“Where was he taken?”
“I do not know, but the fisherman who lives down there could tell you,” said the Dyak, pointing to a small hut on the left bank. “He was one of the men who escorted the prisoner to wherever they took him.”
“Can I meet this fisherman?”
“He’s off fishing now, but he’ll return to his hut tonight.”
“Excellent. Hirundo, give this man your kris and find him a small barrel of gin.”
The pirate did not wait to be told twice. He ordered some men to place a small barrel of alcohol in the canoe and gave his kris to the bazir, who went off as happily as if he had just been awarded an entire province.
“What are you up to, little brother?” asked Yanez, once the Dyak had rowed out of earshot.
“We’ll strike immediately,” replied Sandokan. “It’ll be dark in an hour and we’ll send for the fisherman.”
“And then?”
“Once we’ve learned where they’re keeping Tremal-Naik, we’ll go to Sarawak and pay a visit to James Brooke.”
“James Brooke?”
“We won’t go as pirates. You’ll pose as a Dutch ambassador.”
“We’ll run a terrible risk, Sandokan. If Brooke discovers who we are, he’ll hang us both.”
“The rope that’ll hang the Tiger hasn’t been woven yet, Yanez. We’ll rescue Tremal-Naik long before Brooke becomes suspicious.”
“Captain,” said Hirundo, “Some ships are approaching.”
Sandokan and Yanez turned their eyes towards the mouth of the river and sighted two heavily armed brigantines flying the British flag, attempting to round Point Montabas.
“Great!” said Yanez. “More warships!”
“Surprised?” asked the Tiger of Malaysia.
“I would not underestimate James Brooke, little brother. He probably has spies throughout his kingdom. This may not be a chance arrival.”
“There’s nothing unusual in this, Yanez. There are always a good number of British ships docked here.”
Thirty minutes later, after they had rounded the promontory, the two brigantines were met by a half dozen ships and slowly towed up the river. They saluted the rajah’s flag with two cannon blasts, sailed past the Helgoland and dropped anchor on either side of the Royalist. Night fell shortly after their arrival, blanketing the forests, reefs, boats, junks, and prahus in total darkness.
The time had come to send for the fisherman. A launch was lowered into the water; Hirundo and three pirates quickly climbed down into it and set off for the shore. The Tiger of Malaysia had been watching them go, when suddenly the Portuguese rushed towards him, visibly shaken.
“Sandokan!” he exclaimed.
“What’s the matter?” asked the pirate “You look terrified!”
“They’re planning to attack us!”
“Impossible!” exclaimed the Tiger, looking about menacingly.
“It’s true I tell you! Look! There towards the sea!”
Troubled by his friend’s tone, Sandokan cast his eyes towards the mouth of the river. His hands ran instinctively to the hilts of his kris and scimitar as a dull roar escaped his lips. A large, menacing, dark mass was now anchored near the reef, blocking their path to the bay, a ship of immense size and she was showing the Helgoland her side.
“Damn!” he murmured, “How can this be?”
“She’s pointing her cannons at us!” said Yanez.
“Who could have betrayed us?”
“I’d wager on the gunboat.”
“Impossible. The gunboat was heading north.”
“But at two this morning the lookouts sighted a dark silhouette sailing at great speed toward Sarawak.”
“And you think...?”
“The gunboat’s captain has sounded the alarm,” concluded Yanez. “It’s the only explanation. She must have rescued the Helgoland’s crew. Who knows? The man who shouted ‘Ahoy there in the gunboat!’ could have been a crewman who had jumped overboard during the battle.”
Sandokan turned and cast his eyes upon the Royalist. James Brooke’s ship had not moved, but the two British vessels had drawn much nearer and the Helgoland would now be caught in a crossfire.
“Ahh!” exclaimed Sandokan, “They want a fight? Well then, so be it! My cannons will show them who I am!”
He had just uttered those words when a sharp cry rang out from the left bank close to where Hirundo had taken his men.
“Help!”
Sandokan, Yanez and the pirates rushed to the ship’s starboard side and fixed their eyes on the dark forest.
“Who was that?” exclaimed a pirate.
“May Dinata make me take my own head if that wasn’t Hirundo’s voice,” said a tall muscular Dyak.
“Hirundo!” shouted Yanez.
Two rifle blasts thundered beneath the trees, followed by four splashes. Despite the darkness, the pirates sighted four men swimming desperately towards the ship.
“It’s Hirundo!” exclaimed the pirate.
“This is getting serious!” exclaimed another.
“Is anyone following them?” asked a third.
“Silence!” commanded the Tiger. “Throw them a rope!”
The four men reached the vessel within minutes. It took them mere seconds to grab onto the rope and climb up onto the bulwark.
“Hirundo!” said Sandokan, recognizing the four pirates he had sent off in search of the fishermen.
“Captain,” shouted the Dyak, shaking off the water, “We’re surrounded.”
“Damn!” thundered the Tiger. “Soldiers?”
“The forest is crawling with them, all armed with rifles. It looks as if they’re awaiting the signal to attack.”
“An ambush. You’re certain of this? How many?”
“I’m certain, Captain. I saw them with my very eyes. I’d say at least two hundred men, probably more hiding among the trees and bushes. You heard those shots; they fired at the sight of us.”
“What are we going to do, little brother?” asked Yanez.
“We’ll fight; we have no other option. We’ll let them fire the first shot. Tigers! To arms!!”
The pirates, who had been standing a respectful distance from their captains, came forward at the Tiger’s command. Their eyes sparkled, their hands rested upon the hilts of their krises. Battle was imminent and they were impatient for it to begin.
“Tigers of Mompracem,” said Sandokan, “James Brooke, the Exterminator, is preparing to attack us. He has murdered thousands of men, thousands of Malays and Dyaks; their souls ask you, their brethren, for vengeance. Swear to me now that you will avenge them.”
“We swear!” replied the pirates in unison, their voices ringing with frightening enthusiasm.
“Tigers of Mompracem,” continued Sandokan, “We’re outnumbered and outgunned but we’ll shower them with fire and steel for as long as we have powder and cannonballs, then we’ll set fire to the ship. Let them think they’ve trapped us, tonight we’ll show those dogs what the Tigers of Mompracem can do. Man your stations! Fire upon my command!”
A roar came in reply to the Tiger of Malaysia’s rousing words. The pirates, with Yanez at their head, rushed into the battery and pointed the black throats of their cannons towards the enemy ships. Two pirates remained on the bridge, standing near the wheel, while Sandokan carefully studied his foes from the forecastle.
At first glance, the four ships preparing to shell the Helgoland with their forty cannons appeared to be in a state of slumber. Not a sound emanated from them; however, a careful eye could spot shadows moving about their decks.
It won’t be long now, thought Sandokan. In ten minutes, fifty cannons will light up the bay, filling the air with the roar of artillery, the howls of the wounded, and the cries of the victors!
He smiled at the prospect of battle, then frowned as a sudden thought came to him.
“Ada!” he murmured, “What if she were to be struck by a bullet? Sambigliong! Sambigliong!”
A Dyak
quickly rushed to the Tiger’s side.
“Yes, Captain,” he replied.
“Where’s Kammamuri?” asked Sandokan.
“In the priestess’ cabin.”
“Go there immediately. Take some men and pile as many barrels, mattresses and as much scrap metal as you can find along the walls of the cabin. I want that room secure.”
“Leave it to me, Captain. Not a ball or bullet will get in.”
“Go, my friend! Hurry!”
“Should I remain in the cabin once the work is complete?”
“Yes, you’re the best swimmer in Malaysia. If we’re forced to abandon ship, you’ll swim the priestess to shore. Hurry, Sambigliong! The enemy is preparing to attack.”
The Dyak raced off towards the stern. Sandokan returned to the bow and carefully scanned the waters. A flare shot up from the vessel blocking the mouth of the river. Instantly, a light flashed from the Royalist’s bridge, followed by a formidable discharge.
The Tiger of Malaysia jumped forward as the tip of the mainmast, blunted by an eight-calibre cannon ball, crashed to the deck.
“Tigers!” he howled. “Return fire!”
Tremendous cries filled the air, “Long live the Tiger of Malaysia! Long live Mompracem!”
A menacing silence fell over the river. It lasted only a moment then suddenly flashes of fire, smoke and cannonballs erupted from the four enemy vessels, lighting the small waterway from end to end. Muskets thundered from the forest and quickly fanned out to shower the Helgoland from bow to stern.
The battle had started. A hurricane of iron whistled through the air as the five vessels exchanged fire, crews black with powder rapidly loading and unloading their artillery. Cannons and musketry thundered without pause, each volley accompanied by savage cries.
The Helgoland, anchored in the middle of the bay, furiously defended herself from her mighty attackers. She fired from her port side, she fired from her starboard side, without missing a single shot, returning volley for volley, matching bomb for bomb, felling masts, shredding rigging, toppling cannons, smashing in batteries, piercing hulls, shelling the very forests that concealed James Brooke’s men. She looked like a ship of steel defended by an army of titans.
Her masts shook, her yards fell, enemy fire shattered her launches, demolished her bulwarks, smashed through her sides and killed her crew, but what did it matter? She had enough powder and cannonballs for all, and the men aboard her gave no quarter, determined to perish rather than surrender. Every blast, every discharge, was accompanied by a battle cry:
“Vengeance! Long live Mompracem!”
The Tiger of Malaysia stood at the centre of the bridge, watching the horrible spectacle before him. Scimitar in hand, that formidable man remained stone still, eyes blazing, hair blowing in the wind, lips parted in a frightful smile, as the deck trembled beneath him with every volley of cannon fire. Masts fell before him, grapeshot roared past angrily as it tore through planks and beams, bombs exploded in a shower of burning shrapnel, but the pirate merely continued to smile as death rained down about him. Even his enemies, spotting him on that heroic vessel, standing firm among that hurricane of steel, could not hide their admiration.
The battle lasted for half an hour, growing fiercer and more ruthless with every exchange. The Helgoland, riddled by grapeshot and pounded by the relentless barrage of fire from no less than fifty cannons, was little more than a smoking hulk. Her masts, beams, rigging and bulwarks were in ruins; water gushed into every opening. She was still firing, attempting to match her enemies shot for shot, but she could not sustain the battle for much longer. Ten pirates lay dead in the battery; two cannons had been destroyed by enemy fire; they were almost out of cannonballs, and the stern was filling with water. Ten, perhaps fifteen minutes more, and the heroic Helgoland would have sunk beneath the waves.
Yanez, who had been firing one of the largest cannons, was the first to notice how grave their situation had become. At the risk of being shot, he rushed to the Tiger of Malaysia’s side.
“Little brother!” he shouted.
“Fire, Yanez! Fire!” thundered Sandokan. “They’re moving to board us.”
“We can’t keep this up anymore, little brother! The ship is sinking!”
A formidable crash followed those words. Struck by a broadside of grenades, the forecastle had fallen, smashing in the crew’s quarters and part of the deck. The Tiger of Malaysia roared in anger.
“It’s over, my Tigers, it’s over!”
He rushed into the battery from where the Tigers of Mompracem continued to shell the enemy vessels. Kammamuri immediately came before him.
“Captain,” he said, “water’s gushing into the priestess’ cabin.”
“Where’s Sambigliong?” asked the Tiger.
“In the cabin with my mistress.”
“Has she been hurt?”
“No, Captain.”
“Bring her on deck and stand ready to jump into the river on my mark. To me, my Tigers! Everyone on deck!”
The pirates fired their cannons one last time then rushed onto the deck, scrambling through the wreckage.
Towed by several launches, the enemy ships were approaching, their crews determined to board the Helgoland at their first opportunity.
“Sandokan!” shouted Yanez, having lost sight of his formidable friend. “Sandokan!”
But only the triumphant cries of his enemies came in reply, followed seconds later by blasts form the pirates’ carbines.
“Sandokan!” he repeated, “Sandokan!”
“Here I am, brother,” replied a voice.
The Tiger of Malaysia rushed onto the deck, clutching a scimitar in his right hand and a torch in his left, followed by Sambigliong and Kammamuri, carrying the Priestess of the Eastern Temple.
“Tigers of Mompracem!” thundered Sandokan. “Fire one last volley!”
“Long live the Tiger!” howled the pirates as they emptied their carbines at the four vessels.
The Helgoland rocked like a drunkard as she rapidly succumbed to the incessant barrage of enemy fire. Water roared through every tear in her sides, quickly pulling her down into the river. Thick clouds of smoke poured from her bow, stern, hatches, gun ports and batteries. The Tiger of Malaysia’s voice rang out one last time among the roar of cannons.
“Abandon ship! Sambigliong, protect the priestess!”
The Dyak jumped into the water clutching the young woman tightly in his arms, Kammamuri at his side. The others followed quickly, swimming among the enemy vessels that had drawn up alongside the sinking ship. One man alone had remained aboard, the Tiger of Malaysia, scimitar drawn, the torch burning brightly. A sinister smile spread across his lips, as a ferocious light flashed from his eyes.
“Long live Mompracem!” he shouted.
A formidable hurrah echoed through the air. Twenty, forty, one hundred men stormed onto the Helgoland’s shaking deck, weapons drawn and ready. The Tiger of Malaysia waited no longer. With one quick move he leaped over the bulwark and disappeared into the water.
Almost at the same instant, a great explosion tore the ship in two; an enormous flame shot up towards the sky, lighting the river, the enemy ships, the forest and the mountains, as a shower of flaming wreckage rained down from the heavens. The enemy ships and their crews had disappeared among the smoke and flames; the Helgoland’s powder magazine had caught fire and destroyed them all.
Part II
The Rajah of Sarawak
Chapter 1
The Chinese Tavern
“HEY! GOOD MAN!”
“Milord!”
“To hell with your Milords.”
“Sir!”
“To hell with your Sirs.”
“Monsieur? Señor!”
“Go hang yourself. What kind of lunch is this?”
“Chinese, Señor, this is a Chinese tavern.”
“What makes you think I want to eat Chinese food?! What are these bugs squirming upon my plate?”
“Chooi H
ar. Drunken shrimp.”
“But they’re still alive!”
“Yes, very fresh, caught in the river less than thirty minutes ago.”
“You’d have me eat live shrimp? Hell!”
“Chinese cuisine, monsieur.”
“And this roast?”
“Young dog, Señor.”
“What?”
“Young dog.”
“A puppy? By the devil... And this?”
“Cat, Señor.”
“Cat! By thunder!”
“A meal fit for a king, sir.”
“And this fried meat?”
“Mice fried in butter.”
“Dog of a Chinaman! Are you trying to poison me!?!”
“Chinese cuisine, Señor.”
“The devil’s cuisine, you mean. Hell! Drunken shrimp, fried mice, roast dog and cats for lunch! If my brother were here, he’d die of laughter.”
He studied the food for a moment, eyeing it suspiciously.
“Bah,” he said at last. “It smells good enough, I suppose. I guess there’s no need to be squeamish. If the Celestials can eat this stuff, I guess I can as well. Best not to think about it and just dig in!”
Convinced by his reasoning, the man shifted in the bamboo chair, drew a magnificent kris with a diamond-studded, gold hilt from his belt, carved himself a slice of the roast dog and began to eat.
Between mouthfuls, he studied his surroundings. The room had a low ceiling; paintings of dragons, exotic flowers, crescent moons, and mystical animals covered the walls. Beneath them, Chinese men with long bianzi[3] and drooping moustaches snored upon mats and benches. Several tables of varying size had been set randomly about the room, occupied by rough-looking, black-toothed, olive-skinned Malays and various semi-clad Dyaks armed with parangs, heavy knives more than a half meter in length. Many consumed jars of arak or tuak or smoked long opium pipes; others chewed siri, a mixture of betel leaves and areca nuts, at times spitting dark red blobs of saliva onto the floor.
“What a band of ruffians!” muttered the man as he took a bite of the cat meat. “I wonder how that scoundrel James Brooke manages to keep the wretches in line. He must be as sly as a fox and—”
A sharp whistle from outside the tavern interrupted his thoughts.
Sandokan: The Pirates of Malaysia (The Sandokan Series Book 3) Page 7
