“Don’t take this last hope from me,” said Tremal-Naik. “If he isn’t here, I’ll never see Darma again.”
“We’ll find her,” said Sandokan. “We’ll scour all of India from top to bottom if need be. I have faith in Sirdar; he’ll find a way to get a message to us. Now, let’s go back to the house and wait for nightfall. Suyodhana is here, I can feel it, and my instincts are seldom wrong.”
“Why don’t we give the rebels a hand?” asked Yanez. “I’m beginning to get bored.”
“We’ll remain neutral. We came here to fight the Thugs. The British are not our enemies.”
Cannons and rifles continued to thunder frighteningly during the day. The rebels, encouraged by the presence of the King of Delhi, Bahadur Shah Zafar, their new Emperor, heir to the Grand Mughals, fought with extraordinary courage, vowing to defend the city to the end.
In the evening, once the firing had stopped, Sandokan, as promised, tossed a white turban from the Kashmir Bastions, containing a letter for the lieutenant with all the details of their arrival.
They sat there for a few more hours, patiently waiting as it grew darker, but still there was no sign of Sirdar.
“We may be luckier tomorrow night,” he said to Tremal-Naik. “He may not be able to sneak away; Suyodhana may be keeping an eye on him.”
Unfortunately the following nights did not prove any different. What had happened to that brave young man? Had he been surprised while writing another letter and been killed by the Thugs, or had Suyodhana not reached Delhi in time?
The siege continued with ever-greater intensity, the rebels suffering enormous losses. The day of the attack was drawing nearer.
On September 11th, the British batteries simultaneously opened fire on the city, fifty guns and mortars pouring out shot and shell without a moment's interval. The Kashmir Bastion soon fell silent, the ramparts were destroyed and a large breach was opened in the wall.
On the 12th, the enemy made frequent sorties from the Lahore and Ajmir Gates. The two sides clashed in short but sharp encounters, fighting at close quarters. Thirty rebels were killed, the remainder quickly fled back inside the city. Carbines continued to thunder from the walls, many British soldiers fell, among them Captain Robert Fagan of the Bengal Artillery.
On the 13th, the Mori Bastion came down in a cloud of smoke, as did the nearby forts and the Water Bastion’s magazine. The rebels replied with a storm of rockets from the towers, firing a stream of musketry from the ramparts.
The British also attacked Kishenganj with a furious charge, but the fire of artillery and musketry from its unbreached walls was so heavy they were soon forced to retreat to their batteries.
The setback was only temporary, for the British troops, having received numerous reinforcements, were preparing to storm the city.
General Archibald Wilson had succeeded General Barnard and ordered a full assault be launched on the morning of the 14th. No quarter would be given the mutineers, only women and children would be spared!
Night had fallen when Sandokan and his friends returned to the ruins of the Kashmir Bastion to await Sirdar. Though chances of meeting the Brahmin seemed bleak, they still refused to give up hope.
They had been there for a few hours, when a shadow suddenly emerged from one of the trenches, made its way towards them and said, “Good evening, sahibs!”
Chapter 33
The Delhi Massacre
A CRY OF joy had escaped all those chests at the sight of their long-awaited friend.
“Suyodhana?”
“He’s here, gentlemen,” replied Sirdar.
“With my daughter?” asked Tremal-Naik.
“Yes, sahib.”
“Come, we’ll go to our lodgings,” said Sandokan. “We can talk safely there.”
They left the battlements and ran across the esplanade that stretched behind the ramparts, the ground was strewn with bodies and shattered artillery. Minutes later they were standing in the bungalow, in the room the owner had assigned them.
“You can speak freely, no one can overhear us,” said Sandokan. “When did you enter the city?”
“Last night, too late to keep our appointment,” replied Sirdar. “The British fired on us as we were crossing the river; it’s a miracle we made it here alive.”
“What took you so long to get here?” asked Yanez.
“The rebels have destroyed the railway line; we had to travel to Meerut by elephant.”
“Why did Suyodhana come here?” asked Sandokan. “The city is about to fall to the British.”
“We had no choice,” replied Sirdar, “It was too late to go back. The British were everywhere; it was either surrender or take refuge in Delhi. Suyodhana did not think the city would fall so quickly.”
“Where is he now?” asked Sandokan.
“In a house on Chandni Chauk, near the City Hall.”
“The number?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Why are you asking?” said Tremal-Naik. “Isn’t Sirdar going to lead us there?”
“I have a plan.”
The Tiger of Malaysia turned to address his men.
“Whatever happens,” he told them, “do not leave this house until Lieutenant de Lussac arrives. He should have received our message by now and will meet us at this bungalow. The British are probably going to attack the city tomorrow, if he appears before we’ve returned, tell him he can find us at 24 Chandni Chauk. And now Sirdar, take us to Suyodhana. Is he alone?”
“The Thug leaders are fighting on the ramparts.”
“Let’s go then. Is little Darma with him?”
“She was an hour ago.”
“Can you sneak us in?”
“I have the key.”
“Is there anyone else in the bungalow?”
“No one, the owner has left.”
“Yanez and Tremal-Naik will accompany us; there’s no time to lose. It’s already midnight; the British may attack in a matter of hours. We cannot afford to wait.”
He ordered his men to get some rest then slid his long dagger into his sash, slung his carbine over his shoulder and set off for the street of the silversmiths, Sirdar leading the way.
The British artillery continued to shell the ramparts; from time to time a bomb would whistle through the sky, sail over the wall and smash into the road below. The sepoys defending Delhi held their ground, firing round after round, attempting to scatter their enemies before they could draw any nearer.
The night was dark; a hot wind was blowing in from the northern plateau.
Keeping close to the houses to avoid being struck by stray bullets, the small squadron quickly advanced through the almost deserted streets.
Lights burned in every home as people frenziedly hid their riches then barricaded every door and window, desperately hoping to protect themselves from the looting that was soon to come.
From time to time several squadrons of sepoys raced through the streets, dragging a cannon or a small piece of artillery to bolster the wall’s defences.
Cannons continued to thunder menacingly from the dark plain that stretched before the city, heralding the horrible slaughter that would bring an end to the Mughal Empire.
It was almost four when Sirdar stopped before an elegant two-story villa. All the windows were dark save one.
“That’s Suyodhana’s room,” he said, turning to Sandokan. “That’s where we’ll find the little girl.”
“Can we enter without drawing his attention? Do you think he’s still awake?”
“I just saw a shadow walk past the window, it must be him,” replied the Brahmin. “I have the key, but we can climb up to the verandah if you prefer.”
“I’d rather climb up,” replied Sandokan.
He signalled for Yanez and Tremal-Naik to draw near then added:
“Whatever happens, you will not interfere. This battle is between the Tiger of India and the Tiger of Malaysia. One of us will fall, but it won’t be me. Lead the way, Sirdar!”
&n
bsp; “Be careful, Sandokan,” said Tremal-Naik. “He’s a sneaky one, let me handle him, I’ve fought him before.”
“You have a daughter, I will not let you take such a risk,” replied Sandokan, “if I fall, Yanez will avenge me.”
Sirdar climbed up one of the metal columns supporting the verandah then silently slid beneath the coconut mats that covered the railing.
Sandokan and his companions quickly followed and a minute later, the four brave men stood side by side. They were about to enter the bungalow, when Tremal-Naik’s arm accidentally brushed against a vase and knocked it to the ground.
“Damn!” murmured the Bengali.
A shadow appeared at the window, stopped for a moment, stared out at the terrace then opened the door.
Before he could take another step, a man rushed at him, grabbed him by the wrists and forced him to drop his pistol.
Sandokan had attacked the Tiger of India.
With irresistible force, he pushed Suyodhana back into the room and said coldly:
“Cry out and you’re dead!”
Surprised by that sudden attack the Thug leader had not even attempted to resist. However, when he saw Tremal-Naik and Sirdar appear behind Sandokan, he howled with rage.
“The Priestess’ father!” he hissed. “What do you want? How did you get here?”
“I’ve come to rescue my daughter, you wretch!” thundered Tremal-Naik. “Where is she?”
Suyodhana remained silent. Arms crossed, he glared at his enemies, studying them one by one, until his eyes came to rest upon Sirdar.
The Tiger of Malaysia could not have found a more worthy adversary. The Thug leader was tall, muscular, and broad shouldered with a proud face, framed by a long bristling beard. His eyes were dark and red with blood. He stood there, motionless, glaring at the four men before him.
“So, you’re the ones who have caused me so much trouble,” he said, his voice as hard as steel.
“Your Thugs are dead; your lair has been destroyed,” replied Sandokan. “We flooded the caverns of Rajmangal.”
“Who are you? What do you want?” asked Suyodhana.
“I am the Tiger of Malaysia, a man feared throughout the islands of the South China Sea. I’ve come to rescue my friend’s daughter and take your hide.”
“Strong words. I wonder how brave you’d be without your men.”
“The Tiger of Malaysia will face the Tiger of India alone,” said Sandokan.
An incredulous smile spread across Suyodhana’s lips.
“Once I’ve killed you, the others will attack me,” he replied. “Nevertheless, the Father of the Sacred Waters of the Ganges will defend the Priestess of the Eastern Temple.”
“Wretch!” howled Tremal-Naik, raising his fists as he took a step towards him.
Sandokan turned to restrain him with an imperious gesture and with one swift move the leader of the stranglers grabbed the pistol that still lay on the ground, pointed it toward the Tiger of Malaysia and fired.
But though he was just three paces from his adversary, the shot, hastily aimed, went wide.
“You dishonourable wretch!” shouted the pirate, throwing down his carbine and drawing the large dagger from his sash. “Fight like a man!”
Suyodhana leaped in front of the door to the adjoining room.
“You’ll have to pass over my dead body!” he cried as he drew his talwar, its curved blade glistening in the lamplight.
“Stand back, all of you. No one interferes!” said the pirate. “It’s just the two of us, Suyodhana.”
“First you, then Sirdar,” the leader of the Thugs replied darkly. “The traitor will pay for betraying me.”
Both were on their guard, like two tigers about to pounce, left arms shielding their hearts, blades ready to strike.
They were equally matched, for both men possessed extraordinary agility and uncommon strength.
A deep silence reigned over the room.
Yanez, leaning against an enormous porcelain vase, coolly smoked his cigarette without the slightest apprehension while Sirdar sat crouched in a corner, clutching a talwar, ready to fight if need be.
Tremal-Naik visibly nervous, fingered the trigger of his carbine, determined not to let the Thug escape, even though he had promised Sandokan that he would not interfere.
The two adversaries studied each other in silence, searching for weakness, then the Tiger of Malaysia, realizing the Indian was not going to be the first to attack, lunged at Suyodhana and attempted to slit his throat.
The Thug leaped to one side and parried the blow with the tip of his talwar, then lunged towards Sandokan, planning to stab him in the stomach. The pirate swerved to avoid the blow, the Indian slid and landed on one knee.
Before he could recover, the Tiger of Malaysia drove his dagger through the Thug leader’s chest, slicing his heart in two.
Suyodhana fell still for a moment, eyes glaring with hatred at the pirate, then collapsed, blood trickling from his lips.
The Tiger of India was dead! As he struck the ground, Tremal-Naik and Yanez had rushed into the adjoining room, where, in a little bed inlaid with mother-of-pearl, lay a young girl sleeping between silk sheets.
Tremal-Naik quickly picked her up and held her tightly in his arms.
“Darma!”
“Daddy!” replied the little girl, fixing her eyes on the Bengali.
A formidable explosion suddenly shook the house to its foundations, followed by a furious discharge of carbines and artillery.
“The British!” Sandokan cried, rushing towards the verandah. “The last bastions have fallen! They’re storming the city!”
Yes, it was indeed the British. Transformed into thieves and assassins, they had begun to loot the shops and houses, murdering everyone in their path, sepoys and civilians, abandoning the rules of warfare in their quest for vengeance.
They had been preparing for an assault since the preceding day, their guns and mortars having breached the city walls at the Kashmir, Water and Mori Bastions. On the night of the 13th every man was in position, awaiting the order to attack.
Shortly after dawn the bugle sounded the advance and four storming columns began their charge. Bullets whipped through the air, tearing up the ground beneath them, but the British, undeterred, soon stormed the breach in the Kashmir Bastion and the first thousand men spilled into the streets of the Holy City.
The rebels tried to hold the Kabul Gate, but though they fought with extraordinary courage, killing five hundred men, eight officers and wounding Brigadier General Nicholson, it was soon captured by the enemy.
Frightening cries emanated from every street, as thunderous volleys tore through the air. Soldiers and rebels battled for every inch of ground while women and children fled towards the bridge of boats to escape the massacre.
“We’ve got to get out of here,” said Sandokan, spotting several squadrons of cavalry, mercilessly cutting down any men, women and children who appeared before them. “They’re not sparing anyone. We’ve got to get back to our bungalow. Wrap Darma in a blanket, Tremal-Naik, we must leave immediately!”
They grabbed their carbines and rushed down the stairs into a vast courtyard bounded by several gardens.
“We’ll climb the wall and hide among the plants,” said Sandokan. “Once the cavalry has passed, we’ll try to get back to our men.”
They had just reached the foot of the wall, when the door to the courtyard came crashing down and a crowd of civilians, mostly women and children, rushed inside, crying out desperately.
“Too late!” exclaimed Sandokan, grabbing his carbine.
About seven or eight cavalrymen, their sabres drenched in blood, had charged into the courtyard, shouting ferociously:
“Death to the rebels!”
Sandokan leaped before that defenceless crowd and pointed his carbine at the soldiers.
“Stop you wretches!” he thundered. “You’re dishonouring your uniforms! These are civilians! Stand down or we’ll open fire!”
Having given Darma to Sirdar, Tremal-Naik and Yanez rushed to his side and levelled their rifles.
“Kill those wretches!” thundered the sergeant in command of the squadron.
“We have a letter of transit from the Governor of Bengal!” said Sandokan. “Stand down, or we will defend ourselves.”
“Hack them to bits!” commanded the sergeant.
His men were about to execute the order when an officer followed by a dozen light horsemen and several olive-skinned men rushed into the courtyard.
“No one move!” he shouted.
Lieutenant de Lussac had arrived with the Malays who had remained behind in the bungalow.
He jumped to the ground, shook hands with Sandokan and his friends, then turned to address the sergeant who was looking on in dismay.
“These men have rendered England a great service. No reward would be great enough for them. Go help take the city, and remember that only the vilest of scoundrels attack women and children.”
Once the light horsemen had ridden off, he had his men shut and bolt the gate.
“We’ll wait for the battle to end, my friends. I’ll remain here to protect you.”
“I would have preferred to leave the city immediately,” replied Sandokan. “Our work is done here.”
“Tomorrow, if the massacre is over. Poor Delhi! So much blood! The British army will leave its honour on the field.”
Conclusion
The Delhi massacre lasted for three days, a terrible tragedy that tore a cry of indignation from all of Europe and even England herself.
The Indians, fully aware of the fate that awaited them, battled for every inch of ground, fighting desperately in every street, home and courtyard, on both sides of the wall, even on the Jumna River.
They royal palace, Fort Selimghur and several fortified buildings still remained in their possession, and they put up a resistance worthy of the greatest admiration.
However, on the night of the 17th, the British breached the wall and conquered the royal palace defended by a hundred and twenty pieces of artillery, putting all its defenders to the sword. Even the Emperor’s sons fell heroically, weapon in hand.
Sandokan: The Two Tigers (The Sandokan Series Book 4) Page 27