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

by Emilio Salgari

  Sandokan and Tremal-Naik cried out:

  “They’ve found us!”

  “By Jupiter!” exclaimed Yanez. “So soon? Are you sure it’s them?”

  “It has to be, why else would they fire at us?” asked Sandokan.

  “Yes, it’s them, sahib,” replied Bedar. “Those are the three best elephants in the camp.”

  “It wouldn’t have been difficult to pick up our trail,” added Tremal-Naik, “not after that wild run. Are we almost there, mahout?”

  “Yes.”

  Djuba had crossed the river and had just emerged from the water, advancing towards the enormous groves of tara, bamboo, and tamarind trees that covered the shore.

  The three pursuing elephants had stopped on the opposite shore and appeared to be looking for an easier place to ford.

  “We’ll stay and fight,” said Sandokan. “Bedar, bring the elephant to a halt and have the mahout hide it in a thicket so that it doesn’t get hit by a stray bullet.”

  The sepoy gave the mahout several instructions, while Tremal-Naik and the Tigers of Mompracem grabbed the carbines and the sacks of ammunition.

  The elephant entered into a thick grove of bamboo trees. Once out of sight of the opposite shore, he drew to a halt and the mahout tossed down the ladder.

  “Hurry,” said Sandokan. “We must prevent them from crossing the river; otherwise we’ll have to fend off thirty men determined to kill us.”

  They climbed down quickly, instructed the mahout to remain nearby then ran back towards the water and hid among the tall thick grass.

  Bedar had come to fight as well; against ten carbines the enemy would find it difficult to advance.

  “How many of them do you think there are?” Yanez asked the sepoy.

  “I’d guess about ten to twelve men in each howdah,” replied the soldier.

  “What about the cavalry?” asked Sandokan. “Any chance they’ll come to assist them?”

  “Perhaps, but not for awhile.”

  “We’re a good distance from Delhi. They won’t get here until after the battle is over,” said Tremal-Naik. “Well! What are they up to now? It looks like they’ve decided against crossing the river.”

  “They’re probably waiting for dawn,” replied Bedar. “They know we’re here and are confident they can capture us.”

  “So much the better. It’ll be easier to shoot them,” said Sandokan. “Everyone load their carbines with the elephant bullets. We’ll take down those beasts first.”

  They withdrew to the first row of trees, stretched out among the grass, and waited for the battle to begin. Yanez pulled out a cigarette and began to smoke, eyes calmly studying the enemy. Confident perhaps in their greater number, the Indians appeared to be in no hurry to attack.

  At four the stars began to fade.

  “Bedar,” said Sandokan, turning towards the sepoy, “there were three elephants, weren’t there?”

  “Yes, sahib.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, there were three.”

  “Where has the third one gone? I don’t see it anywhere.”

  “Yes, there are only two now!” said Yanez. “Could they have sent it to get reinforcements?”

  “It could be hiding behind those trees,” said Tremal-Naik.

  “I don’t like this,” replied Sandokan.

  The two remaining elephants, a pair of enormous beasts, were slowly making their way to the edge of the river, guided by their mahouts.

  Ten men sat in each howdah, another four lay behind them, thirty in all, a sizeable force, yet not large enough to frighten the Tigers of Mompracem, the brave pirates accustomed to battling against far greater numbers.

  As the Indians reached for their carbines the two elephants, after a brief hesitation, stepped into the water and cautiously began to inspect the riverbed with their trunks.

  “You may have the first shot, Sandokan,” said Yanez.

  The Tiger of Malaysia rested his carbine against a large thick root, took aim at the first elephant and fired.

  There was a thunderous blast followed by a frightening cry. The elephant swayed suddenly and raised its trunk, bellowing loudly. The bullet had found its mark.

  At the sound of that shot, the Indians in the howdah immediately returned fire.

  “Time to join in,” said Yanez. “Fire, Tigers of Mompracem!”

  The pirates peered from behind the trees and fired at the men in the howdah. Three Indians fell from sight, dead or wounded, the others fired relentlessly while the mahout kept driving the hesitant elephant forward.

  Sandokan, having reloaded his carbine, aimed at the second elephant and fired. The great beast trumpeted in pain.

  “It’s been hit!” he said. “Keep firing until we take it down!”

  Despite that barrage of bullets, the Indians resisted tenaciously, firing among the trees, but without success, for the fugitives remained hidden at all times.

  When their carbines were emptied, they dropped among the grass, reloaded then returned to the fight, firing volley after volley.

  Blood streaming from its shoulder, the first elephant had almost reached the middle of the river, when Yanez fired a shot and struck it just beneath its throat.

  Weakened from its wounds, the poor colossus quickly retreated, filling the air with a deafening clamour.

  “Well done, Yanez,” said Sandokan. “It’s on its last legs.”

  “Put it out of its misery,” said the Portuguese.

  “I intend to.”

  Though the beast was more than eighty metres away, Sandokan emerged from his hiding place for an instant and fired. The elephant trumpeted in pain, reared up on its hind legs then crashed on its side, throwing the men on its back into the water.

  “It’s over!” Yanez shouted gleefully. “Now the other one, Sandokan!”

  The Indians had abandoned their carbines and were swimming back towards the shore. Meanwhile the elephant had gathered its strength and gotten to its feet, but as it tried to take a step it fell again and disappeared into the river.

  Frightened by the death of its companion, the other elephant had begun to retreat, trumpeting loudly and shaking its enormous head, deaf to the mahout’s cries and numb to his ankus.

  “Fire, Yanez!” shouted Sandokan. “Take it down!”

  The two pirates fired their carbines simultaneously, aiming at the colossus’ shoulders.

  The elephant turned about and fled towards the shore, as a second volley tore through the air. But as it drew near, it suddenly lost its strength and fell heavily to the ground, hurling the men on its back into the bushes.

  The Tigers of Mompracem cried out in victory as they jumped out from behind the trees and fired a volley at the men fleeing in the river, determined to keep them from reaching the shore.

  “That’s enough,” said Yanez. “We’ve won. They won’t be giving us any more trouble.”

  “Time to get back to our elephant,” commanded Sandokan.

  They were about to run into the forest, when they heard a voice cry out, “Help! Help!”

  Bedar recognized it immediately.

  “Our mahout!”

  Chapter 32

  Towards Delhi

  AT THE SOUND of that cry, Sandokan, Yanez and their men immediately fell back behind the trees. They had just finished reloading their carbines, when they spotted the mahout desperately running towards them.

  The poor man appeared overcome with fear, for he kept looking back over his shoulder, terrified of what he might see.

  “What’s the matter? What are you running from?” asked Bedar, rushing to meet him.

  “Over there! Over there!” replied the conductor, panting.

  “What?”

  “Men … coming… on an elephant!”

  “That must be the third one,” said Sandokan as he reached their side. “It must have forded the river further down the shore. They’re planning to attack us from behind. Where are they now?”

  “Not too
far from my Djuba.”

  “Did they see you escape?”

  “Yes, sahib; they commanded me to stop, they said they’d shoot me if I didn’t surrender. They’re going to steal my Djuba, sir! I’ll be ruined.”

  “We’ll stop those scoundrels; you have my word,” replied Sandokan, “If we fail, I’ll give you enough diamonds to buy a hundred elephants. Follow me, my friends, and keep to the bushes. We’re going to surprise them.”

  “And take down that big beast of theirs so they can’t follow us,” added Yanez.

  “Onward,” commanded the Tiger of Malaysia.

  They rushed into the underbrush and soon reached the clearing, but there was no sign of the Indians.

  “Where are they?” asked Sandokan, looking about suspiciously.

  “Could this be a trap?” asked Yanez.

  “I’m almost sure of it.”

  “Mahout,” said Tremal-Naik, “are we close to where you left Djuba?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ll go take a look,” said Bedar. “Wait here.”

  “Come back as soon as you spot them,” said Sandokan.

  The sepoy checked his carbine then dropped to the ground and slithered off like a serpent.

  “Keep your eyes open and be ready to fire,” Sandokan told his men, “my instincts tell me those dogs are a lot closer than we think.”

  Less than half a minute later a rifle shot thundered nearby.

  A cry of agony tore through the air.

  “Bedar’s been shot!!” cried Sandokan, springing to his feet. “Attack, Tigers of Mompracem! Avenge him!”

  But before they could take a step, the branches rustled before them and the sepoy emerged from the bushes, his eyes bulging, his face extremely pale. He had dropped his carbine and was clutching his chest with both hands.

  “Bedar!” exclaimed Sandokan, running towards him.

  The Indian fell into his arms, his voice barely a whisper, “I’m... dying... ambushed... there... on the... elephant... on...”

  His last words were lost in a stream of blood. He turned his eyes towards Tremal-Naik, as if to give him one last salute then fell from Sandokan’s arms into the tall grass.

  “Kill those dogs!” howled the Tiger of Malaysia.

  At that command the pirates, Tremal-Naik and the mahout raced through the thicket and opened fire as they emerged into a clearing.

  The third elephant stood before them, partially hidden beneath the dark shadow of a colossal tamarind tree, manned by six sepoys and the two Thugs with the large turbans.

  Sandokan and Yanez fired at the great beast, while the others fired at the eight men in the howdah.

  Surprised by that sudden attack, three men fell before they could even level their rifles. The others quickly lost their nerve, as the elephant, wounded by the shots, began to sway so wildly it almost tossed them from the howdah. The four sepoys fired their carbines then jumped to the ground and fled like rabbits into the nearest thicket.

  Sandokan quickly reloaded his carbine.

  “You won’t escape, you wretch!” he shouted.

  One of the two Thugs was still in the howdah, killed by a bullet; but the other had run after the sepoys, shouting for them to come back and capture the fugitives.

  Sandokan took aim and fired. The bullet struck the Thug in the spine, killing him in an instant.

  His men had a more serious danger to contend with. The elephant, infuriated by its wounds, was about to charge. But before it could attack, they levelled their rifles and fired, riddling it with bullets until it fell to the ground dead.

  “The battle’s over,” said Yanez. “I wish it hadn’t cost Bedar his life!”

  “We’ll bury him before we go,” said Sandokan. “Our freedom cost him his life. I wish I could do more to reward his noble sacrifice.”

  Saddened by the loss of their new friend, they returned to where the sepoy had fallen, drew their knives and quickly dug a grave.

  “You’ll be forever in our thoughts, my friend,” said Tremal-Naik, once the body had been buried. “Rest in peace.”

  “We should leave immediately,” said Sandokan. “The rebels could return with reinforcements at any moment. Mahout, do you think we can sneak into Delhi?”

  “Yes, I’m quite well known there. I’ll tell the guards Abu Hassam ordered me to take you into the city; I’m sure they’ll believe me.”

  “Can we get there before nightfall?”

  “Yes, sahib.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  They walked back to the elephant, climbed into the howdah and set off towards the city. Djuba advanced at a run, his speed increasing with every step. By noon they had already crossed the forest.

  They stopped near a pond to have breakfast, then around two, they resumed their journey, travelling along the outskirts of a vast cotton and indigo plantation that had been almost completely destroyed during the siege. There must have been a battle there recently, for numerous marabou circled above them, drawn by the stench of the corpses that lay hidden in the ditches and trenches dotting the fields.

  Toward sunset they spotted Delhi’s towering walls off in the distance.

  “Quiet now,” said the mahout. “If they stop us, I’ll do the talking.”

  At nine the elephant made its way through the Turcoman Gate, the only one that remained open, unchallenged by the guards.

  Delhi is venerated among Muslim Indians, for it is the home of the Jama Masjid, the largest and most lavish mosque in India. It’s a beautiful city filled with numerous palaces. It has 150,000 inhabitants, 261 mosques, 108 Indian temples, over 300 Anglican churches and innumerable palaces.

  By far the grandest building is the Imperial Palace, the ancient seat of the Mughal Emperors. Built of red sandstone, the outer wall is sixty feet high, adorned with battlements and round towers. A series of grand gates leads to the Diwan-I-Am, the Hall of Audiences, a large room ornamented with gilded stucco work and hung with heavy crimson curtains. At the far end, beneath a marble canopy inlaid with multicoloured stones, stands the throne from where the Emperor once heard the petitions of his people.

  Nearby is the Diwan-I-Khas, the king’s private audience hall, constructed entirely of white marble. The inner walls are inlaid with gold and precious stones, garlands of onyx, sardonyx and lapis lazuli. A throne of marble stands at the centre, rising three feet from the floor, canopied with a drapery of gold. The vast gardens are home to lavish royal apartments, the Moti Masgid or Pearl Mosque and the Bath of black marble, carved out of a single slab of stone.

  With such beauty throughout, it is little wonder the arches over the Diwan-I-Khas are inscribed with the words:

  “Oh! If there be paradise on Earth, it is this, it is this!”

  When the band of men entered the city, a great commotion reigned behind the bastions.

  Throngs of soldiers were busily building trenches and embankments and positioning cannons in the torchlight. News of the arrival of the British siege-train had spread and the rebels were quickly bolstering their defences.

  Tremal-Naik and his companions had the mahout take them to the Kashmir Bastion. They soon found hospitality nearby in a lavish bungalow, no one refused to take in the rebels for they were the absolute masters of the city.

  The three men were so tired that they immediately retired to their rooms after dinner.

  “We’ll look for Sirdar tomorrow,” said Sandokan as he stretched out on his bed. “Who knows, he may even visit the bastion by day.”

  When they awoke shortly after dawn, cannons were thundering from every rampart in the city as the rebels exchanged shots with the British batteries.

  Delhi was a formidable fortress. The Mughal Emperors had spent vast amounts of money to make it impregnable. Its walls were eight metres high and twelve kilometres in circumference, built of thick granite and further defended by numerous bastions, upon which the rebels had mounted the largest guns and mortars they could find.

  It was not easy to attac
k. The city was flanked on one side by the Jumna River, with only a bridge of boats that led to the opposite bank. A large ditch, sixteen metres wide and five metres deep, stretched before Delhi’s mighty walls within rifle shot of the bastions.

  The rebels had defended the city for almost four months but now the tide was beginning to turn.

  On the morning of September 4th, the siege-train reached the British camp. It consisted of twenty-four heavy guns and mortars and a large supply of stores and ammunition. Reinforcements had arrived to swell their ranks, four hundred European infantry, the Belooch battalion, and a party of Sikh horsemen sent by the Rajah of Jhind.

  That night, ten large cannons fired upon the Mori Bastion from a battery erected just four hundred metres from the ditch as divisions of infantry fired salvos of musketry against the defenders lining the walls.

  Though they lacked artillery, the besieged had not given up hope, they replied with great force, firing with such precision that five hundred infantrymen soon lay dead upon the ground.

  The first bombs had already begun to rain down upon the city when Sandokan and his men left the house. Fires would erupt from time to time whenever a shell struck a building, but through the flames were quickly doused, they still caused great damage to the celebrated shops of the Chandni Chauk, the famed Street of the Silversmiths, the most beautiful street in Delhi.

  A lively excitement reigned over every quarter. Sepoys and civilians ran to the ramparts, towers and battlements, believing the British would attack at any moment. The noise was deafening; volleys of gunfire thundered without pause, matching each blast of enemy artillery.

  “It’s started sooner than I expected,” Sandokan said to Yanez.

  Still hoping they would find Sirdar, they made their way towards the Kashmir Bastion where two cannons were thundering from the glacis. They quickly scanned the grounds, but there was no sign of the Brahmin.

  “We’ll wait until tonight,” said Tremal-Naik.

  “What if Suyodhana couldn’t get into Delhi?” asked Yanez. “If he isn’t here by now, he’ll never make it into the city.”