Sandokan: The King of the Sea (The Sandokan Series Book 5)

by Emilio Salgari

  The ship’s lanterns had been lit, light shone from the batteries, and Sambigliong had doubled the men about the wheel. The four large chasers at the bow and stern peered from their turrets, silently waiting for the call to action.

  A gust of wind had swept the clouds off towards the south, the stars had reappeared, and a silvery light sparkled over the black waters of the vast Bay of Sarawak, bright enough for the lookouts to spy a ship suddenly appearing on the horizon.

  To conserve fuel, the King of the Sea advanced at reduced steam, and as the wind was favourable, Sandokan had ordered the sails raised on the fore and mainmasts. The formidable pirate had taken the American commander’s advice to heart and used the ship’s fuel sparingly, not knowing when they could replenish their supplies, all ports having been closed to them following their audacious declaration of war.

  She had not used her engines during the journey from Labuan to the Bay of Sarawak, but though the voyage had taken more time, the Tigers had put their days to good use, familiarizing themselves with the ship and learning how to work the engines from the crewmen who had remained aboard.

  Leaning against the bow bulwark, the gunwale now padded with hammocks to provide better comfort for the marksmen, Yanez and Tremal-Naik carefully scanned the horizon, while Sandokan inspected the batteries and artillery to ensure that all was ready.

  The coast slowly took form as they drew nearer the towering silhouette of Tanjung Sirik, a rocky promontory on the western tip of the vast Bay of Sarawak. Not a light burned anywhere, not even in Rejang, the closest citadel.

  The night passed uneventfully, but as the sky lightened with the dawn, a lookout sitting atop the crosslets of the foremast cried out:

  “Smoke to the east!”

  Yanez, Tremal-Naik and Sandokan immediately scrambled up the port ratlines to the crow’s nest and spotted a plume of smoke rising against the clear early-morning sky.

  “It’s coming from the mouth of the Rejang,” said Yanez. “I’d wager a hundred pounds against a cigarette that that’s Sir Moreland’s ship.”

  “Did you get a look at her?” Sandokan asked Tremal-Naik.

  “No,” the Bengali replied, “But he told me she was recoaling nearby.”

  “Is there a coaling station here?”

  “No, they sent a prahu with a shipment from Sarawak. I don’t think there’s so much as a hamlet on these shores.”

  “Too bad,” said Sandokan.

  “But, I heard there’s one at the mouth of the Sarawak, on a small island. The rajah’s squadron goes there to refuel.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Sir Moreland.”

  “If it’s good enough for the rajah’s squadron, it’s good enough for us, wouldn’t you agree, Yanez?”

  “And it’s free,” replied the Portuguese. “I can see her bow now. She’s moving towards us, Sandokan, at full steam. Her crew must have spotted our smoke.”

  Sandokan drew a pair of binoculars from his pocket and pointed them at the ship whose hull had just come into view.

  “Nice ship,” he said. “A heavy cruiser manned by a very large crew.”

  “Is she making a run at us?” asked Yanez.

  “Forcing her engines by the look of it. They’re afraid we might escape. Well, we won’t disappoint them; we’ll open fire as soon as they’re within range.”

  “Shouldn’t take long to sink her.”

  “I feel bad for the captain,” said Tremal-Naik. “He was very kind to us, very hospitable.”

  “A gilded cage is still a cage,” said Yanez.

  “Let’s make our preparations,” said Sandokan.

  They climbed back down and met Darma and Surama who had just come on deck.

  “Are they attacking us, my sahib?” the young Indian woman asked Yanez.

  “Things are going to heat up here very soon, Surama,” replied the Portuguese.

  “Are they any threat to us?”

  “They don’t stand a chance.”

  “Is that Sir Moreland’s ship?” asked Darma, a note of anxiety in her voice that did not escape Yanez’ notice.

  “We believe so.”

  Then, he took her by the arm, led her towards the forecastle and asked with a smile:

  “Is there something I should know, Darma? That’s the third time I’ve seen you grow anxious at the sound of the captain’s name.”

  “Anxious!” exclaimed the young woman, blushing slightly. “You’re mistaken, Señor Yanez.”

  “By Jupiter! Could old age be playing tricks with my vision?”

  “I’d say you still have the eyes of a hawk.”

  “Then?”

  Darma turned her head towards the sea, fixing her eyes on the advancing cruiser and said:

  “She’s a large ship.”

  “She’s no match for ours,” replied Yanez.

  “Must you sink her? Couldn’t you just force them to surrender? The ship could prove useful to you.”

  “If Sir Moreland is in command, he won’t lower his flag. He’s a brave young man and he’ll fight to the end.”

  “And you’ll give no quarter?”

  “Once she’s started sinking, we’ll try to rescue any survivors, you have my word, Darma. Now go below with Surama. It’s going to start raining grenades soon.”

  The Tiger of Malaysia’s formidable voice suddenly thundered across the deck:

  “Full steam! Prepare to fire a broadside! Marksmen to your stations!”

  The enemy ship was less than two thousand metres away, barrelling towards the King of the Sea.

  She was a large three-masted cruiser with a ram and two smokestacks, and, judging by her gun ports and the artillery on her deck, very well armed. Several officers could be seen on the bridge and numerous marksmen had been stationed atop the crow’s nest and behind the bulwarks.

  “Ah!” said Sandokan, studying her calmly. “You wish to measure yourselves against the Tigers of Mompracem? We’re ready.”

  While the two young women quickly made their way below deck, Sandokan, Yanez and Tremal-Naik withdrew to the bridge from where they could communicate with the engine room.

  The American and Malay gunners stood silently by their artillery, calmly awaiting the order to fire.

  A blast thundered from the enemy’s bow then a dull hiss rapidly tore through the air. Seconds later, flames erupted from the King of the Sea’s port turret, unleashing a rain of splinters upon the marksmen stationed behind the bulwarks.

  “A twelve-inch grenade!” exclaimed Yanez. “An excellent opening shot!”

  Sandokan immediately bellowed an order.

  “Gunners, fire at will!”

  The two chasers thundered simultaneously as the starboard battery gave voice to his command, shaking the ship from bow to stern.

  Manoeuvring to keep her port guns aimed at the enemy, the cruiser advanced another five hundred metres and quickly responded.

  A storm of shells rained down upon both ships, clattering off iron armour, splintering beams, blunting yards, and slicing through rigging. Grenades shattered upon the decks, sparking flames that threatened to envelop the masting.

  The marksmen had also opened fire, unleashing powerful volleys from behind the bulwarks.

  Soon the two ships were cloaked in smoke, light flashing with each exchange, artillery roaring ever louder.

  The American ship, better armed, easier to manoeuvre and manned by a battle-hardened crew, soon gained the advantage. She showered the cruiser with fire and iron, demolishing her bulwarks, massacring her riggings and riddling her sides.

  The poor ship, so confident of an easy victory just moments ago, struggled to keep pace with that hurricane of iron. Though she fired relentlessly, her shells and cannonballs did little more than bounce off the King of the Sea’s metal armour. The great ship’s turrets and batteries remained unbreached.

  The Tigers of Mompracem gave no quarter; the gunners fired without pause, volley after volley further decimating the enemy crew.


  Sandokan had ordered his marksmen to stand down, having realized that they were not needed, and had given the order for the final charge.

  Undaunted by the furious barrage of enemy fire, the King of the Sea rushed forward and curved about the cruiser, the battered ship having come to a halt. When she had drawn to within four hundred metres, her chasers thundered in unison, sweeping her prey from bow to stern.

  The cruiser’s masts came crashing down, followed seconds later by her two smokestacks, felled by a pair of grenades.

  “She’s done for,” said Yanez. “Let’s see if they’ll surrender.”

  “I’d wager against it,” replied Sandokan.

  Once the wind had dispersed the smoke, he ordered a white flag unfurled from the top of the mainmast. Seconds later, a broadside came in reply, killing half of the King of the Sea’s helmsmen.

  “You want more?!?” shouted Sandokan. “Sink her! Fire! Fire without mercy!”

  The shelling resumed with a frightening roar. The King of the Sea continued to circle rapidly, smoke and fire pouring from her artillery as she showered the cruiser with deadly rain.

  It was only a matter of time. The cruiser’s chasers, knocked off their carriages by that hail of grenades, had long fallen silent. Her dead and wounded continued to mount, falling on decks strewn with wreckage. Flames blazed from bow to stern, bathing the sea in a sinister light, as streams of blood spewed out of her port and starboard scuppers.

  Each volley from the King of the Sea brought her closer to sinking, but still her commander would not yield.

  “Enough!” shouted Yanez at one point, watching the massacre from the command turret. “Hold your fire! Lower the launches!”

  Sandokan who had been looking on impassively, turned toward the Portuguese and said:

  “Why did you give that order, brother?”

  “We’ve won, there’s no need for such slaughter.”

  The Tiger of Malaysia hesitated a moment, then replied, “You’re right, we’ll spare the survivors. Those men and their commander are true warriors! Lower the launches!”

  Chapter 4

  Sir Moreland

  THE BELEAGUERED CRUISER’S agony had just begun. That magnificent vessel, the flagship of the Rajah’s squadron, was now little more than kindling, flames slowly consuming her as she began to inch beneath the waves.

  Her sides having been riddled by enemy fire, she was rapidly drawing water; her bulwarks and masts had been destroyed and her batteries no longer offered refuge.

  Flames shot out of her hatches and every crack and hole in her deck, unleashing clouds of sparks and smoke, and spreading above her a giant black umbrella.

  Still she fought on, refusing to accept defeat. Listing to one side, she sank slowly, her gunners clinging to their posts, volley after volley thundering from the last working pieces in her batteries. Though only half her marksmen had survived the battle, they too held firm, firing their carbines without pause, leaping like tigers across her blazing deck, filling the air with savage cries.

  Ignoring those desperate broadsides, the King of the Sea’s steam launch and three whalers had been put in the water, Yanez determined to rescue those brave men.

  The Portuguese had taken command of the old steamer, fourteen oarsmen driving her forward, there being no time to fire up her boiler; Sambigliong had taken charge of the other three.

  At the sight of the flames spewing from the unfortunate ship, Darma and Surama had rushed on deck, shouting:

  “Save them! Save them, Señor Yanez! They’re sinking!”

  The four launches had immediately set off, rowing at full speed toward the cruiser. Realizing that their adversaries were coming to their aid, the gunners and marksmen ceased firing and dove into the water to escape the flames.

  The old steamer was the first to reach the cruiser’s side. Ignoring the smoke and rain of sparks, Yanez quickly climbed the companion ladder and rushed toward the bridge, a half dozen Malays following closely behind him.

  He intended to save Sir Moreland at all costs, should the captain have been fortunate enough to survive the King of the Sea’s grenades.

  They were clearing a path through the bodies and wreckage strewn about the deck when an explosion near the bow hurled them back into the sea.

  The jolt was so strong that Yanez, who had been tossed towards one of the whalers, was knocked unconscious. Fortunately, the Malays had seen him fall and rushed to haul him aboard the boat.

  Her bow breached, the cruiser was sinking rapidly. Sambigliong and his men had immediately climbed aboard, gathered the wounded, then rushed back to their ships, carrying those too weak to walk.

  Minutes later the waves stormed over the remnants of the bulwarks and swept across the deck, extinguishing the flames in an instant.

  The steamer and the whaleboat rowed off at full speed, oars pounding through the waters as a large whirlpool formed about the ship.

  The rajah’s flag caught the wind and fluttered proudly, its colours flashing in the sun one last time before it vanished beneath the waves.

  The battle had come to an end! The cruiser sank with a roar as she was dragged to the bottom of the bay.

  Fighting the pull of the angry waves, the four launches barely escaped from that swirling maw as they raced toward the King of the Sea, the large cruiser having come to a halt five hundred metres from them.

  The bay was strewn with the wreckage of battle. Boxes, barrels, planks, and beams floated about the bodies of the dead.

  Sambigliong had immediately tended to the Portuguese, while the others gathered about a young officer who had been rescued just moments before the ship had disappeared. The young man appeared gravely wounded, his coat red with blood.

  Fortunately, Yanez appeared unharmed, that sudden explosion doing little more than knocking him out.

  The Dyak put a flask to the unconscious man’s lips and poured down a shot of gin. The Portuguese slowly opened his eyes.

  “How do you feel, Señor Yanez?” Sambigliong asked anxiously.

  “A bit rattled and a little worse for wear, but otherwise intact,” replied the Portuguese, forcing a smile. “The ship?”

  “Sunk.”

  “And Sir Moreland?”

  “He’s here, in the whaleboat. It was a miracle we got to him in time.”

  Yanez slowly rose to his feet.

  The cruiser’s young captain had been laid on his back; his eyes were closed, and his face was pale and streaked with blood.

  “Dead!” he exclaimed.

  “No, but he appears badly wounded.”

  “Someone shot him?” Yanez asked anxiously.

  “No, Señor Yanez; he must have been struck in the explosion. A grenade fragment from the looks of it.”

  “Quickly! We’ve got to get him aboard!”

  “Leave him to us, Señor Yanez.”

  The four launches had drawn up beneath the King of the Sea’ s ladder.

  A path was cleared for the old steamer.

  Two men delicately picked up the unconscious officer and carefully climbed the ladder followed by Yanez and fourteen survivors, all that remained of the mighty cruiser’s crew.

  Sandokan, who had coldly watched the enemy ship’s destruction, awaited them at the top the ladder.

  At the sight of the captain and his crew, he bowed his head in greeting.

  “Honour to the brave,” he said gravely.

  Then he silently pressed Yanez’ hand.

  Darma, standing nearby, at Surama’s side, extremely pale, deeply moved by the frightening scene that had unfolded before her eyes, advanced toward the men carrying the unfortunate commander.

  “Is he dead?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

  “No,” replied Yanez. “However, he appears to be gravely wounded.”

  “Thank heavens!” exclaimed the young woman.

  “Silence,” said Sandokan. “Make way; take this brave man to my cabin.”

  He stopped Darma and Surama with a
gesture, then followed the men below deck, accompanied by Yanez and Tremal-Naik.

  Summoned immediately, the ship’s doctor met them in the hallway. He was an American who, like the engineers and master gunners, had accepted Sandokan’s offer to remain aboard for the duration of the campaign.

  “Come, Dr. Held,” said Sandokan, “The cruiser’s captain appears to be badly wounded.”

  “I’ll do all I can for him, sir,” replied the American.

  “Excellent, I expect no less.”

  They entered the cabin; Sir Moreland had been placed on the pirate’s bed.

  “Await my orders in the corridor,” Sandokan said to the two men. “Have the nurses stand by.”

  The doctor gently drew back Sir Moreland’s coat and shirt. A grenade fragment had struck the captain and sliced a long deep gash down his right side. Blood gushed from the wound in such quantity it appeared the poor man would soon be bled dry.

  “How serious is it, Dr. Held?” asked Yanez, fixing his eyes upon the American.

  “It looks worse than it is,” replied the physician. “He’s lost a lot of blood, but this Englishman appears to have a strong constitution.”

  “Then he’ll recover?”

  “He’ll be in pain for a while, but I assure you, his life is not in any danger.”

  Sandokan remained silent a moment as he studied the unconscious man’s face.

  “Excellent,” he muttered, “he may prove useful one day.”

  He was about to leave, when a soft moan stopped him in his tracks.

  As the doctor had begun to seal the wound the commander had started and opened his eyes.

  He looked about dully, his eyes resting first on the doctor, then on Yanez, who was standing on the other side of the bed.

  His lips parted and he murmured:

  “You!”

  “There’s no need to speak, Sir Moreland,” said the Portuguese. “You need to rest. Whatever you have to say can be put off until later.”

  The commander shook his head, gathered his strength, and attempted to offer his surrender.

  “My… sword… was… left… aboard… my… ship…”

  “I wouldn’t have accepted it, sir,” said Sandokan. “Necessity forced me to sink your ship, an act I truly regret, had we been in other circumstances I would have gladly given her back to you. You’re a brave man; you have my respect.”