Sandokan: The Two Tigers (The Sandokan Series Book 4)

by Emilio Salgari

  “I prefer my island and my Tigers,” replied Sandokan. “I have more power and freedom. Even if they made us rajahs, the British would never fully trust us. But enough talk of that; Tremal-Naik, Surama and I were just discussing our next move. After tonight’s events, I suggest we abandon the hunt and prepare to attack. It appears the Thugs already suspect our intentions. I have no doubt they were spying on us and came upon the officer by chance.”

  “I agree with him,” added Tremal-Naik.

  “Do you think someone’s betrayed us?” asked Yanez.

  “The Thugs are highly organized; they have spies everywhere,” replied Tremal-Naik. “Our departure was noted and signalled to their brethren in the jungle. They all worship Suyodhana and protect him from harm. They believe he’s divine; that he speaks for Kali. Is that not so, Surama?”

  “Yes, sahib,” replied the young woman. “They have a vast secret network comprised of their most cunning men.”

  “I have a plan,” said Sandokan.

  “Let’s hear it,” said Yanez.

  “We’ll set off for Rajmangal immediately. Once we’ve put some distance between us and those spies, we’ll make contact with the Marianna, gather our men, and attack the Thugs’ lair. If we can take them by surprise, we can prevent them from escaping with little Darma.”

  “Yes! Yes!” exclaimed Tremal-Naik. “We must move quickly and in secret. They’ll take her from there as soon as an attack seems imminent.”

  “We’ll leave at four,” said Sandokan. “Now let’s take advantage of these three hours to get some rest.”

  Yanez led Surama to her tent then quickly made his way back to his own. The Frenchman was still inside, snoring loudly.

  “A sound sleeper,” he laughed. “Sign of a brave man.”

  He lay down on his own blanket and closed his eyes.

  At four the mahout’s horn sounded the revelry.

  The elephants had been fed and readied and the six Malays were standing about the merghee.

  “We’re leaving early,” said Lieutenant de Lussac, turning toward Yanez, who had entered the tent carrying two cups of tea. “Did you spot a tiger?”

  “No, we’re going a little further into the Sundarbans to search for other prey. It promises to be just as dangerous.”

  “Thugs?”

  “Drink up, Lieutenant de Lussac, it’s time to set off. We’ll continue our chat in the howdah. I have a few more things to tell you.”

  A quarter of an hour later the two elephants left camp and headed south, setting off at a run. Determined to lose the spies, Sandokan had given the order to have the beasts advance at full pace.

  Though most Indians are incredibly thin and agile, and are reputed to be tireless runners, they cannot compete with an elephants’ long strides.

  However, despite their efforts, it was unlikely that Sandokan and his companions would be rid of those rascals so easily. Those men had probably been watching them in secret since the morning they had left Khari, and had more than one way to keep them in their sights.

  The elephants had gone less than half a mile, when they heard a sharp note sound among the tall reeds.

  Tremal-Naik started then his face grew ashen.

  “A ramsinga!” he exclaimed. “The scoundrels are signalling our departure.”

  “To who?” Sandokan asked calmly.

  “There must be other spies throughout the jungle. Did you hear that?”

  A second ramsinga had sounded to the south of them. Whoever it was must have been a great distance away, for the note had been faint, no louder than a clarinet.

  “The scoundrels will signal our location no matter where we go,” said Yanez with a frown. “This is serious. Any suggestions, Lieutenant?”

  “They’re as sly as serpents,” replied the officer, “we’ll have to outsmart them.”

  “How?” asked Sandokan.

  “Change course for now, then resume our march tonight under cover of darkness. We’ll give the elephants a long rest this afternoon, then come evening we’ll set off again.”

  “Yes, that could work,” said Sandokan. “What do you think, Tremal-Naik?”

  “I agree,” replied the Bengali. “There’ll be no moon tonight, no one will see us.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” said Sandokan, “we’ll march until noon, then set up camp and resume our march this evening under cover of darkness.”

  He ordered the mahout to head east then accepted a cigarette from Yanez and calmly began to smoke.

  The two elephants continued their wild run, making the howdah shake with every step. They barrelled through bushes and mounds of calamus, flattening the bamboo before them like twigs, nothing could stop their advance.

  There appeared to be no end to that vast sea of reeds festooned with vines and creepers. At times they would pass a swamp, the elephants not drawing so much as a flutter from the storks, herons and ibises resting among the lotus leaves.

  At other times flocks of peacocks would race off at their approach, filling the air with their shrill notes, their feathers a blur of purple, gold and green.

  Sometimes a bison or gaur as it is called by the Indians, would peer up from its meal, gaze at the hunting party and wander away, bellowing in displeasure. These great beasts are often more than three metres in length with long curved horns, a dark brown coat and a large shoulder hump like the bison of the American West.

  The elephants finally came to a halt at around eleven, as they reached the outskirts of a clearing. Sandokan, having spotted the remnants of an old village, had ordered the mahouts to stop.

  “No one will surprise us here with all this open ground, and Darma and Punthy can easily sniff out anyone hiding nearby.”

  “It’ll probably take them a few hours to catch up to us,” said Tremal-Naik.

  “I was beginning to worry about them,” said Yanez.

  “Don’t worry, they’ll find us. They’re both excellent trackers.”

  Once their howdahs had been removed, the elephants had immediately stretched out on the ground. Both were panting heavily, their grey skin drenched with sweat.

  The two mahouts quickly got them on their feet, led them under a bar tree, had them lay down in the shade then began to smear their heads, ears and feet with fat to prevent their skin from cracking.

  The Malays, in the meantime, had raised the tents, the heat having become so intense it was no longer possible to remain in the sun. It felt like the jungle had been set ablaze, for the air was barely breathable.

  “We’d all get sunstroke if we stayed out there any longer,” said Yanez who had immediately taken refuge in one of the tents. “The air seems to have gotten heavier. You grew up in this jungle, Tremal-Naik, are we in for a storm?”

  “There’s a simun brewing; it would be wise to take precautions. If we’re not careful, we could all choke to death.”

  “A simun? What’s that?”

  “A hot wind.”

  “More dangerous than the winds of the Sahara,” added Lieutenant de Lussac, stepping into the tent at that moment. “I experienced them twice when I was with the garrison in Lucknow. They’re incredibly strong and violent. They’re worse there, hotter and more powerful, they come in from the west and absorb more heat as they pass over the burning sands of Marusthan, Persia and Baluchistan. Fourteen of my sepoys died from asphyxiation because they had been caught by surprise on open ground with nowhere to take shelter.”

  “It looks more like a cyclone,” said Yanez, pointing to a large bank of clouds northwest of the jungle, racing towards them with great speed.

  “It always begins with a cyclone,” replied the lieutenant. “The hot wind will follow.”

  “We’ve got to anchor the tents,” said Tremal-Naik, “and we can use the elephants as a shield.”

  The tents had been raised by the remnants of the old village wall. Under Tremal-Naik’s direction, the two mahouts and the Malays quickly reinforced them with a number of pegs and rope.

&
nbsp; Once the work had been completed the elephants were led in front of the tents and made to lie down side by side.

  While Surama and Yanez were preparing breakfast, the clouds had thickened over the jungle, blanketing the sky as they spread to the Bay of Bengal. A strong wind had begun to blow intermittently, quickly drying the puddles on the ground.

  The elephants began to grow nervous. They trumpeted frequently, shook their ears and took loud deep breaths as if they were suddenly struggling to breathe.

  “We’ve got to eat in a hurry,” said the officer, studying the sky from the mouth of the tent alongside Sandokan. “The cyclone will be here any minute.”

  “Can our tents weather the storm?” asked the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “They should, provided the elephants stay where they are.”

  “You think they won’t?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve seen elephants suddenly grow frightened and run off as if they’d gone mad, deaf to the shouts of their mahouts. The wind is going to cause quite a bit of havoc.”

  They heard a bark off in the distance.

  “Punthy’s coming,” said Tremal-Naik, rushing out of the tent. “And just in time.”

  “Is Darma with him?” asked Sandokan.

  “Yes, there, bounding towards us,” said Lieutenant de Lussac. “What intelligent beasts!”

  “Brace yourselves,” said one of the two mahouts.

  A dazzling bolt of lightning split a thick mass of clouds in two as a strong wind swept through the jungle, twisting the branches of the tara and peepal trees and bending the bamboo to the ground.

  Chapter 18

  The Cyclone

  THE CYCLONES THAT erupt in the great Hindustani peninsula only last a short time, however, several minutes are enough to destroy villages and devastate entire regions. The force of the wind is incalculable, only the largest buildings and sturdiest trees, like peepals and banyans, can withstand them.

  In 1864, a cyclone devastated Bengal, killing twenty thousand in Calcutta and a hundred thousand in the Hugli lowlands. The huts and shacks in the Black Town were carried away in one stroke and swept across the countryside.

  Strong violent winds drove back the current of the Hugli with irresistible force. Two hundred and forty ships, torn from their moorings, came crashing down upon the city as towering walls of water levelled porticoes, palaces, columns and bridges, reducing that opulent capital to a mass of frightening ruins.

  And that was only the beginning. Cyclones are almost always followed by hot winds that are every bit as devastating. The heat is so intense that Europeans, unaccustomed to it, cannot leave their homes for fear of dying of asphyxiation.

  As the simun begins to rise, even those native to the region must quickly take measures to prevent their homes from turning into ovens. They cover all doors and windows with tattis, thick screens made of scented grass, which are kept wet at all times. As the hot winds pass through the mats, the water evaporates and reduces the temperature of the air. Punka fans and thermantidotes, large wind wheels, work without pause to keep the air cool inside.

  Nevertheless, despite all those precautions, several people die of suffocation, especially in the desert regions of northwest India, where those hot winds originate.

  Aware of the incredible devastation a cyclone could cause, Tremal-Naik and the mahouts began to grow uneasy.

  Sandokan and Yanez, however, showed little if any concern. Though the two had never experienced a tropical cyclone in India, they had battled many a hurricane in the South China Sea, great storms, no less formidable or dangerous than the one about to descend upon the jungle.

  Though the tents had begun to shake and rattle, the Portuguese and Surama paid it no mind and continued to prepare breakfast.

  “Eat up!” shouted Yanez, “We’re going to need every extra pound. It’s going to be quite a show by the look of it. It’s a good thing we’re–-”

  A frightening roar, like the explosion of a powder magazine, drowned out his words.

  “What an orchestra!” exclaimed Lieutenant de Lussac as deafening peels of thunder rolled across the sky. He sat down before the carpet where their morning meal had been laid out. “I wonder if Zeus and Aeolus will allow us to finish our breakfast in peace.”

  “You’d think the sky was about to come crashing down upon us,” said Yanez. “What power! What fury! Loud enough to shatter your eardrums.”

  The thunder continued to intensify. Lightning flashed through the black clouds as large drops of water began to patter sinisterly over the vast jungle plains. Suddenly they heard a sharp hiss off in the distance. It was soft at first, but quickly grew louder and turned into a roar.

  Tremal-Naik shot to his feet.

  “Grab onto the tent!” he shouted.

  The cyclone swept through the jungle, tearing up everything it found in its path. Branches, reeds and bushes swirled in the air like twigs. It roared over the camp, toppling the remnants of the old mud walls, but miraculously, the tent, sheltered by the elephants, held firm.

  “That wasn’t so bad,” said Yanez.

  “It’s just getting started,” replied Tremal-Naik.

  Though the rain was now coming down in torrents, Sandokan and the Frenchman stepped out to see how the others had fared.

  Unfortunately the Malays tent had been torn from its pegs and they spotted their men chasing the sheet of canvas across the flattened reeds, trying to catch it before the wind carried it further into the jungle.

  The cyclone had devastated all the vegetation about the camp. The ground was covered with mounds of bamboo that had been torn up by the roots. Only a giant peepal with an enormous trunk had withstood that deadly wind though it had lost a large portion of its branches.

  Everywhere birds and beasts were racing to find shelter. Arghilah, Brahmin geese, cormorants, coots, storks and peacocks kept close to the ground, wings flapping in panic as they dodged a barrage of leaves and bushes.

  Buffaloes, axis, and deer scattered in all directions, mad with terror. Four or five nilgos managed to lay behind a tiny wall near the camp, huddled close to one another with their heads buried between their legs.

  “I hope they stay there until this cyclone subsides,” said Sandokan, pointing them out to the Frenchman, “They’d be a great addition to tomorrow’s breakfast.”

  “They’ll be off as soon as the wind dies down,” replied the lieutenant. “Leave them be; we’ll find others. The encore is about to start and it looks like it will be much worse. Best we go back into the tent, Captain.”

  A second hiss had filled the air, heralding the swirling cloud’s approach. Off in the distance tara palms crashed to the ground as if felled by a giant axe.

  Almost simultaneously, Zeus, as if suddenly jealous of Aeolus’ might, lit up the heavens with a brilliant bolt of lightning. The noise continued to grow louder and soon the men in the tent could no longer hear each other speak. The elephants, frightened by the roar of the wind and thunder, began to fidget nervously, ignoring the soothing cries of their mahouts, who had crawled out of the tent to calm them.

  The swirling funnel had almost reached the camp, when the koomareah abruptly stood up and trumpeted loudly. It sniffed at the air for a moment then raced off towards the jungle in terror.

  Sandokan, Yanez, Tremal-Naik and de Lussac had gone out to assist the mahouts just as the cyclone struck. Within seconds they were pulled up off the ground and dragged off by a swirling cloud of branches and leaves.

  The tent, torn from its pegs, flew off, flapping in the wind like a giant sail.

  For five minutes the four men tumbled through the broken reeds, unable to stop, until they were blown against a peepal tree that stood in the cyclone’s path. Once the wind had passed and calm returned, they slowly stood up; their clothes were torn, but they all appeared uninjured save for a few scratches.

  The koomareah had disappeared, along with the mahout who had gone after it; the merghee, however, had remained stretched out upon the ground, i
ts head buried between its legs.

  “Surama!” shouted Yanez, as they set off towards their camp.

  “She’s probably by the merghee,” replied Sandokan. “I didn’t see her come out of the tent.”

  “Quickly, gentlemen,” said the lieutenant. “We’ve got to get behind the elephant before the storm returns!”

  “What about the other one?”

  “No need to worry, Yanez,” said Tremal-Naik. “Once the cyclone is over, it’ll come back with its mahout.”

  “And our men, I hope,” added Sandokan. “I don’t see them anywhere. Let’s hope they found some shelter.”

  “We’ve got to hurry, gentlemen,” said the lieutenant.

  They were about to start running, when through the hiss of wind and the crash of thunder, they heard a voice cry out:

  “Help, sahib!”

  Yanez started.

  “Surama!”

  “What’s happening?” shouted Tremal-Naik. “Where’s Darma?... Punthy!... Punthy!...”

  But neither a bark nor a growl came in reply. The dog and tiger had likely been carried off by the wind and forced to find shelter elsewhere.

  “Hurry!” shouted Sandokan.

  They ran in the direction of Surama’s cry, barely able to make out what was happening in the camp. Leaves and branches still swirled through the air and now large thick clouds had gathered in the sky, blocking out the light. Only the merghee’s giant silhouette could be seen still lying where they had left it among the old village walls.

  Sandokan and his companions did not stop. Having left their rifles in the howdah, they had drawn their hunting knives, dangerous weapons in their hands, especially in those of the two pirates, accustomed to wielding their Malay krises.

  They reached the camp in less than five minutes. The second blast of wind had scattered the baggage, the provisions, the spare tents and the crates of ammunition. The howdahs had been knocked on their sides but appeared to be undamaged.

  The place was deserted, not a sign of Surama, the mahouts, Darma or Punthy. The elephant still had not moved, its eyes were closed and it was breathing heavily, its breath coming out in rasps.