They left the room and went up on deck. The ship was racing at full steam towards the southwest at fifteen and six tenths knots, a speed unmatched by steam vessels of the time.
Yanez was thrilled.
“She’s as fast as lightning, Commander!” he said. “The governor and the rajah’s forces will be no match for her. Sandokan could even declare war on England if he so desired!”
Kammamuri suddenly stepped up before them.
“The sherip will be fine, Señor Yanez,” he said. “It seems you only struck a rib. Your shot must have been deflected by his talwar.”
“Where is he now?”
“In one of the bow cabins.”
“Would you care to joins us, Commander?”
“It’d be my pleasure, Mr. de Gomera,” replied the American. “Let’s see if we can clear up this little mystery.”
They set off down a port side passageway and entered a small room that served as an infirmary.
The sherip lay on a hammock, guarded by Sambigliong and one of the ship’s crewmen.
He was about fifty years old, extremely thin, with dark bronze skin, and the fine features common to Indians of high caste.
His limbs still bound, he stared at his captors in fierce silence, his black piercing eyes blazing darkly.
“Captain,” said Sambigliong, “I examined him a few moments ago and found a Naga tattooed on his chest.”
“So he really is a Thug,” replied Yanez.
“A strangler!” exclaimed the American, eyeing the prisoner with even greater interest.
The prisoner had started at the sound of Yanez’ voice, then raised his head, and glared at his captor with hatred.
“Yes,” he said, “I’m a Thug, one of Suyodhana’s most loyal friends, sworn to avenge the destruction of my brethren. You, Tremal-Naik, Darma, and the Tiger of Malaysia shall not escape our wrath! Kill me. Another will avenge my death.”
“Who?” asked Yanez.
“That’s my secret.”
“You’ll tell us soon enough.”
An ironic smile spread across the strangler’s lips.
“And you’ll also tell us where that steamer took Darma and Tremal-Naik.”
“Never!”
“I wouldn’t be so hasty, Mr. Strangler,” said the American. “I guarantee you’ll talk, willingly or otherwise. You can save yourself a lot of pain by answering our questions now.”
“You don’t frighten me,” the Thug replied. “Kill me if you must, I’ll never utter a word.”
The American turned to the crewman and said, “I’ll need a barrel of water, a table and a couple of buckets. We’ll be up shortly.”
“An interesting choice of equipment, Commander,” said Yanez.
“My method is highly effective, Mr. de Gomera. You’ll see. I’ll have this man speaking within two minutes, you have my word,” then turning to Sambigliong and Kammamuri he added, “Take him up on deck.”
Chapter 15
Fire a Broadside!
THE INDIAN HAD not put up the slightest resistance; the defiant smile remaining on his lips, untroubled it seemed by the prospect of torture. When he found himself on deck, lying on his back, bound to a table, he appeared no less preoccupied. His eyes calmly scanned the crewmen gathered about him then came to rest upon Yanez and the American.
“Are you going to throw me to the fish?” he asked ironically, his eyes fixed upon the Portuguese.
“We have something better, Mr. Strangler,” said the American. “How’s your wound?”
The strangler shrugged contemptuously.
“Little more than a scratch,” he said dully.
“Excellent. Bring me a pair of buckets and a funnel.”
Three crewmen came forward with the equipment. They had brought the supply officer’s funnel, a large wide-mouthed object with a stem as thick as a fist used for filling the ship’s barrels.
“Last chance,” said the American. “You won’t resist. Spare yourself the pain.”
“No,” the strangler replied bluntly.
“What if I promise you your freedom?” asked Yanez, who hated resorting to extreme measures.
“I wouldn’t live long enough to enjoy it.”
“Then we may as well begin,” said the American.
The entire crew had come to watch. Only the helmsman and the stokers had remained at their posts.
Two sailors inserted the funnel into the Indian’s mouth and held it firmly in place, while a third picked up a bucket and slowly poured water down the prisoner’s throat.[5]
Forced to drink to avoid suffocating, the sherip struggled frantically against his bindings, attempting to writhe free. He quickly realized he would not resist for long. Nevertheless, he did not yield, determined to die before he would confess.
Water continued to gush down his throat, his stomach swelling ever larger with each passing minute. Eyes wide and desperate, his head jerked violently as he fought to draw breath.
“Ready to talk?” the American asked calmly as he signalled the crewman with the bucket to stop.
The Indian shook his head fiercely, his teeth grating against the funnel’s metal stem.
Two more litres of water were poured down his throat. Face twisted, stomach bloated, eyes intense with pain, the Indian finally slumped against his bindings.
He had surrendered.
“Enough, enough,” said Yanez, nauseated by such cruelty.
The Portuguese signalled for the funnel to be removed; the Thug gasped for air.
“Murderers!” he cried, his voice barely a whisper.
“That bit of water won’t kill you,” replied the American. “You’ll be fine, provided we don’t continue. Ready to answer a few questions?”
For a moment the Indian said nothing, but when the American signalled for the sailors to resume, a look of fear spread across his face.
“No… no more,” he stammered.
“Who sent you here? Speak or we’ll start again,” said Yanez.
“Sindhya,” replied the Indian.
“Who’s that? And who are you?”
“I am… I am… Sindhya’s guardian… I raised him… I… am… Suyodhana’s … loyal friend…”
“And who is this Sindhya?” insisted Yanez, his eyes fixed upon the gasping prisoner.
“Tell us or we’ll start again,” said the American.
“Suyodhana’s… son,” panted the strangler.
Yanez, Kammamuri and Sambigliong cried out in unison, unable to contain their amazement.
Suyodhana had had a son! The leader of the Thugs, the divine High Priest of the Kali sect who had pledged his heart to the bloodthirsty goddess - and her alone - had had an affair like a common mortal.
Anxious to learn more, Yanez leaned in closer to the Indian, but the poor man had fainted.
“Is he dying?” he asked, turning to the American. “I need more information. Where did they take Tremal-Naik and Darma? Where can I find Suyodhana’s son?”
“Let him digest his water for a bit,” replied the commander. “This torture doesn’t kill if it’s stopped early enough; by tomorrow he’ll be as healthy as you or I. We should take him back to his cabin and let him sleep.”
“He’s fainted.”
“The doctor will bring him to. There’s no need to worry, Mr. de Gomera. Come this evening or tomorrow at the latest, you’ll have all the information you desire.”
At a sign from the commander two sailors picked up the unconscious Indian and carried him back down into the ship’s waist.
“Well, Mr. de Gomera,” the American said, turning to Yanez who appeared lost in thought. “It appears the information gave you quite a start. Is the strangler’s son a dangerous man?”
“He could be,” replied Yanez, “but we don’t know who he is, where he is, or what means he has at his disposal. Judging by the ferocity of the attacks he’s waged against us, the relentless determination he’s shown to capture Tremal-Naik and his daughter, I’d say this Sind
hya is every bit as dangerous as his father. It’s even more vital we find out where he’s hiding.”
“He wasn’t with the Dyaks when they attacked your prahus?”
“I don’t think so. The sherip led the attack alone. There weren’t any other Indians aboard his ship.”
“So he’s powerful enough to attack from behind the scenes.”
“Yes, so it appears. Not only has he armed the Dyaks, he’s also turned the British and maybe even James Brooke’s nephew against us. One thing is certain, he must be incredibly wealthy; it would take a lot of money to acquire such allies. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were arming a fleet of ships as we speak.”
“They won’t pose much of a threat to this ship, Mr. de Gomera. No one can match her artillery. She’s equipped with the most formidable weapons built to date; more powerful than any vessel in our own navy. It’s a shame I have to return to San Francisco, I’d love to see the Tigers in battle.”
“Señor Yanez,” said Kammamuri, who until then had been silently contemplating the sherip’s words, “what do you make of this unexpected revelation?”
“I never thought we’d be facing Indian Thugs again. You lived among them for several months; did you ever hear tell of Suyodhana having a son?”
“No, never. He must have been raised in secret, far from the Sunderbands. If the Thugs had learned of it, Suyodhana would have been slain; as High Priest he had pledged his heart to Kali; women were forbidden to him.”
“Were the Thugs wealthy?”
“They were rumoured to have amassed vast riches, but only Suyodhana knew where they were hidden.”
“Sindhya must have inherited everything once the sect was destroyed.”
“It’s likely, Señor Yanez,” replied the Maratha.
“And now he’s planning to avenge his father!” said the Portuguese. “Bah, let him come. The Tiger of Malaysia made quick work of the Tiger of India; I doubt the son will be much more of a challenge.”
“What puzzles me though,” said the American, “is how the son of a strangler managed to ally himself with the British.”
“He’s probably using an alias,” said Yanez. “He won’t have been fool enough to tell the Governor of Labuan that his father was Kali’s High Priest. I must learn where he is and the sherip will tell me, even if I have to tear it from him one word at a time.”
“Threatening him with another round of water should do the trick,” said the American. “He’ll give in, you’ll see, and he’ll tell us everything he knows. Best you go and get some rest, Mr. de Gomera. You must be exhausted after so much excitement. Your men have already turned in.”
The Portuguese, who had not slept in two days, decided to take the American’s advice. He followed Kammamuri below deck, found a cabin, then once alone stretched out on a cot fully clothed.
The ship sped towards the southeast, keeping a dozen miles from the coast, flying over the waters at fifteen knots, a speed that even the fastest steamers and cruisers could not match.
Not a single ship appeared on the horizon, but a few prahus were spotted sailing lazily along the coast, most likely fisherman out for their morning catch.
By midday, the Nebraska, her bow pointed towards Tanjung Nosong, came within sight of Pulo Tiga, three small uninhabited islands in Kimanis Bay.
At four, just as Labuan was appearing on the horizon, Yanez was roused from his slumber.
“Wake up, Mr. de Gomera!” shouted the commander.
The tone in the American’s voice made the Portuguese jump to his feet. Brien’s face was grim.
“Trouble? You seem upset, Commander.”
“By God!” thundered the American, scratching his head angrily. “I wasn’t expecting this, Mr. de Gomera.”
“Expecting what?”
“Well... well... that wretched Indian is dead.”
“Dead!”
“He had some poison hidden in a ring. Did you notice the one he had on his middle finger? Gold with a large corundum?”
“Yes, now that you mention it.”
“We found a tiny compartment hidden beneath the stone,” said the American. “It must have contained a few grains of who knows what kind of poison. He died instantly, right before his guard’s very eyes.”
Yanez scowled in anger.
“Dead! Taking his secrets to his grave!” he exclaimed bitterly. “How are we ever going to find out where that steamer took Tremal-Naik and Darma? Our luck appears to be turning. Could this be the beginning of the end?”
“You shouldn’t give up hope just yet, Mr. de Gomera,” said the American. “If their abductors had wanted them dead they would have killed them on the spot. They must have been ordered to take them somewhere.”
“Yes, but where? That’s the mystery.”
Trying to remain calm, Yanez began to pace about the cabin. A thousand thoughts swirled through his head. What should they do? How should they proceed? Where should they direct their search?
He stopped suddenly and turned his eyes to the commander.
“Where are we now?” he asked.
“Within sight of the coast of Labuan, Mr. de Gomera.”
“How soon before we reach Mompracem?”
“I expect we’ll get there between ten and eleven tonight.”
“I need to make a slight modification to our plans. Have a launch readied with enough provisions and weapons for two men. She’ll set off for shore once we’re closer to Labuan.”
“What do you have in mind, sir?”
“The steamer headed south, away from the Kabatuan. Tremal-Naik and his daughter may have been taken to Labuan.”
“And you intend to send a couple of your Malays there to make inquiries?”
“We’ll pick them up in a few days, hopefully with some new information.”
“Two white men would have a greater chance of success. There are many aboard that’ll gladly perform the task. It’s just a matter of negotiating the right compensation.”
“I’ll pay them whatever they ask.”
“Follow me then, sir.”
When they arrived on deck, the shores of Labuan were within sight, no more than a dozen miles away.
The American ordered a launch prepared, then summoned two crewmen, two tall Californian grenadiers, and informed them of the mission the Portuguese had proposed.
“I’ll give you a hundred pounds each if you manage to get news of my friends,” added Yanez.
“We’ll go to hell and back if we have to,” replied one of the men.
“And bring back Beelzebub himself if you desire, Commander,” added the other.
“We’ll pick you up again in two days.”
“At night?”
“Yes, send up a green flare when you’re ready to come back aboard.”
“The devil take us if we don’t succeed, Commander.”
The launch was ready. The two Californians climbed down into it and immediately rowed off, heading toward the island while the Nebraska quickly resumed her course westward.
A short while later, the strangler, having been pronounced dead by the ship’s physician, was wrapped in a hammock and tossed over the ship’s side with a cannonball bound to his legs.
By eight, the Nebraska, which had not reduced her speed, was already halfway between Labuan and Mompracem. The sea remained deserted as the moon slowly rose over the horizon, casting its silvery light upon the glass-smooth waters.
At the forecastle, Yanez, Kammamuri and Sambigliong anxiously studied the horizon, impatient to spot the cliff atop which stood the Tiger of Malaysia’s hut, while the American, who had momentarily resumed command of the mighty ship, paced about the bridge.
“What a surprise for Sandokan when he sees us arrive with such reinforcements!” said Sambigliong. “We’ve lost the Marianna, but we’re returning with a ship twenty times more powerful.”
“She’ll certainly give Sindhya and his allies something to worry about,” replied Yanez.
“Could the Britis
h have been satisfied with a simple threat, Captain?”
“They’ve wanted us to leave Mompracem for quite some time.”
“The last threat was serious, Señor Yanez,” said Kammamuri. “I’ve never seen Sandokan this worried.”
The Portuguese turned pale.
“What if we’re too late?” he asked anxiously. “No, they could never defeat Sandokan so quickly. Mompracem is well defended; our men are fearless and determined to fight to the death. Labuan’s fleet wouldn’t stand a chance against them. Still, if the Tiger’s worried... bah, best not to speculate, we’ll be there in less than an hour.”
He had begun, as was his habit when troubled, to pace up and down the forecastle, his hands in his pockets, a cigarette between his lips.
Fifteen or twenty minutes passed. Only eighteen or twenty miles separated the Nebraska from Mompracem.
A sudden discharge thundered off in the distance, sinisterly breaking the silence.
Yanez froze and looked up as the American quickly strode towards him.
“A cannon blast!” exclaimed the Portuguese.
“From Mompracem, Mr. de Gomera,” said the American, climbing up to the forecastle. “The wind is blowing from the west.”
“Could the British have attacked the island?”
“We’ll give them a taste of our artillery. Stokers! Full steam! Gunners to your stations!”
A second blast tore through the air, followed seconds later by several rounds of gunfire.
There could be no mistake. Off towards the horizon, towards Mompracem, a terrible battle was being waged.
Yanez and the American ran to the bridge. The gunners quickly loaded their pieces while another band of men rushed down to the engine room.
“Is everything ready?” Commander Brien asked the officer on watch who had quickly inspected all the pieces.
“Yes, Commander.”
“Double the lookouts and send another two men to stand by the wheel.”
The fighting continued to intensify, the mighty roar of heavy calibre artillery almost drowning out the dry crack of carbines and swivel guns.
Yanez, a little pale with emotion, but calm, had pointed a pair of binoculars towards the west, while the ship flew over the waters, a foaming wake stretching behind her.
“Smoke on the horizon!” the Portuguese shouted at one point. “There are steamships down there, and I’d wager they’re all British. Hurry! Hurry!”
Sandokan: The King of the Sea (The Sandokan Series Book 5) Page 13
