The Triangle and The Mountain: A Bermuda Triangle Adventure

by Jake von Alpen

  “No oil slick, not debris, nothing. Shortly after this happened they sent out a flying boat to investigate and to obviously pick up survivors if there was a crash. The flying boat also mysteriously disappeared, this time without any emergency call. For days thereafter every available aeroplane scoured the surface of the sea in strict grid patterns, but they found nothing, nothing at all.”

  “And the theories to explain all of this?”

  “Well some people say that there are alien forces at work in the Triangle.”

  “And these aliens abduct people?”

  “That is the theory.”

  “OK, so what proof do the alien supporters have?”

  “People see all kinds of things in these seas.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like strange lights.”

  “We’ve seen a strange light just now. That was pure atmospherics.”

  “It was just a beautiful sunrise. What I’m talking about are strange moving lights at night that are not stars.”

  “So they are planes.”

  “They are not planes either. Why would a plane have its landing lights on far out to sea? And why would such a light as mysteriously disappear?

  “We had a discussion around the barbeque in the marina once and the guys say that it’s all a hoax. If there was anything to it the authorities would have issued some warnings by now.”

  “There is an official communication by the US Coast Guard that says it all has to do with the fact that there is no deviation from north on the compass in the Triangle and that it confuses people, but I’ve heard that it’s not much of an excuse.”

  “I don’t buy it either, because there is a small deviation. But I think that the conditions play a role. They say the Gulf Stream is not a joke. Here and there you sail over shallow shoals and the wave patterns change without warning. You broach to or you get pooped out of nowhere and before you know it you go down to the bottom. You’ve got to be awake all the time. Also, I hear that the air is so unstable over the Gulf Stream that anything can cause a disturbance. Apparently you sometimes have pockets of air that rise from a hot spot on an island and when it mixes with the sea air you have a small but vicious hurricane that shows up on nobody’s weather chart. Think of that severe squall that we’ve encountered yesterday.”

  “Well then, you’ve got all the answers.”

  “Do you know what convinces me more than anything else? If there was anything particularly dangerous about the Triangle, the insurance companies would have charged higher premiums to anybody who sails or flies across it. They would not let such an opportunity go. As a person from a banking family you should know that. I’m sure somebody somewhere had been studying the statistics and came up with nothing.”

  “We are talking about a very busy shipping area. These cases comprise a minute part of a percent. The regular accidents are many, many more, especially if you go back over the centuries. It is the strangeness of these comparatively few incidents that make them stand out. What Gaddis remarked on, was that there were so many unusual commonalities.”

  “The squadron leader seemed to have lost control of himself. Is that common as well?”

  “I don’t really know. There are reports of ships that were found further up the Gulf Stream, with nobody on board, everything apparently in order and meals half-eaten, which indicated a panic of some sort. That happened in the nineteenth century.”

  “Have they come up with a reason why people would start acting irrationally and leave their ships when they were still seaworthy?”

  “There is a theory that the city of Atlantis is still down there. There might be people in it, but in another dimension. According to this theory these people reach out to people in our dimension when they pass over the city in their ships or planes and affect them in strange ways. Some also say that Atlantis had been destroyed but that its power source is still there. It causes radiation that has strange effects that could be scary and affect your mind, yes.”

  “It gets more and more interesting. How do you know all this stuff?”

  “Actually, I have a reason to be interested. I’ve told you that my uncle had disappeared in the Triangle. It happened on a bright and sunny day and there was no trace. It makes you think.”

  “I’m sorry. Was he in a yacht?”

  “No, he was fishing from his ski boat. They went out to a shoal well inside the Triangle and just disappeared.”

  “And only the boat was found.”

  “No, there was no sign of the boat. They searched for weeks and found nothing.”

  “Freak wave, most probably.”

  “Then why was the boat not found? It was unsinkable.”

  “It had a buoyancy hull?”

  “Whatever. I suppose that is what it was.”

  “It must have been hard on your family. Were there any theories as to what had happened?”

  “I’ve given you some of the crazy ones already but there are more. Some people say a wormhole from outer space is pointed at earth and has its entrance in the Triangle. If you get close to it you get sucked up, only to be spat out in some far place of the universe. Others say that you flip into another dimension, perhaps, as I said, the one in which Atlantis still exists. Still others point downwards. They say the missing vessels were sucked into a vortex in the sea.”

  “The sea swirled around and they went down to the bottom and stayed stuck there?”

  “Something like that. They say that there are some very strong currents under the surface. Once you are caught in it there is no escape.”

  “What causes the currents?”

  “Perhaps the force of the Gulf Stream. Then there are people who say that there are aberrations in the molten part of the earth close to the crust that cause anomalies in the gravitational field in particular spots, hence powerful swirling currents.”

  “Whow! What a mouthful, but I like it better as an explanation.”

  “I suppose it is because it is a natural explanation, isn’t it? You will like the next one as well. There are people who say that methane gas sometimes rise from the bottom and create a mass of bubbles down which a boat could fall.”

  “Right down into the crust of the earth. Do you know which shoal your uncle was fishing at?”

  “Yes, but that did not help the search.”

  “It sounds like a place to avoid. Or perhaps to find Atlantis.”

  “You’re not very sympathetic.”

  “Sorry, I just find all of this funny. I could not help myself. I did not mean to be insensitive.”

  ***

  Accepting that business was down for the moment, the master and Hadah crossed the Great Mountains empty-handed. This time they did not run. They knew from experience that running meant two or even three days of recovery and they wanted to avoid that. They stopped at the kraals where they were received many weeks ago on their inbound journey in response to the call of the king and where they had visited again for professional reasons. The inhabitants sensed that they were not on the prowl this time and fed them well, even if there were little signs indicating how they craved the pleasure of their departure.

  They descended into the land of the Dutch about mid-morning. Hadah looked out for the rocks that crushed his toes when they passed this way in the dark just a week ago and made a mental note of where he had to slow down to a walk next time they came down here at night.

  Once they had reached the valley the master did not take the path that would eventually lead up to their lair on Snake Mountain. He stayed on the wagon track that lead to Cape Town. Not far from Eland’s Pass the track split. They took the right hand prong of the fork, the one that led to Stellenbosch. Hadah was a little surprised but said nothing. The reasons for the master’s choice could be multiple. They desperately needed to fill their quota. That much was sure.

  After an hour’s jog he realised what the master had in mind. They turned into the entrance to the new farming development that they had spied from the top of th
e mountain many weeks ago.

  “See how deep these wagon tracks already are,” said the master. “It means this farmer is a busy man.”

  They looked out for signs of cattle and sheep. Hadah knew now that the master was putting in action the plan that he had made on the mountain. They were going to present themselves as herders. That way they could legitimise their presence in the area.

  As they came closer they realised that the farmer had been active indeed. On the banks of the stream that started deep inside the folds of the mountain he had already planted a double row of small oak trees, on the left and right side of the track, in order to shade the approach to his house. The latter was a three roomed affair in the style of all the houses in and around Stellenbosch, thatched with reeds that grew profusely in the marshes about half a day’s travel away by ox wagon. Rows of clay bricks stood on end in the sun, undoubtedly meant for further improvements to the homestead. In fact, three black slaves were working with the brickmaking machine, mixing straw and clay with their bare feet before feeding it into the forms.

  The master was favourably impressed. If you owned three slaves it meant that you were a man of means. He greeted respectfully in his best Kitchen Dutch. The slaves returned the greeting and stood up from their labour, clearly glad for the interruption.

  “Is the farmer here?” he asked.

  “Down by the stream,” came the answer.

  “It’s a big house.”

  “It is. We are now building another house for ourselves and a big one for the sheep as well.”

  “Does the farmer have lots of sheep?”

  “He had more, but the wolves came and killed many of them.”

  “Are you sure it was wolves? There are leopards on this mountain as well.”

  “It was the wolves. The boss shot one the other night. The skin is over there.”

  The master and Hadah walked over to several pegs in the ground. Stretched between the pegs, with the fleshy side up, was the skin of a brown hyena. Somebody had scraped it clean. There was a hole in the chest area where the bullet had gone through. They both realised that they probably knew this animal but they could not recognise it in its upside down state.

  “Was this the wolf that killed the sheep?”

  “Definitely. The boss tied a sheep to a peg close to the path that the wolves take to come down from the mountain at night and when they wanted to grab the sheep he shot this one.”

  “Four nights ago when the moon was full?” guessed the master.

  “That’s right.”

  The slaves suddenly started up their labour again. The master, with years of experience, knew that the farmer had made an appearance and turned toward the stream. This farmer was obviously somebody who did not stand behind his people with hands folded behind his back all day. He carried a spade that still had clods of red clay on it. He must have heard the banter and came up through the dense riverine bush to see what the matter was. He was about midway between the master and Hadah in age and observed them through dark eyes in a face ringed with a beard and hair as dark as the eyes. French, guessed the master. He got confirmation when the man spoke. His Kitchen Dutch was broken and overlaid by a heavy accent. The master almost shook his head in wonder that a white man could speak the language so badly.

  “Yes, Hottentotten. What do you want?”

  “I am Johannes,” the master introduced himself. “This is my cousin Herman. We wondered if you might need herders to look after your sheep. We are not scared of the wolves.”

  “I am Jacques de Villiers,” the farmer said. “How can you not be scared? Have you seen how big this animal is?” They went on a tour around the skin for a second time, this time conducted by the farmer. He pointed out the skinned head of the animal, which lay next to the skin.

  “Look at these teeth. I can see you how scared you are when you look at it.”

  “We are not scared, Mr De Villiers. We have spears and fighting sticks. These animals do not like pain. Our people have devised ways to drive them off and protect the sheep. Even the small ones know that because they learn it from their parents. They only need to smell us to leave your animals alone.”

  “Hmf, I think the only way to protect the sheep is to build an enclosure so high that they cannot jump over. No wolf will ever again take a sheep of mine at night once we have finished.” He gestured at a levelled space where some building was already taking place. “We need bricks, men!” he said, exhorting his slaves.

  “We know this mountain very well,” said the master. “We know where the best grazing is and your animals will become fat.”

  “They are already fat. That is why the wolves come for them. If you know this mountain, how come I have not seen you before?”

  “I grew up here,” said the master. “Do you see those trees over there? Often, when I was a child, my family came here to graze their flocks and we had our houses by those trees.”

  “I do not see anything,” said De Villiers, “Show me.”

  They walked about two hundred paces and then the master picked up a plate-sized rock that was flat on the one side and hollowed out on the other side. “See this,” he said. “The women used it to grind seeds. And here is the other part,” he said and picked up a smaller stone with a flat bottom. They looked around and found a few more of the same.

  “OK, I believe you,” said De Villiers. “When can you start? You understand that you have to build your own house?”

  “We are visiting our family today,” said the master. “That is why we passed here. Can we start when we come back? We will build our own house and stay here after that, taking your animals into the mountain during the day and bringing them back safe every night.”

  The farmer fingered his beard with clay encrusted fingers while he pondered the request. “All right,” he said. “But it is a new farm. I don’t pay much.”

  “It will be fine by us,” said the master, “as long as we can eat and have some money to buy tobacco.”

  On leaving the sorcerers did not take the road to Stellenbosch. Instead, they took a less travelled track that pointed straight at Table Mountain in the distance.

  Hadah was excited by the shooting prowess of the Frenchman. “He must be a very good shot,” he said, “to kill a hyena by moonlight.”

  “He is just lucky that there are no more lions here, like there was when I was a youngster. If you shoot a lion and wound it, it can turn on you and kill you on the spot. Hyenas!” the Master said contemptuously. “When I was a boy looking after the cattle, goats and sheep we had to worry about lions only. Who was scared of a hyena?”

  They felt good about their negotiations with the farmer and as they dipped into a marsh they spoke about the fact that the reeds in that place were good for making the mats that they needed to construct their new home with on the De Villiers farm.

  “Yes,” said the master. “This is where our people always came to harvest reeds.”

  “Maybe the farmer will let us have some bricks, so we can build ourselves a brick house,” said Hadah hopefully.

  “You’ll have to dig up the clay yourself,” said the master, “and put it in that machine. I’d rather make a house like our people. There is nothing wrong with our houses.”

  “Are we going to build our house on the spot where you lived as a child?”

  “Yes.”

  Forever on the prowl, they were immediately on the alert when an antelope bounded away in the reeds. Cautiously they circled downwind and managed to spear a fat duiker. That night they feasted on fresh meat once more, supplemented by the usual selection of bulbs that grew in profusion in the marshy ground. The journey to Cape Town was going to take three days, instead of the usual two, because of the detour they had made to the De Villiers farm. Early in the morning they circled the hill that kept the marsh from emptying into the sea and joined the main track that connected Eland’s Pass and the settlements at its feet with Cape Town. The sun was pleasantly warm and soon they were into the whi
te sand that made draught horses and oxen work hard but which was soft and nice to walk in. On impulse, they jogged a little.

  “I can feel the spirit looking at my back,” said Hadah. “It is a good feeling.”

  “The spirit is looking after us,” said the master. “He called us and we are its servants.”

  “I would have died if you did not come and told me that I had the sickness of the spirit.”

  “Yes, you would have died. But the spirit directed me to you in the same way that it directed Aitsi-!uma to me when I was your age. She told me that I had the sickness of the spirit and that it was calling me to be its servant.”

  “How did the spirit do that?”

  “I saw you in my dreams and when I found you I asked you to look at the mountain, remember?”

  “I remember.”

  “When you told me that you saw a face on the mountain that looked like a skull and the head of a serpent at the same time, I knew that you were the right one.”

  “Why do we see its face and nobody else sees it?”

  “Nobody is looking. And if they see the face they are afraid. They don’t want to know about it.”

  “Why is the serpent in the mountain?”

  “You ask me all the questions that I asked of Aitsi-!uma and it is good. She asked the same questions of the old man who was her master. The serpent has been in the mountain a long time.”

  “How long?”

  “Very, very long. Even before our people were here, there were others and always, there was somebody who responded to the call of the serpent.”

  “What were those people like?”

  “Mostly, they looked like us, but there were also people who came from the sea and who were different.”

  “Were they speaking Dutch?”

  “No, they were not Dutch.”

  “What were they like, then?”

  “They were very clever and rode out of the sea on ships that looked like the new moon. Maybe it was the moon itself. Aitsi-!uma was not sure.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “They lived here for some time and those of them who were called are buried on Snake Mountain. Then one day they mounted their new-moon ships again and went away over the sea.”