Tales From The Little, Illustrated, Golden Library - Tales of the Sea - The Sea Tigers - Emilio Salgari - Ninth Story

 THE SEA TIGERS

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The following text may present outdated depictions that are in no way or form shared by the translator themself, and neither are they shared by the original author of these stories.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

carbine = a rifle with a short barrel. (Source. 04.11.2025)

slaver = a ship used to transport slaves. (Source. 04.11.2025)

master (mariner) = a sailor who is qualified to be a captain of a merchant ship. (Source. 04.11.2025)

mast = a tall spar or an arrangement of spars* erected vertically or near vertically on the median line of a ship or boat. (Source 1. 17.10.2025). The masts of traditional sailing ships were not single spars, as we've just mentioned that they could also be an arrangement of spars, each one with its own system of ropes, cables and chains (this is called rigging** (Source 2. 17.10.2025), and the topmast was one part of this sort of arrangement. (Source 3. 17.10.2025).

*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).

quarterdeck = the aft* part of the upper deck** of a ship; normally reserved for officers. (Source. 10.11.2025).

aft = the rear part (after end) of a ship or other vessel. (Source. 10.11.2025)

**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)

prow = may be used as a synonym for the more commonly used term, bow*, but it can also mean the most forward part of the bow that is above the waterline (the waterline is where the body of a ship meets the water). (Source. 17.10.2025).

*bow = the most forward point of a boat or ship. (Source. 17.10.2025).

tack (nautical term; synonyms: come about. The Italian term is virare (di bordo)) = to change a ship's direction. (Source. 30.10.2025)

starboard = the right side of a ship. (Source. 12.11.2025)

roller = a big, wide wave. (Source. 28.10.2025)

bowsprit = a *spar extending forward from a ship's prow. (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).

crow's nest = a small open-top shelter, originally a cask, on the top of the foremast, large enough to accommodate a lookout. (Source. 12.11.2025)

mizzenmast = the aftmost mast on a ship having three masts; the third-tallest mast on a full-rigged ship. (Source. 12.11.2025)

shroud  = rope or cable anchoring the mast. (Source. 13.11.2025)

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).

breaker (the plural form, breakers, is more commonly used) = a wave breaking into foam against the shore, or against a sandbank, or a rock or reef near the surface, considered a useful warning to ships of an underwater hazard. (Source. 13.11.2025)

castaway = victim of a shipwreck. (Source. 13.11.2025)

biscuit (UK) or dry cookie (US).

promontory = raised mass of land that projects into a lowland or body of water. (Source. 17.10.2025).

sailing boat = a ship with masts and sails, powered by the wind. (Source. 13.11.2025)

steamer: steamship; steamboat = a ship or vessel propelled by steam power. (Source. 13.11.2025)

tack (the Italian term that Captain Salgari used is bordata ) = the distance a sailing vessel runs between these maneuvers when working to windward. (Source. 13.11.2025)

brigantine = a two-masted vessel, square-rigged on the foremast, but fore-and-aft-rigged mainsail with a square-rig above it on the mainmast. (Source. 13.11.2025)

(to) skirt (nautical) = to move around or along the border of; to avoid the center of. (Source. 13.11.2025) (The Italian term that Captain Salgari used is bordeggiare. Its English equivalent in nautical terms is to skirt. Source. 13.11.2025)

🐯🦈🌊

   The tigers of the sea!... this is the moniker that the sailors use for the sharks, the most terrible and ferocious of enemies that any seaman can encounter on the ocean.

    If the Indian tigers are the bloodiest beasts on land, then the sharks are the most tremendous inhabitants of the water.

   Nobody can outdo them, and compared to them, even the formidable sperm whales, that have mouths so wide that they can crush and swallow in one fell swoop a lifeboat full of a dozen men, can be considered sweet little lambs.

They can be found anywhere, from the inner seas to the limitless oceans and always there were there's a chance to devour human flesh.

Despite being ruthlessly hunted by sailors and fishermen alike, they never lessen, and fearlessly confront the bullets of the carbines and the blows of the harpoons.

There isn't a ship that doesn't always have a few behind its stern. They almost always keep themselves submerged, showing nothing but their dorsal fin; but when the ship's cook throws in the sea the leftovers from the meal, here they are, near where the helm is, opening wide their big mouth and swallowing, in one fell swoop, everything that falls in the water.

Tin cans, bottles, old slippers, rags that were used to clean the pots, tarred pieces of rope, all kind of things pass through those throats that are never too tired to devour something.

A man falls, and there they are, pouncing on the human prey like tigers would.

With a few blows of the tail, they swoop down on the unfortunate one, open their terrible jaws that are armed with three sets of teeth, all of them mobile, flat, and as hard as steel and crack!... The man is gone after only two bites.

Fast swimmers, equipped with powerful weapons, violent, insatiable, greedy, they doggedly pursue their prey with their mouths wide open and they almost always catch up with it.

Their strength is equally extraordinary and their tails are so strong that they can jump several metres above the water.

There have been times when some sharks were seen jumping up until the yard of the foremast in order to reach a dead body that would be hanged up there by the captain of a slaver.

Now that I have made clear to you the ferocity of these tigers of the sea, I want to tell you about a terrible event, that happened a few or so years ago, in the Gulf of Mexico, and that I picked up on site, during one of my voyages to Central America.

It's one of the worsts that exist in marine history, and it is for this reason that I want to share it with my thrill-seeking little readers.

If I recall correctly, it must've been towards the end of 1889.

A great, large, Spanish ship, the Girolda*, had left the ports of Brazil for a few weeks now, heading for Veracruz.

It was of the finest sailing ships of the navy's ocean liners, managed by a select crew, under the command of the captain Don Alvaro Crey, a sea dog that had traveled around the world countless times.

The sailors had noticed, not without a deep anxiety, that the ship was convoyed by a shiver of the most ferocious kind of sharks, known as charcamias**, since it had entered the Gulf of Mexico.

There were at least a dozen, and so voracious that, when the ship's cook would throw the leftovers overboard, they would jump as high the stern's gunwale in order to compete for them.

That truly incredible number of sharks had left quite a deep impression on the crew, because, you see, those ferocious inhabitants of the oceans seem to know when a calamity is about to occur. One could say that they sense it from a mile away and so keep near ships that are persecuted by tragedies.

Thus, the Girolda, continuously conveyed by that ferocious group, always ready to devour in two whole bites the men that could have fallen overboard, had merrily arrived in the Gulf of Mexico.

Until then, that is, since it had left the coasts of Brazil, no calamity had befallen it. 

Even the sea had been calm and the winds had always been auspicious. But then, one fateful day, when the Girolda was already near the beaches of Puerto Rico, the sky clouded over and the air became so clear that the crew could see even the incredibly distant mountains of Cuba in the distance.

"A bad sign, for sure.", said the captain, whom was no stranger to the Gulf of Mexico. "A tremendous tempest is about to burst."

The sea dog was right to worry.

The Girolda was in excessively dangerous waters, that had a sinister reputation due to violence of their hurricanes.

The Antilles are the most magnificent islands of the world as well as the most ill-fated ones.

From time to time, they are swept by typhoons of an incredible rage, that devastate the beaches and the inland, tearing down the sugar, coffee, and cocoa plantations, frequently destroying entire hamlets.

Winds there reach such power that they can move even the large, heavy artillery that is placed at the ports for defense.

The waves, also, as high as the mountains, hurl themselves against the coast with such violence that they tear off the cliffs huge pieces.

The captain of the Girolda, whom had experienced more than one cyclone during his long, nautical career, called for the master mariner, an old man with a long, white beard, who knew the gulf like the back of his hand and whose advice was invaluable.

"What say you, Cardal?", the captain asked him. "The air's clarity is giving me pause."

"A cyclone is about to errupt.", the master mariner answered, after watching the sky for a moment or two. "I know my dangerous gusts of wind."

"What do you advise me to do?"

"Furl the sails and seek refuge. Santiago de Cuba is sixty miles away. A port that's difficult to reach; but the safest one in all of the Gulf of Mexico."

"Let's go to Santiago, then, and let's hope that we reach it before the cyclone overtakes us.", the captain concluded.

Old man Cardal shook his head, doubtful, then pointed to the sharks that were emerging from the water, showing their wide throats, grumbling:

"I fear that they can already taste human flesh."

The Girolda had changed its course, escaping the coasts of Puerto Rico, that in that moment weren't offering any kind of refuge and was heading towards Cuba, whose mountains, although very far away, could still be seen thanks to that unusual clearness of the air.

The poor ship ran, ran, and then ran some more, anxious to reach a safe place, even though the hurricane was rapidly gaining ground from the direction of the Atlantic Ocean.

In the evening, Cuba was still thirty miles away, and the sky had already clouded over with pitch black clouds full of rain, while the wind was turning into gusts so powerful that it could bend over the tall masts of the ship.

At ten o'clock, the darkness was so thick that the seamen on the qurterdeck couldn't make out any of the other ones that were doing maneuvers beyond the main sail. The sea was gloomily roaring, throwing monstrous waves towards the ship, lifting it up from the stern to the bow with thousands of creaking noises, and the wind was frighteningly roaring in between the rigging and the sails of the ship.

The captain had positioned himself on the quaterdeck, near the helm, watching the compass, while old man Cardal was tending to the ship's wheel.

Every now and then, they would glance at each other, anxiously interrogating the other one.

"The cyclone is getting near, isn't it, my good man?", the captain would ask.

"Yes", the master mariner would answer. "It's running upon us."

"Can we resist its attack?"

"The Girolda is a good sailing ship, however..."

"You're not at ease, are you, Cardal?"

"It's true, skipper."

"And the coasts of Cuba still aren't in sight!"

"And Santiago has a strait that's much too dangerous to enter with a tempest on our trail."

"We can only trust in God, Cardal."

"And in the sturdiness of our ship."

At eleven o'clock, vivid lightning bolts were lighting up the stormy, dark clouds and the thunders were roaring with a frightful crescendo.

The Girolda, hit everywhere by the mountains of water that kept attacking it, was chaotically leaping, now soaring on top of the waves, now descending in the dips.

The water was running all over the deck, crushing everything in its dash: sailors, hawsers, barrels, and crates.

In every moment, a wave would crash against the gunwhales and would leap up on the deck with a deafening racket.

The captain and the old master mariner were making desperate efforts to keep the Girolda on its right course but they wouldn't always succeed in doing so.

Dragged by the ragging wind and overpowered by the waves, the ship was going at random, no longer obeying the helm.

It would frequently swerve, falling on either one side or the other, but each time taking on more and more water.

The sight was frightening and fear was starting to take over everyone, especially when the light of the lightning bolts would illuminate the horde of ferocious sharks darting out from the tumultuous waves, for all to see.

At midnight, at the height of the fury of the unrestrained elements, a voice could be heard from the bow:

"Land Ahoy!..."

Land, in that moment, with that hurricane that was dragging the ship, no longer was the longed for safety.

It was a grave danger; possibly even death.

The captain immediately gave order to tack the ship, and in that exact moment Cardal could be heard giving a desperate scream that was announcing certain disaster.

The skipper immediately rushed back to the stern.

"Cardal, what's the matter?", he asked.

"The helm is no longer working.", the old man answered, complete terror clear in his voice.

"Is it damaged?"

"Actually... I think the waves broke everything."

"Then we are done for!", the captain exclaimed. "The coasts of Cuba are in front of us!"

"Lower the sails, captain!", Cardal shouted.

"They won't spare us the crash."

"At any rate, they..."

He hadn't managed to finish the sentence, that frightening roars were heard from the bow.

It seemed that the waves would shatter against the reefs.

The Girolda, in the meanwhile, lacking any direction and half-lying on its starboard, was sailing through the rollers, lugubriously creaking.

It seemed as if it was lamenting its imminent fall.

The skipper and Cardal rushed towards the bow, while the sailors, having lost their cool, were running around the deck as if they had gone mad.

At a lightning bolt's light, the two seadogs saw a few rows of reefs that the waves were crashing into with an extreme rage.

Behind those rows, two or three miles away, they could make out the coasts of Cuba.

"We are doomed!", the captain exclaimed, as pale as a ghost.

"Yes, for the Girolda, it's over.", the master mariner confirmed. "In a few minutes, the ship will be torn to pieces by those rocks."

"Can't we attempt any kind of maneuver in order to at least delay the catastrophe?"

"None, captain. Besides, the crew isn't listening anymore."

"Let's brace for the terrible collision, then."

"And the lifeboats?"

"Let's not concern ourselves about those, Cardal. The waves would submerge them in a minute. Let's attempt to furl the the sails in order to soften the blow."

Immediately the order was given, and, just as Cardal had predicted, nobody answered the captain's call.

The sailors, mad with terror, were no longer listening to the captain. They were, instead, gathering around and troubling themselves with the lifeboats, intent to lower them once the ship would wreck, even though they were just as sure as the captain that the latter wouldn't be able to face the raging waves.

At quarter past midnight, the Girolda, pushed by the ever-growing wind, was but a few hundred metres away from the reefs.

The waves were roaring around the poor ship, by now irreversibly doomed, and it seemed as if they were intent to demolish it before it would crash against the rocks.

The captain and the master mariner, from the quarterdeck, were watching the Cuban coast with a look of terror on their faces, anguishly waiting for the disaster that was to come.

A few minutes later, the ship, lifted up by a monstrous wave, crashed against the first reef.

The hit was so terrible that the foremasts and the bowsprit fell down.

Right away, the water invaded the deck, while the sides of the poor ship were shattering against the reefs with a deafening rumble.

Throughout the waves that were crashing on the deck, the captain and the master mariner could vaguely make out the sailors that were grabbing on to the lifeboats.

"Don't leave the ship!", they both shouted. "Wait for the sunrise!"

Wasted words.

A moment later, the first lifeboat was detaching itself from the starboard of the ship, full of men, immediately followed by the second one.

Between the roars of the waves and the hissing of the wind, the captain and Cardal heard the screams of the desperate men, then some clashes.

What had happened? Had the two lifeboats shattered against the reefs or had they been able to set sail for the open sea?

Old man Cardal, despite the danger that he was in, had left the quarterdeck and pushed himself to the bow, tightly clinging to the sides of the ship in order to prevent being sweeped away by the waves.

Upon returning, his facial features were disturbed.

"Skipper!", he exclaimed in a broken voice. "I fear that those poor, unfortunate souls were thrown against the reef and that they were eaten by the sharks that were following us."

"Did you not see any of them?", the captain asked anguishly.

"I did, I saw the sharks that were rolling about in front of the reef."

"Did you not hear any screams, then?"

"No, skipper."

"Did you see any scraps on the reefs?"

"The darkness prevented me from ascertaining it."

"Those poor souls drowned.", the captain said, stiflening a sob.

"And we might end up joining them.", the master mariner added.

"Not every hope is yet lost, Cardal. The ship has been completely stopped and, if the waves won't demolish it, we will be able to reach the coasts of Cuba."

"Do you mean, on a raft?"

"Yes, Cardal. Meanwhile, let's climb up on the crow's nest that's on the mizzenmast so the waves don't sweep us away."

The advice was right on time as the ship just kept on sinking as if it was on a sand bed, and the waves were incessantly crashing on deck, destroying everything.

The skipper and the master mariner grabbed on to the ratlines and took advantage of a single moment of stillness, merrily reaching the crow's nest, a type of semicircular plank that can be found halfway up the masts and that can be used as a shelter for four or even six people.

From that height, the view that the sea was offering was horrifying.

Huge waves were mazily overlapping one another, chasing each other, clashing into each other, breaking when colliding, and then smashing into the poor ship and the reefs.

The Girolda, burst at the bottom of its bow at this point, was slowly lowering itself, leaning more and more on the rocks.

A great deal of water was entering it through the torn sides, invading the cargo hold, and from those breaches every now and then crates and barrels would come out, that were formerly part of the ship's cargo.

The skipper and the master mariner, tightly holding on to the shroud, were watching the ship with growing anguish, fearing to see it fall apart completely from one moment to the next.

The mast that was holding them would shake terribly with every wave, seemingly ready to fall apart there and then.

The lower yard had already been torn away, together with its sail and the mainsail as well.

The situation of the two survivors was extremely hazardous.

From one moment to another, they could be crushed at the same time as the mast, with all of them getting crushed on the sinister tips of the reefs.

Towards 2 o'clock in the morning, the deck was completely submerged.

The Girolda kept on sinking in the sand bed, the tips of the rocks and the waves destroying it piece by piece.

All the sides had been torn off by the rage of the breakers and only two masts were still holding up.

"Captain", master mariner Cardal began. "Our last hour is approaching. We'll soon join the crew that has preceded us to the grave."

"Let's not lose heart just yet, my good old man, Cardal.", the sea dog answered, still holding on to some delusion. "The ship keeps burying itself in the sand and thus, it will hold out against the waves."

"And how will we save ourselves, then?"

"There will be no shortage of scraps."

"And what about the sharks? Can't you see that those damn things keep lurking around the ship? Look, it seems as if they're all here, waiting for nothing but the fall of this mast so they can feed off our flesh."

The master mariner was right.

At the light of the lightning bolts, one could see those horrible sharks constantly lurking around the ill-fated ship, showing their huge throats.

It seemed as if they understood the terrible situation that the two men were in.

Some of them let themselves be carried on the submerged deck and were circling the mast in a threaning manner, hitting it with their strong tails.

By now, they had taken over the ship, able to prevent the two ill-fated castaways from climbing down.

"Skipper.", the old man spoke up, a little before sunrise. "We are condemned to a certain kind of death."

"I don't think so, Cardal.", the skipper answered. "The ship, although submerged, will be able to hold out against the fury of the waves at length. I've also noticed that the wind's force has also lessened and that the hurricane is running south."

"Even so, how will we even reach the coasts of Cuba? The sharks will prevent us from building a raft."

"We'll wait here for a ship to pass us by. Santiago is not too far away."

"You forgot one very important thing, captain", Cardal replied.

"What's that?"

"That should the ship awaited with bated breath be late, we will run the risk of starving to death, since we don't have as much as a biscuit."

The captain felt a shiver go down his spine as an expression of desperation coloured his features as he looked down at the famished sharks.

Cardal was right. What would have happened to those two survivors should no ship come to their rescue?

How could they climb down and build a raft, with those ferocious rivals having taken over the deck and becoming its rulers?

As soon as the captain and the master mariner would have even slightly lowered themselves down, even a few metres, the sharks would have not hesitated from coming forward.

In fact, it was very likely that they were quite sure that sooner or later they would get those two human preys.

When sunrise came, the situation of the two castaways was no different.

The ship, stuck in the reefs, was no longer moving and was tenaciously holding out against the violence of the waves.

However, it was completely submerged, only part of the quarterdeck, the main mast and the mizzenmast sticking out of the water.

As daylight grew, the captain and Cardal took a look towards the reef and couldn't hold in a gesture of horror. The two lifeboats were lying down, torn to pieces, capsized and near them could be seen two human bodies lacking legs and arms.

"Our ill-fated mates were all devoured by sharks!", the master mariner exclaimed, as pale as a ghost.

"It's the death they wanted.", the captain replied. "Had they remained aboard and sought shelter on the masts, they'd still be alive."

"Waiting for an even worse death, skipper."

"Let's not lose our hope just yet, Cardal. Do you recognize the coast we see to the west?"

"Yes, skipper."

"Could it be that down there is Santiago?"

"Towards south, on the other side of that pointed promontory."

"Then, sooner or later, a ship will show up. The (signal) flag is still flying high on the end of the mizzenmast and it will signal our situation."

In the meantime, even more sharks that allowed themselves to be carried by the still extremely strong waves were now gathering near the mizzenmast, swimming around it.

They would twist and turn as if they were impatient to devour the two castaways, now showing their flattened snouts, now showing their ash brown backs, now showing their silver-like stomachs.

Their huge, semicircular mouths, would first open wide then close with a dull sound, fidgeting their jaws that were armed with fearsome teeth.

Their small eyes, almost round, with their dark green iris and blueish pupil, never looked away from mizzenmast's crow's nest.

They were anxiously spying on the human prey, ready to swallow them in two bites alone.

The captain and the master mariner, huddled up in the crow's nest, were looking in the direction of the Cuban coast, hoping to see either some white dot or some smoke cloud that would signal to them the presence of some sailing ship or steamer.

Those hours seemed to go on forever!...

And still nothing on the still tempestuous sea! Were they truly destined to starve to death atop the mizzenmast or allow themselves to fall down straight in the jaws of the sharks in order to shorten their long agony?

No, Providence was still watching over the two castaways.

It was four in the afternoon when Cardal, whom had an incredibly sharp eyesight, caught sight of a whitish dot that seemed to set out from the coast of Cuba.

"Skipper!", he shouted in a thunderous voice. "A ship! I see a ship!"

The captain hastily stood up.

A white dot was coming from the south and it seemed that it was rushing as quickly as it could towards the reef that the Girolda had crashed into.

"Let's send some distress signals!", the skipper shouted.

Cardal climbed up to the end of the mizzenmast, took the flag from there and tied it in a knot near the crow's nest.

The ship was rapidly approaching while making long tacks. It was a fine brigantine, probably leaving Santiago and heading to the Lesser Antilles.

Its crew must had already seen the two masts sticking out from the water and was running to the rescue of the two castaways.

An hour later, the ship was was five hundred metres away from the reef, slowly skirting it.

The sailors were making flag signals to which the skipper and Cardal were answering.

A lifeboat manned by six men was lowered into the water and quickly headed towards the reef, the sea having calmed down by then.

"Climb down!", they were shouting. "We're here to rescue you!"

"There are sharks!", Cardal and the skipper shouted.

Luckily, the sailors were armed with rifles.

Noticing the sharks around the mizzenmast, the sailors hit them with a fusillade of bullets, forcing the former to flee, most of them wounded.

Ten minutes later, the lifeboat was taking on board the two castaways, merrily taking them aboard the brigantine.

They were exhausted that they could barely stand; but a few glasses of good old Spanish wine were enough to reinvigorate them.

The next day, the skipper and Cardal were disembarking at Santiago de Cuba.

🐯🦈🌊

Source of the tale. (13.11.2025)

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* The Spanish name might be different. I tried tracking the name of this ship down, but what I keep coming across is a bell tower called Giralda that belongs to the Seville Cathedral, in the city of Seville, in Spain. (Source. 10.11.2025)

** I strongly believe that Captain Salgari is referring to the Great White Sharks, which can be found in the Gulf of Mexico (among other species of sharks), and whose Latin denomination is Carcharodon carcharias. Charcamias might be what we would typical call Salgarian penmanship. (Source. 10.11.2025)

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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.