Three of the Emmas men, including Capt. Collins and First Mate Green, were killed. The remaining eight under Second Mate Johansen continued to navigate the captured yacht. They were going in their original direction to see why they were ordered back The next day, it appears, they found and landed on a small island. None knew about it in that part of the ocean. Six of the men somehow died ashore. Johansen strangely says very little about this part of his story. Later, it seems, he and one companion boarded the yacht and tried to manage it. But they were driven by the storm of April 2nd. From that time till his rescue on the 12th the man remembers little. He does not even recall when William Briden, his companion, died. There was no apparent cause for Bridens death. It happened probably due to excitement or exposure. The Alert was well known there as an island trader[59]. It bore evil reputation. It was owned by a curious group of half-castes. Their frequent meetings and night trips to the woods attracted curiosity. It started in great haste just after the storm and earth tremors of March 1st. Our Auckland correspondent gives the Emma and her crew an excellent reputation. He describes Johansen as a sober and worthy man. The admiralty will start an inquiry. They will try to make Johansen speak more freely than he did before.
This was all, together with the picture of the hellish image. What a train of ideas it started in my mind! Here was new information about the Cthulhu Cult! Here was the evidence that it had strange interests at sea as well as on land. Why did the hybrid crew order the Emma to sail back? What was the unknown island on which six of the Emmas crew died? Why Johansen was so secretive? And most important, what deep connection was there, between these dates and events so carefully noted by my uncle?
March 1st or February 28th according to the International Date Line[60] the earthquake and storm came. From Dunedin the Alert and her crew sailed eagerly. It looked as if somebody summoned it. On the other side of the earth poets and artists began to dream of a strange Cyclopean city while a young sculptor moulded in his sleep the form of the dreaded Cthulhu. March 23rd the crew of the Emma landed on an unknown island. They left six men dead. On that date the dreams of sensitive men became very vivid and darkened with dread of a giant monsters malign pursuit. On that date architect went mad and a sculptor went suddenly into delirium! And what of this storm of April 2nd the date on which all dreams of the strange city ceased? The date on which Wilcox recovered from the strange fever? An old Castro talked about the sunken, star-born Old Ones and their coming reign; their faithful cult and their mastery of dreams. In some way the second of April stopped monstrous menace, which began the siege of mankinds soul.
That evening I took a train for San Francisco. In less than a month I was in Dunedin. There I found that little was known of the strange cult-members who spent their time in the old sea-taverns. But there was vague talk about one inland trip these mongrels made. During that trip faint drumming and red flame were noted on the distant hills. In Auckland I learned that Johansen returned with yellow hair turned white after a questioning at Sydney. Hereafter he sold his cottage in West Street and sailed with his wife to his old home in Oslo. He did not told much to his friends but they gave me his Oslo address.
After that I went to Sydney and talked with seamen and members of the vice-admiralty court but without result. I saw the Alert but gained nothing. The Alert was sold and now in commercial use. The crouching image with its cuttlefish head, dragon body, scaly wings, and hieroglyphed pedestal, was preserved in the Museum at Hyde Park. I studied it long and well. Geologists, the curator told me, found it a monstrous puzzle. They vowed that the rock like it did not exist. Then I remembered with a shudder the words that Old Castro told Legrasse about the Old Ones;
They came from the stars, and brought Their images with Them.
My rationalistic thinking was shaken. I decided to visit Mate Johansen in Oslo. Johansen lived, I discovered, in the Old Town. I made a brief taxi-trip. Then I knocked at the door of a neat and ancient building. A sad-faced woman in black came out and told me in broken English that Gustaf Johansen was dead.
It was his wife and she told me something. He did not live long after his return. The sea events in 1925 broke him. He told her no more than he told the public. But he left a long manuscript of technical matters as he said written in English. During a walk near the Gothenburg dock, a bundle of papers from an attic window knocked him down. Two Lascar sailors[61] at once helped him, but before the ambulance arrived, he was dead. Physicians said that his death occurred due to a heart trouble and a weakened constitution.
I felt dark terror now, the terror that will never leave me. At least till I die, accidentally or otherwise. I persuaded the widow to get her husbands technical matters. I bore the document away and began to read it on the London boat. It was a naive sailors effort at a diary to recall day by day that last awful voyage. After I read this story I was unable to hear the sound of the waves anymore. But I will try to retell this story.
Johansen, thank God, did not know everything, even though he saw the city and the Thing. I shall never sleep calmly again when I think of the horrors that lurk ceaselessly behind life in time and in space. These blasphemies from elder stars dream beneath the sea and the nightmare cult is ready to let them loose when they have another chance.
Johansens voyage began just as he told it to the vice-admiralty. The Emma left Auckland on February 20th. The ship felt the full force of the earthquake-born tempest. Once more under control, the ship was making good progress. The Alert stopped the ship on March 22nd. I could feel the mates regret as he wrote of the bombardment and sinking. He speaks with significant horror of the dark cult-fiends on the Alert. Then they went forward driven by curiosity. They sailed in their captured yacht under Johansens command. The men saw a great stone pillar sticking out of the sea. In S. Latitude 47°9, W. Longitude l23°43, they came upon a coastline of mingled mud, ooze, and weedy Cyclopean masonry which can be nothing less than the tangible substance of earths supreme terror. It was the nightmare corpse-city of Rlyeh. This city was built in measureless ages behind history by the vast, loathsome creatures that came down from the dark stars. There lay great Cthulhu and his hordes, hidden in green slimy vaults. They were sending out at last the thoughts that spread fear to the dreams of the sensitive. These thoughts called imperiously to the faithful to come on a pilgrimage of liberation and restoration. All this Johansen did not suspect, but he soon saw enough!
I suppose that only a single mountain-top, the hideous monolith-crowned citadel actually emerged from the waters. Here great Cthulhu was buried. When I think what else lies there I almost want to kill myself. Johansen and his men were awed by the cosmic majesty of this dripping Babylon of elder demons. They probably guessed that it was nothing of this planet. Awe at the unbelievable size of the greenish stone blocks, at the height of the great carven monolith, and at the identity of the colossal statues and bas-reliefs with the queer image found in the shrine on the Alert, is visible in every line of the frightened description. Johansen had no idea of futurism. But his description of the city was very similar to it: great stone surfaces, vast angles, horrible images and hieroglyphs. The whole geometry of this place was not normal, just like in Wilcox awful dream.