Sandokan: The Pirates of Malaysia (The Sandokan Series Book 3)

by Emilio Salgari

  Once his wound had healed, he returned to the seas and explored every corner of the Malay Archipelago. That voyage marked the beginning of his rise; his fame would soon spread throughout the globe.

  Malay pirates ruled those waters; their incessant butchery and plundering kept local tribes living in fear. Angered by the pirates’ brutality, their wanton destruction, and their flourishing slave trade, he decided to liberate the waters of Malaysia and, in so doing, free its people and make the sea safe for navigation.

  James Brooke tenaciously fulfilled his objectives. Despite the obstacles and opposition he encountered from his government in the execution of his bold plan, he armed a small schooner, the Royalist, and in 1838 set sail for Sarawak, a small city in Borneo that then numbered no more than 1500 inhabitants. His timing could not have been worse.

  A civil war had erupted in Sarawak, its people perhaps incited by Malay pirates, were attempting to overthrow their ruler, the Sultan Muda Hassim. Brooke immediately offered the sultan his help, took command of the troops, and after numerous battles quelled the rebellion in less than twenty months.

  When the campaign was over, he took to the sea in an expedition against pirates and slave traders. With his crew, battle hardened from two years of campaigning, he put his plans for complete eradication into action, fighting and destroying his enemies wherever he found them. It is impossible to calculate the number of pirates he executed, the number of ships and prahus he sank, the number of enemy strongholds he burned to the ground. He was cruel and merciless, perhaps too much so.

  Once he had defeated the pirates, he returned to Sarawak. Sultan Muda Hassim, grateful for the tremendous services Brooke had rendered, made him rajah of the small city and its surrounding district.

  In 1852, the year in which this tale is set, James Brooke was at the height of his power; with but a gesture he could make the Sultan of Varauni tremble, even though the sultan ruled the largest kingdom on the island of Borneo.

  ***

  As Yanez entered the rajah rose to his feet. Though almost fifty and a veteran of many gruelling battles and campaigns, he was still a strong, vigorous man with indomitable energy. His white hair and a few wrinkles were the only indication of his true age.

  “Excellency!” said Yanez with a bow.

  “Welcome,” said the rajah, returning the greeting.

  The reception was encouraging. Though his heart had started to pound as he stepped into the room, Yanez relaxed.

  “What happened last night?” asked the rajah, after having offered Yanez a chair. “My guards reported that you fired your pistols a few times. You shouldn’t annoy the Chinese, my friend, there are a good number of them in Sarawak and many have no great love of Europeans.”

  “I couldn’t help myself, Excellency; I was starving. When I found myself standing before that Chinese tavern, I could not resist the urge to eat and drink, so I went in, even though I knew I didn’t have so much as a shilling in my pockets.”

  “What!?!” exclaimed the rajah. “Not so much as a shilling? Tell me then, what brings you here? I know all the foreigners in my kingdom, but I’ve never seen you before.”

  “It’s my first visit to Sarawak,” said Yanez.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Liverpool.”

  “What ship brought you here?”

  “My yacht, Excellency.”

  “May I have your name, sir?”

  “Lord Giles Welker of Closeburn,” Yanez replied smoothly.

  The rajah proffered his hand and the Portuguese shook it warmly.

  “It gives me great pleasure to receive a Scottish Lord,” said the rajah.

  “Thank you, Excellency,” replied Yanez with a bow.

  “Where did you leave your yacht?”

  “At the mouth of the Palo.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I marched over two hundred miles, through forests and swamps, living off of fruit like a savage.”

  The rajah looked at him in surprise.

  “You marched here from the Palo?” he asked. “Were you lost?”

  “No, Excellency.”

  “Had your yacht been damaged?”

  “No, sunk by volleys of cannon fire, after it was looted of all it contained.”

  “By who?”

  “Pirates, Excellency.”

  The rajah sprang out of his chair, his eyes blazing, his face filled with rage.

  “Pirates!” he exclaimed. “Haven’t all those dogs been destroyed?”

  “It would appear not, Excellency.”

  “Did you get a look at the leader of those pirates?”

  “Yes,” said Yanez.

  “Could you describe him?”

  “Handsome features, black hair, bronzed skin, incredible strength.”

  “Him!” exclaimed the rajah excitedly.

  “Who?”

  “The Tiger of Malaysia.”

  “I’ve heard that name before. Who is he?” asked Yanez.

  “A powerful man, Milord, with the courage of a lion and the ferocity of a tiger. He’s the leader of a band of fearless pirates. Three days ago, he dropped anchor at the mouth of my river.”

  “What daring!” exclaimed Yanez, barely containing a shudder. “Did you attack him?”

  “Yes, and I defeated him. But victory came at a great cost.”

  “Ah!”

  “I lost sixty men in that battle. We had the Tiger surrounded, but before we could take him, he set fire to his powder room and blew up his ship. He took one of mine along with it.”

  “So he was killed?”

  “I doubt it, Milord. I ordered my men to search for his body, but they did not find it.”

  “Then he’s still alive?”

  “I suspect he’s found refuge in the forest along with his men.”

  “Do you think he’ll attempt to attack the city?”

  “He could, it depends on how many men he has with him, but he won’t find me unprepared. I’ve bolstered my defences with loyal Dyak troops, and I’ve sent several of my Indian scouts to search the forest.”

  “Wise precautions, Excellency.”

  “The least I could do, Milord,” laughed the rajah. “But please, continue your story. When did the Tigers attack you?”

  “Two days ago, I set sail from Varauni and pointed my bow towards Tanjung Sirik. I’d planned to visit the main cities of Borneo, before heading back to Batavia and India.”

  “Were you on a pleasure cruise?”

  “Yes, Excellency. I’ve been at sea for eleven months.”

  “Continue, Milord.”

  “At around sunset on the third day, my yacht dropped anchor near the mouth of the Palo. I went ashore and headed into the forest, alone, hoping to capture a couple of babirussa or a dozen toucans. I’d been walking for two hours, when I heard a cannon blast then a second, then a third, then a furious exchange of artillery fire. Frightened, I ran back towards the coast. But it was too late. The pirates had boarded my yacht, imprisoned the crew, and were looting the vessel. I remained hidden then once they had sunk my ship and sailed off, I rushed to the shore.

  “The tip of the mainmast stood a half-foot above the water; it was all that remained of my ship. I scanned the waves for survivors and spotted several corpses being dashed against the reef.

  “In desperation, I wandered about the mouth of the river for the entire night, shouting the names of my crew, but in vain. When morning came, I set out, following the coast, making my way through forests, swamps and rivers, living off of any fruit I could find and whatever birds my carbine could procure. When I reached Sedang, I sold my watch and my weapon, my last remaining possessions, and I rested for forty-eight hours. I bought new clothes from a Dutch colonist, a pair of pistols and a kris, then I set off once more and arrived here, starving, exhausted, and penniless.”

  “What do you intend to do now?”

  “I have a brother in Madras and a few estates in Scotland. I’ll write and have him send m
e a few thousand pounds then I’ll take the first ship back to England.”

  “Lord Welker,” said the rajah, “I place my home and my purse at your disposal, and I’ll do everything in my power to ensure you are not bored during your stay in my kingdom.”

  Yanez smiled and his face lit up with joy.

  “But, Excellency...” he stammered, pretending to be embarrassed.

  “Milord, I would do as much for any of my countrymen.”

  “How can I thank you?”

  “Should I visit Scotland one day, you’ll return the favour.”

  “I swear it, Excellency. You and your friends will always be welcome at my estates.”

  “Thank you, Milord,” said the rajah with a smile.

  He rang a bell and an Indian servant immediately stepped into the room.

  “This gentleman is my friend,” said the rajah. “My house, my purse, my horses, and my weapons are at his disposal.”

  “As you wish, Rajah,” replied the Indian.

  “What are your plans for the day, Milord?”

  “A walk around the city, and, with your permission, Excellency, I’d like to venture into the forest. I love to hunt.”

  “Will you join me for lunch later?”

  “It would be my pleasure, Excellency.”

  “Pandij, show our guest to his room.”

  He proffered his hand to Yanez who shook it warmly.

  “Thank you Excellency, you are most generous.”

  “My pleasure, Milord. Enjoy your hunt.”

  The Portuguese left the study and followed the Indian to the guest quarters.

  “You may go,” he said to the servant. “I’ll ring if I need you.”

  Once alone, the Portuguese studied his new surroundings. It was a large elegantly furnished room papered with a beautiful Tonga floral print and lit by a pair of windows that looked out onto the hills. There was a good bed, a small table, chairs made of the finest bamboo, Chinese spittoons, a beautiful gilded lamp that must have come from Europe and several weapons of European, Indian, Malay and Bornean design.

  Excellent, thought the Portuguese, rubbing his hands happily. His new friend James Brooke was treating him like a lord, but he had to be careful, he knew he was dealing with an old wolf.

  A sharp whistle from outside interrupted his thoughts. The Portuguese started.

  “Kammamuri,” he murmured. “You’re taking a great risk, my friend.”

  Chapter 4

  In the Forest

  HE CLOSED THE door, drew the latch and quickly approached the window. The Maratha was standing beneath the cool shade of a sago palm about forty paces from the rajah’s palace. He was leaning against a long bamboo rod capped by a sharp, undoubtedly poisoned, metal tip. A small horse stood next to him, a pair of large woven nipa baskets were strapped to it, filled to the brim with sago bread and various kinds of fruit.

  “The Maratha is more cautious than I expected,” murmured Yanez, more than a little surprised. “He looks like one of those suppliers for the mines.”

  He rolled up a cigarette and lit it. The small flame immediately drew Kammamuri’s attention.

  He’s spotted me, thought Yanez, but he isn’t moving. Good, caution above all.

  He signalled the Indian to wait, then drew away from the window, went to the small table and opened the drawer. Inside were several sheets of paper, an inkwell, pens and a purse that jingled metallically when he shook it.

  “My new friend has thought of everything,” laughed the Portuguese.

  He took out a sheet of paper, ripped it in half and wrote in tiny script:

  Meet me at the Chinese tavern. Be careful and keep your eyes peeled.

  He rolled up the piece of paper and pulled down a long, hardwood tube from the wall. It was hollow and armed at one end with an iron bayonet held in place with strips of rattan fibre.

  About a meter and a half in length, the Dyak sumpitan or blowpipe is the most destructive weapon in the native arsenal. Warriors use it, of course, raised to the mouth, and can strike from a hundred yards with extraordinary precision; at sixty yards the force of their blow can kill a monkey, at twenty yards it can drive an arrow half its length into the enemy’s flesh. In wartime, arrows are dipped in sap from an upas tree, a poison so strong it can kill a man in minutes.

  “I bet I’ve still got it,” said the Portuguese, examining the weapon.

  He took down an arrow, wrapped the note around it and slid it into the tube. One strong blow propelled it to the Maratha’s side. Kammamuri quickly picked it up and removed the slip of paper.

  “Time to go,” said Yanez, once Kammamuri had run off.

  He slung a double-barrelled shotgun over his shoulder and went out, receiving a respectful salute from a guard as he left the villa. He arrived at the tavern less than a quarter of an hour later and spotted the Maratha’s horse standing near the door.

  “Better get the money ready,” murmured the Portuguese. “I foresee an angry welcome.”

  He peered inside the tavern. Kammamuri was sitting in a corner, eating a bowl of rice; the tavern keeper was sitting behind the counter, wearing a pair of smoky quartz glasses, busily scribbling upon a sheet of paper with a large brush, more than likely going over his accounts.

  “Hey, tavern keeper!” shouted the Portuguese, as he stepped into the room.

  The tavern keeper raised his head. Recognizing his client from the previous night, he sprang to his feet and rushed towards him, threateningly brandishing his oversized pen.

  “Scoundrel!” he howled.

  The Portuguese was ready for him.

  “I’ve come to pay you,” he said, throwing a handful of coins upon the table.

  “Great Buddha!” exclaimed the tavern keeper, immediately grabbing the money. “Eight pounds! I beg your pardon, Señor, I—”

  “Enough; bring me a bottle of Spanish wine.”

  The tavern keeper rushed off, returned with a bottle and placed it before Yanez, then ran to a gong that hung over the door and began to beat it furiously.

  “What are you doing?” asked Yanez.

  “Saving your life, sir,” he replied. “I must inform my friends that you’ve paid me, otherwise who knows what could befall you in the next couple of days.”

  Yanez threw another ten pounds on to the table.

  “Tell your friends that Lord Welker would like to offer them a round of drinks,” he said.

  “Thank you, milord! Thank you!” exclaimed the tavern keeper. “You are truly generous.”

  “The least I can do, now kindly leave me be.”

  The tavern keeper picked up the money then went out to meet his friends, who, summoned by those furious notes, came rushing from all corners armed with knives and bamboo sticks. Yanez sat down before Kammamuri and uncorked the bottle.

  “What’s new, my good Maratha?” he asked.

  “Terrible news, Señor Yanez,” replied Kammamuri.

  “Is Sandokan in danger?”

  “Not yet, but they could find his hiding place at any moment. The forests are crawling with soldiers and Dyaks. Last night, I was stopped and questioned, and the same thing happened this morning.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I managed to pass myself off as a merchant who sells his wares to the miners of the Poma mines. As you saw, I bought a horse and a couple of baskets to better play the part.”

  “You’re a clever fellow, Kammamuri. Where’s Sandokan now?”

  “Six miles from here, camped out in an old abandoned village. His men are fortifying its defences, preparing for a possible attack.”

  “We’ll go see him.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as we’ve finished this bottle.”

  “Do you have any news?”

  “I’ve learned where they’re keeping your master.”

  The Maratha sprang to his feet, almost beside himself with joy.

  “Where is he? Where is he?” he whispered.

  “In the fo
rt, guarded by sixty British soldiers.”

  The Maratha slumped back into the chair, disheartened.

  “We’ll rescue him all the same, Kammamuri,” continued Yanez.

  “When?”

  “As soon as we’re able to.”

  “Thank you, Señor Yanez.”

  “No need to thank me; drink up.”

  The Maratha drained his glass.

  “Shall we go?”

  “Yes,” replied Yanez, throwing a few shillings on the table.

  “It’ll take some time to reach the camp; we’ll have to lengthen our journey to fool the spies.”

  “I’m in no hurry; I told the rajah I was going hunting. He doesn’t expect me back until later.”

  “So you’ve become his friend?”

  “As I intended. I’ll tell you everything as we walk along.”

  They left the tavern. The Portuguese led the way; Kammamuri followed a few steps behind, leading the horse by its bridal.

  “Hurrah for Lord Welker!” shouted a voice.

  “Hurrah for his lordship! Long live the generous European!” shouted several other voices.

  The Portuguese turned and spotted the tavern keeper surrounded by a large band of Chinese men, each raising a jar.

  “So long, gentleman!” he shouted.

  “Long live his generous lordship!” thundered the Chinese.

  The two men walked through the Chinese quarter and its exotic shops filled with silk, tea, fans, glasses, clogs, hats, clothes, lanterns, weapons, amulets, spittoons, bamboo chairs, and rolls of Tung floral paper brought in from the ports of the Celestial Empire, entered the Malay district, went up a hill and soon reached the forest.

  “Be careful, sir,” said Kammamuri. “I spotted several pythons this morning and came across some tiger tracks.”