Tales from The Little, Illustrated, Golden Library - Tales of the Sea - A Hero of the Sea - Emilio Salgari - First Story
A Hero of the Sea
Vocabulary:
topgallant yard = the topgallant sail or yard of the foremast (Source. Translator's Note: Pappafico is an old, almost archaic way to refer to what is nowadays known as velaccino).
royal yard = the royal yard or sail of the foremast (Source. Translator's Note: Contropappafico is an old, almost archaic way to refer to what is nowadays known as controvelaccino).
backstay = A part of the rigging* of a sailing ship extending from the top of the mast (masthead) to the back of the ship; they support the strain on all upper masts and provide additional support to the shrouds when the wind is abaft the beam (Source).
*rigging = term used for the system of ropes, cables, and chains, which support and control the sailing ship's masts and sails. (Source. 28.10. 2025).
Canton = present-day Guangzhou (Source).
hatchway = a means of passing through a wall or floor, having a hatch* (especially on a ship).
*hatch = a horizontal door in a floor or ceiling; as a nautical term, it refers to an opening through the deck** of a ship or submarine; (Source 1. 13.01.2026) (Source 2. 13.01.2026)
**deck = the floorlike covering of the horizontal sections, or compartments, of a ship or boat. Small vessels have only one deck; larger ships have two or three decks. (Source. 15.01.2026)
Batavia = present-day Jakarta (Source).
rope ladder = Jacob's ladder (Source).
crosstree = Crosstrees are the two horizontal spars at the upper ends of the topmasts of sailing ships that are used to anchor the shrouds from the topgallant mast. (Source).
mizzen = the furthest aft of those present; the mast aft of the ship's mainmast. Also the name of the lowest veil (Source).
screw = nautical term form for "propeller".
bent zinc = a specific way to work the metal known as Zinc; often used for zippers or other kind of mechanical process that require a return spring.
MEMO
🌊
They called him Master Nicholas: what his origins were, what other names he had had, where had he been born, neither I, nor the others, were ever able to find out. He would trumpet even to the sailors, that he was born at the bottom of the sea; that this was an obvious tall tale, I need not tell you.
I had met him in some part of India or Malaysia and he had boarded our ship.
He was a muscular man, neither young nor old, with a very dark skin, with a very long and disheveled beard, that probably had never met the razor of any ordinary barber; by the same token he had a head of hair that was jam-packed and two black eyes, as black as coal, that, sometimes, would discharge a frightening type of lightning.
He never spoke, if not to give orders to the watchmen and because of this nobody could ever learn about his identity.
Perhaps only the captain knew something about him, but he had refused to satisfy our curious hearts. For what reason, I could never tell, at least as far as I was concerned.
What an out-and-out sailor he was, you youngins, Master Nicholas! When the gale would disturb the sea and the wind would be whistling horrifically through the on-board equipment, banging through the sails and the yard, when the rocking of the ship would make it extremely difficult to climb the last of both the topgallant yard and royal yard of the foremast, Master Nicholas would show no fear.
Relaxed, tranquil, sure of himself, he would go onward to bravely challenge death, climbing on the highest of yards with a cat-like agility: much to the admiration of the passengers, of the sailors, and swiftest of the watchmen.
The wind would keep shoving him against the backstay, the lightning would joke around him, the sudden shaking of the ship would make him stagger, and yet he wouldn't lose his balance nor would he show any signs of fear.
And maybe it was because of this that, the sailors, tremendously superstitious folks, had gotten into their heads that he was the son of the storms, a diabolical spirit, a genie of the sea and so on and so forth.
We had left Canton, an immense city of Southern China, inhabitated by those tawny people that wear a ponytail.
Among its splendors, Canton is in possession of a citadel consisting of anchored boats alongside a big river and that serve as a living space for thousands of families.
Our destination was Batavia, another deep-pocketed and densely populated city, situated on the Eastern Coast of Java, famous for its coffee, sugar cane, pepper, and nutmeg plantations.
Our voyage, though this was a rare occurence in those environs, had been incredibly peaceful. There had been none of those terrifying sea storms known as typhoons and that few ships could handle, and not even as much as a headwind.
An always splendid weather, infinite horizons, magnificent panoramas, all offered by the numerous islands that we'd encounter on our course. I had never been on a more beautiful journey than that.
We were already confident that we would make landfall without any trouble, when, one terrible night, Master Nicholas approached me and said:
"Did you know, sir, that the bales of silk are burning at the bottom of the cargo hold?"
You can imagine what a shock that was! A ship that catches on fire in the middle of the sea is almost never able to save itself.
It might seem odd to you that something could catch fire in the middle of the sea, and yet, my friends, it's just the way things are.
The tarred wood is an excellent conductor for the flames, the ships get worn out little by little and end up sinking. When the water of the sea finally extinguishes the flames, it's usually much too late for the vessel to still be saved.
Hearing the words of Master Nicholas, a chill ran down my spine. But that wasn't the moment to completely lose my head. Quite the contrary.
Two minutes hadn't gone by, that a shout burst out loud:
"To the pumps!... To the pumps!..."
The numerous passengers that were aboard on the ship, many of which were women and children, came out on deck in an indescribable confusion. Questions and answers intersected between the laments of women and the screams of the kids.
"I saw smoke!"
"Where did the fire break out?"
"In the cargo hold!"
"No, in the stern!"
"Are we all going to be burned alive?"
"Is there land in sight?"
"Yeah, it's over there!"
"No, Batavia is still a while away."
"Oh, no, woe is us!..."
"Calm down! Keep quiet!...", we would shout to them. "Instead of talking, run to the pumps!..."
It was impossible to achieve immediately a bit of tranquility among those three hundred scared people. Everyone was shouting. each person saying their own take on the matter and in the meanwhile the fire would spread.
The fire had burst out towards the stern, between the bales of silk, for some unknown reason, and the smoke had already invaded accommodations of the authorized personnel, forcing the latter to escape in their underwear.
We proceeded to hold a short-lived council. We still had 60 miles yet to Batavia, thus, by pushing the machinery to its limits, we could have reached it in less than four hours.
It was, thus, decided, to carry on course towards that port and in the meanwhile try to tame or, at least, delay the spread of the fire.
There was, however, one arduous problem. The fire that was bursting from the stern framework made it extremely difficult to steer the helm properly.
The helmsmen had already run away, fearing suffocation and were completely against returning at the helm.
Who could have been sent to face such danger?
"A man of good will at the helm!", the captain shouted, prevailing over the tumult.
No one had answered. Everyone was looking at each other in fear.
Suddenly, we saw a man plough through the crowd and leap towards the captain: it was Master Nicholas.
"Here I am!", he stated, plain and simple.
"You, Nicholas?", shouted the captain.
"Yes, Sir."
"You are going to grab onto the ship's wheel?"
"I have made up my mind about it."
"It is dangerous."
"And there are also three hundred and more human lives to save", that hero simply stated.
"Go and may God help you."
The Master slowly climbed the ladder of the stern framework, calm and quiet, as we saw him disappear between the smoke and sparks that were coming out violently from the hatch of the stern.
"Full steam ahead!", the captain shouted to the men that were handling the machinery. "And the rest of you, to the pumps!"
There were two of those, powerful too, but it was doubtful that they would be enough. In order to help, the passengers had formed a human chain in order to pass us buckets of water.
The cargo ship had picked up speed. If on one hand, that rapid drive brought us closer to the yearned for shore, on the other hand, the air stream would aid the flames.
Under the deck there could be heard ominous noises. The bales of silk would blow up simultaneously with the barrels of sugar, and the ship's props, consumed by the flames, would fall one by one all the while compromising the safety of the spaces between the bridges present in the corridors.
The cabins of the passengers that were staying in the stern must had already been invaded by the flames, since the smoke was escaping even through the windows.
The water was running in torrents across the bridge, though without much success. And in the meanwhile, the anxiety would intensify from one moment to the next and the confusion would grow even more.
Everyone had lost their cool: only one man managed to keep his composure. It was none other than Master Nicholas.
Still, behind the ship's wheel, sturdy feet planted firmly on the ground, fearlessly facing the danger. Whenever the wind would blow down the cloud of smoke, we would always see him relaxed, tranquil, as the sparks of the fire kept falling around him.
A true hero, I'm telling you, that had exposed himself to certain death in order to save the three hundred passengers aboard the ship. Everyone was admiring him and whenever he'd show up from between the smoke, everyone would thank him by way of hand gestures.
"Nicholas...", the captain would sometimes shout.
"At your orders, Sir!", the hero would reply, not even the hint of a tremor betraying his anxieties.
"Is the bridgehouse in danger?"
"No, Sir."
"Can you keep going?"
"I hope so."
Then, the smoke would hide him from our sight. We were certain that that brave sailor was always in his spot, because the ship kept its proper course.
Land wasn't very far. In the dark horizon, one could already spot two beacons of light from Batavia, and yet how much longer did the journey seem to us.
Would Master Nicholas resist until there? This is what we all anxiously kept asking ourselves.
The fire, despite our efforts, didn't seem willing to cease, on the contrary, tongues of fire added themselves to the smoke, sinisterly illuminating the sea.
Those from Batavia had undoubtedly noticed it.
An indescribable terror came over the passengers, once those tongues of fire showed themselves. Everyone had crowded near the prow, interrupting the human chain initially formed in order to pass to each person a bucket of water, and shrieking.
Even the engineers and the stokers had climbed on the deck, announcing that the smoke of the fire had invaded the machine room, threatening to asphyxiate them had they stayed there any longer.
No order, no threat was enough to make them return to their respective stations.
And what of Master Nicholas? He was no longer answering the captain's call.
All of a sudden, all of the men that up until that point had been in the machine room had barged on deck, stokers included.
The captain leaped towards them tightly holding his revolver in one hand.
"Redescend!", he shouted.
"That's impossible, captain." - answered one of the engineers of the machine room. "The smoke invaded the entire surface of the cargo hold and it is threatening to asphyxiate us; in the aisles, the fire is flaring up rapidly."
That news held an exceptional gravitas; if the furnaces, which were no longer fed by the stokers, were to go out, we were truly done for.
The captain, a determined man, resorted to desperate measures.
"Redescend or I'll kill you!"
"You may as well do it, Sir", answered the head engineer of the machine room coolly, "whether we die here or in the cargo hold it's all the same to us."
There was nothing else that could have been attempted, when faced with such a categorical answer.
We had, then, realized that we were truly done for, although we had been extremely careful to not inform the passengers about our true situation so we wouldn't scare them.
The captain, after a nervous walk around the deck, went back and stopped in front of the head engineer of the machine room.
"How long can the fire in the furnaces last?" he asked with a worried voice.
"No more than two hours.", answered the interrogee.
"Is the pressure going to be enough to get us within view of Batavia?" one asked anxiously.
The commander turned to the first officer.
"How far are we from the coastline?"
"About another thirty miles, Captain."
"Too far...", mumbled the commander.
"The fire that is rising towards the masts will surely be noticed from Batavia.", the first officer pointed out.
"That is certainly true."
"And you know that the boats of the helmsmen are stationed in front of the bay."
"Let's put our trust in God.", the captain concluded. "Provided that Master Nicholas can resist the sparks and heat of the blaze."
He headed towards the main mast, grabbed onto the rope ladder and, in spite of the smoke and sparks that were spinning in the air, pushed himself up to the crosstree.
The blaze, that would expand between him and the stern of the ship like a fiery curtain, would suffer every now and then some contractions. It would first extend with great force, touching the knob of the mizzen, then it would decrease drastically, only to flare up again even greater.
The captain had awaited for it to decrease so he could bend forward, and once he had done so, through a tear of the smoke, he could see Master Nicholas still standing upright behind the ship's steering wheel.
The valiant sailor, in order to better protect himself from the flaming sparks that would continuously fall on him, had covered his head with a bucket."Is the transom framework burning?"
"It's covered in fire."
"Are the furnaces about to go out?"
The sailor made a gesture of despair, then vanished behind the gigantic flame that had flared up once again, even taller than before.
Since the stokers and the engineers had filled up the furnaces with charcoal before abandoning the cargo hold, the ship was yet keeping its speed, taking us to Batavia, but none of us held on to the hope of arriving in the port before the screw would halt.
As if that wasn't enough, the misfortune continued as the fire grew bigger and bigger, taking on even scarier proportions.
The water that the pumps kept on spewing didn't seem to help; the water would evaporate instantly in that thick sea of flames, the moment it was thrown in it.
The smoke, too, was beginning to rise from the main hatch leading to the middeck and engine room, slowly spreading across the deck.
The passengers, all gathered at the prow, became speechless as a result of the terror.
The mothers would tightly hug their sons to their chests, silently crying desperately.
Us, in the meanwhile, from up on the ratlines, were trying to recognize on the dark line of the horizon the coastline of the much looked-forward-to island.
Every once in a while, we would ask each other:
"Any sign of it?"
"Not yet."
"Well, sort of... I see a light down there."
"It's one of the lighthouses of Batavia."
"No, it's a light*!"
(*In this particular context, it specifically refers to a light that is carried by another ship. Said lights were carried in order to announce their presence to others, during the night.)
"No, it's a star of a magnificent size that is setting there."
Upon that answers, discouragement would once again take possession of everyone and from the prow one could hear once more the raise of crying and laments.
Meanwhile, the fire would expand and expand. By now, the flames had invaded the first-class cabins of the ship, devouring in the wonderful lounges rugs, silk curtains decorated with gold-like tassels, breaking the rich dressing tables, burning down the chairs, armchairs and couches, creating a hellish stench in the process.
Poor ship, that had cost its owners so many riches!
At around 1:00 AM, a flame had started to emerge from even the insides of the master hatch. An immense burst of flame spilled out, with a shocking force, engulfing the main mast and setting fire to the sails enclosed in their tarpaulin cases.
Luckily, the skeleton of the masts was made in metal, and even most of the ropes were created from bent zinc; had it been any differently, everything would have fallen down on us, creating a true massacre in the process.
On the deck, there were thick sparks falling down, constantly threatening new fire outbreaks and forcing passengers and sailors alike to move incessantly in order to avoid ending up with painful burns.
In order to protect the women, the taurpalin from the prow was cast over them, but it had proven ineffective as within minutes the thick sail became the look-alike of a sieve.
Half an hour later, much to our dismay and terror, we had realized that the ship was slowly decreasing its speed. The machines were starting to have less and less pressure.
"It's over.", the captain told me, whom was nervously munching on his own moustache. "If in half an hour a ship doesn't come to our rescue, we will be forced to lower the lifeboats."
"There aren't enough for everyone.", I pointed out to the captain.
"We will rescue the women."
"And the men?"
"Each of them will try to survive this as best they can."
"Let's keep on hoping, captain. Batava can't be far and this fire must be visible from a great distance."
"But the nave is about to stop."
With that, he left me and went to the stern. He wanted to check if Master Nicholas was still at his station.
He approached the gigantic flame, risking to be burned by the sparks and pieces of charcoal falling all around, and using his hands as a megaphone shouted three times:
"Nicholas! Nicholas! Nicholas!"
Only the last of the wheezing of the half-spent machines answered his call.
"He certainly died asphyxiated and fell into the transom framework.", the captain turned back to me, pale as a washed rag.
"And yet the ship is still staying on course.", I answered him. "Had Nicholas abandoned his station behind the helm, our ship by now would have deviated from its intended course."
"He's no longer answering me."
"Maybe the curtain of fire and smoke is blocking your voice."
"And the lighthouse of Batavia is still not in sight!", he exclaimed, scrutinizing once more the horizon line.
"It won't be long until it shows up. We can't be very far from it.", I stated.
I was still trying not to fall into despair, but those were nothing more than mere illusions.
I climbed on the ratline attached to the main mast and looked around. No ship was in our line of sight, nor were there any bright lights in any direction.
"It's over.", I told myself. "We'll lower the lifeboats at sea and we'll do what we can."
Death seemed certain at this point. The pressure of the boilers was slowly fading away, as there were no stokers nor engineers to tend to the furnaces.
Out of the blue, a very loud shout echoed from among the three hundred passengers that were crowded together at the prow.
"Look! Look! Over there! There are ships!... Ships!"
They weren't mistaken. Two steamers, coming from Batavia, were rapidly running towards us.
The ginormous blaze was spotted and the port captain had sent those two ships to our rescue.
In less than a quarter hour, the two ships approached ours, many from their crew board our ship, and then we get towed.
The skipper and a few other officials leapt towards the stern, crossing a hurry the curtain of fire and smoke.
Master Nicholas had fallen. We had found him behind the ship's steering wheel, which he had not abandoned for a single moment.
His shirt was burning and the sparks had scorched his flesh horribly.
Still, that valiant hero to whom we all owed our safety still held on, not dying just yet.
The fire extinguished, he was taken to the hospital of Batavia. A petition for him opened among the passengers came to five hundred florins.
I later learned that that valiant hero had made a full recovery, the Dutch government had decorated him, and that after that he had boarded a ship as a crew master, on a ship of the Dutch State.
A fitting reward for such heroism!
🌊
Source for the tale (10.08.2025).
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Personal Notes:
My deepest thanks and gratitude to the creator of the Emilio Salgari website.
Without their marine-specific dictionary, this would had been a lot more difficult to make available. Please don't forget to check out their website.
Thanks.
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It is said that the stories written by Emilio Salgari are stories he would hear from the sailors, when he would go to visit the dock.
His best and most known work, "Sandokan, The Tiger of Malaysia" has been proven to bear resemblance to true historical facts, starting with the firstly-thought-of-as-fictional island, Mompracem (currently known as Kuraman Island), and with the strong impression that Sandokan is no other than a fictional representation of Syarif Osman, who ruled Marudu (north of Borneo) (I recommend you go here for more information about Sandokan or Syarif Osman. Miss Bianca has done a marvelous job in finding, gathering, and translating information about Salgari and his works, especially those concerning the character of Sandokan).
Going by this, I strongly suspect that all of Emilio Salgari's stories are based on true, historical happenings and people, the sands of time mercilessly erasing most of their traces.
Emilio Salgari's stories feature places from all around the world; many of them feature places as far as possible from Europe itself. It is not far fetched that a story from your own hometown might be present in one of his writings, regardless of how remote or unknown you might think it might be to others.
If you know how to find the original, historical, sources of any of the stories present on this blog or if you even recognize one of them here as a local, known story (or legend) to you, please feel free to contact me.
I would love to put both the story written by Salgari and the historical one side by side and not let these names become forgotten.
Thank you very much for your assistance.
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