Sandokan: The Tigers of Mompracem (The Sandokan Series Book 1)

by Emilio Salgari

  “The women!” Sandokan thundered angrily.

  “They hate us more than the men.”

  “Oh, not all of them, Giro-Batol!”

  “They’re worse than snakes, Captain, let me assure you.”

  “Quiet, Giro-Batol, quiet… repeat those words and I’ll toss you over the side.”

  Sandokan’s tone had been so harsh the Javanese immediately fell silent. He studied his captain at length, trying to discern his thoughts, but the legendary pirate did not stir, his eyes fixed on Labuan, his hands clutching his chest as if to stifle an immense pain.

  “The British have bewitched him,” he mumbled, slowly turning towards the bow.

  Driven by the wind the canoe continued to advance, rolling with the waves that knocked against her from time to time. Fearing Sandokan would execute his threat the Malay sat at the bow in silence, carefully studying the dark horizon. His captain leaned against the stern, stone still, not once having turned his eyes from the direction of Labuan, even though it had long since disappeared into the night. They had been sailing for a few hours when the sharp-eyed Javanese spotted a light off in the distance.

  “Is that a merchant vessel or a warship?” he asked anxiously.

  Immersed in his melancholy thoughts, Sandokan made no reply. The bright speck was growing rapidly. It must have been a steamship, the light shining from a lantern on her foremast.

  Giro-Batol shifted uneasily. The light appeared to be heading towards them. Soon two more lights appeared above the white lantern, one red, one green. His uneasiness grew.

  “There’s a steamship off our port side, Captain,” he said.

  Sandokan did not reply. The Tiger appeared not to have heard him.

  “Captain,” he repeated, “A steamship!”

  Sandokan finally stirred from his gloomy thoughts.

  “Ah…” he said.

  He quickly turned and scanned the vast sea before him.

  “Another enemy,” he murmured, his right hand instinctively reaching for his kris.

  “It looks like it,” said the Malay.

  Sandokan studied those three rapidly advancing lights for a moment then said, “She appears to be heading right towards us.”

  “Her commander must have spotted our canoe. What shall we do, Captain?”

  “We’ll let her approach.”

  “They’ll capture us.”

  “Nonsense. Why would they suspect a sergeant?”

  “What if someone recognizes you?”

  “Very few have seen the Tiger of Malaysia. We might have been in danger if that ship was coming from Labuan, but since she’s approaching from the west, it won’t be difficult to fool her commander.” He remained silent for a few seconds, his gaze fixed on the enemy vessel, then added, “It’s a gunboat.”

  “From Sarawak?”

  “It’s likely, Giro-Batol. Well, since she’s heading towards us, we may as well wait for her.”

  The gunboat had, in fact, pointed her bow towards the canoe, her speed increasing as she drew nearer. Spotting that tiny vessel so far from Labuan, her captain had most likely assumed that the men manning it had been driven out to sea by a sudden wind. He may have been rushing to rescue them, or perhaps he merely wanted to determine whether the men aboard her were pirates or castaways.

  Certain he could fool her commander, Sandokan ordered Giro-Batol to point the bow towards the Romades, a group of islands to the south of them. Half an hour later, the gunboat was only a few cable lengths from the canoe. She was a small ship with a low deck and a single mast, armed with a cannon and manned by about forty men.

  Once she was within a few metres of the tiny vessel, the commander had the ship brought to halt, then leaned over the side and shouted, “Stop! Identify yourselves!”

  Sandokan stood up and, in perfect English, said, “At your orders, sir.”

  “Well!” exclaimed the officer, stunned. “A sepoy. What are you doing so far from Labuan, Sergeant?”

  “Heading for the Romades, sir,” replied Sandokan.

  “The Romades? What for?”

  “Relaying orders to Lord James Guillonk’s yacht, sir.”

  “She’s all the way out there?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you’re going in a canoe?”

  “It was the best I could find at such short notice, sir.”

  “Keep your eyes peeled; there are several prahus buzzing about.”

  “Prahus, sir?” replied Sandokan, hiding his joy.

  “I spotted them yesterday morning and I wager they were from Mompracem. If I’d had one more cannon, I doubt they’d still be afloat.”

  “I’ll do my best to keep away from them, sir.”

  “Do you need anything, Sergeant?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Carry on. Safe journey.”

  Once the gunboat had resumed her course towards Labuan, Giro-Batol raised the sail and pointed the bow towards Mompracem.

  “Did you hear that?” asked Sandokan.

  “Every word.”

  “Our ships are patrolling these waters.”

  “They’re still looking for you, Captain.”

  “Then they think I’m still alive.”

  “Of course.”

  “What a surprise for Yanez when he sees me! My good loyal friend…”

  He went back to the stern and sat down, fixed his eyes upon Labuan and did not utter another word. The Javanese, however, heard him sigh several times.

  At dawn, only a hundred and fifty miles separated the fugitives from Mompracem, a distance they could overcome in less than twenty-four or thirty hours if the wind remained favourable. Giro-Batol pulled out a few provisions from an old terra-cotta pot he had fastened to one of the canoe’s thwarts and offered them to Sandokan, but the pirate, immersed in painful contemplation, did not move or reply.

  “He’s bewitched,” murmured the Javanese, scratching his head. “If it’s true, the British will pay.”

  During the day, the wind dropped several times, slowing the canoes advance. They made little progress until that evening, when a fresh breeze began to blow from the southeast and propelled the tiny vessel westward. It did not let up until late the next day. Shortly before sunset, the Javanese, standing on the bow of the canoe, spotted a large dark mass rising from the sea.

  “Mompracem!” he exclaimed.

  That cry sufficed to finally stir Sandokan from his thoughts.

  “Mompracem!” the pirate captain exclaimed, drawing himself up to his full height, has sadness momentarily forgotten.

  He remained still, taking in his island, the home from where he ruled that sea he not wrongly called his own. The legendary Tiger of Malaysia was reawakening. His eyes scanned the shore, dwelling briefly on the village and the numerous prahus rocking in the bay, before coming to rest upon the cliff where the flag bearing his standard fluttered in the breeze.

  “Ah!… Home… finally!” he exclaimed.

  “We’re safe, Tiger of Malaysia!” replied the Javanese, his voice filled with joy.

  Sandokan looked at him, stunned.

  “Do you think I’m still worthy of that name, Giro-Batol?” he asked.

  “Of course, Captain.”

  “And yet, I do not think I am,” sighed Sandokan.

  He took the oar that served as a tiller and directed the canoe towards the island that was slowly disappearing into the night. At ten o’clock, the two pirates, unseen by anyone, stepped ashore near the base of the cliff.

  Setting foot on his island once again, Sandokan took in a deep breath, perhaps, at that moment, no longer lamenting his departure from Labuan, and perhaps, for an instant, forgetting all about his beloved Marianna. He quickly walked along the base of the cliff to the tortuous steps that led up to the great hut.

  “Giro-Batol,” he said, turning towards the Javanese, “Go back to your hut, inform the men of my return, but tell them not to disturb me. I must speak with Yanez.”

  “Captain, no one will di
sturb you for as long as you desire. Thank you for having brought me back home; if you need a man to sacrifice, even if it were to save an Englishwoman, you need but say the word.”

  “Thank you, Giro-Batol, thank you. Now go, get some rest.”

  Beating back the memories of Marianna the Javanese had unintentionally evoked, Sandokan climbed up the steps and disappeared into the night.

  Chapter 14

  Love and Rapture

  WHEN HE REACHED the summit, Sandokan stopped at the edge of the cliff and cast his eyes towards the east, in the direction of Labuan.

  “Great heavens!” he murmured. “What distance separates me from that divine young woman…”

  He wondered what she was doing now. Was she worried he had been taken prisoner? Or worse still, could she be mourning his death? He sighed deeply and lowered his head.

  “Fate!” he murmured.

  He paused for a moment, perhaps trying to detect his beloved’s perfume on the night wind, then turned and slowly walked toward the great hut, where he had spotted a light still burning. He looked through a window and spied a man sitting at a table, his face buried in his hands.

  “Yanez,” he said, smiling sadly. “What will he say when he learns of my defeat? When he learns the legendary Tiger has been bewitched by a young woman?”

  He stifled a sigh and slowly opened the door, moving quietly so that the Portuguese would not hear him.

  “Well, brother,” he said after a moment, “Have you already forgotten the Tiger of Malaysia?”

  He had barely uttered those words when the Portuguese sprang to his feet and rushed to embrace him.

  “Sandokan! You’re alive! You’re alive!” he cried. “I thought I’d lost you forever.”

  “Your eyes do not deceive you, my friend, I’m back.”

  “You scoundrel! Where’ve you been all this time? I’ve been mad with worry; you’ve been gone for over a month! What have you been up to? Did you go plunder the Sultan of Varauni’s palace or did the Pearl of Labuan bewitch you? Tell me, little brother, the suspense is killing me.”

  Instead of replying to all those questions, Sandokan studied him silently, arms crossed and stern faced.

  “Well!” said Yanez, surprised by that silence, “Where did you get that uniform? Why are you looking at me like that? What happened?”

  “You truly have not heard?” Sandokan exclaimed hoarsely. “Has word not spread of a battle between a British cruiser and a pair of pirate ships? Of the fifty Tigers I led to Labuan, only Giro-Batol made it back alive. All of the others were slaughtered by British steel; our prahus now rest at the bottom of the sea. The Tiger of Malaysia was beaten and gravely wounded.

  “You… beaten!… Gravely wounded! Impossible!… Impossible!!”

  “Yes, Yanez. It’s true, all of it, there’s a lot to tell.”

  The pirate dragged a chair to the table, drained three shots of whiskey in rapid succession, then in a voice charged with emotion, he narrated all that had happened to him: his arrival in Labuan, the battle against the cruiser, the boarding, his wound, his suffering and recovery, punctuating the telling with a series of curses and violent gestures.

  But when he began to speak of the Pearl of Labuan, his anger vanished. His voice, which had been hoarse and choked with rage, became sweet, loving, passionate.

  With poetic zeal, he described the beautiful young woman, whose large, melancholy eyes, as blue as the ocean, had moved him so deeply. He talked of her long golden hair, softer than silk, more fragrant than the flowers of the forest; he talked of her lovely hands, skilled in playing the sweetest music, and of her incomparable, angelic voice that had made his heart beat so strangely, a heart that had been, until then, impenetrable.

  With lively passion he described the month he had spent at his beloved’s side; sublime moments in which he forgot all about Mompracem and his Tigers, when he forgot he had ever been the Tiger of Malaysia. He narrated every detail of his adventures: the tiger hunt, his declaration of love, Lord James’ betrayal, the escape through the jungle, finding Giro-Batol and setting sail for Mompracem.

  “Listen, Yanez,” he continued excitedly. “From the moment I set foot in Giro-Batol’s canoe, leaving Marianna alone and defenceless, I thought my heart was going to explode. I would rather have sunk that tiny boat than have it take me from that island. I would have destroyed Mompracem, sunk all of my prahus, disbanded my men, and wished I’d never been the Tiger of Malaysia, without the slightest recrimination.”

  “Ah! Sandokan!” Yanez exclaimed reproachfully.

  “Don’t admonish me, Yanez! I thought this heart was made of steel, but… I love that woman! Were she suddenly to appear before me and ask me to renounce my people and pledge an oath to the British crown, I, the Tiger of Malaysia, who have vowed to hate that race for all eternity… I would do so without hesitation!… Words can barely describe what has befallen me! My heart won’t stop pounding, fire courses through my veins! I’m always delirious! I think I’m going mad! Mad!… I’ve been like this since the first time I saw her, Yanez. She’s always before me, everywhere I look, everywhere I turn, there she is… that angelic vision, that beautiful woman with the hair of gold.”

  The pirate stood up suddenly, his face contorted with emotion, his teeth clenched in pain. He began to pace around the room, trying to distance himself from the torture of that haunting vision, then stopped suddenly before the Portuguese, gave him a questioning look, but remained silent.

  “You won’t believe this,” continued Sandokan, “but I fought tenaciously before letting myself give in to these feelings. But neither the iron will of the Tiger of Malaysia nor my hatred for all things British could stop the beating of my heart. I tried to break the charm many times. So many times… The thought of one day having to abandon the sea, of putting an end to my vendettas, leaving my island, my Tigers, and shedding the name I was so proud of… just to marry that woman… I tried to escape, to put an abyss between myself and those heavenly eyes! And yet I had to yield, Yanez. On one hand Mompracem: its pirates, battle, victory; on the other, the young woman with the hair of gold. The choice was not easy. I brooded over it for a long time, but in the end I chose her. No power on Earth will ever take her from me. But I also know, full well, that the Tiger’s days will soon come to an end!”

  “Forget her, then!” said Yanez, growing angry.

  “Impossible, Yanez! Impossible! I’ll never be able to sunder the chain she’s thrown around my heart. No battle, no adventure, no glorious acts of vengeance could ever make me forget that woman. Her face would follow me everywhere, calling me to her side, putting an end to my will to fight. No, no, I’ll never forget her, she will be my wife should she cost me my name, my island, my power, everything, everything!”

  He stopped for a second time and looked at Yanez, who had once again fallen silent.

  “Well, brother? What do you make of my predicament? What should I do next?”

  “My advice remains unchanged: forget her.”

  “What!?!”

  “Have you thought of the consequences of this insane love affair? What would your men say when they found out the Tiger was in love? That he planned to marry this young woman, and an Englishwoman at that! And then what? How would you spend your days? Tending your garden and drinking tea? Forget her, Sandokan. Leave her behind. Abandon all thoughts of seeing her again. Become once more the Tiger of Malaysia, a man with an impenetrable heart of steel.”

  Sandokan shot to his feet and headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” asked Yanez, springing to his feet.

  “Back to Labuan,” replied Sandokan. “Tomorrow, you’ll tell the men that I’m leaving my island forever and that you are their new captain. They’ll never hear speak of me again, for I’ll never return to these waters.”

  “Sandokan!” exclaimed Yanez, grabbing him tightly by the arm. “You’re mad! Going back to Labuan alone, when you have ships, cannons and legions of men so devoted they’d hav
e themselves killed for you or the one you love. I wanted to test you, to see if your love was truly unshakeable. You have, after all, sworn to hate her countrymen for all eternity…”

  “Marianna isn’t British, she comes from a distant land wet by a sea bluer and more beautiful than our own, a land covered in flowers, home to a smoking volcano, an earthly paradise where they speak a beautiful language similar to your own.”

  “Well, whether she’s British or not, since you love her so intensely, we’ll all help to make her your bride and restore your happiness. You can still be the Tiger of Malaysia, even after you marry the golden-haired young woman.”

  Sandokan embraced his friend warmly.

  “Tell me now,” said the Portuguese, “what do you intend to do?”

  “Set sail for Labuan as quickly as possible and kidnap Marianna.”

  “You’re right. When his lordship discovers you’ve left the island and returned to Mompracem, he might flee in fear of an attack. We must act quickly or the game is lost. But first you must sleep. You need some rest. I’ll prepare everything. By tomorrow our expedition will be ready to set sail.”

  “Until tomorrow then, Yanez.”

  “Goodnight, little brother,” replied the Portuguese, making his way out the door.

  Left alone, Sandokan, more sullen and agitated than ever, returned to the table, sat down, and began to empty the several bottles of whiskey he found before him. He felt the need to dull his senses, to calm the impatience gnawing at his soul, to forget, for a few hours at least, the young woman who had bewitched him so. He began to drink, almost in anger, draining glass after glass in rapid succession.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed. “I must return to her; I must go back immediately. This impatience, this love, this jealousy is killing me. Alone!… Alone in Labuan!… The baron trying relentlessly to win her favour.”

  He stood up, consumed with rage and began pacing like a madman, turning over chairs, shattering the bottles scattered about the room, smashing the vases brimming with gold and jewels that lined the shelves then finally stopped before the harmonium.