“They’ve tested our strength, sir; they know they haven’t a chance against our artillery.”
“Yet my instincts tell me those rascals are up to something.”
“I agree. Best keep the pumps ready.”
“Expecting another fleet of coconuts?”
Instead of replying, Tangusa stood up and gave the wheel a quick turn.
“This is the narrowest part of the river, Señor Yanez,” he said. “We’ve got to be cautious if we wish to avoid running aground on some sandbank.”
The river had been wide until then, and the Marianna had advanced quite easily, but now, as it narrowed, thick branches twined above them, shutting out the stars.
It had suddenly grown so dark that Yanez could no longer make out the shores.
“Nice place for a boarding raid,” he murmured.
“They may just shoot at us, sir,” Tangusa said.
“Sambigliong, point the swivel guns at the riverbanks!” shouted Yanez.
The gunners had just executed that order, when the Marianna, which had picked up speed thanks to a strengthening wind, struck something hard that made her tack to port.
“What happened?” shouted Yanez. “Have we run aground?”
“No, Captain,” replied Sambigliong who had rushed towards the bow. “She’s still afloat!”
With a turn of the wheel the Marianna resumed her course, but seconds later, she struck another obstacle that immediately forced her back.
“Now what?” shouted Yanez, going to Sambigliong’s side, “Rocks?”
“I don’t see any, Captain.”
“Then why can’t we pass? Have someone check it out.”
A Malay threw one end of a rope over the side, secured the other end to the rail then lowered himself into the water just as the ship was forced back for a third time.
Leaning over the fore bulwark, Yanez and Sambigliong anxiously watched the Malay swim about, looking for the obstacle that blocked their advance.
“A reef?” asked Yanez.
“No, Captain,” the Malay replied, continuing to swim about, diving beneath the water from time to time, untroubled by the dangers lurking in the river.
“Well then?”
“Ah! Found it! They’ve stretched a chain across the river; we’ll have to cut through it to advance.”
A harsh voice suddenly thundered from behind the trees lining the left bank and cried out in English:
“Surrender, Tigers of Mompracem, or we’ll destroy you all!”
Chapter 4
Trapped among the Flames
ANY OTHER PERSON would have been alarmed by that threat, issued with a voice marked by such bloodthirsty determination. And having just discovered their only escape route had been cut off, more than a few would have begun to tremble.
Yanez, however, remained unperturbed. He had survived too many battles to be frightened by mere words.
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “They plan to kill us! How nice of them to announce their intentions. And people call them savages!”
He calmly turned to the Malay in the water and asked:
“How thick is the chain?”
“About twice my arm, Captain,” the man replied.
“Where could the Dyaks have gotten it?” he muttered. “Another one of the sherip’s gifts?”
“Captain Yanez,” said Sambigliong. “We’re drifting. Should I drop anchor?”
The Portuguese turned about. Unable to advance, his ship no longer responded to the wheel; she had begun to tack to starboard, slowly heading back down the river.
“Drop a kedge and ready a launch,” he ordered. “We’ve got to cut that chain.”
A tiny anchor was cast over the side and the Marianna came to an immediate halt, her bow quickly aligning with the current.
Once again, the voice sounded from among the trees, its tone even more menacing:
“Surrender or we’ll destroy you all!”
“By Jupiter!” exclaimed Yanez. “I forgot to answer him!”
He cupped his hands and yelled:
“If you want my ship, come take her! Come measure yourselves against our powder and bullets. Otherwise, stop pestering us; we do not fear your threats.”
“The sherip will slay you all,” came the reply.
“Go hang yourself! Sambigliong, ready one of the launches and send six men to cut the chain. Port gunners, cover them; fire on anyone that comes out of the jungle.”
Minutes later, a boat was put in the water manned by six Malays armed with rifles and heavy axes.
“Work as fast as you can!” the Portuguese shouted.
He climbed onto the bulwark, grabbed a backstay and carefully scanned the shore. Several bright dots were moving through the jungle, racing off with incredible speed.
“What are those rascals up to now?” he wondered, suddenly uneasy.
“Señor Yanez,” said Tangusa as he came up beside him, having momentarily given the wheel to someone else, “I just spotted several fires off to starboard.”
“Another wave of coconuts?”
He stifled a curse. Thirty or forty tongues of flame had shot up from the bushes, tearing through the darkness on either side of the ship.
“They’re setting fire to the forest!” he shouted. “Wretches!”
“And that’s not the worst of it, sir,” added Tangusa, his voice marked with fear, “we’re surrounded by rubber trees.”
“Pra-la!” shouted the Portuguese, addressing the man in command of the launch. “We have to get the Marianna to safety, will you be alright?”
“We have our carbines, Señor Yanez.”
“Work as fast as you can, then head back to the ship. Sambigliong, raise anchor!”
“Are we going back down river, Captain?” the quartermaster asked.
“At full speed, my friend. I have no desire to be roasted alive. Quickly, my Tigers! Put the wheel over hard a port, Tangusa!”
The anchor was raised in an instant and the Marianna, with the wind on her beam, tacked and headed off down the river, carried by the current.
A dozen men now manned the oars, adding to her speed, while, upriver, the six men in the launch hacked away at the heavy metal chain.
The fire spread with frightening speed, fed by the thick climbing vines, gambirs, camphor trees and rubber trees that abounded in the jungle.
The vegetation crackled about them like gunshots, scalding sap shooting from plants and vines, bursting into flame as it showered the trees.
Bright light filled the sky, illuminating the columns of smoke and sparks swirling over the river.
Powered by her oars, the Marianna raced over the waters as she attempted to escape the flames, but she had gone less than five hundred paces when her bow struck something hard.
Furious cries erupted from the forecastle, where most of the Malays had assembled to scan the river for Dyaks, ready to fend off another attack.
“We’re trapped!”
“They’ve cut off our escape!”
Yanez rushed to the bow, already certain of what he would find.
“Another chain?” he asked, making his way through the men.
“Yes, Captain.”
“They must have just laid it.”
“There’s no other explanation,” said Tangusa, his shock apparent. “Señor Yanez, we should try to make it to shore, we may have a better chance of escaping the flames once we’re in the jungle.”
“Abandon the Marianna!” the Portuguese exclaimed. “Never! We’d be done for, all of us, even Tremal-Naik and Darma.”
“Should I prepare the other launch?” asked Sambigliong. “We can try to cut through that chain.”
Yanez did not reply. Standing on the bow, his hands clutching the jib sheets, a cigarette between his lips, he took in the burning jungle before him.
The fire was advancing from both ends of the river; soon the Marianna would be engulfed in a sea of flames, hot ash raining down upon her as the thick branches overhead were swallow
ed by the blaze.
“Captain,” repeated Sambigliong, “Should I prepare the other launch? We’ll lose the Marianna if we stay here much longer.”
“Where would we go?” Yanez asked quietly. “We’d never outrun the flames, even if we did manage to cut through that chain.”
“So we’re just going to let ourselves be roasted alive?”
“Not exactly,” the Portuguese replied calmly. Then, abruptly changing tone he shouted:
“Raise the awning, take down the sails and lay them over the stanchions. Ready the pumps and drop anchor. Gunners to their stations!”
The crew, which had anxiously been awaiting a decision, rushed to execute those orders.
Like all yachts in the southern seas, the Marianna was equipped with an awning to shelter the deck from the harsh sun. Within minutes the crew had stretched it across the stanchions and over the booms, laying the two sails on top of it to blanket the entire vessel.
“Man the pumps,” commanded Yanez, once all was ready.
He lit another cigarette and walked towards the bow as torrents of water doused every inch of canvas.
His eyes turned to a small launch advancing towards the ship, Pra-la and his men were heading back at full speed, rowing desperately, branches blazing above them, showering them with sparks.
“Just in time,” the Portuguese murmured.
The fire raged about the ship, the trees lining the banks lighting up like matches, the air filling with flame and thick heavy smoke.
Charred trunks crumbled to the ground, dragging down webs of vines and gambirs, unleashing torrents of molten rubber. Enormous camphor trees, casuarine, sago palms, dammar trees, banana trees, coconut trees and durians blazed like giant torches, thundering darkly as they collapsed into the river.
The air grew thick and hot. Though water gushed from the pumps, the canvas sails protecting the Marianna soon began to smoke.
As the heat intensified, the Tigers of Mompracem felt their strength begin to wane.
Driven by the wind, large clouds of smoke and sparks seeped beneath the canvas, engulfing the men; flaming branches rained down upon the ship, the pumps struggling to extinguish them before they could cause much damage.
Trapped beneath that vault of flames, the crew, exhausted, began to fear that a fiery death loomed before them. Only Yanez, ever calm, appeared unconcerned by the danger threatening his ship.
Sitting on a gunwale, he quietly smoked his cigarette, as if unaffected by the searing heat.
“Sir!” shouted Tangusa, rushing up beside him, his face ashen, his eyes wide with fear, “We’re being roasted alive.”
Yanez shrugged.
“There’s nothing we can do,” he replied calmly.
“It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.”
“Take shorter breaths.”
“We’ve got to get out of here, sir. Our men have cut through the chain; we can sail up the river.”
“It won’t be any cooler up there, my friend.”
“But we could all die here!”
“It’s up to Fate now,” replied Yanez, keeping his cigarette pressed between his lips. He leaned back on the gunwale and added “We’ll wait a bit more.”
A volley of rifle fire suddenly thundered from the shore, followed by a burst of savage cries.
Yanez stood up.
“These Dyaks are becoming tiresome!” he exclaimed.
He crossed the deck, indifferent to the torrent of water gushing down about him, raised a corner of the canvas sail, and peered out toward the shore.
He spied several bands of men among the blaze, running through the clouds of smoke, firing at his ship. Though clad in little more than loincloths, they appeared unaffected by the heat, often rushing among the flames to better aim at their mark.
Yanez’ face grew dark with rage, that last attack stirring his anger.
“Wretches!” he shouted. “Not a moment’s peace! Sambigliong, Tigers of Mompracem, fire at those demons without mercy!”
The four swivel guns were brought to starboard, the canvas was raised to clear their sights and the pirates quickly opened fire, spraying the flames with a hurricane of iron and nails.
Seven or eight volleys sufficed to scatter the enemy. Several Dyaks had fallen among the bushes and their bodies were slowly being consumed by the flames.
“Let’s hope the sherip is among them!” murmured Yanez.
He summoned Pra-la; the Malay’s launch had reached the ship shortly before the trees lining the banks had caught fire.
“Did you cut through the chain?” he asked.
“Yes, Captain.”
“So our path is clear.”
“Yes, sir.”
“The fire seems to be dying upriver,” murmured Yanez. “We’d best get out of here before those scoundrels attack again.”
The thick vault of vegetation that had once surrounded them had been destroyed by the flames; a few charred camphor trees remained standing, the odd durian tree still blazed in the distance.
The fire continued its march through the jungle, burning a path towards the mouth of the river, away from the Marianna. The ship was finally out of danger.
“Best to set off immediately,” said Yanez. “The breeze appears to be picking up and the air should cool soon.”
He ordered his men to take down the awning and raise sail. The work was executed quickly, despite the blinding rain of cinders whipped up by the breeze.
Blackened husks smoked along the banks; the heat was still stifling, but the air was breathable.
At four that morning, the anchors were raised and the Marianna set off with great speed.
The Dyaks, having likely suffered terrible casualties, were nowhere to be seen. The fire, spreading ever westward, must have forced them to hasten their retreat.
“They’ve disappeared, Tangusa,” said Yanez, carefully scanning the shores, trying to spot the enemy through the smoke. “Let’s hope they leave us be until we reach the pier! Haven’t they learned we don’t frighten easily? That we’re determined to defend ourselves to the last? That’s twice now we’ve thwarted their attacks; surely they must realize we’re no easy target.”
“They know we’re rushing to aid Tremal-Naik, Señor Yanez.”
“How could they?”
“A servant may have betrayed the secret or overheard the instructions Tremal-Naik gave to his messenger.”
“It’s possible.”
“Then they sent that Malay pilot to intercept the Marianna.”
“By Jupiter! I’d forgotten about that rascal!” exclaimed Yanez. “Now that we’ve escaped the flames, and the Dyaks have given us a chance to catch our breath, we can take a moment to question him. He may even be able to provide us with some information about that sherip.”
“If he talks!”
“He’ll have no other option. Come, Tangusa.”
Fearing another attack, he told Sambigliong to keep the men at their stations then went below.
A light burned in a small cabin adjacent to the main room, the pilot lay on a cot, still soundly asleep. His skin had turned ashen, and had it not been for the soft sound of his breath, one would have easily mistaken him for a corpse.
As Sambigliong had instructed, Yanez rubbed the Malay’s chest and temples vigorously, then pulled his arms back to open his lungs, repeating the procedure several times.
On the ninth or tenth attempt the prisoner opened his eyes. They widened with terror as he glanced upon the Portuguese.
“How are you, my friend?” Yanez asked ironically. “You slept through quite a battle. I’m afraid your friends didn’t fare very well.”
The pilot did not reply, sweat beading upon his brow as his thoughts came into focus. A look of sorrow spread across his face.
“Haven’t lost your voice, have you?” asked Yanez.
“What happened, sir?” asked Padada after a few minutes had passed. “The last thing I remember Sambigliong—”
“Never mind
that,” replied Yanez. “I want some information.”
“Information?”
“You’re going to tell me who ordered you to ground my ship on that sandbank.”
“Sir, I swear, I—”
“Spare me your oaths and protests. I wouldn’t believe a word. You’ve been discovered and you are now my prisoner. If you wish to live, you’ll answer my questions. You have no other option. Now, who paid you to destroy my ship?”
“I never—” stammered the Malay.
“Enough,” said Yanez. “I’m starting to lose patience. I want to know who that wretched sherip is. Why has he armed the Dyaks and demanded Tremal-Naik’s head?”
“Sir, I can’t tell you what I do not know.”
“So you’ve never seen this sherip?”
“No, sir, never.”
“And you weren’t in league with the Dyaks that attacked us?”
“No, sir, I swear by Nyai Roro Kidul[1]. I was sailing along the coast, exploring the caves, searching for swallows’ nests that a Chinese man asked me to procure for him; a strong wind blew my boat off course and dragged me westward. I ran into your ship by pure chance.”
“Why are you so pale then?”
“Sir, I was almost strangled; I haven’t recovered from the shock yet,” the pilot replied.
“You’re not a good liar,” said Yanez. “You refuse to cooperate? Very well, we’ll find another way to make you talk. I wonder how long you’ll resist.”
“What do you mean, sir?” the pilot asked nervously.
“Tangusa,” said Yanez, turning towards the Malay. “Bind the traitor’s hands, then take him up on deck. If he tries to resist, shoot him in the head.”
“My pistol is loaded and ready, sir.”
Yanez left the room and walked back towards the deck, while Tangusa quickly executed the order. The Malay had not dared to move.
Chapter 5
The Pilot’s Confession
THE MARIANNA HAD sailed passed the burning trees and now advanced between verdant banks lined with a tangle of durions, camphor trees, gluga, sagu trees, banana trees and magnificent arenga palms. A small stream that emptied into the Kabatuan, had stopped the fire from spreading upriver, sparing the northern forests.
Sandokan: The King of the Sea (The Sandokan Series Book 5) Page 4