, holds drawing water, brimming with the bodies of the dead and wounded, the pirate ships continued to fire, ignoring the incessant hail of cannonballs raining down upon them. A wild delirium had taken hold of those men, and they wanted nothing more than to storm the bridge of that formidable ship. If they could not win, they would die fighting on their enemy’s deck.

  Patan, true to his word, had had himself killed at his cannon and another capable gunner had taken his place; many men had fallen, and others still, horribly wounded, struggled hopelessly among torrents of blood. Giro-Batol’s prahu had not fared much better, her cannon had been disabled and her swivel gun would not last much longer, but it mattered not. The decks of the two pirate ships still teemed with men thirsty for blood and they valiantly continued their attack.

  Metal flew about those brave men, sweeping the decks, smashing in bulwarks, tearing through arms and chests, shattering everything they touched, but no one spoke of retreating. The pirates hurled insults at the enemy and maintained their fire, and when a gust of wind would momentarily blow away the clouds of smoke covering the three ships, they would emerge from behind the barricades, faces contorted and dark with rage.

  In the middle of that pack of Tigers, their captain, the invincible Sandokan, clutching his scimitar in his right hand, a fiery look on his face, his long hair blowing in the wind, spurred his warriors with a voice that thundered above the roar of cannons. The terrible battle lasted twenty minutes. Then, to avoid a boarding, the cruiser retreated another six hundred metres.

  A cry of fury erupted from the two prahus in response to that manoeuvre. Their only hope of victory would be denied them, the British, taking advantage of their powerful engine, would never allow them to set foot on deck.

  Sandokan, however, refused to give up.

  Cutting through the men about him, with one quick movement he reloaded a smoking cannon, corrected the aim, and fired. Seconds later, the cruiser’s mainmast, severed at its base, fell into the sea, taking with it the marksmen atop the crosstrees. Her guns and cannons immediately fell silent as she came to a halt and her crew scrambled to rescue the men before they drowned.

  Sandokan, taking advantage of the lull, had his prahu draw up beside Giro-Batol’s ship. The second vessel was on the verge of sinking, and he ordered her men to jump aboard.

  “Quickly!” he thundered. “We’ll head for the coast!”

  All hands quickly scrambled onto Sandokan’s ship, abandoning their vessel to the waves. The warship paying them no heed, the pirates quickly manned the oars and rowed off, taking shelter in the nearby river.

  And just in time. Despite their best efforts to keep her afloat, the Tiger of Malaysia’s prahu, riddled with holes, was drawing water from all sides and slowly sinking. She groaned like a dying man beneath the weight of the invading sea, listing to starboard as she advanced. Sandokan, tiller in hand, pointed her towards the nearest shore and grounded her on a sandbank.

  Once the prahu was out of danger, the pirates swarmed the deck like a pack of famished tigers, weapons in hand, ready to resume the struggle with fierce determination. Sandokan calmly put up a restraining hand then drew a watch from his sash.

  “It’s now six o’clock,” he said. “The sun will set in two hours. We’ll start our repairs immediately; the prahu must be ready to sail by midnight.”

  “Are we going to attack the cruiser?” the pirates asked excitedly.

  “I can’t promise that, but I swear we’ll avenge our men. We’ll shower the enemy with cannon fire and hoist our flag over the ramparts of Victoria.”

  “Long live the Tiger!” howled the pirates.

  “Silence!” thundered Sandokan. “I need two men to go to the mouth of the river and keep an eye on the cruiser and another two to go into the jungle to watch for an ambush. Once we’ve tended to the wounded, we’ll set to work.”

  While the pirates quickly executed his orders, Sandokan walked to the stern of his ship and scanned the bay through a rift in the trees. He was undoubtedly looking for the cruiser, but she had not dared to approach the shore, perhaps in fear of grounding on one of the numerous sandbanks hidden beneath the waters.

  “They know they have us,” murmured the formidable pirate. “They’re waiting for us to come out into the open so they can destroy us, but if they think I’ll lead my men on an attack, they’re sadly mistaken. I can be as cautious as their commander.”

>   He sat on a cannon and called for Sabau. The pirate, one of his bravest men, having earned the rank of commander after risking his life on more than twenty occasions, rushed to his side.

  “Patan and Giro-Batol are dead,” Sandokan sighed. “They fell in battle while leading their brave men against that wretched ship. You are now in command of their crews.”

  “Thank you, Tiger of Malaysia.”

  “You’ll fight as bravely as they did.”

  “My life is yours to command, Captain.”

  “Now help me.”

  They gathered their strength, pushed the cannon and the swivel guns to the stern and pointed them toward the small bay, so as to be ready to spray it with shells, in the event the cruiser’s commander decided to send a launch down the river.

  “That should do,” said Sandokan. “Have you sent two men to keep an eye on the mouth of the river?”

  “Yes, Tiger of Malaysia. They’re hiding among the reeds.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Are we going to attempt to sneak past the cruiser once it’s dark?”

  “Yes, the moon won’t be out until much later and those clouds rolling in from the south should hide our escape.”

  “Are we going back to Mompracem, Captain?”

  “Directly.”

  “With our dead unavenged?”

  “We’ve lost too many men, Sabau. I do not want to risk it. They’re too well armed and our ship is in no condition for a second battle.”

  “True, Captain.”

  “Patience for now. We’ll have our revenge soon enough.”

  While the two captains were talking, their men continued to work feverishly. Capable seamen, many were also skilled carpenters and shipwrights. It took them only four hours to raise two new masts, reinforce the bulwarks, seal all the holes and repair the rigging with the spare cables, chains and ropes they always carried aboard. By ten o’clock, not only could the prahu set sail, she could also engage in battle once again, for new barricades had been constructed out of tree trunks to protect the cannons and swivel guns.

  During those four hours, not one of the cruiser’s launches had dared to appear in the waters of the bay. The British commander, knowing he faced the Tigers of Mompracem, had not deemed it wise to have his men engage in battle on land. He waited patiently; certain he could force the pirates to surrender or push them back towards the coast if they tried to attack or attempted to flee. Towards eleven, Sandokan, determined to set sail, summoned the sentries from the mouth of the river.

  “Any launches patrolling the bay?” he asked.

  “No,” replied one of the two.

  “And the cruiser?”

  “She’s about a half mile from shore.”

  “More than enough room to pass,” Sandokan murmured. “The darkness will hide our escape.” Then, he turned to Sabau and said, “Time to set off.”

  Fifteen men immediately jumped onto the sandbar and with one swift movement, pushed the prahu into the water.

  “I want complete silence. No one is to speak until we’re clear of that ship,” Sandokan commanded. “Keep your eyes open and your weapons ready. We’re about to play a deadly game.”

  He sat at the tiller, Sabau at his side, and began to steer the prahu towards the mouth of the river.

  The darkness favoured their escape. The moon had not yet risen; black storm clouds had invaded the heavens, blotting out the stars. The shadows thickened beneath the durian, palm and banana trees making it difficult for Sandokan to scan the riverbanks.

  A deep silence, broken only by the gurgling of the river, reigned over that small stretch of water. The breeze had fallen and not a leaf stirred among the dark vegetation lining the shores. Not a sound came from the ship’s deck. It seemed as if the entire crew, spread out from bow to stern, held their breath for fear of disrupting the silence.

  The prahu had almost reached the mouth of the river, when she slowed suddenly and came to halt.

  “Stuck?” whispered Sandokan.

  Sabau looked over the bulwark and studied the waters.

  “Yes,” he whispered back. “We’ve struck a sandbank.”

  “Can we pass?”

  “The tide is rising rapidly; we should be on our way in a few minutes.”

  “We’ll wait then.”

  Though unaware of the cause of the delay, the crew remained silent. Sandokan, however, had heard the familiar clack of carbines being loaded and signalled his men to quietly man the cannons and the two swivel guns.

  Several anxious minutes passed then suddenly the keel began to creak. The prahu, lifted by the rising tide, was sliding off the sandbank. Rolling gently, she had suddenly managed to free herself from the tenacious riverbed.

  “Hoist the sail,” Sandokan ordered the riggers.

  “Will one sail be enough, Captain?” asked Sabau.

  “Yes, for now.”

  A few minutes later a lateen sail was hoisted up the foremast. It had been painted black to better hide it against the night sky. The prahu began to pick up speed as it followed the bends in the river. She sped along with ease, sailing over sandbanks and reefs, crossed the small bay and headed silently for the open sea.

  “The ship?” asked Sandokan, rising to his feet.

  “There, a half mile from us,” Sabau replied.

  The cruiser’s dark mass loomed menacingly upon the water; tiny sparks swirled above her as cinders escaped her smokestack. Listening carefully, one could hear the muffled sounds of her boilers.

  “Her fires are still burning,” murmured Sandokan. “She’s waiting for us.”

  “Let’s hope her crew doesn’t spot us,” said Sabau.

  “Do you see any launches?”

  “None, Captain.”

  “We’ll stay close to shore and try to hide our advance against the trees and vines for as long as we can, then make a run for it.”

  The sea was calm, a breath of wind barely ruffling the waters. Sandokan ordered a sail hoisted up the mainmast then pointed the ship southward, keeping along the shore. Hidden against the dark jungle, there was little chance the pirate ship would be detected.

  Tiller in hand, Sandokan kept his eyes fixed upon his adversary, knowing she could awaken at any moment and shower them with a barrage of iron and lead. Despite his efforts to outsmart his enemy, in the depths of his soul that proud man terribly regretted fleeing without attempting to avenge his losses.

  Though part of him desired to be on Mompracem, part of him also longed for another battle. The formidable Tiger of Malaysia, the invincible leader of the pirates of Mompracem, felt almost ashamed to leave in this manner, quietly, stealthily, like a thief in the night. The very idea made his blood boil. Oh, how he would have welcomed a cannon blast, even if it heralded a new and more disastrous defeat.

  The prahu had already gone five or six hundred metres from the bay and was preparing to flee, when a strange light began to seep into her wake. It appeared suddenly, as if a myriad of tiny flames were rising from the murky depths of the sea.

  “We’re about to be discovered,” said Sabau.

  “Just as well,” Sandokan replied with a fierce smile. “This retreat was beneath us.”

  “You’re right, Captain,” replied the Malay. “Better to die fighting than flee like jackals.”

  The sea grew brighter, the glimmering specks multiplying about the prahu, her wake now sparkling with light. The ship would not pass undetected by those standing watch aboard the cruiser. Cannons could begin firing at any moment.

  Even the pirates lying on deck had noticed that phosphorescence; however, no one had moved or uttered a word. Like their captain, they regretted fleeing without an attempt at revenge. A volley of grapeshot would have been greeted with a cry of joy. Two or three minutes had passed, when Sandokan, who had been keeping his eyes on the cruiser, saw her position lights brighten.

  “Have they spotted us?” he wondered.

  “I think so, Captain,” replied Sabau. “Look! There are more s
parks coming out of the smokestack! They’re stoking the engines!”

  Sandokan sprang to his feet and drew his scimitar. A cry had thundered from the warship, “Battle stations!”

  The pirates rose like one man as the gunners pointed the cannons and the two swivel guns, determined to fight to the last.

  A brief silence reigned aboard the cruiser then they heard the same voice thunder out again, “Battle stations! Battle stations! The pirates are escaping!”

  Moments later, a drum roll sounded from the cruiser’s bridge, calling the men to action.

  Gathered along the bulwarks and crowded behind the barricades, the pirates held their breath, anxious for battle, clutching their weapons, fingers poised against the triggers of their carbines.

  The drum continued to sound. They could hear the chain creak as the anchor was hoisted aboard. The cruiser was preparing to attack.

  “Stand ready, Sabau!” commanded the Tiger of Malaysia. “Eight men to the swivel guns.”

  Seconds after he had given that command, a cannon thundered from the cruiser’s bow, just above the forecastle, lighting up the foremast and the bowsprit. Whistling through the air, the cannonball severed the tip of the mainmast and splashed into the sea. Cries of rage echoed throughout the pirate ship. There was no escaping a fight now, much to the delight of those bold adventurers.

  Dark red smoke spewed out of the warship’s smokestack. The buzz of the crew preparing for battle, the shouted commands of the officers and of men running to their stations, the dull grumbling of the boilers and the sounds of the wheels churning the waters carried across the surface of the sea. The two lanterns had changed position. The vessel was advancing rapidly towards the small pirate ship, determined to thwart her escape.

  “Prepare to die a glorious death!” shouted Sandokan, who harboured no illusions as to the outcome of the impending battle.

  “Long live the Tiger of Malaysia!” his men howled in reply.

  Sandokan gave the wheel a vigorous turn as his men quickly trimmed the sails. He was leading the prahu towards the ship, planning to storm the enemy deck. Both sides began to fire. Cannonballs and volleys of grapeshot whizzed through the air.