Tales From The Little, Illustrated, Golden Library - Tales of the Sea - Monkey Island - Emilio Salgari - Fifth Story
Monkey Island
MEMO
The following text may present outdated depictions that are in no way or form shared by the translator themself, and neither are they shared by the original author of these stories.
Please understand that these stories' depictions are a depiction of their time.
A good translator strives to transfer the originality, tone, and idea of a text from its language of birth to its guest language, all the while respecting the intent and style of the original author.
These translated texts do not intend to bring offense, but just to share the adventures
written by Captain Emilio Salgari.
Adventures inspired by his love for traveling around the world, especially to far, foreign lands, his passion for ships and sailing in general, as well as his endless curiosity about other cultures and what's out there, beyond the horizon line.
VOCABULARY
yard = a spar* on a mast from which sails are set. (Source. 28.10.2025).
*spar = a pole of wood or metal used in the rigging** of a sailing vessel to carry or support its sail. (Source. 28.10.2025).
**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).
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)
yardarm = the outer end of a yard, often equipped with blocks for reeving signal halyards*.
*halyard = a rope used to raise or lower a sail, flag, spar or yard. (Source. 30.10.2025)
🙈🙉🙊
Have you ever heard of Master Pipenormous?
No?... Then you simply must allow me to introduce him to you, because the adventures that he has lived during his numerous trips are so extraordinary that it would be a shame not to talk about him.
First of all, I must clarify to you that Pipenormous was not his real name. They were calling him that because no sailor from the two worlds had ever seen him without a pipe in between his lips.
The exact amount of tabacco that he had smoked during his lifetime is not something I would be able to pinpoint; it must've been a mountain, and a very tall one at that!
Nonetheless, he was a skilled sailor and a fine man, full of spirit and courage. He was known in all of the Mediterranean ports, and when someone would come across him, they wouldn't shy away from paying a drink for him or even a bottle of something, to afterwards entice him to let slip from his lips one of his marvelous adventures.
I must say it: Master Pipernormous was eager to share them; so there was no need to beg him. What? He enjoyed the popularity and did everything he could to make himself known and maybe attract a bit of admiration, as well.
Having had an opportunity to meet him myself, in I don't remember which port of the Eastern Mediterranean, either at Smyrna* or Constantinople**, you can guess whether I was just going to let him get away.
I had been told so many things on account of that fine man, that I would have just simply thought of myself as inferior to everyone else had I not met him! Not to mention, we were compatriots and there's a special kind of understanding between fellow countrymen when abroad, especially when inside of the taverns that are present in the ports.
When I had finally met him, Master Pipenormous was fifty years old.
He was a fine example of a southerner***, as dark as an African from the Barbary Coast, short, stocky, as hairy as a monkey, and with a pair of arms, my dear ones, that, had he thrown a punch at you, he would've made you see the stars and even the moon****.
[Translator's Note:
I prefer to not interfere inside the text itself when translating these stories and usually add clarification notes to the footer in order to allow as smooth a reading as possible. This time, however, I feel like an intermission inside the text itself is necessary, if only to clarify a few things about Captain Salgari himself and to prevent possible future issues with this text.
Having read most of Salgari's works and being familiar with his life, both real and imagined, I can confidently say that I have never, so far, come across a single thing that would hint or imply that Captain Salgari thought lowly of other people, whether they belonged to a different race from his or not. Just look at the rest of this text: he's praising Master Pipenormous to the moon and back.
Captain Salgari is an author that, during a time when other Italian authors flaunted their misogyny highly, Captain Salgari's women were fierce heroes. They weren't helpless, nor served as just love interests to their male counterparts. They could very much always hold their own.
"Most female characters in adventure novels at the turn of the century were love interests that would invariably need to be rescued at some point. Strong women most often appeared as evil rulers or enemy spies. Salgari's views were progressive. His women could hunt, shoot, fish, or wield a sword with the best of their male counterparts." Source (26.08.2025).
We are talking about an author that stood strong for the underdog, not against him (or her). His greatest hero is an Asian man from Mount Kinabalu (highest mountain in Malaysia). How could he possibly be racist, when the usual heroes of a story are not what Sandokan himself is?
The description "as hairy as a monkey" in this context isn't a subtle dig at another race, especially towards black people. This is the wrong author to think this about. Captain Salgari loved other cultures, other places, and dreamed of going beyond the horizon, taking over the world with a ship to sail away to adventure and experience the cultures he wrote about. Could a racist person be so open and excited about learning from and about foreign cultures and countries? Could a racist person be so passionate and curious about another country's customs? There's no author that did justice to a location as much as Captain Salgari did.
Captain Salgari spent his days researching in the library, so he could be as accurate as possible when writing his stories. To this day, he's the only author I have heard of that describes places he's never been in that it makes his readers forget he never left Italy.
I would also like to remind you that Master Pipenormous, whether real or imagined, is from Southern Italy and despite popular internet opinion, Italian people are white, whether you like it or not and whether you want to believe it or not. The original text describes him in these words:"bruno come un africano della Costa Barbaresca", whose exact meaning depends on a certain context, but which currently can be interpreted in two different ways:
1) Master Pipenormous's skin colour was indeed brown or, rather, a very dark shade of brown (but not black, just heavily suntanned).
2) Master Pipernormous's hair was as dark as an African's from the Barbary Coast.
It wouldn't had mattered what Master Pipenormous's skin colour would had been; the description "as hairy as a monkey" would have followed anyway.
And if this whole wall of text wasn't enough to convince you of the lack of racism in Captain Salgari, then I must reiterate what I have written in the memo that I put before every translated text I post:
Please understand that these stories' depictions are a depiction of their time.
I would also like to bring attention to a disclaimer put online by Warner Bros.
Captain Salgari's stories are from the 20th century, a time when certain descriptions and views were normalized and accepted, and even encouraged, even if they no longer are in the 21st century. It has been a hundred years since then, literally.
Thank you for your attention. We will resume the story now.
Happy reading!]
He had just then returned from a very long voyage aboard an Indian Peninsular steamer, which was a truly extraordinary feat for that old sea dog that had always held a deep-seated horror towards those kind of smoking ships.
I had found out afterwards that he had boarded that ship against his will or, rather, due to special circumstances.
Picture it: he had been picked up from the middle of the sea, more or less thirty miles away from the nearest source of land, busy while munching... on one of his own shoes!
Suspecting that there must have been some kind of amazing adventure hiding under that interesting rescue, one evening I invited him at the tavern and nudged him to talk to me about it in between two bottles of Cipro***** of excellent quality.
"Master Pipenormous", I began, "I would really like to know how did you end up being found so far away from islands and continents, munching on a shoe. Could it be that you just like the taste of old leather?"
The sea dog looked at me, a smile making its way under his long, grey moustache, as prickly as bristles, then taking a puff of smoke before answering me:
"I would have gladly given you the shoe, trading it for maybe even a moldy biscuit. Ah! If only had I taken one of those damn monkeys with me, I surely wouldn't have munched on a shoe."
"There were monkeys there with you?", I asked him.
"By Bacchus******! I was just in that moment coming from the monkey island where I had taken up an extremely important role: I was no less than a king!"
"Master Pipenormous, come on! Are you kidding me?!", I sternly asked him.
"No.", the old sea dog answered me. "Have brought another bottle of this delicious Cipro wine and I'll recount you an adventure unlike any other."
Poked by my curiosity, I fulfilled his request.
The master slowly took long sips from a large cup, then continued:
"I don't know if you know; but last year I had boarded a Portuguese ship that was supposed to go to the Philippine Islands.
Having never seen those lands recently bloodied by the Spanish-American war, I had immediately accepted the offer that came to me from the captain of that ship and had set sail, confident in reaching those far away islands safely.
But you know that man makes plans and God laughs and indeed, God had the last laugh, for He had entirely different plans for me.
After four months, we had reached the waters of India, without having encountered any serious sea storms.
It seemed as if things would keep going from good to better to best, when, near the Nicobar Islands, we suddenly got hit by such a tremendous squall that we had to sacrifice the masts in order to be able to cope with it.
In less than twelve hours, our ship was reduced to a pontoon. No sails, no yards, no rigging, and worst of all, half smashed.
Numerous leaks had opened up in the hull and the amount of water that was entering it was so immense that it rendered useless the strenuous labour of the pumps.
At this point, our ship was irrevocably doomed; it was only a matter of time.
As the sea had calmed down a bit by then, it was decided that we should save ourselves by using the lifeboats that we still had in our possession, and abandon the wreck to its fate.
The Nicobar Islands couldn't have been too far and we could had reached them within a few days' sailing.
While the crew was making preparations, I, won over by tiredness, retreated to my cabin to get some shut eye for a while.
How many hours had I slept? I wouldn't know.
Fact is, when I had finally woken up, night had fallen for a while and on the ship reigned a deadly silence.
Astonished and increasingly anxious, I quickly went on the deck, not coming across a single person.
The Portuguese crew had left with the two lifeboats, without anyone concerning themselves to wake me up!
Was it a carelessness, a very questionable one at that, or had they left me aboard the ship in order to not overload the two lifeboats, too small to hold all of us? To this day, I wouldn't be able to tell you.
That isolation and unqualifiable abandonment had left such a deep mark on me, that I couldn't refrain nor stop from crying.
I thought I was done for. There were no other lifeboats available and the ship was slowly sinking.
The water was already brushing over the left side of the deck on the ship and in a few hours it would have spilled inside of the cargo hold and sink the small sailer.
If I wanted to save myself, there was no time left to lose; so, after the first moment of anguish had passed, I promptly started working on a raft for myself.
I certainly didn't lack the wood. There was a vast quantity of yards, pieces of masts, crates, barrels, and cordage.
In less than half an hour I had thrown in the water all of those wrecks and did my best to build a small float, joining them all together with ropes torn away from the rigging.
I could even gather a crate full of biscuits, some salted meat, a small barrel of drinking water, and a rifle forgotten by the Portuguese.
I had just boarded the float when I had heard behind me a dark din behind me. The water had reached the left side of the ship, spilling inside of the cargo hold and on the aisles like an impetuous torrent.
The ship was rapidly sinking under the immense weight. It rocked from one side to the other as if in a storm, while creaking lugubriously.
It was as if it was giving a cry of lament.
Little by little, the water reached the deck, inundated it, and then moved on to the bridgehouse. The ship swinged one more time, abruptly submerged, forming a frothing whirlpool.
Above the water, only a few pieces of the wreck, as well as remnants of yards and bulwarks were left.
Meanwhile, my raft was being pushed by a light breeze towards the East, distancing itself from the ship.
I knew that the islands were in that direction so I allowed the wind to carry me there.
The small sail that I had spread out on a yardarm planted on the middle of the float was working something wonderful. My arms were more than enough to maneuver it.
Three days I sailed in that direction, then, on the evening of the fifth one, I saw the outline of a land come into view on the horizon, a land that must've been an island.
I had tacked all night in front of some reefs that sheltered the beaches of that land, then, at dawn, having found a passage, I made landfall.
Where was I? It was impossible to tell.
I had tied my raft to a rock from the reefs, unloaded the provisions that I had left, took my rifle and adventured inside of a forest made of various coconut and palm trees, inhabited by a miriad of birds whose feathers were multi-coloured.
That first exploration hadn't shown me anything new. I hadn't seen a single hut, nor another single soul, therefore concluding that that land must've been deserted.
The lack of human contact there, on the other hand, easily meant that many dangerous animals could've lived there. I had heard tales that tigers and leopards were present even in the islands of the Indian Ocean, so I had to keep my guard up in order to keep my skin attached to myself.
I first took the pieces that made the raft and reassembled them in order to build a small hut, big enough just to take cover inside it, then, with the help of some thorns, erected
I first reassembled the pieces that made up the raft, building a small hut, big enough to just take cover inside it. Then, with the help of some thorns, set up a hedge that I made sure was so sturdy the wild beasts couldn't force it open.
For the moment, it was enough, and anyway I would have sought a better and safer shelter later on.
For a few days, I kept within vicinity of the shore, restricting myself to walking by the edge of the forest to stock up on bananas and coconuts, fruits that grow in abundance and without any need to be cultivated.
A few weeks later, feeling the need to procure some meat for myself, I dared venture further into the island.
I had barely walked a mile, when I suddenly found myself on the edge of a lagoon whose banks were populated by thousands upon thousands of monkeys.
There were all kinds of monkeys: Barbary macaques, vervet monkeys, mandrills, baboons, long-nosed monkeys, spider monkeys, chimpanzees and so on and so forth.
I was flabbergasted. Why were all those monkeys gathered there, around the lagoon?
My first impulse was to turn back immediately, but by the time I had wanted to attempt turning tail, it was already too late.
A multitude of ferocious looking mandrills had off my path, forcing me to retreat towards the lake.
In a second, all the other ones had rushed to the same spot, all of them forming in front of me a semicircle that in no way felt any more reassuring than it already was.
None of those quadrumanes******* took their eyes off of me, seemingly spying my every movement.
I tried raising my right arm and, presto, I saw thousands of arms copying the same movement with an incredible exactitude.
I raised my left arm and they all followed suit!
I started doing a tarantella dance********. What a show it had become at that moment! Ten thousand monkeys started dancing, following my every move, in such a frenzy that I couldn't hold back my laughter.
The laughter that echoed from all of those mouths was so tremendous that I nearly went deaf.
It was quite funny; however, it was starting to be quite distressing. What would have happened if all those monkeys had suddenly had the brilliant idea of following me?
I was puzzled about what to do, but I couldn't stay on the bank of that lagoon forever.
I had pushed myself so far inside that island to find some game*********, not to entertain some monkeys.
So, I had decided to return to the forest in order to find either a deer or some wild boar.
I had cocked the shotgun as a precaution, and headed towards the forest.
The monkeys, seeing me move, proceeded to open the semicircle, then started following me, walking parallel to me.
Every move that I would make, it would, without fail, be copied. If I stopped, the quadrumanes would stop. If I walked, immediately they would start walking as well. If I picked up a rock, thousands of rocks would be picked up.
It was starting to become extremely irritating. I had finally reached the beached, always having behind me that tailed army.
Those thousands of quadrumanes camped out at the edge of the forest, forming an immense circle around my little hut. Feeling quite hungry, I had climbed up a coconut tree, and started gathering coconuts. In less than five minutes, all the surrouding trees were mobbed and stripped of their fruits.
There were mountains of food everywhere: bananas, coconuts, mangos, oranges, durians, etc.
I started eating a coconut and all the monkeys copied me, greedily devouring that prodigious harvest.
In an instant, there was nothing left.
Poor forest! It was left completely bare.
I was starting to regret undoing the raft in order to build myself a hut. Hadn't I done that, I would have taken advantage of the night's darkness in order to get as far away as possible from those annoying monkeys. Annoyed, I retreated to my hovel, hoping that that would get them to leave.
It was worse than worst. Those nosy Parkers went ahead and punched a hundred holes in the planks in order to see what it was I was doing.
I tried sending them away, threatening them with the rifle. An useless endeavour. As soon as I would re-enter my hut, there they were, back on my poor little house, cramming themselves on its walls in such a way that it would put them at risk of breaking. The roof was soon taken off and fifty muzzles came in, sneering.
I had had enough! Grabbing a stick, I started bashing it left and right mercilessly, breaking the ribs of mandrills, grivets, chimpanzees, and Barbary macaques.
The idea had been a good one because those nosy Parkers had finally retreated, leaving me alone. However, the roof hadn't been put back so, that night, I had to sleep directly under the clear sky.
The following day, when I had left my hut, to my great surprise, I found myself surrounded by little huts, all similar to mine.
During the night, those quadrumanes, jealous of my shelter, had destroyed half of the forest, and with the help of branches. leaves, and spurs, built themselves thousands of shelters.
It had dawned on me that they wouldn't had let go of me ever again, and you can only imagine how my anxieties had only grown in size with that understanding in mind.
Those quadrumanes, up until that point, hadn't shown any kind of ill-intent towards me, quite the contrary, because, had they had any sort of ill-intent, they could've easily ripped me to shreds.
A few mandrills would've been enough to render me powerless, and there were around, at the very least, three or four hundred ones.
But being an almost prisoner of those quadrumanes deeply sorrowed me. It felt as if my dignity as a human had been lowered to the level of those terrible things.
Immediately, it came to mind to take advantage of the next good opportunity to leave: but how? I no longer had my raft, and had I tried to build another, who knows what else all those monkeys would have done.
It was indisputable that they would have built hundreds of them (rafts), and would have followed me even into the open sea.
So, I feigned resigning myself to their less-than-pleasant company and started walking down the beach in search of oysters, that being the only kind of food that I could've found, given that the forest had not even a single fruit to offer.
Could you believe it? I had barely moved when I saw the entire army of monkeys coming behind me, jumping, wagging their tails, and screaming.
Some mandrills, as ugly as ogres, had gathered around me, seemingly intent on stopping me from approaching the sea.
They were screaming harrowing screams at the top of their lungs, and it seemed to me that they were in the throes of desperation.
All the other monkeys, as well, were giving off signs of severe agitation.
Astonished by that oddity, I withdrew.
What did those monkeys even want? Stop me from nourishing myself?
I made way by brutally pushing those mandrills aside, without those apes daring to oppose me and despite their screams, I pushed myself to the beach, and started to collect oysters and small crustaceans.
In that moment, I became witness to an intriguing scene.
All of those monkeys, as if they had just received an order, scattered around the beach, hunting for crustaceans, little shrimps, and gathering shells by the handful.
In about ten minutes, around me there were piles of crustaceans, enough to feed a hundred men.
The quadrumanes, once done with the collecting, would come to unload it around me, thus threatening to bury me under all that plethora of seafood.
I had a feast on those, then I went to take another walk inside the forest, with the hope in my heart of finding some kind of wild game.
Wasted time! The quadrumanes had followed me, running through the bushes, so I had to give up on the roast.
Feral pigs, deer, hares, once they saw that legion of monkeys advancing, would run before I even had the chance of catching sight of them.
I was forlorn. How could I get rid of that army that wouldn't give me a single moment of freedom?
I decided to lock myself away inside my hut, and to not come out for a week.
I gathered some fruit, provided some fresh water and roasted crustaceans for myself, then I strenghtened the walls and the roof of my dwelling, so as the monkeys couldn't get in.
I thought that, would they not see me come out any longer, they would then return to the undergrowth that was further inside the island.
I closed all the openings and locked myself away, determined not to break my voluntary imprisonment.
The monkeys, no longer seeing me, had gathered near my dwelling, emitting piercing laments and hitting the walls, but I played deaf.
The first day passed without any further incidents. However, the laments had become so annoying, that they almost drove me crazy, and they hadn't ceased until after the sun had set.
Only then did I open a window to take in a breath of fresh air, and to check on those legions of quadrumanes and what they were up to.
And wouldn't you know it?! They hadn't abandoned me. Actually, some mandrills were camping around my residence, probably out of fear that I would have taken advantage of the darkness and left.
I sent them to hell, and closed the window, laying down on my bed made from dessicated straw.
At dawn, I was woken up by an infernal racket. The monkeys were screaming as if they had gone mad and in the midst of all that noise, there could be heard the sobs, human-like, of the mandrills.
Furthermore, the walls of my dwelling, being bumped into by hundreds of hands, were threatening to give in and collapse, with me still under them.
It was impossible to remain hidden any longer. Had I insisted, my dwelling would have been destroyed.
So I opened the door and got out, taking my rifle with me. I was so furious I didn't fear fighting all those legions.
As soon as they had seen me, I saw all those monkeys falling to the ground, batting their foreheads in the dust on the ground. They were laughing, they were crying, they were contorting themselves and some even licked my shoes as they approached me.
In front of that unexpected and touching display of affection, my ire vanished.
How could I think of pointing a rifle and shooting at all those quadrumanes that were crying with joy upon seeing me? It would have been an inhumanity!
On the other hand, things couldn't have kept going the way they had been. I hadn't disembarked on that island just so I could become the king of a hairy and tailed population.
It was necessary to leave, even if that meant being followed into the sea by those quadrumanes.
There was no shortage of wood and I had kept the ropes that had helped me with the building of the first raft.
Building a second one wasn't a problem.
So I started by demolishing my dwelling in order to have the necessary wood, sparing myself of the need to resort to the forest.
The monkeys, seeing me demolishing my dwelling, wasted no time in doing the same as I, gathering the canes, the spurs, and the leaves on the beach.
Four hours was all I needed to build a new raft, complete with a mast and sail.
The quadrumanes hadn't ceased immitating me. Initially, though, they were ill at ease, as they didn't have the necessary material for that kind of construction.
And yet, can you believe it? They, too, had managed to build a platform, with masts made of bamboo stolen from the forest and sails made of banana tree leaves. What rafts those were, my dear boy! They couldn't have floated for a single moment.
When I pushed mine into the sea, after I had supplied it with fruits, oysters, little shrimps and fresh water, the monkeys felt obliged to do the same.
It was quite disastrous. As soon as those rafts hit the water, to the astonishment of my subjects, their platforms sank, breaking up into little pieces.
What a terrible sight! And what terrible screams and cries burst out when they saw my raft go out to sea and rapidly distancing itself under the extremely favourable winds of that moment!
The poor monkeys were in the grip of the deepest despair. They were calling to me with loud screams, waving their arms, running across the beach supplicating me, in their own way, to come back.
I remained deaf to their pleas and let the raft continue on its route. Three hours later, the monkey island was disappearing behind the horizon line.
For four days I continued to push westward, hoping to come across some new land. But none would show itself.
I was smack in the middle of the Indian Ocean, without knowing where it was I was going.
On the fifth day, I had finished all of my provisions.
Fear was starting to take hold of me and, in a moment of weakness, I had started even regretting having left that monkey island.
Once I had wanted to head East again, the wind had ceased and an obstinate silence reigned over the ocean.
How many more days had passed after that? I wouldn't be able to tell you.
I vaguely recall seeing a large steamer making its way toward my self-made lifeboat, and that's about it.
I had learned later on that when I had been rescued, I was ferociously devouring one of my slippers and it might as well have been true, because I was dying of hunger."
Master Pipenormous fell silent. He filled his glass again, lit up his pipe once more, then, after looking at me for a few moments spoke up again:
"It might seem to odd to you, and yet, you know what? Even today, sometimes, I miss those days that I had spent among those monkeys."
🙈🙉🙊
Source of the tale (05.08.2025).
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*Present-day Izmir, the Turkish name having been made official since 1930 (Smyrna is an originally Greek name). However, the name Smyrna is still used today in Italian, Catalan, Portuguese, and Spanish. Source (26.08.2025).
**Present-day Istanbul. It has been known under the name Istanbul since 1453, but it was renamed officially only on 28th of March 1930. Source (26.08.2025).
***Captain Salgari here refers to Southern Italy.
****See intermission present in the text.
*****Cipro is a type of sweet, red wine, that has a sweet-bitter taste accompanied by a scent of roses with nuances of apricots and violets. It is originally from the Slovenian Istria, but it's a variety of wine that has almost died out due to the incredibly demanding cultivation of grapes. It is one of the oldest wines in the world, dating back to 2000 years before Christ. It is also known under the name Muscat rose (Croatian Istria) or Moscato rosa (Trentino, Italy).
******Bacchus (initially known as Dyonisus, later on as Bacchus, a name adopted by the Romans, as well, later on) is the god of wine-making, orchards and fruit, vegetation, fertility, festivity, insanity, ritual madness, religious ecstasy, and theatre. His name is due to a frenzy he is said to induce called baccheia (or bakcheia, a sort of madness meant to free you from your normal self through ecstasy and wine). (Source 1. 22.01.2026) (Source 2. 22.01.2026)
*******Quadrumane is a rare zoology term, which can be used either as a noun or an adjective. Even though its more common use nowadays is that of an adjective, it still remains rare in its use. Source (02.10.2025).
********Tarantella is a traditional Italian dance, specific to Southern, and insular Italy. The term Southern Italy specifically refers to: Abruzzo, Apulia (Puglia is the Italian version of the name), Basilicata, Calabria, Campania, Molise (Source (26.09.2025). In this context, the term insular Italy refers to the island of Sicily. You can find more information about this type of Italian dance here (26.09.2025).
(Source (Tarantella). 26.09.2025)
********* In this context, game refers to wild animals hunted for food. (Source. 26.09.2025)
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Personal Notes:
It is said that the stories written by Emilio Salgari are stories he would hear from 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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