“How did you get to this design? Are you afraid of somebody, like the tribes people?”
“There are no tribes up there. Only criminals. The guys on the farm next door were attacked some years ago. They shot at them while they were sitting in their lounge watching TV. But it’s the only incident I know of, so it’s not as if it is a high crime area.”
“With you, anyway, they will have to get over the walls first.”
“That won’t be so easy. I plan on having walls ten metres high with double storey rooms inside. But first, they will need to get over the moat.”
“Don’t tell me you are building a moat around it!”
“Oh yes. With a drawbridge. And I am going to stock the moat with fish, so when I feel like fish for dinner I’ll just take a rod and catch some.”
“I can see you standing on your drawbridge catching fish.”
“Watch me,” he said. “’Within two years I will have it all.”
“And what else will you have on the outside?”
“Naturally my own golf course. I’m not sure yet whether I should make it nine holes or eighteen. Maybe eighteen, the more I think about it.”
“And that is it?”
“No, I will need a stable for horses as well. What do you think? Should I have the stable inside the walls or on the outside?”
“Oh, I love horses. I’ve been riding since I was a little girl of three. It depends. Personally I’d prefer them on the inside. But if you don’t like the smell of horse manure it would be better on the outside.”
“Then it will have to be outside. I was thinking of acquiring ponies for the mountainous terrain. Or do you think other breeds like your Arabs will be ok?”
“I think I must see it first. Why don’t you invite me sometime? When I know what your ponies look like I can tell you.”
Another squall approached on the horizon. A full afternoon of fast sailing was coming to an end. Grant motioned Madeleine to follow him to the mainsail.
“Why do you have rollers on some smaller sails but not on the big one?” she asked.
“Whow! What a question. I did not realise that you noticed things like that. Why is it important to you?”
“Because we have to work so hard to get it down and then up again.”
“Ok, I see your angle. Actually, it was the cause of heated debate when we chose the rig for this boat. There are quite a few yachts like this out there with roller furling on all working sails. It makes it so much easier and you can control the entire boat from the cockpit, just playing around with the sails - a little bit more here, a little bit less there and so on, using the electric winches. I liked that idea a lot, so I’m on your side here. Then some guys told me that it is not the safest way to go. These roller reefed sails have to go into their housings all smooth or they will get stuck. If you have really strong winds, they told me, you cannot guarantee that the sail will not fold on itself in some way. You might get stuck with your mainsail up when it could be crucial for your safety to get it down. Or the mechanism might just break. And since you are now not used to work the sail by hand, you could really mess up. Which is why I decided to go for roller furling on the other working sails but not on the mainsail. The result is that we have to work to get it up.”
“And down,” said Madeleine. “My arms are hurting.”
“You just need to develop the muscles,” said Grant. “All the women I know who work on sailing boats can pack a punch. Just think of your forefathers for inspiration. They did not have winches at all. In fact, why don’t you tell me more about them? I’m still curious.”
“What do you want to know?”
“What kinds of ships have they used?”
“They actually did not go for the biggest ships. But they liked them fast. That was why you had so many innovations in sailing that came from my island. There is a rig they called a ‘Bermuda rig’, which was developed to get more speed on boats during that time. Perhaps you’ve have heard about it.”
“I know what it looks like, yes. In fact, we are using it on this boat. But if they did not go for the biggest ships, how have they managed to get the large trade ships to give in to their demands?”
“By carrying more cannon, I suppose.”
“The poor Spanish got hunted by you guys as well as by the pirates. It must have been scary to be on a Spanish galleon in those days, trying to get all that Inca gold back to the homeland.”
“The pirates were the scariest. There was so much fear of them, fuelled by all kinds of horrible stories. Usually a pirate ship only had to raise the black flag with the skull and crossbones for a merchant ship to drop its own flag in submission. They seldom had to fight. Captains of pirated ships knew that any resistance would be punished mercilessly. Only a few of them took that chance. When on occasion the pirates had to fight, they preferred to use their smaller vessels as I said, even rowing boats. They would go right up close, below the level where the cannons could shoot. From there they picked off the defenders in the rigging using muskets and then climbed up the side of the ship from their small boat which was kept in a protected position next to the rudder where neither cannon nor sharpshooter could get at them.”
“Sounds clever,” said Grant.
“They were resourceful and they never gave a quarter.”
“Have you kept some of those skull and crossbones flags?”
“That is a very daring question but you are right. There was actually very little difference between the privateers and the pirates. Often they were one and the same. Sometimes a captain would be a privateer and a pirate all at once. Sometimes he would have a letter from the king that made him a privateer and sometimes he would just pretend to have one or make up one. My forefathers were not angels. And I can tell you something else: those movies starring Johnny Depp are well sanitised. The truth is a lot scarier and uglier.”
“Thanks,” said Grant. “I always like to know who I’m really sailing with.” He was standing on the boom and Madeleine helped from the deck while they tied down the big sail.
“Why is the boom so high?” asked Madeleine.
“If we work together, it’s not a problem,” said Grant. “Some captains make their people sit flat on the deck while they are working, because there is a lot to do down there.”
Madeleine made a gesture that he thought had something to do with piracy or perhaps mutiny.
“That line in your hand is called a reefing line,” he said, ignoring her and continuing the sailing instruction.
“And those up there?”
“They are called lazy jacks. They assist in getting the sail down neatly, so we can tie it up easily.”
They were as ready as they thought they could be. Just then the south westerly breeze died away and was immediately replaced by a strong gust from the north-east. It carried a curtain of rain before it and the two sailors were wet in seconds.
“Watch out!” called Grant. “The boom will swing by itself.”
He sent Madeleine over to the wheel. “Change course to the left,” he said and hurriedly set the jib sheet. The yacht sped up again as the sails filled. The new heading took them westward.
“We will be running before the storm a bit,” said Grant.
“Can you explain that again?”
“We are taking the wind from behind, slightly from the right, until the squall has passed.”
“OK, I can handle it. Why don’t you go take a rest?”
“Ha! I tell you the name of a rope and you think you can do it all! He shut the hatch of the doghouse behind them as visibility disappeared in an intense rain-filled gust. Fat, wind-driven raindrops hit the deck in a machine-gun tattoo. Foam appeared on the tops of the waves and soon sheets of it either smashed into them from behind or flew by.
When the short-lived squall was over the wind did not die down. It continued blowing strongly from the north-east. Grant frowned and nodded to himself. He had a grave premonition.
“Keep the watch,” he
said to Madeleine. “I want to see the weather forecast. He went below and requested a download.
“OK,” he said to Madeleine on return. “My worries have been confirmed. This wind coming from the north-east is just too steady. The trade wind has shifted. Instead of pushing us along it is now pushing us back. It appears that we can expect this to be the case for the next two to three days. The squall that has just passed over us has marked a change in weather pattern. What we don’t know is how long it will last. It could be weeks.”
“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.
The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure Page 8