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

by Emilio Salgari

  Parangs and kampilans flailing, the pirates charged, and within minutes had slaughtered the advancing columns of Thugs. Victory was theirs.

  A few stranglers attempted to resist, then suddenly the fanatics turned and fled, racing up into the tunnel that led into the Great Temple. The pirates were quick to follow, mercilessly cutting down anyone who had been too slow to escape.

  Once inside the vast chamber, several Thugs attempted to close the heavy bronze door and seal themselves in, but they had barely begun to push it shut when the Tigers of Mompracem stormed through the entrance. Their eyes instantly fell upon a giant statue of Kali, looming menacingly in the torchlight.

  Led by Kammamuri and Tremal-Naik, the pirates crossed the cavern in a flash, firing incessantly as the Thugs fled before them.

  Ignoring their desperate cries, the pirates rushed into a small damp cavern at the far end of the Great Temple. Large drops fell from the ceiling and trickled down the walls into a long deep ditch that had been cut into the rock.

  Kammamuri pointed to a set of steps at the top of which stood a thick iron door; numerous pipes ran out from it, branching in all directions.

  “The river is on the other side of that door?” asked the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “Yes,” replied the Maratha.

  “Give me a pair of explosives. It’s time to flood this place.”

  “You’ll drown them all!” said de Lussac.

  “That’s the plan,” Sandokan replied coldly. “I vowed to destroy them and I’ll keep my word!”

  He took two explosives from Yanez, placed them at the foot of the iron door, then lit the fuses and rushed back, shouting:

  “Run!”

  Once he had reached the entrance to the Great Temple he stopped, his eyes trained on the two bright dots flickering on the top step, wanting to ensure they did not go out.

  Seconds later a flash tore through the darkness and a formidable explosion echoed throughout the tunnels. A deafening roar filled the air as an enormous column of water erupted into the cavern.

  “Run!” repeated Sandokan, rushing into the Great Temple.

  The band of pirates raced past the giant statue of Kali and headed towards the heavy bronze door as the waters of the Mangal roared into the tunnels and caverns behind them. They crossed the Great Temple in minutes, the Thugs’ frightened cries echoing off in the distance as the waters invaded their lair.

  They quickly ran up the tunnel and into the next, Sambigliong, whose strength was prodigious, still carrying Surama to protect her from the waves.

  They had almost come to the end of the last passageway, when they heard a thunderous roar, as if the tunnels had collapsed, then an enormous wave swept the water up to their knees and covered them with spray.

  Fortunately, safety was within reach, the entrance to the pagoda where they had fought their first battle was only a few paces from them.

  “Drown the lot of you!” Sandokan shouted as he emerged from the passageway.

  Once outside, safe from the waters, they spotted several men running frantically towards the nearby swamps.

  Several stranglers had escaped through the passageway inside the banyan tree, but as there were only a handful Sandokan decided not to pursue them.

  “The snakes and tigers will take care of them,” he said. Then he turned towards Tremal-Naik, put an arm around his shoulder and added, “Now back to Calcutta, then on to Delhi. What’s the quickest way?”

  “Through Port Canning,” replied the Bengali.

  “We’ll set off immediately! I won’t rest until I have Suyodhana’s hide!”

  Chapter 28

  On Suyodhana’s Trail

  THE SUN WAS beginning to gild the tops of the bamboo trees when the sloop, carrying those who had survived the expedition, a total of twenty-five men, landed at Port Canning, a small British harbour located about twenty-five miles from the western shores of Rajmangal and connected to Calcutta by a road that runs through part of the Gangetic Delta. Travelling overland was by far the fastest way to reach the capital of Bengal, for had they gone by sea, they would have had to cross all the western lagoons of the Sundarbans then sail back up the Hugli.

  Once ashore, Sandokan and Lieutenant de Lussac had immediately gone to obtain information on the insurrection, which had been raging in parts of Northern India for several weeks. The news was grave. Indian regiments had rebelled in Cawnpore, Lucknow and Meerut, murdering their officers and slaughtering every European they could find. In Jhansi the Rani had ordered the British garrison shot and joined the insurrection.

  The entire Bundelcund was aflame and Delhi, the Holy City, had been taken by the insurgents, who were determined to defend it to the last.

  The ancient Mughal dynasty had been restored. Bahadur Shah Zafar, the King of Delhi, one of the last descendents of the imperial line, had reclaimed the throne and proclaimed himself the Emperor of the whole of India. Great confusion reigned among the British troops, who, for the moment, were unable to quell that sudden storm that threatened to spread throughout all of Northern India.

  “It matters not,” said Sandokan, when the lieutenant reported the disturbing news he had received from the commander of the small garrison in Port Canning. “We’re going to Delhi regardless of the risk.”

  “All of us?” asked Yanez.

  “A large squadron could encounter difficulties,” replied Sandokan, “even though they possess a letter of transit from the governor of Bengal. Wouldn’t you agree, Lieutenant?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “The four of us will go; we’ll take six men with us; the others will stay with Sambigliong, Kammamuri and Surama aboard the Marianna. There’s no need to expose the young woman to any further danger. We’ll meet up with them again later in Calcutta.”

  “It may be best if Señor Yanez stays with them as well,” said the lieutenant.

  “Why is that?” asked the Portuguese.

  “Your life would be in extreme danger; the rebels are killing every European they find. They’d never let a white man into Delhi, you’d be taking a needless risk and perhaps even be putting your friends in jeopardy.”

  “No need to fear, Lieutenant, I’ll disguise myself as an Indian.”

  “What about you?” asked Sandokan. “What are your plans?”

  “I’ll escort you to the outposts. General Barnard and his troops have concentrated in Amballah, the British have stationed a strong cordon of troops in Gwalior, Bharatpur and Pattiallah. I’m sure there’ll be orders in Calcutta for me to rejoin my regiment as soon as possible. Since we’re travelling in the same direction, I doubt they’ll deny my request to accompany you.”

  “Best set off immediately then,” concluded Sandokan.

  Kammamuri had already rented five mail carts, lightweight carriages with one seat in the front for the coachman and two in the back for passengers. Each was drawn by three horses to provide fast service to those cities not connected by rail. The good servant had also arranged for a change of horses to await them at every station.

  Sandokan instructed Sambigliong to take the sloop and the prahu to Calcutta and await their return, then gave the signal to depart.

  The five carts left Port Canning at nine that morning, taking the road through the jungle, the horses racing at breakneck pace, Sandokan having promised the Indian coachmen a large tip if they made good time.

  By two in the afternoon the travellers had already reached Sonapore, a way station located almost halfway between Port Canning and Calcutta.

  The horses, steam rising from their backs, were exhausted from that wild run in the sweltering heat.

  Sandokan and his companions stopped for a half-hour rest. Once they had eaten and fresh horses had been harnessed, they quickly resumed their journey.

  “I’ll double your tip if we reach Calcutta before the post office closes,” Sandokan announced as he took his seat in the mail cart.

  No further word was needed to entice the coachmen. Whips cracked in almost
perfect unison and the five carriages took off with lightning speed, bouncing and swaying wildly over the rutted muddy road that had been baked hard by the sun.

  By five o’clock, the first buildings of the opulent capital of Bengal had appeared on the horizon, by six, the mail carts had reached the suburbs, scattering pedestrians as they raced at full speed towards their destination.

  It was ten minutes to closing when they drew up before the city’s main post office.

  Sandokan and Lieutenant de Lussac rushed inside, returning a short while later with a letter addressed to the captain of the Marianna that bore Sirdar’s signature across the back.

  The pirate tore it open and quickly read its contents.

  The Brahmin wrote that Suyodhana had arrived in Calcutta that morning, hired a feal charra and manned it with the best oarsmen he could find. Once their preparations were complete, they would sail up the Hugli to Patna then board the train to Delhi.

  He added that little Darma was with them, guarded by four of the Thugs’ bravest leaders, and that he would leave a letter for them at the post office in Monghyr.

  “He’s got a twelve or thirteen hour head start,” said Sandokan, once he had finished reading the letter. “Lieutenant de Lussac, do you think we can catch him before he leaves Patna?”

  “We might, the Hooghly-Ranaghat-Madhepur line runs through Patna, but if we miss him, we’ll have to take another train back to Monghyr to collect the letter.”

  “How long would that take?”

  “At least six hours. Don’t forget I also have to visit the Governor of Bengal to obtain your letter of transit and I’ll have to report to Command Headquarters; I’m afraid they won’t receive me at this hour.”

  “So it’ll cost us at least a day,” said Sandokan, displeased.

  “I’m afraid so, Captain.”

  “When will we reach Patna?”

  “Two nights from now.”

  “Will Suyodhana get there before us?”

  “That’ll depend on the strength of his oarsmen,” replied the lieutenant.

  “What if we were to rent a fast launch as well?”

  “We’d lose even more time. There’s nothing we can do. Come to my house, gentlemen, we can rest there tonight. I’ll be at the governor’s by nine and we’ll be on our way before noon.”

  Convinced at last, Sandokan and his friends warmly accepted the lieutenant’s offer and set off for the Strand, where the Frenchman’s villa was located.

  They passed the evening devising plans, trying to determine the best way to catch the Thug’s High Priest before he could take refuge with the rebels.

  The next day, shortly before eleven, the lieutenant, who had left early that morning, returned from his meeting in great spirits.

  After a long talk with the governor where he had related all that had transpired on Rajmangal, he had obtained a letter of transit that would allow his brave friends to pass through the British camps in Oudh, and the Territory of Delhi, the main centres of the insurrection. He also carried a letter of recommendation for General Barnard as well as permission to accompany his friends to the military cordon that stretched through Gwalior, Bharatpur and Pattiallah.

  They quickly made preparations to leave and at noon the small squadron left Calcutta on the Hoogly-Ranaghat-Bar-Patna line, in a comfortable carriage of the North Indian Railway.

  The Indian railway companies have spared no expense in providing their passengers with the greatest comforts and have little to envy their North American counterparts.

  Each car is comprised of two large compartments furnished with padded benches that can be transformed into sleeping berths. Tatties affixed to the windows, kept moist by special reservoirs, keep the car cool and provide relief from the intense heat. Clean lavatories allow travellers to wash and bathe. At every station passengers are asked if they would like a meal. Their orders are telegraphed to the next station and the food is brought to them upon arrival.

  Seated comfortably, the Tiger of India’s brave adversaries smoked and chatted to pass the time. The train advanced quickly and Sandokan smiled with satisfaction as he watched the distance that separated him from Patna diminish with each passing minute.

  By three they had passed Hooghly Station, by midnight Ranaghat lay behind them, soon they would catch a glimpse of the majestic Ganges as the train sped towards Northern Bengal.

  It was not until the next day, however, towards two in the afternoon that Sandokan and his friends reached Patna, a large city on the banks of the sacred river and one of the most important cities in Northern India. Their first thought was to go to the post office, in hope of finding a letter from Sirdar; but unfortunately they did not find anything addressed to the captain of the Marianna.

  “It appears Suyodhana didn’t stop here,” said the Tiger of Malaysia. “On to Monghyr.”

  They returned to the station, found a train that was about to depart, rushed aboard and were soon travelling east along the Ganges. Three hours later they were standing in the post office.

  Sirdar had kept his promise. The letter had been written the night before and informed them that Suyodhana had dismissed his crew and left Patna aboard a train travelling on the Chupra-Gorahlpu-Dehli line.

  “The rascal’s escaped us again,” Sandokan exclaimed angrily. “We’ve got no choice but to go to Delhi.”

  “Do you think we’ll be allowed to enter the city?” Tremal-Naik, asked the lieutenant.

  “The British haven’t begun their siege yet,” replied de Lussac. “You should be able to get in with the rebels arriving from Cawnpore and Lucknow. But you never know what could happen.”

  “Fine. Back to Patna and on towards Delhi,” said Sandokan. “I’ll face Suyodhana in the Holy City. A fitting place for our final battle.”

  “Where are we meeting Sirdar?” asked Yanez.

  “The Brahmin has thought of this as well,” replied Sandokan. “He’s written that we’re to meet him behind the Kashmir Bastion. He’ll come look for us every night between nine and ten.”

  “Will it be easy to find?”

  “Everyone knows where it is,” said de Lussac. “It’ll be easy to get directions.”

  “Let’s go,” commanded Sandokan.

  They reached Patna that same evening. Since there were no trains until the morning they checked into a hotel and used the time to disguise themselves as wealthy Muslims; they also purchased several good Indian carbines and a number of jambiyas, double-edged daggers with short curved blades.

  When they arrived at the station the next morning, they discovered they would be forced to change their plans, for rebel raids had made travel along the line unsafe and the trains would go no farther than Gorahlpur.

  However, the Benares-Cawnpore line had been reopened, for the latter city had been retaken and the rebels had fled to Delhi.

  Though it was a longer voyage, they purchased their tickets and departed at ten, setting off at full speed for Northern India, with stops at Benares, Allahabad, and Fatelpur. The next night they got off at Cawnpore Station, it still bore the traces of the devastation committed by the rebel sepoys.

  The city was awash with troops from all the principal cities of Bengal and the Bundelcund, preparing to leave for Delhi, where the rebellion was raging more furiously than ever.

  Thanks to the letter of transit and the letter written by the governor of Bengal, the military authorities granted them permission to board the train taking two divisions to Aligarh, the British Army’s closest outpost to the Holy City.

  They reached the small station at around noon the next day.

  “And so ends our ride,” said the lieutenant as he stepped off the train. “They’ve cut the line further up ahead, but there’s no shortage of horses here, you should be able to reach Delhi in ten hours.”

  “Are you leaving us, Lieutenant?” asked Sandokan.

  “My regiment is stationed here. I can ride with you to the outskirts of the city, but I’m afraid I can’t accompany yo
u past British lines. Wait here. I’ll go get you some horses and show our letters of transit to the commander.”

  He returned about two hours later leading a team of horses.

  “You’re in luck. The siege has not yet begun. The British have established a base on the Delhi Ridge north of the city, but the rebels are still getting supplies and reinforcements and there are rebel sorties almost daily. You should be able to find a way in. You have a small window at best though; our forces could attack any day now.”

  “There’s no time to waste,” said the Tiger of Malaysia. “Saddle up, my friends.”

  Moments later, Sandokan, Yanez, Tremal-Naik, the Frenchman and the six Malays left the station and galloped off towards Delhi.

  Chapter 29

  The Indian Rebellion

  THOUGH OF SHORT duration, the Indian insurgency of 1857 was filled with blood and sent a shock throughout the Empire, for not a single Englishman would ever have predicted it.

  The rebellion of Berhampore, which had erupted a few months earlier and had been quelled mercilessly by the military authorities, had only been the first spark of the great fire that would devastate a large portion of Northern India. Grievances began to mount between Indian soldiers and their British officers.

  Earlier that year, sepoys throughout India had been issued with new Enfield rifles. To load them, gunpowder cartridges had to be bitten open before they could be rammed down the rifles’ muzzle. Rumours spread among the Indian regiments in Meerut, Cawnpore and Lucknow that the cartridges had been smeared with pig and cow fat to ease their passage. Since Hindus believe cows are sacred, and Muslims regard pigs as unclean, soldiers began to suspect this was a deliberate attack on their beliefs, part of a plan to force them to convert to Christianity. Though the British moved quickly to dispel the rumours and assuage those fears, the damage had been done.

  On the 10th of May, suddenly and without warning, when the British were least expecting it, the 3rd Bengal Light Cavalry, stationed in Meerut, a city about fifty kilometres northeast of Delhi, began the insurrection, by shooting all of its British officers.