Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6)

by Emilio Salgari

  Sandokan, leaning against the trunk of a tara palm, calmly watched them race back in among the trees, the wall of flames chasing at their heels.

  “A magnificent idea,” said Tremal-Naik, who was standing nearby alongside Surama. “The Sikhs will have to run all the way back to the lagoon to save their hides.”

  “The game is still only half won. That second band of men could come up behind us at any moment.”

  “We’ll sneak through their lines.”

  “Do you think we can still find that village? We’ve made quite a detour.”

  “I spied a hill about three or four miles north of here. We may be able to see the village from its summit.”

  Sandokan was about to give the order to raise camp and join his scouts at the northern edge of the forest, when he spied Sambigliong advancing towards them, a finger to his lips, gesturing for all not to make a sound.

  “What is it?” whispered the Tiger of Malaysia when the old pirate had drawn near.

  “We got here too late, Captain,” said Sambigliong.

  “More soldiers?”

  “A good number of them.”

  “Saccaroa!” Sandokan exclaimed angrily. “They moved even faster than I expected.”

  “Where are they?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “Lying in wait four or five hundred paces from the edge of the forest,” said Sambigliong.

  “When did they arrive?” asked Sandokan.

  “A few minutes ago. They ran like gazelles, probably drawn here by the fire.”

  “Did they see you?”

  “Yes, that’s why they stopped.”

  “We’ll have to charge past them,” said Sandokan. “Have the men form two small attack columns, put Surama and the prisoners at the rear and assign six men to guard them. Hurry!”

  “Ready,” said Kammamuri once the pirate’s orders had been executed.

  They quietly made their way to the edge of the forest. Then, just as they reached the last row of trees, Sandokan shouted:

  “Attack, Tigers of Mompracem!”

  Dyaks and Malays charged through the grass and bushes, one column led by Tremal-Naik and Kammamuri, the other by Sandokan and Sambigliong, carbines thundering as they emerged from the small forest and raced towards their foe.

  Several soldiers fell and their line began to waver, their shots doing little damage to that horde of approaching men.

  “Attack, Tigers of Mompracem! Attack!” shouted Sandokan, slinging his carbine about his shoulder and drawing his scimitar.

  The Dyaks and Malays swooped down upon the Assamese like a flock of hungry vultures. Breaking through the line and scattering their enemies with their parangs and kampilans took only seconds. A volley of rifle fire drove the last few stragglers into the jungle and cleared the path before them.

  “One Sikh is worth more than all those men combined,” said Sandokan. “If the rajah’s army is filled with such warriors, his throne is as good as lost.”

  “They may try to attack us again,” said Tremal-Naik. “We should try to reach the hill before they regroup.”

  “We’ll be able to fend them off more easily from up there,” said Sambigliong.

  “Agreed, my friends,” smiled Sandokan. “Onward.”

  The hill was only about five or six hundred metres from them. It rose to about seven or eight hundred feet, and its slopes were covered in lush vegetation.

  Sandokan and his men, who had quickly gathered into a single column, covered that short distance at a run, firing their carbines occasionally to warn their enemies that they were still determined to fight.

  As a dozen men covered their backs the vanguard hacked a path up the thick tangle of plants and trees and reached the summit thirty minutes later. The Assamese not having returned, Sandokan ordered his men to make camp; they would need to rest for a couple of hours before they could continue.

  While the Tigers unpacked their supplies, Sandokan, Tremal-Naik, and Kammamuri climbed a large boulder on the far side of the hill that had a good view of the plain below.

  The fire was still raging through the trees, blazing a path towards the lagoon and the banks of the Brahmaputra. It now stretched for five or six miles and had engulfed the forest just beyond the jungle. Great clouds of black smoke and swirls of sparks had spread over that sea of flames; even the old Benar pagoda had collapsed, the remnants of its walls marking where it had once stood.

  Sandokan and his companions turned their eyes towards the east and soon spied the small village, little more than a few hundred huts built about a small pagoda.

  It was far from the fire and not in any danger, thanks to the vast rice paddies and canals that surrounded it.

  “That must be it,” said Sandokan, pointing it out to his companions. “I don’t see any others.”

  “Neither do I,” said Tremal-Naik. “How far do you think it is?”

  “About five miles or so.”

  “Then it shouldn’t take us very long.”

  “Provided the Assamese leave us be.”

  “Any sign of them?”

  “No, but I’m sure they’re still hiding among the kush.”

  “Spying on us most likely.”

  “Most likely. We may be able to lose them if we go down the far side of the hill.”

  They slid down the boulder and rejoined their companions, who had set up camp beneath the trees.

  “Everything is fine for the moment,” Sandokan said to Surama. “We should be able to reach the village in a couple of hours, barring any unexpected surprises. Then if we can purchase a few elephants, it all becomes much easier.”

  “And Yanez?” Surama asked anxiously.

  “There’s nothing we can do just yet. But there’s no need to worry, he’s in no danger, the rajah thinks he’s an Englishman and won’t dare hurt a hair on his head. At worst, he’ll be banished from the kingdom and escorted to the Bengali border.”

  “And then how will we find him?”

  “He’ll find us, once he’s learned the Tigers of Mompracem and your father’s men have taken Guwahati. How far is Sadiya from the Brahmaputra?”

  “The river flows right past it.”

  “Better than I’d hoped! They’re bound to have a few ships then.”

  “Gongas and pulwars from what I remember, but we may find something larger.”

  “Excellent,” said Sandokan. “That will greatly aid my plans.”

  He stretched out beneath a wild banana tree, lit his pipe and began to smoke, his eyes fixed on the kush below, knowing the Assamese were still hidden among the tall grass, unable to retreat, the fire barring their path to the river.

  His men had taken advantage of the lull: some smoked, some slept, others chewed areca nut. An hour or so later, Sandokan spied several shadows among the kush moving towards the clumps of bushes that stretched about the base of the hill.

  “Get up, my friends,” he commanded. “It’s time to go.”

  “What’s happening?” asked Surama.

  “Your future subjects are preparing to storm the hill,” said Sandokan, “and I have no desire to sit around and wait for them. It’s going to be a heck of a run; stay close to the trees until we reach the other side.”

  Crawling through vines and bushes, keeping hidden behind the broad banana leaves, the little column made its way unseen to the far end of the summit and reached its northern slope, which was thick with enormous groves of mango and areca trees festooned with vines and plants.

  The vanguard was immediately forced to draw their parangs and hack open a path, there being little room to pass through that thick net of vegetation.

  Sandokan, always cautious, bolstered the rearguard, knowing the attack would come from there. The Assamese had likely already begun to climb towards the summit, hoping to surprise the fugitives in their camp.

  The Malays and Dyaks, however, were quickly slashing through the tangle of plants, the men in the vanguard alternating every five minutes so that fresh arms could continue to
open a path.

  Luck appeared to be with the pirates, for they reached the base without once spying their enemy. Fortunately, the forest that Sandokan and Tremal-Naik had spied from the top of the rock proved to be less of an obstacle than they had expected, the teak and ironwood trees growing a good distance apart.

  They quickly picked up their pace, knowing that once the Assamese discovered their path down the slope they could easily gain ground.

  The pirates were about half a mile from the village when Sandokan and Tremal-Naik heard several shots thunder from behind them, followed immediately by a volley of carbine fire.

  “They’re coming!” cried the Tiger of Malaysia, stopping suddenly.

  “And it sounds like the rearguard has spotted them,” said the Bengali.

  “Ten men with us! Kammamuri lead the others to the village. Make sure the elephants are ready to set off immediately.”

  Ten Malays broke away from the column and followed the two leaders at a run back, arming their rifles. They reached the rearguard minutes later.

  “You were attacked?” Sandokan asked Sambigliong who was in command.

  “Yes, by a small band of scouts, but they fled at our first volley.”

  “Was anyone wounded?”

  “No, Tiger of Malaysia.”

  “And you’re certain they fled?”

  “We chased them for two or three hundred metres.”

  “We’ll leave them be. The village is nearby and Kammamuri is preparing the elephants. Follow me, quickly.”

  The small squad set off at a run, fearing that the bulk of their attackers were not far behind. When they reached the others, they found them gathered about five colossal elephants, each mounted by a mahout and barded with a howdah large enough for several men.

  Bindar was with them.

  “Ah! Sahib! At last!” he exclaimed. “I heard the shots and feared the Assamese had killed you and your men.”

  “It would take more than a volley or two to destroy the Tigers of Mompracem,” Sandokan replied simply, then turning toward the elephants he added, “Fine beasts; has everything been prepared?”

  “Yes, sahib.”

  “Everyone aboard then! Surama you’ll ride with us. Men keep your eyes peeled for soldiers; fire at the sight of them.”

  The small band quickly climbed into their seats, Sandokan, Tremal-Naik, Kammamuri, Bindar and Surama sitting in the howdah strapped to the lead elephant. Three Malays sat behind them on the enormous beast’s back.

  “Full speed!” thundered Sandokan, once everyone was in place. “There’ll be an extra twenty rupees for each of you if we can maintain a good pace until we reach the mountains.”

  The mahouts needed no further encouragement, twenty rupees was more than they earned in a year. They drew their ankuses, whistled sharply, and the five elephants set off at a run, their howdahs swaying on their backs like boats in a mighty current.

  Bindar had ordered the mahouts to head southeast towards Sadiya, the ancient capital that had once been administered by Surama’s father.

  The five elephants quickly sped through the rice paddies about the village and entered a vast jungle that stretched along the right bank of the Brahmaputra and extended to the foothills of the Dapha Bum and Patkai ranges.

  The jungle they were about to cross was filled with bamboo groves, vast tracts of kush grass and a few peepal trees, palash trees, tara and palmyra palms: an excellent place for an ambush. Sandokan ordered his men to keep their eyes trained on the bushes and their rifles level, ready to fire.

  “Do you think they’ll attack?” asked Tremal-Naik, his eyes fixed on the thick bamboo grove ahead of them.

  “They won’t give up the chase, and it’ll be easy to follow our tracks. It’s just a matter of when.”

  Suddenly, to everyone’s surprise, the elephants, which until then had been advancing at a run, slowed sharply.

  “What’s wrong, mahout?” asked Tremal-Naik. “A tiger?”

  “Soft ground, sir,” replied the mahout, shaking his head. “The last rains have turned the ground to mud. My apologies, sir, I didn’t expect this.”

  “Is there another path we can take?”

  “It’s the same everywhere. The jungle floor is made of clay; it absorbs water like a sponge.”

  Sandokan and Tremal-Naik rose to their feet and cast their eyes upon the ground; the elephant’s tracks were filled with muddy water.

  “Have them advance as fast as they can,” said Sandokan.

  “I’ll do what I can, sir.”

  Despite the mahouts’ efforts, the five elephants soon slowed to a crawl, the ground becoming softer with each step. They sank into the mud up to their knees as they advanced, waving their trunks, flapping their ears and shaking their heads in displeasure. Still the beasts continued to move forward, perhaps sensing that their passengers were in danger.

  They had been travelling for about thirty minutes, when Bindar, who was seated behind the lead elephant’s mahout, one hand clutching the howdah, the other firmly clutching his carbine, suddenly let out a cry. Almost simultaneously, the elephant stopped, raised its trumpet and sniffed the air.

  “What is it, Bindar?” asked Sandokan, springing to his feet.

  “There’s something stirring among the bamboo,” replied the Indian.

  “Where?”

  “To our left.”

  “A tiger? The elephant seems nervous.”

  “It would take more than a bagh to scare these five beasts. It must be something else.”

  “Halt all elephants!”

  The four great beasts behind them immediately halted.

  “Ready weapons!” commanded Sandokan.

  Malays and Dyaks rose as one man and leveled their carbines.

  The elephants closest to the lead beast suddenly appeared nervous.

  A few minutes passed in silence; the bamboo had not stirred, but still the elephants would not settle.

  Sandokan, who was eager to press on, was about to order the mahout to resume the march, when several shots thundered from a bamboo grove about two hundred metres to the right of them.

  “The Assamese!” he exclaimed. “Over there! Fire!”

  A shower of bullets tore through the reeds, Malay and Dyak carbines thundering in unison.

  Suddenly the lead elephant trumpeted loudly and began to back up towards its companions. Almost simultaneously the Assamese guns fell silent and the bamboo began to stir.

  “They’re retreating!” shouted Sandokan. “Fifteen men into that thicket! After them!”

  The ladders were immediately lowered and a squad of Malays and Dyaks, led by Sambigliong, stormed in among the reeds, the mud only slightly hampering their advance.

  Meanwhile, Sandokan and the others scanned the thicket from atop their howdahs, ready to fire at the first sign of trouble.

  The lead elephant continued to back away from the grove, trumpeting loudly, ignoring its mahout’s commands.

  “It must have been hit,” said Tremal-Naik.

  “Let’s hope it’s not serious,” replied Sandokan. “We still have a good distance to cover.”

  “Mahout, see if you can find the wound.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the conductor, rapidly grabbing onto the rope ladder and sliding to the ground.

  He slowly walked around the elephant, carefully examining its sides, and stopped beside its left hind leg.

  “Have you found it?” asked Tremal-Naik.

  “Yes, sir,” said the mahout. “His hind leg is bleeding; it was struck at the joint.”

  “Is it serious?”

  The mahout nodded sadly.

  “He’ll last a few more days at most.”

  “Can you bandage the wound?”

  “I’ll try to stem the bleeding. I won’t be able to pull out the bullet though; it’s lodged in too deep.”

  At that moment Kammamuri and his men emerged from the thicket.

  “Vanished again?” asked Sandokan.

  “Yes,
” said the Maratha.

  “Scoundrels! They don’t have the courage to face us out in the open.”

  “They’ll be back before long,” replied Kammamuri. “From what I saw, this mud stretches on for a few more miles.”

  “Climb up and keep your rifles ready.”

  Malays and Dyaks quickly scrambled up the rope ladders; the mahout followed moments later once he had stemmed the bleeding.

  “Onward!” commanded Sandokan. “Let’s see what those damned Assamese have in store for us next.”

  Chapter 27

  The Bhainsa

  THE SMALL BAND resumed its march through the jungle, a march that somewhat resembled that famous retreat across the Bundelkund by Tantia Topi, the famous rebel leader, and the Rani of Jhansi during the Indian Mutiny of 1857.

  The elephants continued to advance cautiously, testing the ground before them, those in the rear at times sipping at the water that seeped into their companions’ footprints.

  The lead elephant, no longer frightened, advanced with its head held high, trumpeting confidently as it made its way over the mud. The largest of the five, its instincts were infallible, finding the best spots to place its feet with only a quick glance.

  The Assamese had not reappeared nor had given any sign they were nearby, however, Sandokan and Tremal-Naik were ever vigilant, knowing their pursuers had not given up the chase. The march continued slowly, straining the elephants’ muscles.

  Bamboo grew thickly about them, with barely a clearing among the trees. The mud appeared as if it would go on forever, an endless swamp to the horizon.

  Ravens, buzzards and storks scattered as the elephants approached. At times bands of peacocks, birds sacred to Hindus because they are the emblem of the goddess Saraswati who presides over births and marriages, would race off into the vegetation. Sometimes pairs of sarus cranes would watch them pass, large birds, about a metre and a half tall, with silky pearl-grey feathers, a red bare head and neck, and a short pointed beak. These elegant birds pair for life and are the symbol of marital fidelity; in parts of Gujarat, newlywed couples are taken to see a pair of sarus cranes to bring good fortune to their union.

  Small packs of wild dogs, jackal-like beasts with short pale red fur, would peer from the reeds from time to time then run off howling their displeasure; even the odd cheetah would make its presence known, its growl piercing the air as it retreated among the bamboo.