The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure (10 page)

“Now what do we do?” asked Madeleine.

“We have several options. One is that we turn back to St
Martin and hope for a better wind pattern before we set out again.”

“No,” said Madeleine. “I’d like to continue.”

“Fine. I’d like to continue myself. Here we have two further
options. For instance, we tack against the wind every two hours or so.”

“Every two hours? We won’t get much sleep.”

“I’m afraid so. It will be very tiresome. The slower and
longer option would be to sail to the east, or east-south-east in the direction
of Cape Verde as closely against the wind as we can.  We do so until we reach a
point where we can turn around and sail for Hamilton or Saint George with the
wind on our starboard beam.”

He traced the route on the Garmin plotter.

“It is a massive detour. It looks so strange, going out there
into the middle of the Atlantic Ocean to the east and all the while we want to
get here to Bermuda.” She pointed with her finger.

“That is the thing with sailboats,” said Grant. “You seldom
sail in a straight line. It will take longer, but it’s much better than tacking
all the time. Once we have turned, it promises to be fast sailing though,
straight home for you.”

“Then shall we do that?”

“It’s fine by me. First, however, we are going to tack through
the wind for a course going east. I’m going to teach you how to do it. Can you
sing?”

“I don’t sing but I play the piano.”

“I want you to keep the wheel and sing ‘ready about!’.”

“Why would I do that?”

“It is always done by the helmsman to warn the rest of the
crew that we are about to tack.”

 “Ready about!” chanted Madeleine. “Now what?”

“Now you check that the whole crew is safe and ready and
then you sing ‘lee-ho!’, while you turn the boat sharply into the wind. I’m
ready. Go for it.”

Madeleine sang and turned the wheel. The big yacht lurched
drunkenly from side to side as she confused herself. Eventually, however, it settled
on a course just north of east.

“Fine,” said Grant. “Not worse than my first attempt.  Now
let’s shake out the reefs.”

Twenty minutes Grant calibrated their selected waypoint on
the chart plotter.  It was a full day’s sailing away to the east, maybe more.

“Once again,” Grant said to Madeleine, “there is no need to steer.
The Garmin system instructs the autopilot and takes us there. All we have to do
is to see that we don’t crash into something and to be patient. Relax, but know
that you are in charge.”

He had a last look at the sails. They had set the foresail and
mainsail full and hard and were beating at forty degrees against the wind. The
change in wind direction meant that the boat was heeling sharply to starboard.

“And remember,” Grant added as a
parting shot, “to sit on the up-side and to have a look at the sails from time
to time.”

It was Madeleine’s turn to enjoy the starry sky. She picked
out the constellations that she knew since she was a Brownie in the Girl Guides,
where she participated in everything except boat related activities. The skies
were clear enough for the stars to show, but not entirely of a crystal quality.
There was a faint halo around the moon and far away to her right a storm made
stomping noises like some giant moving around clumsily in an attic, disturbing
the furniture as he went.  In between the far-off rumbles she could make out a
hissing sound as waves approached from the front and to her left. They grew in
size until they appeared level to her eye. Even she could pick up that the boat
was moving uneasily against them.

She decided not the think about seasickness. Instead, she
stuck the earphones of her iPod on her head and pressed the buttons on the
Garmin viewer until it brought up the radar screen. Focussing hard, she tried to
make sense of the ever changing smears and spots. When that did not hold her
attention any more she got out her iPad and spent the rest of the time updating
her Facebook status, taking care not to mention that she was actually on a
yacht on course for the empty centre of the Atlantic Ocean. Not that she minded
too much. Secretly she was quite relieved that they were moving away from that
imaginary line between Bermuda and Puerto Rico.

CHAPTER SIX

It was a very hot day everywhere in North Africa and its
peoples commented on it because it was already late October. Wherever man and
beast could find shade they headed for it. People moved indoors or edged along
the shady sides of the millions of adobe houses that looked the same regardless
of country. Where there were trees in towns they proved to be magnets. On a day
like this the more leafy trees provided a shade that was almost dark to the eye
when you came into it. Outside in the desert, sheep hid their heads under the
bellies of their neighbours. Only the camels plodded on regardless, stoically.

On such a day the only things that really moved with any
energy were the dust devils that danced up and down on the dunes of the Sahara
Desert. A particular dust devil, one of many millions, danced its first dance
not far from dunes of which the dark red colour absorbed the heat of the day,
reaching fifty, then sixty, then seventy degrees Celsius, there in the hollows
where the air did not stir. The dust devil first sucked up light yellow dust on
the crown of the dune on which it was born, made a few turns hither and thither
and quick as a flash descended into the red valley, where it absorbed not only
its dust but also the superheated air. With all that heat as an engine it was
no longer earth bound. It shot up in the air, to dizzying heights, where it
became part of swirling masses of air and dust that formed up above the Sahara
before moving westward. It joined with an eddy, a disturbance of the air that
started a week before in Ethiopia and drifted with it toward the Atlantic Ocean.

***

Not long after the two sorcerers had passed the orchard with
its enticing fruit they met with one of their own. He was a herder who lounged languidly
under a tree in the vicinity of a large herd of cattle. They shared his ostrich
egg container of curdled milk and rested while they caught up with the
happenings in the valley.

Yes, indeed, three slaves ran off and all the
KhoiKhoi
herders were questioned. Everybody expected them to be caught, because they
were not the brightest of the lot. The farmer reported their misdemeanour to
the castle and they could look forward to a severe flogging and even the rack.
Definitely the rack for the ring leader. They all knew who he was. And yes, the
farmer who took over the upper side of the valley from the governor was now
even more severe than before. It was better to stay off his land if you could.
Unfortunately he needed the job.

The midday sun burnt down on their heads when they passed
another cattle enclosure. A pipeline made from lengths of bamboo led from a
nearby fountain into the kraal. They did not enter into the enclosure but headed
for the fountain. They hopped over the fence that kept the cattle from fouling
up the rather weak upwelling. Weak since it was high summer. They still managed
to fill their gourds, however and splashed water on their faces. Hadah had
another deep question.

“If the spirit in the mountain wanted something from the
previous governor who owned these lands, what about the new farmers?”

“I think the spirit is whispering to the one who owns this
land.”

“The one who likes to flog and shoot?”

“Yes, he is doing some interesting things, that’s why I say
so.”

“I’d like to learn,” said Hadah.

“Can you keep a secret?” asked the master.

“Of course,” said Hadah. He felt a little resentful. Of
course he could keep a secret. Were they not discussing secret things all the
time?”

“It is not one of our secrets, but it is one that could get
you killed nevertheless.”

“You can tell me,” said Hadah.

“The next cattle enclosure will come up in a while but we
will make a detour around it.”

“Why?” asked Hadah.

“Because of what it is hiding. And because of the men who
watch over it with loaded muskets.”

“Ah, these are stolen cattle! Who did they belong to?”
Hadah’s mind immediately jumped to the cattle owning tribes on the other side
of the mountain.

“No, they are not stolen. Also, right now the cattle kraal
is empty, like this one. At least during the day it is. At night it is full of
cattle. But there are always two men in the kraal during the day, sometimes
working on the fences, sometimes cleaning out the fountain next to it,
sometimes just sitting in the shade. They never leave it alone, night or day.
Why is that?”

“It must be a new cattle station. Maybe the fences are not
high enough yet. Perhaps they are building something else, like a house.”

“No, it is probably the oldest kraal and it is far away from
any house. Still, there are always people there and they always have muskets
with them.”

“Are there lions again? Maybe some have come down Eland’s
Pass.”

“No.”

“Then they must be scared of the hyenas.”

“No. Let me tell you why they are there. This man with the
short temper had a visit on his farm sometime just before winter. It was from the
captain of a ship on its way to India. His ship was lying in Simon’s Town to
shelter from bad weather. The captain stayed there until the weather improved.
Then he went back to the ship and they sailed on. Everybody thought that he was
on his way to India to buy lots of spices for the ship owners. Only, it was not
the case.

Not far from where the Butter River exits into the sea, the
ship stranded. But it was also not the truth. The captain and half his crew
stranded the ship on purpose after they had killed the rest of the people on
board.

Now the beach was not empty. When the ship arrived the owner
of this farm was already there with an ox wagon and four slaves to help him. 
They off-loaded all the money that was meant to buy spices in India onto the ox
wagon and all of them set off with the ox wagon. Then they did something very
dangerous. They came down Eland’s Pass in the middle of the night and came to
this cattle enclosure in front of us. They made the slaves dig a large hole in
the ground and put the money in the hole. Then they killed the four slaves with
swords and put their bodies in the hole as well. Afterward they filled it all
up and made the cattle walk to and fro over the fresh mound. By morning you
could not see the difference.”

“If they killed the slaves, how do you know all of this?”

“Some of our people who live by the Butter River thought
that strange things were going on from the time the man crossed the Great
Mountains. He refused to buy butter. Instead he threatened to shoot anyone who
came near. It made everybody very curious. They thought that perhaps he was
hunting. Since the hunters always take the skins and the horns and leave most
of the meat lying, some of our men followed him at a distance and they saw it
all. They saw them bring the bodies of the murdered seamen to the beach and
watched while the slaves buried them in the sand. Then they followed the wagon
all the way until they killed the slaves as well. They told the
KhoiKhoi
who live on the farm about all that they had seen and went back over the Great
Mountains. It happened not long ago, just after this past winter. These are
very dangerous people. It is therefore wise of you not to tell this story to
anybody.”

“Did nobody miss the slaves?”

“The farmer sent a message to the fort that these four
slaves had run off and nobody asked about it again.”

 “What happened to the captain?”

“He is still here. He is one of the overseers you laughed at
this morning. His people are the ones who look after their money in the kraal.”

Hadah spent a long time after that pondering the ways of the
serpent. Serving it was full of danger and yet it made him feel special. He
liked that feeling. He was still deep in thought when they arrived at the
bottom of Eland’s Pass. It went straight up the mountain, heading for a hardly
noticeable dimple in the walls of sheer rock. They hesitated, for a moment
intimidated by the daunting climb that lay ahead. But only for a moment. The
master’s face screwed up like a wild almond that had fallen on the ground a
year ago. He had another story ready.

 “Do you see this here?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Hadah. “It looks like parts of a wagon. And
these bones there are from an ox.”

“Indeed it is. You see parts of many wagons here. The oxen
had lost their footing up on the pass and came all the way down here.”

“What about the people?”

“Sometimes the driver too, if he was not quick enough to
jump free.” The old man laughed gleefully and continued. “One day when I was
travelling to visit the
Chainouqua
and the
Hessequa
, I came here
just as a wagon started rolling down the pass. One moment you saw the oxen in
front and the next moment you saw the wagon, rushing down the mountain.
Everywhere you looked, this side and that side, barrels and jars of butter were
coming down. I ran away because I did not want to be hit by a barrel of butter.
When I looked back, everything was lying right here, oxen and wagon on top of
one another. Some of the oxen could still get up. They ran away, crying like
calves. Others were lying here, groaning and dying. I quickly got some butter
from a broken barrel before the people arrived. There was a Dutchman, some
slaves and some
KhoiKhoi
, each one blaming the next for what had happened.

That day there was a big slaughter as we had to put the dying
oxen down. I left my things on the side, got out my knife and helped.
Amazingly, most of the barrels and jars of butter were still in one piece. We
gathered it together and then the Dutchman said that we could take as much of
the meat as we wanted. We made a fire from the broken pieces of the wagon and
had a big feast. I was eating so much that I had to lie down under the bushes
over there. When I was feeling better I had some more. I was eating all I could
for three days before I could continue on my way, walking up the pass very
slowly.”

Hadah wished it was him. He looked up the steep incline but
there was nothing coming down at that moment. All that he saw up there was hard
work. It was much longer than the climb they made from the valley to their
mountain hide-out. The sooner the better. They hitched their packs and engaged
in the task of crossing the Great Mountains, step by step, foothold by
foothold. The master followed the wagon spoor on the right and Hadah the one on
the left. 

The sun was already standing on top of Sea Mountain when
they reached the crest of the relentless climb. This was where they allowed
themselves a moment of rest. They turned back to view the way they came. Before
them lay the flat lands that stretched all the way to Cape Town. To the left
was the sea. To the right was their mountain.

“When you look at it from here,” said the master, “you can
see why the Dutch call our mountain the ‘Kamberg’. Do you know why they do
that?”

“I never thought about that,” said Hadah.

“I’ll tell you why,” said the master. “If you look at the
mountain, does it not remind you of something?”

“Maybe the ridges on back of a lizard?”

“Very good. I can see the resemblance myself. Or something
else.” He made crowing noises.

“Of course,” said Hadah. “It looks like the crown on the
head of a rooster.”

“Very good,” said the master. “You are absolutely right.”

“It doesn’t look anything like the name we have for the
mountain.”

“No, because they only look at the outside. Yes, they would
never guess that there is a big snake living inside that mountain.” He chuckled
with mirth.

Hadah was polite and therefore laughed as hard as the
master. When the moment had passed, they turned away from the view of Snake
Mountain, their mountain and continued along the ruts in the surface ahead of
them. The master initiated an easy jog and Hadah followed his example. Their
practiced eyes scoured the ground in front of them for sharp objects or biting
reptiles. Fortunately the wagon wheels had pressed all hard substances into the
ground and even began to grind down some of the sandstone rocks that they
crossed. At one point the master stooped down and picked up a small tortoise.
It went straight into his leather bag. At another point a flock of guinea fowl
took the air just a few metres away. Without thinking a millisecond about it both
of them sent their throwing sticks whirring above the cackling birds. Both
scored. One bird each. They had another feast coming. Hadah took the birds into
his leather bag. 

 They jogged until they came to a stream. Hadah looked
dubiously at the brownish water, which was otherwise quite nice and cool.

“It’s OK,” said the master. “The water is coloured like that
by the roots of the plants on this mountain. You can drink it.”

Since the sun was now really dipping low, they decided to
make camp right there by the stream. First, they gutted the birds.  The master
knew which plants imparted a nice flavour to the meat and they filled the
cavities of the birds with their leaves. They then proceeded to cover both in
clay from the stream, feathers and all. They put them, as well as the tortoise,
on a spot where the soil was loose and built a fire on top. Next, they scoured
the banks of the stream for edible bulbs. In summer it was always harder to
find the right bulbs but they managed to dig a few handfuls out of the moist
bank with their spears. They mixed the bulbs into the hot sand on the side of
the fire and raked some coals over it. When they were satisfied with their
efforts they went in search for sleeping material. Both of them liked to have
something between themselves and bare soil and they found the same soft-leafed
bushes on which they slept in their own cave. Once their beds were made they
were set for a good meal. The journey was going fine so far.

The next morning they drank their fill from the stream. They
found a nest of fresh partridge eggs and fortified by these they jogged on. Halfway
through the day Hadah pulled up. He was feeling faint. The master relented and
they slowed down. They walked until they reached a kraal inhabited by their own
people. It was an outlying dwelling of the
Chainouqua
. The people knew
the master but not Hadah. They studied him carefully and treated him with
respect, just in case, even though he was still a young man. The sorcerers
shared the rabbit and tortoise that they had bagged earlier and had as much
curdled milk as they could drink. Full and content, they stretched out in the
guest hut on sleeping mats and were unaware of the world until the birds woke
them up the next morning. It was a day fit to meet a king.