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?”
“I’m afraid I possess an utterly scientific outlook when it comes to records such as those you have just mentioned,” went on the other calmly, regarding Walton closely. “These old records have all been shown to be fiction. Certainly it is fiction of a highly skilled order, but none the less, there isn’t a grain of truth in any of them.”
“Oh, come now, Professor,” grinned the other easily. “You can’t possibly dismiss everything as easily or as simply as that. Life would be extremely easily and well-ordered for people such as myself, if we looked at things that way. And there’s no doubt it would remove some of the fascination out of life.”
“It would also relegate these works to where they belong,” snapped the other sharply. “To the realms of fiction.”
“I’m sorry you think that way, Professor,” said the other, still retaining his equanimity. “But I’ve a feeling that, skeptic as you are, even your faith in the scientific approach to these problems will be severely shaken when we get to Easter Island.”
“That remains to be seen,” said the other in a tone which ended the conversation on that particular topic.
It was almost dark that evening before they came within sight of Easter Island. It rose up out of the sea like a great smudge on the horizon, taking shape as they bore down upon it through the surging swell. Mitchell stood on the deck and watched it through narrowed eyes. Even from that distance, he could sense the strange air of mystery which lay like an invisible pall over it.
Small wonder, he reflected, that the people who had been living here when the Dutch had first arrived, had known more about the sun and moon and stars than about any other land on the face of the earth. They were so far removed from the nearest land, from the nearest place of human habitation, that their language had been filled with references to the celestial bodies which were visible all the time in the clear sky above their heads, rather than to other islands, which were so far away that they had almost sunk to the status of myth.
They sailed closer and dropped anchor in a small bay which sheltered them from the current. Mitchell could feel the breeze on his body, a breeze which blew off the island, bringing with it a feeling of mystery, and a little touch of terror also as he thought of those carved stone images which dotted the grassy slopes. What race of creatures had posed for those vast statues? he wondered inwardly. A race of men long dead who had left behind these relics of civilization at which it was only possible to guess?
When he finally went below, a riot of thoughts ran through his spinning mind. In the morning, they would go ashore and their work would begin. Above all, he wanted to see these weird inscriptions on the stone statues and to talk with the people, try to dig back into their past, not to the legends of their own race, but those, if any, of the race which had inhabited this place possibly thousands of years ago.
He slept little that night and his uneasy dozing seemed troubled by strange dreams, more real and frightening than any he could remember before. Mostly, they consisted of a jumbled series of kaleidoscopic scenes or vivid glimpses of vast, hideous creatures walking a landscape which seemed totally unfamiliar to him, but which he felt he had seen before. He seemed, in his dreams, to hear a weird and awful chant that seemed never-ending and he worked with it ringing in his ears, the sweat starting out on his body and a shivering fit which seized him in spite of all he could do to fight it off.
He sat up in the bunk and looked about him, trying to force calmness into his mind. What had brought about that nightmare? he wondered as his heart slowly thumped into a more normal, slower beat. It was now almost dawn and there was a faint grey light showing through the porthole. He got up and stood on the cold floor of the cabin in his bare feet, staring out at the island less than a quarter of a mile away.
It looked bare and deserted, an undulating place with rocky, rising hummocks of land here and there and a few of the enigmatic statues just visible on the slopes. The sight of them stirred something inside his mind, and for a moment, he felt his breath catch at the back of his throat.
The air over the island seemed laden with mystery. He wondered whether Nordhurst was awake yet and if so, what emotions were running through his mind as he gazed out at the curious, almost awe-inspiring landscape which had opened before them. Possibly, he too, would be a little apprehensive, wondering what they might find out there. And Walton. He would be excited now, he felt sure of that. A fellow-spirit, he reflected, among the disbelievers.
Breakfast was a meal of silence, quickly over. Everyone, including Nordhurst, seemed anxious to get ashore, if only to get away from the monotonous swaying and pitching of the vessel. Even though they were at anchor here, there was still a swell running from the ocean.
Mitchell went in the first boatload, along with Walton and the Professor.
By now, the grey of the dawn had turned to roseate light edged with gold and suddenly, above the rim of the sea, the sun came up, leaping into the cloudless heavens. The boat touched down on the rock-strewn beach and Walton clambered out, giving a hand to Professor Nordhurst. Mitchell stepped out after them and stood looking about him in awed wonder for several moments. It seemed scarcely credible that he was here at last, that the mystery of which he had dreamed for so many years was actually there, all about him, spread out on all sides.
Stretching in both directions, the grey lava beach curved away around the rocky headland, cut here and there with precipices and loose blocks of stone, but these had obviously been carved by time and not by man.
“God, what a place,” breathed Walton hoarsely. His eyes were wide in his head. “If there are ghosts of ancient civilizations anywhere in the world, surely they must be here.”