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

by Emilio Salgari

  “Where’s the young woman?” asked Yanez, scanning every corner of the camp. “I don’t see her anywhere.”

  “She could be somewhere among those mounds of reeds,” said Sandokan.

  “Surama! Surama! Surama!” the Portuguese called out.

  But not a sound came in reply save for the elephant’s heavy breathing.

  “Is there something wrong with the merghee?” asked the Frenchman. “It almost sounds like its dying.”

  “You’re right,” replied Tremal-Naik, listening more closely. “It may have been injured in the storm.”

  “Best to check,” said Sandokan. “I’m starting to think something strange happened here.”

  While the Portuguese ran about the outskirts of the camp, calling out for the young woman as he searched through the large mounds of reeds, the others went to examine the elephant.

  A cry of fury broke from them as they reached its side. The merghee was indeed dying, but not because of the storm. The poor beast had two large gashes in its rear legs; someone had severed its tendons and the ground was soaked in blood.

  “Those wounds are fatal!” cried Tremal-Naik. “They’ve killed it!”

  “The Thugs?” hissed the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “It has to be.”

  “It hasn’t got much longer to live,” sighed Lieutenant de Lussac. “A few more minutes at most.”

  Sandokan roared with anger. “Those wretches attacked our camp in the middle of a cyclone?” he asked.

  “Here’s the proof,” replied Tremal-Naik.

  “But how? How could they advance through that wind? We were spun around like bits of straw.”

  Tremal-Naik was about to reply, when a cry from the Frenchman suddenly drew their attention. Lieutenant de Lussac had gone to inspect the remnants of the small mud brick wall, the only structure that had withstood the storm.

  “The scoundrels! This is too much!” he exclaimed, pulling up a nilgo pelt.

  Sandokan and Tremal-Naik rushed to his side. Five more nilgo pelts lay discarded upon the ground.

  “Captain Sandokan,” said the Frenchman, “do you remember the nilgos we spotted taking shelter behind this wall?”

  “They were Thugs disguised as deer,” said the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “Yes, sir. Remember how they crawled towards the wall on their stomachs? A trick to keep their legs hidden among the reeds.”

  “And once the storm had swept us from the camp, they attacked our poor elephant.”

  “And kidnapped Surama,” added Tremal-Naik. “The young woman must have gotten tangled in the tent cords.”

  “Yanez!” shouted Sandokan. “You can stop searching. You won’t find her here, Surama’s been kidnapped!”

  The Portuguese, whose affection for the Assamese dancer must have been stronger than he realized, turned red with rage.

  “I’ll kill every one of those monsters if they so much as harm a hair on her head!” he howled.

  “We’ll catch them, brother, you have my word,” said Sandokan. “The merghee is dying but we still have the koomareah. We’ll set off as soon as our men return with it and we won’t stop until we find them.”

  “There it is, down there,” said Lieutenant de Lussac. “It seems to be in fine spirits.”

  The great beast was running towards them, the mahout astraddle its neck, Sandokan’s men upon its back. The pirates too had been successful, having recaptured the tent after a long chase through the jungle.

  Unfortunately, there was still no sign of the merghee’s mahout, Surama, Darma or Punthy. The Thugs could easily have killed the guide and kidnapped the dancer; however, it was unlikely they could have slain the dog and tiger.

  “Any idea where Darma and Punthy could be, Tremal-Naik?” asked Sandokan.

  “They’ll be back soon enough, unless they’ve gone in pursuit of the Thugs. You know how much they hate them.”

  “Do you think they’re together?”

  “It’s likely, they often hunt together; they grew up side by side. When I lived in the Sundarbans they-–”

  A loud blare, that sounded as if it had been made by a bronze trumpet, suddenly cut him short. With a desperate effort, the poor merghee had reared up on its hind legs, its trunk stretched in the air.

  “It’s dying,” said Lieutenant de Lussac, sadly. “Wretches! Murdering an innocent beast!”

  Barely able to stand, the poor elephant was struggling to breathe. It gasped loudly once or twice then its legs started to tremble and its body began to sway.

  Sandokan and his companions had barely taken a step towards it, when the great beast crashed heavily on its side, a thick stream of blood spilling from its trunk.

  At that same moment they heard a sad voice cry out:

  “He’s dead! Curse those dogs!”

  The merghee’s mahout had emerged from behind a mound of reeds and bushes followed by Darma and Punthy.

  Chapter 19

  The Devadasi Disappears

  THE MAHOUT HAD returned to camp in a wretched state, looking as if he had just come from a long run. He was covered in mud from head to toe, his clothing was torn in ten different places, he had lost his turban and sash and his bare legs bled from the knee. However, he still clutched his ankus, a heavy rod that when employed as a weapon could smash in a man’s skull.

  The four men immediately rushed towards him and showered him with questions. Panting heavily, the poor devil could only gesture in reply, pointing at the elephant and the jungle.

  “Drink this,” said Sandokan, offering him a small flask of cognac. “Then take a breath and tell us what happened. Who killed the merghee? What happened to the young woman?”

  “The Thugs... the Thugs,” he said at last, after he had taken a few sips. “They were hiding... behind that wall... dressed in nilgo skins... the wretches!... They were... waiting... for the right moment... to attack.”

  “Take your time,” said Sandokan. “There’s no need to rush. They won’t get very far. Start again from the beginning and tell us all that happened.”

  “The cyclone had hurled me into a mindi bush two or three hundred paces from my elephant. I’d just gotten to my feet and was about to run for help, when I heard the young woman cry out. Believing she was in danger, I rushed back towards the camp.

  “But before I could reach her, I spotted five nilgos rise from behind that tiny wall and toss their skins aside... five men, dressed in little more than loincloths, stood before me.

  “Two of them drew large sabres and attacked my poor elephant, severing his hind tendons with two powerful blows; the others had raced towards the howdahs where they had spotted Surama, the merghee’s large body having sheltered her from the storm. Within seconds she was captured, bound and carried off. The poor woman had only had enough time to cry out, “Help, sahib!”

  “We heard that,” said Yanez. “She was calling for me. And then?”

  “I went after them, calling desperately for Darma and Punthy who I had spotted tumbling through the reeds on the far side of the camp. They were at my side in an instant, but by then the Thugs had already disappeared among the chaos of vegetation. We immediately set off after them but were soon forced to stop; the ground was too wet and muddy for Punthy to pick up their scent.”

  “Which way where they headed?” asked Sandokan.

  “South.”

  “Tremal-Naik, do you think they could have recognized Surama?”

  “Most likely,” replied the Bengali. “Otherwise they would have strangled her in the camp, another victim to sacrifice to their bloodthirsty goddess.”

  “One of those Thugs must have known her.”

  “They’ve probably been following us since the night of the Dharmaraja.”

  “Despite all our precautions?”

  “Several men from the ghrab could have come ashore when we did,” said Yanez. “They may have been spying on us all this time. Otherwise, how could you explain all this?”

  “That is the most logical ex
planation,” said Sandokan. He remained silent a moment, then added, “The cyclone appears to have subsided. Time to start tracking those thieves. Mahout, can your elephant carry us all?”

  “I’m afraid not, sir.”

  “May I venture a suggestion, Sandokan?” said Tremal-Naik.

  “By all means.”

  “We’ll split up. We’ll go hunt down those rascals with the koomareah. The Malays will set off for the Rajmatla canal. We’ll join up with them later.”

  “They’ll need a guide.”

  “We’ll send them off with the merghee’s mahout; he knows the Sundarbans as well as I do.”

  “That’s true, sahib,” replied the mahout.

  “We’ll send Darma and Punthy with them as an extra precaution.”

  “Yes,” said Sandokan. “There’ll be more than enough of us to battle Surama’s abductors. And you’re right; it would be wise to send word of our plans to our men aboard the Marianna.”

  “Then we should determine a meeting place. Mahout, have you ever been to the old tower of Barrackpore?”

  “Yes, sahib. It’s on the outskirts of the jungle opposite the north shore of Rajmatla. I stayed there for three days once to escape from a tiger. We should be able to get there in four or five days.”

  “Excellent, we’ll await you there. Have them ready the howdah.”

  Guided by the mahout, the Malays barded the elephant, strapping on the box with thick chains and sashes. The koomareah had become docile once again and it did not take them long to load the supplies and munitions.

  Yanez, Sandokan, Tremal-Naik and the Frenchman climbed into the howdah, and at a whistle from its conductor, the elephant set off at a gallop, heading south, the direction taken by Surama’s abductors.

  After causing so much devastation, the cyclone had blown itself out in minutes. The sky had begun to brighten, sunlight emerging through the widening rifts as the clouds raced towards the Bay of Bengal.

  The jungle was now a chaos of vegetation, the elephant often forced to go around large mounds of leaves, bamboo, and fallen timber. Unable to find shelter, numerous animals had died in the storm and the ground was strewn with the remains of axis, deer, and nilgo.

  The rain had transformed the jungle into a vast swamp. Though at times the koomareah’s legs would completely disappear into the mud, it did not slow its pace, the howdah often shaking so violently the hunters had to hold onto the straps to avoid being tossed over the side.

  But despite the elephant’s speed, they had not spotted a trace of Surama’s abductors. As they advanced Sandokan, Yanez and their companions scanned every inch of their surroundings. Much of the bamboo and the kalams had been torn from the ground, yet the Thugs were nowhere to be seen.

  “Shouldn’t we have spotted them by now?” asked Yanez, after an hour had passed. “We must have gone ten miles by now.”

  “We may have passed them,” said Tremal-Naik.

  “We would have seen them. Most of the bamboo has been flattened. It’d be easy to spot a man.”

  “And even easier to spot an elephant,” replied the Bengali. “The Thugs could have spotted the koomareah, hid and let us pass.”

  “There’s no shortage of hiding places,” said the lieutenant. “Any of those mounds of reeds would have easily concealed them.”

  “Where do you think they’re taking the young woman?” said Sandokan, turning towards Tremal-Naik.

  “To Rajmangal most certainly,” replied the Bengali.

  “Rajmangal is an island, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “What separates it from the jungle?”

  “The Mangal River.”

  “Then they’d need a boat. Where do you think they keep it?”

  “A roadstead most likely.”

  “So if we were to cross near the island…”

  “We could surprise them, as long as we got there first and had a launch at our disposal.”

  “The Thugs may have strong legs, but I doubt they could rival an elephant going at full gallop.”

  “Most certainly not.”

  “Well, then,” said Sandokan. “We’ll head back to the shores of the Sundarbans. If the elephant maintains a good pace, we should get there well before Surama’s abductors. Once we’ve made contact with my prahu, we’ll arm the whaleboat and make our way towards Rajmangal.”

  “We’ll capture them before they set foot on the island,” said Lieutenant de Lussac.

  “And shoot them down like dogs,” added Yanez.

  “It’s agreed then,” said Sandokan. “Mahout, I’ll give you an extra fifty rupees if we reach the shore before midnight. Do you think it’s possible, Tremal-Naik?”

  “It’s a bit far, but we should be able to do it,” replied the Bengali, “provided the elephant can keep up this pace. What do you say, mahout, can he do it?”

  “Yes, sahib,” replied the conductor. “A few kilograms of sugar should give him all the energy he needs.”

  The elephant kept an admirable pace, though it could not have been easy for an animal of that size to advance through such swampy terrain. In less than two hours it had crossed the section devastated by the cyclone and reached the southern jungle, which appeared untouched by the swirling vortex.

  Giant bamboo, calamus and mindi bushes began to reappear, while groves of coconut trees, peepal trees, mango trees, tara palms and latanie towered over every pond. An hour later, the elephant had reached the outskirts of a vast bamboo forest.

  “Keep your eyes open,” said Tremal-Naik. “This is the perfect place for an ambush.”

  They passed through without incident, the elephant never once in any danger.

  Towards sunset the poor beast had begun to show signs of weariness and Sandokan ordered the mahout to stop for a short rest. The men took the opportunity to prepare dinner, glad for a brief respite from the howdah’s incessant shaking.

  His thoughts fixed on the fifty rupees Sandokan had promised him, the mahout gathered a large number of banyan leaves, peepal branches and typha grass then doubled the elephant’s ration of ghee and sugar, to help it regain its strength.

  By nine the koomareah had eaten its fill. It washed down the meal with a bottle of gin then set off once again, smashing through the enormous wall of vegetation.

  A cool breeze blew from the south; they could smell the salt in the air, indicating they were nearing the vast lagoons that extend between the eastern coast of India and the multitude of islands and islets that form the Sundarbans.

  “We’ll reach the shore in a couple of hours, maybe sooner,” said Tremal-Naik.

  “There’s one thing we haven’t thought of though,” said Yanez. “If our prahu is patrolling the Rajmatla canal, how are we going to reach it without a launch?”

  “Is there a fishermen’s village somewhere along the shore?” asked Sandokan.

  “There were a few once,” replied Tremal-Naik, “but the Thugs destroyed the huts and slaughtered their inhabitants. There’s a small British station at Port Canning, but, it’s far from here; we’d lose too much time.”

  “Bah! We’ll build a raft,” said Sandokan. “There’s plenty of bamboo.”

  “What about the elephant?” asked Yanez.

  “The mahout will guide it to the rendezvous point,” replied Tremal-Naik. “Then if… Oh!”

  A sharp cry had suddenly broken the deep silence reigning over the jungle.

  “A jackal?” asked Sandokan.

  “A good imitation,” replied the hunter, quickly getting up.

  “What! That wasn’t a jackal?”

  “What do you think, mahout, was that a genuine jackal cry?” asked Tremal-Naik, turning to address the koomareah’s conductor.

  “A good imitation,” the Indian replied, unease in his voice.

  “Do you see anything?”

  “No, sahib.”

  “Could we have been followed?” asked the Frenchman.

  “Quiet!” commanded Tremal-Naik.

  A few met
allic notes sounded from among the bamboo.

  “A ramsinga!” exclaimed Tremal-Naik.

  “I’d say our soloist must be about three or four hundred paces from us,” said Yanez, grabbing his carbine and loading it quickly. “I knew this was a good place for an ambush.”

  “Are those men devils or spirits?” exclaimed Sandokan.

  “Or birds?” said Lieutenant de Lussac. “They would have needed wings to have kept up with us.”

  “Listen!” Tremal-Naik exclaimed.

  Another ramsinga had replied from further away. It sounded three times, with three different notes, then all fell silent once again.

  Their unease increasing, the four hunters rose to their feet, clutching their carbines, and carefully scanned the vast sea of reeds.

  “They may be planning to ambush us,” said Sandokan, after a minute had passed. “What do you think, Yanez? Should we stop and give battle?”

  The Portuguese was about to reply, when five shots thundered from the bamboo.

  The koomareah stopped abruptly, shaking so strongly its passengers were almost hurled into the air. It trumpeted loudly then staggered two steps forward.

  “The elephant’s been hit!” shouted the mahout.

  Sandokan, Yanez and their companions fired into the thickets.

  They heard what sounded like a cry, but did not have time to check, for the elephant immediately set off on a desperate run, filling the jungle with a deafening noise.

  “Sahib!” the mahout shouted, tears welling in his eyes. “The koomareah’s hurt! Do you hear those whines?”

  “Let him run until he drops,” Sandokan replied. “We’ll make good your loss.”

  “It’ll cost a fortune, sahib!”

  The Tiger of Malaysia shrugged but remained silent.

  The poor beast had been struck by several bullets. Enraged with pain, it devoured the road before it with the speed of an Arabian horse, barrelling through everything that stood before it.

  It bellowed incessantly and shook the howdah so severely the four hunters had to cling to the narrow sides and ropes so as not to be hurled to the ground.

  That wild run lasted twenty minutes then the koomareah came to a sudden stop.

  It had arrived at the shore of the lagoon and completed its last mission. The price, however, had been dear, for judging by the way it gasped and trembled, it would not live much longer.