Sandokan: Quest for a Throne (The Sandokan Series Book 6)

by Emilio Salgari

  The elephants marched on for two more hours, the mud pulling at their legs with every step, their howdahs swaying from side to side, then came to a halt on a firm tract of ground. That little oasis was covered in elephant grass about three or four metres high and as thick as a sabre blade.

  “They’re tired,” said the mahout, turning to Sandokan. “And they’ve just found some food. We should let them rest.”

  “I’d prefer we didn’t stop until we reach solid ground.”

  “It shouldn’t be much longer, sir. Do you see that dark line on the horizon? That’s a forest of palash trees; they don’t grow on marshland. Still it won’t be an easy walk; a couple of hours rest would do them good.”

  “Fine then, if you think it’s best. We’ll eat as well.” Then he turned to his men and shouted, “We’ll stop here and have breakfast!”

  The Tigers quickly dismounted and raised a small camp among the tall grass. However, when they unpacked their stores they quickly discovered that all that remained was half a sack of biscuits and six tins of meat.

  “I guess we should find some food,” said Sandokan.

  “It shouldn’t be difficult to knock down a bird or two,” said Tremal-Naik. “There’s more than enough about to replenish our supplies.”

  “Excellent,” said Sandokan. “We’ll head north so we can check if the Assamese are still on our trail.”

  Sandokan and Tremal-Naik grabbed a pair of rifles, loaded them with buckshot, and headed into the swamp, followed by four Malays armed with carbines and scimitars.

  They crossed through the mud and stepped onto another tract of solid ground thick with bamboo, larger than where they had camped. Birds abounded among those giant reeds. Cranes, peacocks, geese, parrots and Brahmin ducks flitted about in all directions, unconcerned by their sudden arrival.

  Sandokan and Tremal-Naik immediately opened fire and minutes later the Malays had gathered a large number of birds.

  Their breakfast assured, they headed north to scout for the soldiers and examine the terrain. The ground remained firm before them; they advanced quickly and soon reached the edge of a vast plain covered with thick bushes and a few groves of palm trees.

  “We’ll have the mahout lead the elephants this way,” Sandokan said to the Bengali. “We’ll cover ground much more quickly.”

  “I think I’ve just spotted our dinner,” said Tremal-Naik, stopping suddenly.

  “I only see a few sarus cranes flying about.”

  “Look there, near that thicket about two hundred paces from us. That’s a bhainsa.”

  “A wild buffalo?”

  “Yes, dangerous but worth it. Buffalo steak is excellent.”

  “So I’ve heard. How do you suggest we take it?”

  “Have your men stay out of sight. We’ll need to change weapons; it’ll take more than buckshot to bring it down.”

  They took two carbines, checked the bullets, told the Malays to hide amongst the bushes and set off towards the beast, crouching close to the ground as they attempted to sneak up on it without being seen.

  The buffalo was a large beast about the size of a North American bison. It had a short square head, a broad high forehead, long sharp swept back horns, a short thick neck, a humped back, and reddish fur. These beasts are the second most dangerous creatures in the jungle, the Bengal tiger being the most deadly. They are usually about three metres long and a metre eighty in height; the natives use the skin which covers the hump to make shields for it is known to be sabre proof. They are quick-tempered, and when driven to bay, their rage and ferocity knows no bounds. Nothing can stop their angry charge; they will not shy from a fight, whether it be with a tiger, panther or even an army of hunters.

  The bhainsa that Tremal-Naik had spotted was grazing quietly by the edge of a thicket; it appeared not to have heard them.

  “It seems to be ignoring us,” whispered Sandokan who was only a few paces from the hunter.

  “Yes,” whispered back Tremal-Naik. “A bad sign; it may not be alone.”

  “They travel in herds?” asked the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “Usually. Perhaps we should leave it be.”

  “Bah, we’ll kill a few others if we have to,” said Sandokan, raising his carbine. “My Malays have our backs; I’ll take the first shot.”

  The pirate aimed at the bhainsa’s wide chest and fired; his carbine thundered dryly, scattering cranes and peacocks that had been hiding among the bamboo.

  The buffalo, struck just below its left shoulder, bellowed loudly, lowered its head and charged towards the cloud of smoke that rose from Sandokan’s carbine.

  That wild run lasted no more than two seconds, for it fell heavily to the ground, less than twenty paces from the hunter, its legs shaking wildly. It had barely hit the ground when fifteen large buffalo shot out of the bushes and charged towards the hunters.

  “Run!” shouted Tremal-Naik.

  The two hunters turned and fled, the Malays joining them as they ran past, raced into the swamp, and rushed back to their camp.

  At the sound of their cries, the pirates, thinking the Assamese were about to attack, had grabbed their rifles and trained them on the jungle, while the mahouts quickly drew the elephants to their feet.

  The buffaloes paused for a moment to sniff the bushes where the Malays had been hiding, then resumed their charge, crushing the bamboo into the ground as if they were mere blades of grass. They stopped abruptly when they reached the mud and snorted at their quarry.

  “By Shiva!” exclaimed Kammamuri, quickly climbing into the howdah to join his master and the others. “They could kill us all!”

  “Hurry, mahout!” shouted Tremal-Naik. “They’ll attack as soon as they cross the mud!”

  “Fire!” commanded Sandokan, once his men had climbed into their howdahs.

  A dozen rifle shots rang out, but the bullets merely rattled the bamboo, the elephants having set off through the mire just as the pirates fired.

  The buffalos watched them go for a moment then charged into the mud with a frightening roar, but after a few steps they had sunk in up to their waists and were forced to scramble back onto the shore before they could set off after the fugitives.

  “They’re following us?” asked Sandokan, a note of unease in his voice.

  “They’re stubborn, vindictive beasts,” said Tremal-Naik. “They’ll charge as soon as our elephants set foot on solid ground.”

  “Maybe we can scatter them if we take down their leader.”

  “It’s worth a try. It won’t be easy though, not with the howdah rocking like this.”

  Sandokan took up his carbine, planted his legs firmly, pressed his chest against the upper edge of the howdah, aimed his carbine at the large bull leading the herd, and waited for the right moment to fire.

  A few minutes passed, and when the elephant paused to rest, Sandokan fired. The bullet, though well aimed, only severed the bhainsa’s horn. It paused for a moment, undoubtedly surprised to see one of its horns fall to the ground, then resumed its march as if nothing had happened.

  “Saccaroa!” exclaimed Sandokan, taking a fresh carbine from Kammamuri. “They’re as tough as rhinos.”

  “Told you,” said Tremal-Naik.

  Sandokan leveled his weapon and took aim at the lead beast, determined to bring it down. Two minutes later another shot thundered and the bullet sailed over the herd and disappeared into the forest.

  “You’re wasting lead,” said the Bengali.

  “I still have one bullet left.”

  “Make that your last. Save them for the Assamese, they could still surprise us at any moment.”

  Sandokan picked up a carbine for the third time and waited.

  When the lead elephant, which had sunk in the mud up to its knees, stopped again for a moment, he fired his last shot.

  The bull bellowed loudly, then stopped abruptly and lowered its head, its tongue hanging from its mouth.

  The bhainsas stopped and began to bellow as they drew abou
t their leader. The bull did not stir; blood streamed from its mouth and its voice was quickly growing weaker.

  “It’s about to die!” exclaimed Sandokan.

  The bull fell to its knees, its face sinking into the mud. It remained there for a moment, motionless, then slowly pulled itself up. Just as it had drawn to its full height, its strength suddenly gave way and it collapsed on one side and fell still.

  “I’d say it’s dead,” said Sandokan, a note of relief in his voice.

  “A fine shot,” said the Bengali. “The jackals are in for a feast.”

  The buffalo, after having sniffed their leader several times and bellowed in anger, resumed their march, walking almost parallel to the elephants.

  “Still?” said Sandokan. “Haven’t they learned that we’re not to be trifled with?”

  “They’d chase us all the way to Sadiya if we let them,” replied Tremal-Naik.

  The elephants marched on for two more hours, the buffalo following stubbornly. At last they reached a tract of solid ground, a small island covered with trees about three or four hundred paces in circumference.

  Sandokan ordered the beasts to halt and had his men set up camp. It had grown hot, it was well past noon, and they risked sunstroke if they continued further.

  The island would serve them well, a wide muddy canal still separated them from the shore, protecting them from the beasts, and several mango trees grew among the palm and areca trees, their branches heavy with ripe sweet fruit.

  Shaded by the trees, the men quickly lit a few fires and began to cook the birds that Sandokan and Tremal-Naik had caught, using their carbine barrels as skewers.

  While breakfast was roasting, Sandokan, Surama, Tremal-Naik and several Dyaks, went off in search of fruit. They gathered a large number of mangoes and to their good fortune came upon a couple of mahwa trees[25], one of the finest trees of the Indian forest. Its leaves are used for bedding and roofing and its flowers are considered the manna of the jungle. They can be eaten as they are, baked into bread, or used to make wine or brandy.

  After an ample breakfast, everyone save for Sandokan and Tremal-Naik stretched out beneath the palm trees to rest, next to the elephants which were continuing to feast on leaves and branches the mahouts had gathered for their morning meal.

  The two leaders, still expecting the Assamese and the bhainsa to attack, grabbed their carbines and went off to inspect the island. They spied the bhainsa as they emerged from the trees; the herd had stopped on the other side of the canal, the beasts grazing on the marsh grass that grew about them. At the sight of the hunters, they shot to their feet, glaring at them with bloodshot eyes, angrily lashing their sides with their long tails. They bellowed fiercely and shook their heads as if about to charge.

  “They’re within range,” said Sandokan. “We may never get a better chance.”

  He brought his hands to his lips and whistled. Malays and Dyaks immediately rushed towards the shore.

  “It’s time to end this once and for all,” said Sandokan. “Kill those beasts!”

  A terrible volley thundered from the tiny island’s shore. Eleven of the eighteen buffalo fell dead or dying as the remainder scattered frantically among the bamboo groves that covered the northern jungle.

  Once the beasts had disappeared from sight, the pirates returned to camp, assured they would finally be able to rest. At about four in the afternoon, when the heat had at last begun to wane, they resumed their march once again.

  They reached the edge of the swamp thirty minutes later. The ground was firm before them and covered with thorny bamboo, tall reeds, and a few large groves of mindi trees, reddish-brown barked trees with pale green leaves, and clusters of small lilac-coloured flowers.

  Free of the mud, the great beasts had begun to pick up speed when the lead elephant stopped suddenly, swung its trunk and trumpeted nervously.

  “Eyes peeled, gentlemen!” cried the mahout, turning to Sandokan and Tremal-Naik, who had risen to scan the thickets about them.

  “The bhainsa!” exclaimed Tremal-Naik.

  “What!?! Again!?!” Sandokan exclaimed angrily.

  “I told you they’re vindictive.”

  Sandokan turned to his men.

  “The beasts are back!” he thundered. “Kill them all!”

  The elephants had remained rooted where they stood, trumpeting nervously, their trunks raised in the air, their heads down, their long tusks pointed before them, determined to fend of the bhainsas’ horns.

  Malays and Dyaks immediately sprang to their feet, leveled their carbines and fixed their eyes on the vegetation. Bamboo rustled about them in all directions, the herd had divided and the bhainsa were quickly drawing nearer, storming through the bushes with irresistible speed, their sharp horns clearing a path before them.

  “There!” shouted a mahout.

  A buffalo stormed out of the bamboo and charged towards the lead elephant, its head low, determined to dig its horns into the pachyderm’s chest. The attack had been so quick that Sandokan, Tremal-Naik, Kammamuri and Surama, who being a good shot had also picked up a carbine, had not had the time to fire.

  The elephant, however, had been prepared and once the bhainsa was in reach it brought its mighty trunk down and struck it in the back. The pirates heard the crack of bone and the bhainsa slumped to the ground, its spine shattered by the powerful blow. Before it could utter a final cry, the elephant brought its leg down on the dying beast, crushing its head and silencing it forever.

  “Well done!” shouted Tremal-Naik.

  Three more beasts shot out of the grass, charging wildly from different directions. Malays and Dyaks quickly brought the first one down with a volley, and a pair of elephants crushed the second as it tried to storm between them. The third, wounded by a bullet that Sandokan had fired, turned about and fled into the bushes.

  There was still, however, one last battle to fight. They could hear hooves galloping through the bamboo and suddenly five buffaloes, all that remained of the herd, stormed out from the vegetation and rushed towards the pirates. The Malays and Dyaks were ready; two dozen carbines thundered without pause, felling them in their tracks. The elephants charged as the beasts struck the ground, showering them with blows from their trunks and feet until the last of the buffaloes had fallen still.

  “Finally!” Sandokan exclaimed happily.

  “That should be the last of them,” said the Bengali, no less pleased by their success.

  “What about the one that went off into the bush?”

  “I wouldn’t give it much thought. It no longer has the strength to attack. We should make good use of all this meat though; bhainsa tongue is a dish fit for a king.”

  The pirates quickly climbed to the ground and began to hack away at the beasts. However, despite their best efforts, it proved to be no easy matter, the bhainsas’ thick bones highly resistant to their blades and axes. After a few more fruitless attempts the Malays ceded the field to Bindar and the mahouts who were far more experienced in butchering those beasts.

  Once they had removed the tongues and cut away a good supply of meat, the caravan resumed its march, heading north into the jungle at a fairly rapid pace.

  At about eight o’clock, just as the sun was setting on the horizon, Sandokan gave the signal to stop. They had travelled forty miles in the last few hours and had come within sight of the Brahmaputra, the mighty river bending towards the Himalayas to the north of them.

  As it was likely there were many beasts about, once the fires were lit, Tremal-Naik and Kammamuri had the Malays and Dyaks erect a bamboo fence about the camp. The perimeter secured, the tents were raised to provide shelter for the night.

  Dinner was a feast. The bhainsa tongues, which had been boiled in a copper pot, were especially delicious.

  A few dozen Indian flying foxes, large black-winged fruit bats with reddish brown fur and pointy ears, were flitting about the nearby fruit trees in search of an evening meal when Sandokan, Surama and Tremal-Naik finally reti
red to their tent. Kammamuri, Sambigliong, and four Dyaks stood watch over the camp; the others, exhausted by the journey, had long since fallen asleep.

  Chapter 28

  The Sadiya Hillmen

  IT WAS A beautiful night; a cool breeze blew in from the mountains to the north, the first foothills of the majestic Himalayas. A blanket of stars stretched across the heavens and a full moon cast its silvery light over the tall groves of bamboo.

  Silence reigned over the vast plain, broken at times by the shrill squeaks of a flying fox or the melancholy howl of hungry jackals.

  Kammamuri and Sambigliong sat by a fire, exchanging words from time to time as they smoked their cigarettes; the Dyaks patrolled the bamboo fence, stopping every now and then to add wood to the bonfires about its perimeter.

  A couple of hours had passed uneventfully, then without warning, a cacophony of howls erupted from the jungle, as if hundreds of wild dogs were suddenly charging through the bushes.

  “What’s happening?” asked Sambigliong, shooting to his feet.

  “The dogs have probably spied a nilgai,” said Kammamuri.

  “Or they may be coming to attack us.”

  “There’s nothing to fear.”

  “Listen… It sounds like they’re getting closer!”

  Kammamuri was about to reply, when a carbine shot suddenly thundered in the jungle, silencing the dogs in an instant.

  “That may be a problem,” muttered the Maratha.

  The shot had immediately drawn Sandokan and Tremal-Naik from their tents and awakened the men and the elephants.

  “Who fired?” asked the Tiger of Malaysia, rushing towards the Martha.

  “None of us, sir,” said Kammamuri.

  “The Assamese?”

  “It could just be a hunter trying to fend off a pack of wild dogs.”

  “A hunter in the jungle, alone, this late at night?” said Tremal-Naik. “I doubt it, Kammamuri. I’d wager it was a soldier.”