The White Rajah

The White Rajah

by Tom Williams

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When charismatic adventurer James Brooke travels to Borneo on the schooner Royalist, he plans to make a great fortune establishing trade between the natives and the British Empire. But even in his flights of fancy, he'd never imagined that he would end up rajah of his own country. The story is told by John Williamson, a young sailor who has travelled with Brooke since he set out from England. They find themselves mixed up in Borneo's civil war, political divisions, and intrigue, being forced further and further away from their dreams and ideals and struggling to establish the British presence on the island - as, meanwhile, love grows between them ... Based on the true story of James Brooke, the first White Rajah of Sarawak, this tale of adventure and love is set against the background of a jungle world of extraordinary beauty and savagery.

Product Details

ISBN-13: 9781682990476
Publisher: Accent Press
Publication date: 06/10/2014
Format: NOOK Book
Pages: 200
File size: 256 KB

About the Author

Tom used to write books for business, covering everything from the gambling industry to new developments in printing technology. Now he writes about love and adventure in the 19th century, which is not nearly as well paid, but much more fun.

Years ago, Tom visited Borneo and spent a couple of days living in the jungle with the Dyaks. He helped catch and kill a deer, discovered that he's a crack shot with a blowpipe and narrowly avoided eating a monkey. He came home with a sword that can take a man's head off and an abiding fascination for Sarawak and its history. Much, much later this resulted in The White Rajah.

Tom lives in London and when he's not writing he likes to ski, dance tango or street skate. In fact, he'll do almost anything to avoid honest work.

Read an Excerpt

I can still remember the very first time I saw James Brooke.

It was in The Goat and Compasses, a low dive of an inn, even as sailors’ taverns go. I was there because I wanted to be alone to drink away the last of my pay and decide what I was to do for the future when the door was thrown open and in he came.

He was so much younger in those days, of course. We were all so much younger. I was scarcely a man, really, for all I thought myself cock o’ the walk. He was in his middle twenties, tall, good-looking with dark curly hair blowing untidily. I say good-looking but, in truth, he was one of the handsomest men I had ever seen. He was of medium height but slim and swift in his movements, and he carried himself with the easy confidence that comes with wealth. It seemed to me he brought an energy and enthusiasm into the room with him. At first I thought it was because of the red soldier’s coat he wore over civilian trousers. (It was the coat of an officer of the East India Company and he had no business wearing it, having resigned his commission the previous year, but all this I was to learn later.) As he and his friends fairly skipped across to the bar, though, his gaze caught mine and the fire that glinted and shone in that glance was brighter than any red coat.

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