“Why, Mitchell. Come inside. It isn’t often I have the pleasure of your company. Sit down and tell me what’s on your mind. I assume this isn’t just a social call.”
“Not exactly. I’ve been along to see Professor Nordhurst.”
“About your proposed visit to Easter Island?” The other raised a quizzical eyebrow.
“How did you know?” Mitchell stared at him for a moment in surprise.
“Word gets around a place like this,” said the other easily. “Besides, I must confess I’m quite interested in your ideas myself. I’ve been reading some of the papers you’ve written on these ancient myths. Couldn’t have done better myself and I’m supposed to be the head of that particular department.”
“I assure you I didn’t mean to tread on anyone’s corns when I wrote them,” said the other defensively.
“Think nothing of it. There’s too little interest, real interest, shown in these old legends at the present time. I only hope that you get permission and money to finance this expedition of yours. If you do, I sincerely hope you’ll ask me along. Not only for the ride, but so that I might take a look at some of these things at first-hand.”
Mitchell felt suddenly a little more confident. Walton, of course, would have some say on the committee and he felt that here he had a staunch supporter.
“I’d very much like to have you along.” Mitchell nodded. “But at the moment, things don’t look too bright for me. Nordhurst is dead against the idea and he had plenty of influence with the committee. If they turn this down, I don’t know where to start.”
“Leave that particular bridge until you come to it,” advised the other. “I may be able to swing things in your favour, although I don’t want you to go building your hopes on that. It’s going to take several thousand dollars to finance an expedition such as that, and in addition, you’ll have to get the permission of the Chilean Government for any exploratory work. You shouldn’t have too much difficulty there, however; they’re usually quite willing to allow genuine archaeological expeditions to work there, provided they don’t try to interfere with the ways of the people.”
Mitchell leaned forward in his chair. “And you think there might be something in this idea of mine, that some of the old religion is still being practiced on the island, and that if we can only find out something about that, something which may have been handed down from before the dawn of history, we may find out more about those statues?”
“It’s an intriguing thought,” said the other slowly. He ran his fingers through his hair. “And I’ve no doubt that there’s still plenty of mystery there for us to clear up.”
“I wish I could think of something which would convince Nordhurst and those others who’re bound to be on the committee. You know what they like, the way they think. Anything as dry as dust and they’re all for it. They’ll spend money like water, just to dig up a few old relics that have been buried for a couple of thousand years in Mesopotamia, but give them something like this, something that could turn out to be really big, and they look on it as so blasphemous, so beyond their limited imagination, that they clamp down on it immediately.”
“Steady, Mitchell, steady,” said the other, watching his face carefully. “We may pull this thing out of the fire yet. Tell me about your theory.”
Ralph Mitchell leaned forward in his chair, a sparse young man in his thirties. He was the tweed-and-pipe man, who never went down well with the real intellectuals at the University. They tolerated him, but he suspected that none of them, especially the older, more dignified ones ever really liked him. Walton was possibly different in that he was only four or five years senior to himself, and his pet subject required far more imagination and intuitive instinct than any other in the entire Faculty.
“These vast stone statues that are present on Easter Island. I believe that they were put there by an advanced civilization many centuries before the present inhabitants, or their ancestors, visited the place. It’s miles from anywhere and way off the main sea routes, although I’m prepared to accept the current theory that ocean currents are such that anyone leaving the coast of South America would be carried there by the currents and the prevailing winds.
“That, perhaps, could tell us how the ancestors of the present islanders arrived there several centuries ago, but I doubt whether we can look to the same explanation for this earlier civilization.”
“Which is still only one of your postulates,” put in the other gravely.
“Yes, that’s perfectly true,” replied the other solemnly, “but I think I have some concrete evidence for it.”
“And what might that be?” The other raised an interrogatory eyebrow and studied him calmly from the depths of the easy chair.
Ralph Mitchell shrugged. “The strange ichthyic figures which have been discovered on the bases of some of these statues and more important still, small statues of birdlike creatures, having human bodies, which are present in the hidden caves on the island.”
“I see.” The other nodded. “You’ve been extremely busy discovering all of this. And from these scattered shreds of evidence, what have you deduced?”
“That there was a civilization on Easter Island many thousands of years ago, an extremely advanced civilization. I don’t know, at the moment, whether or not it was a good or an evil one. Somehow, I think it was evil.”
Walton looked at him sharply. “Why do you say that?”
“From those statues and from the inscriptions which have been carved on them. They all seem to speak of an earlier time, far beyond that of recorded history, possibly before that of the early Egyptian dynasties, when there were strange cultures on Earth. Almost all of them have now been destroyed, and only fragmentary evidence remains. That—and quite a lot of legend and folklore. The difficulty with the latter is, trying to shift the grain of truth from the tremendous mass of exaggeration and fiction which has grown up about it. Remember, these stories which are told in the legends of countless races, all over the world, have been passed down by word of mouth for centuries. It’s only natural that they should have been embellished on the way. And the older they are, the more closely the truth is hidden.”
“And you want to get at that grain of truth which existed in the very beginning. Is that it?” smiled the other.
“Yes.” Mitchell nodded his head slowly. “I’m convinced that the answer, or one of the answers, is there on Easter Island. I’ve spoken to several men who’ve been there and they all say, without exception, that no one can stand and gaze upon those tremendous statues and not feel a sense of terror that lurks still in hidden places. I want to see these things for myself, question the people there with regard to their ancient legends, find out if any of their religion still exists and examine the figures and inscriptions on these monstrous creations for myself.”
“Don’t you think that others must have had the same idea in the past, ever since those stone figures were discovered? If what you say is true, why hasn’t some of it come out into the open by now?”
“I don’t know. I think it may be that some people have discovered the truth for themselves and they’ve either died because of it, or they were made to stay there, out of sight, until the ships had left. I think that was what happened to those sailors mentioned by the Spaniards who visited the island in 1770.”
The other said eagerly, “Now this is the kind of thing I like, Ralph. I’m glad you came to see me. I hadn’t realized you were so serious, nor that you had learned so much. Most of what you’ve told me, I’ve known for some time. The legends of Easter Island have long been one of my favorite topics of research, only I think it only fair to mention now, that I haven’t got very far with them. There’s not only an air of utter secrecy about them, but the natives there simply refuse to discuss them with strangers.”
He gazed at Mitchell without smiling, his eyes very still and hard, with a speculative expression in them. “You are hoping to link these researches of yours with anything in particular?”
“Mu?” said the other in a whisper. He leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. “Now you’re getting into the spirit of things. You may be on the track of something important. I don’t think we can persuade Professor Nordhurst of this. He’s far too wrapped up in his own dry-as-dust discoveries. But we may be able to bring it to the notice of the other members of the committee. I’ll certainly do my best.”
“Nordhurst mentioned that if the funds were granted for an expedition, he’d like to come along.”
“Simply for the chance to gloat over us if we found nothing and it all turned out to be a wild goose chase, no doubt.”
“I’m certain those were his only motives,” agreed Mitchell. There was a touch of bitterness in his voice. “Whichever way the decision of the committee goes, he’s determined to be on the winning side.”
Walton nodded. “Whatever happens, until we know their decision, try not to rub him the wrong way. In the meantime, I’ll get in touch with the other committee members and sound them out. There are bound to be a few of them on our side and others I think I might be able to win over. It would be quite ethical for me to do this, whereas you might be reluctant to associate yourself with talking them around, seeing that you’re the proposer of this scheme.”
“Do you think we stand a chance at all?”
The other pursed his lips. “I’ll know the answer to that one once I’ve had a talk with some of the others.”
Mitchell had expected little to come of Walton’s promises. He was, therefore, all the more surprised when Professor Nordhurst called him to his room one afternoon three weeks later.
“Sit down, please, Doctor Mitchell,” he said gravely, indicating the chair in front of his desk. “I’d like to have a talk with you.”
Mitchell sat quite still, wondering what was coming next. Obviously it was something to do with the committee meeting which had been held earlier that day. Probably wondering how he can break the refusal gently, he thought bitterly, without making it obvious that he was the one who had stopped the grant.
“As you know, the committee met this morning to discuss your application for a grant to finance an expedition to Easter Island. I made it quite clear the last time we discussed this question, that I was not in sympathy with such an undertaking, that it did not merit the expenditure of so much money from the University funds.
“However, a majority of the committee members were of the opinion that something useful might come from such an expedition and consequently it has been decided to finance this trip of yours. I hope for your sake, and that of the University as a whole, that something will be discovered which is of concrete, scientific interest.”
He twisted his lips into a dry smile. “I would also like to remind you that I would like to be included in the group to go on this trip.”
“But of course, Professor.” Mitchell felt a sensation of sudden exultation and excitement rising within him. This was far more than he had ever dared hope. Most of it, he owed to Walton, he reflected. The other had certainly been busy during the past three weeks.
“Then that’s settled. All that remains now is to settle on a date. I realize that it will take some time to make the preliminary arrangement, but I’d certainly appreciate it if you’d keep in close touch with me.”
Mitchell nodded in silent agreement. Now that everything had turned out in his favour, he could forget the way in which Nordhurst had reacted when they had first talked this idea over.
“I’ll begin the necessary arrangements right away,” he said quickly, getting to his feet. There was a sudden sense of urgency in him now that the first obstacle had been cleared. He had the strange feeling that time was somehow running against them. It was a peculiar sensation, one which he could not even begin to explain. Somewhere out there in the heart of the Pacific, he thought tensely, lay the secret to most of the ancient legends, he felt certain of that. If only he could find it, prise it loose from whatever it was, from whoever held it.
Mitchell stirred restlessly under the sheets, then swung his legs to the floor of the cabin and sat on the edge of the bunk. The ship was rolling slightly in the swell and it was still dark outside. He tried to make out details through the porthole close to his head, but could see nothing through the thick glass. The previous evening, the Skipper had estimated that they were little more than seventy miles from Easter Island and that they ought to reach it some time the following evening.
There was no light in the cabin, and he was content to sit in the darkness, smoking. During the past weeks when progress had seemed slow and at times non-existent, the urgency within him had risen to the point where he could scarcely stand it any longer. Even now, when they were almost within hailing distance of their objective, he still felt tense and tight inside, as if something were bottled up inside him, waiting for release.
They had easily picked up a crew for the converted fishing vessel which they had succeeded in fitting out, and the journey so far had proved uneventful. The ship had proved to be extremely seaworthy and had been sufficiently large to carry all of their equipment. The necessary permission had been received from the Chilean Government to land on Easter Island and carry out their investigations.
He stubbed out his cigarette and lit another almost immediately. If only he could rid himself of this feverish tension which seemed to be riding him incessantly, never leaving him. Was it because he was inwardly afraid of what he might find here? That there might be something in the tales of horror which the other men he had talked with had spoken of? Or was it because, deep down inside, he was afraid of being proved wrong by Nordhurst?
Deliberately, he considered the various alternatives and immediately dismissed the last one. Simply because he was wrong would not bring this subtle fear in its train. There might be a little ridicule, and an I-told-you-so attitude on the part of Professor Nordhurst, but that was about all.
On the other hand, if there was anything in his belief in an older, tremendously ancient civilization on Easter Island, and vestiges of it still remained there, it might conceivably be dangerous to probe too deeply. He tried to dismiss the idea, to put it out of his mind altogether. Whatever his reasons for coming here, he was still a scientist, first and foremost. And as such, he had trained his mind to examine everything minutely and carefully and reject anything which had no scientific reasons for its existence.
Well, to hell with it, he thought savagely, drawing deeply on the cigarette, watching the tip glow redly in the darkness. Very soon, he would be in a position to find out things for himself. Not that he expected to make much headway at first. The natives would undoubtedly be reluctant to talk with total strangers, especially about their ancient beliefs, and even when they did, he would still have to sift the truth from the mass of spurious data with which it would be embellished.
He sat there for a long time, so sunk in thought that he scarcely noticed the darkness fading beyond the porthole, and the sun climbing up out of the sea. He dressed after a while and went up on deck. There was a stiff breeze that caught hold of his shirt and flapped it around his waist.
Walton was already there, leaning over the rail, peering into the sun-hazed distance. He turned as the other approached.
“Not much further now, Ralph,” he said genially. “Beginning to get excited, I suppose.”
“A little,” admitted the other quietly. He fell silent and stared down at the water which ran in a stream of white foam past the hull of the ship.
“Something wrong?” inquired the other concernedly. “You don’t look so good.”
“Just that I didn’t sleep much during the night, got too much on my mind, I guess.”
“Well, whatever happens, don’t let it get you down. There’s one hell of a lot to be discovered here, I can feel it in my bones. You may be on to the discovery of the century before v
ery long.”
“I only hope you’re right.” Mitchell’s laugh was oddly brittle and hollow, with little mirth to it. “I’d hate to have to go back to the University and live with Nordhurst telling me all the time how wrong I had been and that he had advised against this expedition in the first place. Superior knowledge and all that, you know.”
Walton grinned and nodded in sympathy. “I know how you feel. But somehow, I don’t think you ought to let that worry you. I’ve been thinking about this place myself and the more I consider the possibilities here, the more convinced I am that you’re on to something, something big. Only don’t take that as anything definite, it’s only a hunch at present, although I must admit, I’m very seldom wrong about anything like this. Some kind of instinct I’ve developed over the past years, I reckon.”
He clapped Mitchell on the back. “How about getting something to eat? I’m starving. It’ll help to pass the time until we sight Easter Island. After spending all of this time on the ship, I’ll be glad to set my feet on dry land again.”
They went below where the others were already at their morning meal. Nordhurst looked up from his half-empty plate. “Still confident that there’s something here worthy of all the money we’ve spent, Doctor Mitchell?” he asked. His voice was toneless.
“I think so.” Ralph forced evenness into his tone. “We will soon know now.”
The other shook his head slowly, dubiously. “I’ve spent almost twenty-five years hunting through the ruins of the Tigris and Euphrates valley and I’ve found no indications of any older civilizations than those whose existence we’ve been able to prove. In my opinion, the Sumerian is the oldest of all proven cultures.”
“Aren’t you forgetting Atlantis and Mu?” asked Walton innocently.
Nordhurst grimaced. “I said proven cultures, Doctor Walton,” he murmured acidly. “There’s no evidence whatever for the existence of Atlantis or Mu.”
“What about all of the old manuscripts? The Popul Vuh of the Mayas and the Hindu Vedas? Don’t they speak of a far more ancient civilization on Earth which predated that of even the Sumerians by several thousand years?”
Acolytes of Cthulhu Page 35
