Sandokan: The Pirates of Malaysia (The Sandokan Series Book 3)

by Emilio Salgari

  The convicts retreated towards the bow, stumbling over their dead and dying comrades. They crowded upon the forecastle, while those with rifles hid behind the foremast and the capstan and fired back at that relentless rain of bullets.

  Still within range of enemy guns, the dead and wounded continued to mount. Some convicts tried to escape into the crew’s quarters while others rushed back into the waist, preferring to take their chances among the smoke and flames. Sheltered from the bullets, Sandokan, Yanez and the Welshman drew near for a quick consultation. The cruel losses they had suffered had reduced their number to two hundred; if they did not act quickly they would lose all hope of victory.

  “What are we going to do?” asked the Welshman.

  “We have to take their cannons,” replied Sandokan. “There is no other way.”

  “The ship’s going up in flames,” said Yanez.

  “Take a hundred men and try to put out the fire. The pumps are nearby; you’ll probably find some buckets in the crew’s quarters.”

  “The pumps are within range of the crews’ rifles, Sandokan.”

  “Have the men build a barricade with whatever they can find.”

  “What about us?” asked the Welshman.

  “Once the fire is out, we’ll attempt another attack.”

  “We only have about twenty or so rifles, sir.”

  “But we still outnumber them. I doubt the crew will be able to resist for very long.”

  “Why’s that, sir?”

  “The fire has already spread throughout the ships’ waist; it’s only a matter of time before the beams give way beneath their feet. Now, let’s build a barricade.”

  While Yanez and his men grabbed tubs and buckets to fight the fire that threatened to destroy the ship, Sandokan and the Welshman, assisted by the remainder of the convicts, built a barricade between the fore and mainmasts. It was not an easy task. The two cannons would spray the deck from time to time, while fragments of flaming rope, sails, and beams rained down from the burning mainmast. Enemy musket fire continued to thin their numbers; the dead could no longer be counted, and corpses continued to pile up in those places most exposed to artillery fire. But despite the flames and incessant gunfire, the convicts, led by Sandokan and the Welshman, managed to raise a barricade of crates, beams, barrels, hammocks, chests, chains and anchors.

  The twenty men with rifles quickly scrambled behind it and fired at the quarterdeck. Those discharges, however, had no great effect, for the wall of fire and the clouds of smoke continued to conceal their enemies.

  The weather had changed as the battle raged. The sea had begun to toss and roll and large waves now swelled about them, pounding against the frigate and rocking her from side to side. The wind had also strengthened; violent gusts whistled through the rigging, rattling the masts and sails.

  Fed by the rising gale the flames spread evermore rapidly. The mainmast blazed like a giant torch, filling the air with sparks, the waters about the ship shimmering in the firelight.

  Despite the convicts’ tenacity and the fire devouring the deck below, the crew held firm. Though victory was beyond their reach, they would not yield, determined to slay the scoundrels who had dared rise up in revolt. They would sink the ship if need be and drown them all like rats.

  The two aft cannons did not let up for a single minute. When the crew ran out of grapeshot, they fired cannonballs, smashing the bulwarks, caving in the forecastle, damaging the masts, and demolishing the crew’s common room.

  Furious at being held in check by that small band of men, the Tiger of Malaysia attempted to lead an attack on the quarterdeck, but three times the wall of fire brought him to a halt.

  Several convicts had charged through the flames, only to fall as they emerged, killed by the volleys of the crew.

  The battle had been raging for two hours, when suddenly, the enemy guns, which had been firing less frequently, suddenly fell silent. Fearing a sudden attack, Sandokan summoned all the convicts on deck and ordered them to stand ready. They waited, crouched behind the barricade for several minutes, but not a single shot came from the quarterdeck.

  “What are they up to?” Sandokan asked anxiously.

  He cautiously approached the mainmast, ignoring the rain of sparks that fell from the yardarms, but the smoke still barred his view. He was about to charge towards the quarterdeck, when the Welshman grabbed him by the arm and shouted, “Back, sir!”

  Sandokan jumped back behind the barricade. An instant later, the mainmast, its base consumed by the flames, came crashing down upon the port bulwarks with a tremendous noise, her topgallant and yards plunging into the sea.

  The frigate rolled to one side as the bulwarks shattered beneath that sudden blow, then righted herself almost instantly, listing only slightly.

  The mizzenmast, its housing destroyed by the fire in the waist, gave way a minute later. It crashed upon the deck, its yards felling a dozen men and severing the foremast rigging.

  Ignoring the cries of the wounded, Sandokan and the Welshman rushed to the quarterdeck. They ran through the torrent of smoke spewing out of the hatch and stopped at the base of the steps.

  “They’re gone!” shouted Sandokan.

  Shielded by the wall of fire, the crew had put the launches in the water and rowed away. However, before abandoning ship, they had hauled down the flag, spiked the cannons and nailed them in place.

  Sandokan and the Welshman ran to the quarterdeck and leaned over the bulwark. Several bright specks sparkled in the distance to the south of them.

  “They’re heading for the coast,” said Sandokan.

  “What about us?” asked the Welshman.

  “We’ll try to do the same,” replied the Tiger of Malaysia.

  “Try?”

  “The ship is starting to sink.”

  “You don’t think we’ll be able to contain the fire?”

  “Yanez is making headway, but it matters little now. We can only count on the foremast and the strength of our arms; I doubt the prisoners know much about ship repair.”

  “I don’t think there are any seamen or shipwrights among them, but I hope they’ll help us,” said the Welshman.

  “We’ll know soon enough,” replied Sandokan. Then raising his voice he thundered, “The ship is ours! The crew has escaped!”

  There was a loud cheer then a voice cried out, “To the barrels, lads! Let’s celebrate our victory.”

  “To the barrels!” replied a hundred voices. “Let’s drink!”

  Chapter 18

  Shipwrecked

  THE FRIGATE HAD been taken but at what a price! Of the three hundred convicts, one hundred and fifty had been killed by the volleys of grapeshot that had thundered from the aft cannons. Sixty more lay upon the deck gravely wounded.

  The old ship barely remained afloat. Though the fire had been put out, the damage it had caused in those few hours was irreparable. The pantry had been destroyed, the waist gutted by flames, the quarterdeck threatened to give in at any moment, there were holes in the stern deck and the mizzen and mainmasts had been lost. Even the bow had suffered serious damage from the rain of projectiles that had strafed across the deck. The forecastle would not stand much longer, its support beams having been severed; the bowsprit was beyond repair and the bulwarks had been smashed in various places when the mainmast and the mizzenmast had fallen.

  From bow to stern the deck was strewn with mounds of the dead; blood flowed abundantly through the scuppers, reddening the waters about the ship. Moans, groans, and cries rose from among the bodies; at times a head would emerge or a bloodied arm would reach into the air to beg for assistance.

  Unconcerned with their surroundings, the convicts rushed as one towards the ship’s waist, planning to raid the stores for whatever alcohol they could find. Aware of their intentions, Sandokan raced into the centre of the throng, brandishing his axe menacingly.

  “Tend to the wounded, you wretches!” he howled.

  The Welshman had rushed to hi
s side, wielding an iron rod, a weapon more dangerous in those mighty arms than a piece of artillery.

  The convicts merely laughed in reply.

  “To hell with the wounded!” shouted some.

  “Let them die!” howled others.

  “Gin?... Brandy?... Arak?!... Time for a drink, my friends! We’ll toast to our victory! Make way! Make way!”

  The Tiger of Malaysia howled with rage.

  “I’ll kill anyone who does not obey!” he thundered, blocking their path as he raised his axe.

  “To hell with that nigger!” shouted a convict. “He won’t stop me from draining a barrel of arak.”

  A hard-looking man with a square, pockmarked face and a long scar upon his brow, advanced towards Sandokan, clutching a large bowie knife.

  “I’ll drink arak or my knife will drink your blood!” he thundered.

  “Back or I’ll kill you,” replied Sandokan, staying the Welshman who was about to strike the convict with the iron rod.

  “No savage is going to spoil our fun,” mocked the convict.

  “Well said, Paddes!” shouted a voice.

  The convict rushed toward Sandokan.

  “Move!” he thundered. “I want to drink!”

  The words had barely escaped his lips when he fell to the ground dead.

  “Tend to the wounded!” Sandokan thundered menacingly. “I’ve given you your freedom, you will obey my orders!”

  The convicts hesitated for an instant, mulling over what they had just seen. At the sight of Yanez, Sambigliong and Tanauduriam rushing over to assist with rifles drawn, they decided to comply. Upon reflection, many had quickly realized they would never make it to shore without the assistance of those men.

  “At your orders, Captain,” said several of them. “Listen, mates! Let’s lend a hand to those poor devils at death’s door.”

  The convicts scattered about the decks, checking through the mounds of the dead and pulling out the groaning bodies of their wounded companions. Those desperate souls were carried down into the ship’s waist where the crews’ hammocks had been hung and tended to as best as possible. There were sixty in total and almost all were in serious condition with no hope of recovery.

  When the last man had been carried down, those rascals went off in all directions to search for food and spirits. Sandokan let them be; he had more pressing concerns.

  The sea was still restless; a hot wind blew from the south and was quickly growing stronger. Lightning had begun to flash in the east, illuminating enormous storm clouds as thunder rumbled across the heavens.

  The ship was beginning to drift across the waves, listing dangerously and threatening to tip on her side. The waters still swelled about her, lashing her sides, raising her hull and shaking her severely. Her foremast trembled beneath the weight of its sails and could come crashing down at any moment

  Sandokan, assisted by Yanez, the Welshman, the two pirates and a handful of men, pushed the mainmast into the sea to right the ship. The topgallant and royal sails were lowered to relieve the pressure on the foremast; only the foresail and topmast sail remained unfurled.

  He had a pair of jib sails hoisted up the bowsprit; then to give the ship greater stability had a yard installed in the mizzen box and had it fitted with a sail.

  “Do you think we’ll make shore?” asked the Welshman.

  “It’ll be a struggle,” replied Sandokan, “but we’ll reach the coast of Borneo.”

  “Any idea where we are?”

  “Near Tanjung Sirik, I think.”

  “Not easy sailing, or so I’ve been told.”

  “There are plenty of reefs, but we’ll make it through. Once we reach land, we’ll make new plans.”

  “What about the crew? They may return to search for us.”

  “There are still a good number of us; they wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “You’re right; they probably headed towards the nearest shore.”

  “I agree. The sea’s getting worse. I wouldn’t want to face those waves in a launch! Ah! Those rascals are coming back. Let them get drunk; at least they won’t be in our way.”

  Howls of joy sounded from the ship’s waist. The convicts had found the food and several barrels of alcohol, and were now preparing to celebrate their freedom with a drunken feast.

  “Leave them be,” said Sandokan, noticing that Sambigliong and Tanauduriam had rushed to grab their rifles. “Come, we’ve got to take care of the ship.”

  “What do you intend to do with these rascals?” asked Yanez. “I’m beginning to have enough of their company.”

  “We’ll get rid of them at the first opportune moment,” replied Sandokan. “I have no desire to take them to Mompracem.”

  “What if we lead them against James Brooke?”

  “Do you think they’d obey me? They’ll abandon us as soon as we reach land.”

  “We definitely won’t detain them, little brother. May the devil take them all.”

  The convicts stormed onto the deck like a pack of wolves, triumphantly carrying four barrels of gin they had found in the depths of the hold, a barrel of Spanish wine and a good quantity of biscuits, ham, and cheese that had miraculously escaped the fire.

  It was all they had been able to find and they were preparing to devour it without thought to how they would eat the next day. The galley had been destroyed by the fire along with all the food stores brought aboard for the long voyage, caution would have warranted the rationing of any provisions they had found, but not a soul had paused to think about the future.

  They quickly set up some tables, lit several lamps and torches, fixed them to the bulwarks and hung them from the rigging, then began their feast among shouts and laughter, oblivious to the mounting waves and the approaching storm.

  They devoured the food before them, dipping their glasses without pause into the open kegs and barrels, alternating glasses of gin with glasses of wine, howling at the top of their voices, quarrelling, embracing, at times falling over the bodies still strewn about the deck and rolling in the blood caked along the bulwarks.

  From the stern, standing by the wheel, Yanez, Sandokan, the Welshman, Sambigliong and Tanauduriam gazed impassively upon that gruesome feast.

  A flash of lightning suddenly lit the sky and they glimpsed a shore to the east of them, but no one could say for certain if it had been an island or the coast of Borneo. Though it had only been visible for an instant, it had been enough for Sandokan and Yanez to measure the distance and determine their options.

  “It could be Tanjung Sirik,” said the Portuguese, “or one of the small islands to the north of it.”

  “I agree,” replied Sandokan.

  “We could reach it by dawn; the wind is driving us north, but we’ll try to set a course for it.”

  “It won’t be easy, Yanez; we can raise a couple of sails at best; she barely responds to her wheel and the waves are getting worse.”

  “So much the worse for those drunkards.”

  “Gentleman,” interrupted the Welshman. “The wind is picking up and the foremast is starting to rattle; it could come crashing down at any moment. We’ve already lost the port shrouds.”

  “If it falls, we’ll raise a couple of yards in its place,” replied Sandokan. “Now, I need you on the bow with Sambigliong and Tanauduriam; Yanez and I will handle the wheel.”

  “We’re on the verge of sinking and all those wretches can do is drink!”

  “Leave them be, John; no need to start trouble.”

  “A likely state we’d be in if the crew returned with reinforcements!”

  “They’ve probably reached the shore by now; I wouldn’t give them another thought. Yanez keep her to the wind!”

  While the four pirates of Mompracem and the Welshman attempted to guide the old frigate to shore, the convicts continued their feast. Some played music, beating out a rhythm on pots and pans brought up from the galley, as others danced about like madmen, falling to the deck in drunken stupor. Some started
gaming, gambling for the money they had found in the officers’ quarters and in the guards’ chests on the lower decks. Emboldened by the alcohol, many began to argue and curse. It wasn’t long before tempers flared and fights erupted, the onlookers cheering wildly at every blow. A good number, having drunk their fill and exhausted by the day’s events, fell asleep upon the bulwarks, along the forecastle or beneath the quarterdeck, rolling among the dead as the old frigate pitched over the waves.

  As the celebrations raged, the storm worsened. Towering ever higher, the waves attacked in endless rows, smashing against the frigate’s sides with a deafening roar. The wind whistled through the foremast’s sails and rigging, threatening to knock it down at any moment. Lightning flashed to the south as thunder rumbled dully.

  Sandokan had taken the wheel, Yanez at his side, as the Welshman, Tanauduriam and Sambigliong worked the sails.

  What a fantastic sight that large old battered ship must have been, knocked about those waters, lanterns and torches blazing on her deck, as a crowd of drunken men, oblivious to the fury of sea and sky, celebrated with wild abandon, their cries and laughter mixing with the menacing roar of the waves!

  At one point, however, the celebration came to a sudden stop. A large wave had stormed over the port bulwark and crashed upon the deck, snuffing out torches and lanterns as it hurled the men in all directions. Only then did those drunken scoundrels become aware of the danger looming before them. Cries of joy immediately turned to cries of terror.

  Those who could still stand sprang to their feet, eyes widening with fear as they took in the waves crashing upon the bulwarks.

  All fell silent as they turned anxiously toward the Tiger of Malaysia. Standing on the quarterdeck that formidable man calmly challenged the hurricane, intrepidly guiding the old ship, not a trace of worry upon his brow. Though the ship rocked violently, his eyes did not stray from the compass, and his hands remained clasped firmly about the wheel. Seated nearby on an upturned bucket, Yanez calmly watched the waves as they smashed against the bulwarks.

  A cry of fear rose from among the convicts.

  “Save us!”

  Sandokan did not reply. Lightning had flashed across the heavens; he had raised his eyes and now scanned the east, where he had spied the sea breaking violently.