I had been assured that the old man could do nothing but hint at wild,
disjointed, and incredible legends, and I had been warned that the
natives made it unsafe to be seen talking with him; yet the thought
of this aged witness to the town's decay, with memories going back to
the early days of ships and factories, was a _lure_ that no amount
of reason could make me resist. Curiosity flared up beyond sense and
caution, and in my youthful egotism I fancied I might be able to sift
a nucleus of real history from the confused, extravagant outpouring I
would probably extract with the aid of whiskey.
A quart bottle of such was easily, though not cheaply, obtained in the
rear of a dingy variety-store just off the Square in Eliot Street.
Re-entering the Square I saw that luck was with me; for--shuffling
out of Paine Street around the corner of the Gilman House--I glimpsed
nothing less than the tall, lean, tattered form of old Zadok Allen
himself. In accordance with my plan, I attracted his attention by
brandishing my newly-purchased bottle; and soon realized that he had
begun to shuffle wistfully after me as I turned into Waite Street on my
way to the most deserted region I could think of. Before I reached Main
Street I could hear a faint and wheezy "Hey, Mister!" behind me, and I
presently allowed the old man to catch up and take copious pulls from
the quart bottle.
I began putting out feelers as we walked along to Water Street and
turned southward amidst the omnipresent desolation and crazily tilted
ruins, but found that the aged tongue did not loosen as quickly
as I had expected. At length I saw a grass-grown opening toward
the sea between crumbling brick walls, with the weedy length of an
earth-and-masonry wharf projecting beyond. Piles of moss-covered stones
near the water promised tolerable seats, and the scene was sheltered
from all possible view by a ruined warehouse on the north.
About four hours remained for conversation if I were to catch the eight
o'clock coach for Arkham, and I began to dole out more liquor to the
ancient tippler; meanwhile eating my own frugal lunch. In my donations
I was careful not to overshoot the mark, for I did not wish Zadok's
vinous garrulousness to pass into a stupor. After an hour his furtive
taciturnity showed signs of disappearing, and something or other had
caused his wandering gaze to light on the low, distant line of Devil
Reef, then showing plainly and almost fascinatingly above the waves. He
bent toward me, took hold of my coat lapel, and hissed out some hints
that could not be mistaken.
"Thar's whar it all begun--that cursed place of all wickedness whar
the deep water starts. Gate o' hell--sheer drop daown to a bottom no
saoundin'-line kin tech. Ol' Cap'n Obed done it--him that faound aout
more'n was good fer him in the Saouth Sea islands.
"Never was nobody like Cap'n Obed--old limb o' Satan! Heh, heh! I kin
mind him a-tellin' abaout furren parts, an' callin' all the folks
stupid fer goin' to Christian meetin' an' bearin' their burdens meek
an' lowly. Says they'd orter git better gods like some o' the folks
in the Injies--gods as ud bring 'em good fishin' in return fer their
sacrifices, an' ud reely answer folks's prayers.
"Matt Eliot, his fust mate, talked a lot, too, only he was agin'
folks's doin' any heathen things. Told abaout an island east of
Othaheite whar they was a lot o' stone ruins older'n anybody knew
anything abaout, kind o' like them on Ponape, in the Carolines, but
with carvin's of faces that looked like the big statues on Easter
Island. They was a little volcanic island near thar, too, whar they was
other ruins with diff'rent carvin's--ruins all wore away like they'd
ben under the sea onct, an' with picters of awful monsters all over 'em.
"Wal, Sir, Matt he says the natives araound thar had all the fish they
cud ketch, an' sported bracelets an' armlets an' head rigs made aout
of a queer kind o' gold an' covered with picters o' monsters jest like
the ones carved over the ruins on the little island--sorter fishlike
frogs or froglike fishes that was drawed in all kinds o' positions
like they was human bein's. Nobody cud git aout o' them whar they got
all the stuff, an' all the other natives wondered haow they managed to
find fish in plenty even when the very next islands had lean pickin's.
Matt he got to wonderin' too, an' so did Cap'n Obed. Obed, he notices,
besides, that lots of the han'some young folks ud drop aout o' sight
fer good from year to year, an' that they wan't many old folk araound.
Also, he thinks some of the folks looks durned queer even fer Kanakys.
"It took Obed to git the truth aout o' them heathens. I dun't know haow
he done it, but he begun by tradin' fer the gold-like things they wore.
Ast 'em whar they come from, an' ef they cud git more, an' finally
wormed the story aout o' the old chief--Walakea, they called him.
Nobody but Obed ud ever a believed the old yeller devil, but the Cap'n
cud read folks like they was books. Heh, heh! Nobody never believes me
naow when I tell 'em, an I dun't s'pose you will, young feller--though
come to look at ye, ye hev kind o' got them sharp-readin' eyes like
Obed had."
The old man's whisper grew fainter, and I found myself shuddering at
the terrible and sincere portentousness of his intonation, even though
I knew his tale could be nothing but drunken phantasy.
"Wal, Sir, Obed he larnt that they's things on this arth as most folks
never heard abaout--an' wouldn't believe ef they did hear. It seems
these Kanakys was sacrificin' heaps o' their young men an' maidens to
some kind o' god-things that lived under the sea, an' gittin' all kinds
o' favors in return. They met the things on the little islet with the
queer ruins, an' it seems them awful picters o' frog-fish monsters was
supposed to be picters o' these things. Mebbe they was the kind o'
critters as got all the mermaids stories an' sech started. They had all
kinds o' cities on the sea-bottom, an' this island was heaved up from
thar. Seems they was some of the things alive in the stone buildin's
when the island come up sudden to the surface. That's haow the Kanakys
got wind they was daown thar. Made sign-talk as soon as they got over
bein' skeert, an' pieced up a bargain afore long.
"Them things liked human sacrifices. Had had 'em ages afore, but
lost track o' the upper world arter a time. What they done to the
victims it ain't fer me to say, an' I guess Obed wa'n't none too
sharp abaout askin'. But it was all right with the heathens, because
they'd ben havin' a hard time an' was desp'rate abaout everything.
They give a sarten number o' young folks to the sea-things twict every
year--May-Eve an' Hallowe'en--reg'lar as cud be. Also give some o' the
carved knick-knacks they made. What the things agreed to give in return
was a plenty o' fish--they druv 'em in from all over the sea--an' a few
gold-like things naow an' then.
"When it come to matin' with them toad-lookin' fishes, the Kanakys
kind o' balked, but finally they larnt something as put a new face
on the matter. Seems that human folks has got a kind o' relation to
sech water-beasts--that everything alive come aout o' the water onct,
an' only needs a little change to go back agin. Them things told the
Kanakys that ef they mixed bloods there'd be children as ud look human
at fust, but later turn more'n more like the things, till finally
they'd take to the water an' jine the main lot o' things daown thar.
An' this is the important part, young feller--them as turned into fish
things an' went into the water _wouldn't never die_. Them things never
died excep' they was kilt violent.
"Wal, Sir, it seems by the time Obed knowed them islanders they was all
full o' fish blood from them deep-water things. When they got old an'
begun to show it, they was kep' hid until they felt like takin' to the
water an' quittin' the place. Some was more teched than others, an'
some never did change quite enough to take to the water; but mostly
they turned aout jest the way them things said. Them as was born more
like the things changed arly, but them as was nearly human sometimes
stayed on the island till they was past seventy, though they'd usually
go daown under fer trial trips afore that. Folks as had took to the
water, gen'rally come back a good deal to visit, so's a man ud often be
a-talkin' to his own five-times-great-grandfather, who'd left the dry
land a couple o' hundred years or so afore.
"Everybody got aout o' the idee o' dyin'--excep' in canoe wars with
the other islanders, or as sacrifices to the sea-gods daown below, or
from snake-bite or plague or sharp gallopin' ailments or somethin'
afore they cud take to the water--but simply looked forrad to a kind
o' change that wa'n't a bit horrible arter a while. They thought what
they'd got was well wuth all they'd had to give up--an' I guess Obed
kind o' come to think the same hisself when he'd chewed over old
Walakea's story a bit. Walakea, though, was one of the few as hadn't
got none of the fish blood--bein' of a royal line that intermarried
with royal lines on other islands.
"Walakea give him a funny kind o' thingumajig made aout o' lead or
something, that he said ud bring up the fish things from any place in
the water whar they might be a nest of 'em. The idee was to drop it
daown with the right kind o' prayers an' sech. Walakea allaowed as was
the things was scattered all over the world, so's anybody that looked
abaout cud find a nest an' bring 'em up ef they was wanted.
"Matt he didn't like this business at all, an' wanted Obed shud keep
away from the island; but the Cap'n was sharp fer gain, an' faound
he cud git them gold-like things so cheap it ud pay him to make a
specialty of 'em.
"Things went on that way fer years, an' Obed got enough o' that
gold-like stuff to make him start the refinery in Waite's old run-daown
fullin' mill.
"Wall, come abaout 'thutty-eight--when I was seven year' old--Obed he
faound the island people all wiped aout between v'yages. Seems the
other islanders had got wind o' what was goin' on, an' had took matters
into their own hands. S'pose they must a had, arter all, them old magic
signs as the sea things says was the only things they was afeard of. No
tellin' what any o' them Kanakys will chance to git a holt of when the
sea-bottom throws up some island with ruins older'n the deluge. Pious
cusses, these was--they didn't leave nothin' standin' on either the
main island or the little volcanic islet excep' what parts of the ruins
was too big to knock daown.
"That naturally hit Obed pretty hard, seein' as his normal trade
was doin' very poor. It hit the whole of Innsmouth, too, because in
seafarin' days what profited the master of a ship gen'lly profited the
crew proportionate. Most o' the folks araound the taown took the hard
times kind o' sheeplike an' resigned, but they was in bad shape because
the fishin' was peterin' aout an' the mills wa'n't doin' none too well.
"Then's the time Obed he begun a-cursin' at the folks fer bein' dull
sheep an' prayin' to a Christian heaven as didn't help 'em none. He
told 'em he'd knowed of folks as prayed to gods that give somethin' ye
reely need, an' says ef a good bunch o' men ud stand by him, he cud
mebbe git a holt o' sarten paowers as ud bring plenty o' fish an' quite
a bit o' gold."
Here the old man faltered, mumbled, and lapsed into a moody and
apprehensive silence; glancing nervously over his shoulder and then
turning back to stare fascinatedly at the distant black reef. When
I spoke to him he did not answer, so I knew I would have to let him
finish the bottle. He licked its nose and slipped it into his pocket,
then beginning to nod and whisper softly to himself. I bent close to
catch any articulate words he might utter, and thought I saw a sardonic
smile behind the stained, bushy whiskers. Yes--he was really forming
words, and I could grasp a fair proportion of them.
"Poor Matt--Matt he allus was agin it--tried to line up the folks on
his side, an' had long talks with the preachers--no use--they run
the Congregational parson aout o' taown, an' the Methodist feller
quit--never did see Resolved Babcock, the Baptist parson, agin--Wrath
o' Jehovy--I was a mighty little critter, but I heerd what I heerd an'
seen what I seen--Dagon an' Ashtoreth--Belial an' Beëlzebub--Golden
Caff an' the idols o' Canaan an' the Philistines--Babylonish
abominations--_Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin_--"
He stopped again, and from the look in his watery blue eyes I feared he
was close to a stupor after all. But when I gently shook his shoulder
he turned on me with astonishing alertness and snapped out some more
obscure phrases.
"Dun't believe me, hey? Heh, heh, heh--then just tell me, young feller,
why Cap'n Obed an' twenty odd other folks used to row aout to Devil
Reef in the dead o' night an' chant things so laoud ye cud hear 'em
all over taown when the wind was right? Tell me that, hey? An' tell
me why Obed was allus droppin' heavy things daown into the deep water
t'other side o' the reef whar the bottom shoots daown like a cliff
lower'n ye kin saound? Tell me what he done with that funny-shaped lead
thingumajig as Walakea give him? Hey, boy?"
The watery blue eyes were almost savage and maniacal now, and the dirty
white beard bristled electrically. Old Zadok probably saw me shrink
back, for he began to cackle evilly.
"Heh, heh, heh, heh! Beginnin' to see, hey? Haow abaout the night I
took my pa's ship's glass up to a cupalo an' seed the reef a-bristlin'
thick with shapes that dove off quick soon's the moon riz? Obed an' the
folks was in a dory, but them shapes dove off the far side into the
deep water an' never come up.... Haow'd ye like to be a little shaver
alone up in a cupalo a-watchin' shapes _as wa'n't human shapes_?...
Hey?... Heh, heh, heh, heh...."
* * * * *
The old man was getting hysterical, and I began to shiver with a
nameless alarm. He laid a gnarled claw on my shoulder, and it seemed to
me that its shaking was not altogether that of mirth.
"S'pose one night ye seed somethin' heavy heaved offen Obed's dory
beyond the reef, an' then larned nex' day a young feller was missin'
from home? Hey? Did anybody ever see hide or hair o' Hiram Gilman agin?
Did they? An' Nick Pierce, an' Luelly Waite, an' Adoniram Saouthwick,
an' Henry Garrison? Hey? Heh, heh....
"Wal, Sir, that was the time Obed begun to git on his feet agin. Folks
see his three darters a-wearin' gold-like things as nobody'd never see
on 'em afore, an' smoke started comin' aout o' the refin'ry chimbly.
Other folks was prosp'rin', too--fish began to swarm into the harbor
fit to kill, an' heaven knows what sized cargoes we begun to ship aout
to Newb'ryport, Arkham, an' Boston. 'Twas then Obed got the ol' branch
railrud put through.
"Remember, I ain't sayin' Obed was set on hevin' things jest like
they was on that Kanaky isle. I dun't think he aimed at fust to do
no mixin', nor raise no young-uns to take to the water an' turn into
fishes with etarnal life. He wanted them gold things, an' was willin'
to pay heavy, an' I guess the _others_ was satisfied fer a while....
"Come in 'forty-six the taown done some lookin' an' thinkin' fer
itself. Too many folks missin'--too much wild preachin' at meetin' of a
Sunday--too much talk abaout that reef. I guess I done a bit by tellin'
Selectman Mowry what I see from the cupalo. They was a party one night
as follered Obed's craowd aout to the reef, an' I heerd shots betwixt
the dories. Nex' day Obed an' thutty-two others was in jail, with
everybody a-wonderin' jest what was afoot an' jest what charge agin
'em cud be got to holt. God, ef anybody'd looked ahead ... a couple
o' weeks later, when nothin' had ben throwed into the sea fer that
long...."
Zadok was showing signs of fright and exhaustion, and I let him keep
silence for a while, though glancing apprehensively at my watch. The
tide had turned and was coming in now, and the sound of the waves
seemed to arouse him.
"That awful night.... I seed 'em.... I was up in the cupalo ... hordes
of 'em ... swarms of 'em ... all over the reef an' swimmin' up the
harbor into the Manuxet.... God, what happened in the streets of
Innsmouth that night ... they rattled our door, but pa wouldn't open
... then he clumb aout the kitchen winder with his musket to find
Selectman Mowry an' see what he cud do.... Maounds o' the dead an'
the dyin' ... shots an' screams ... shaoutin' in Ol' Squar an' Taown
Squar an' New Church Green ... jail throwed open ... proclamation ...
treason ... called it the plague when folks come in an' faound haff our
people missin' ... nobody left but them as ud jine in with Obed an'
them things or else keep quiet ... never heerd o' my pa no more...."
The old man was panting, and perspiring profusely. His grip on my
shoulder tightened.
"Everything cleaned up in the mornin'--but they was _traces_.... Obed
he kinder takes charge an' says things is goin' to be changed ...
_others'll_ worship with us at meetin'-time, an' sarten haouses hez got
to entertain _guests_ ... _they_ wanted to mix like they done with the
Kanakys, an' he fer one didn't feel baound to stop 'em. Far gone, was
Obed ... jest like a crazy man on the subjeck. He says they brung us
fish an' treasure, an' shud hev what they hankered arter....
"Nothin' was to be diff'runt on the aoutside, only we was to keep shy
o' strangers ef we knowed what was good fer us. We all hed to take the
Oath o' Dagon, an' later on they was secon' an' third Oaths that some
of us took. Them as ud help special, ud git special rewards--gold an'
sech. No use balkin', fer they was millions of 'em daown thar. They'd
ruther not start risin' an' wipin' aout humankind, but ef they was gave
away an' forced to, they cud do a lot toward jest that.
"Yield up enough sacrifices an' savage knick-knacks an' harborage in
the taown when they wanted it, an' they'd let well enough alone. All in
the band of the faithful--Order o' Dagon--an' the children shud never
die, but go back to the Mother Hydra an' Father Dagon what we all come
from onct--_Iä! Iä! Cthulhu fhtagn! Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh
wgahnagl fhtagn_--"
Old Zadok began to moan now, and tears were coursing down his
channelled cheeks into the depths of his beard.
"God, what I seen senct I was fifteen year' old--_Mene, mene,
tekel, upharsin!_--the folks as was missin', an' them as kilt
theirselves--them as told things in Arkham or Ipswich or sech places
was all called crazy, like you're a-callin' me right naow--but God,
what I seen--they'd a kilt me long ago fer what I know, only I'd
took the fust an' secon' Oaths o' Dagon offen Obed, so was pertected
unlessen a jury of 'em proved I told things knowin' an' delib'rit ...
but I wudn't take the third Oath--I'd a died ruther'n take that--
"It got wuss araound Civil War time, _when children born senct
'forty-six begun to grow up_--some of 'em, that is. I was
afeard--never did no pryin' arter that awful night, an' never see one
o'--_them_--clost to in all my life. That is, never no full-blooded
one. Barnabas Marsh that runs the refin'ry naow is Obed's grandson by
his fust wife--son of Onesiphorus, his eldest son, _but his mother was
another o' them as wa'n't never seed aoutdoors_.
"Right naow Barnabas is abaout changed. Can't shet his eyes no more,
an' is all aout o' shape. They say he still wears clothes, but he'll
take to the water soon." ...
The sound of the incoming tide was now very insistent, and little by
little it seemed to change the old man's mood from maudlin tearfulness
to watchful fear. He would pause now and then to renew those nervous
glances over his shoulder or out toward the reef, and despite the wild
absurdity of his tale, I could not help beginning to share his vague
apprehensiveness. Zadok now grew shriller, and seemed to be trying to
whip up his courage with louder speech.
"Hey, yew, why dun't ye say somethin'? Haow'd ye like to be livin' in a
taown like this, with everything a-rottin' an' a-dyin', an' boarded-up
monsters crawlin' an' bleatin' an' barkin' an' hoppin' araoun' black
cellars an' attics every way ye turn? Hey? Wal, Sir, _let me tell ye
that aint the wust_!"
Zadok was really screaming now, and the mad frenzy of his voice
disturbed me more than I care to own.
"Curse ye, dun't set thar a-starin' at me with them eyes--I tell Obed
Marsh he's in hell, an' hez got to stay thar! Heh, heh ... in hell, I
says! Can't git me--I hain't done nothin' nor told nobody nothin'--
"Oh, you, young feller? Wal, even ef I hain't told nobody nothin' yet,
I'm a-goin' to naow! Yew jest set still an' listen to me, boy--this is
what I ain't never told nobody.... I says I didn't get to do no pryin'
arter that night--_but I found things aout jest the same_!
"Yew want to know what the reel horror is, hey? Wal, it's this--it
ain't what them fish devils _hez done, but what they're a-goin' to
do_! They're a-bringin' things up aout o' whar they come from into the
taown--ben doin' it fer years, an' slackenin' up lately. Them haouses
north o' the river betwixt Water an' Main Streets is full of 'em--them
devils _an' what they brung_--an' when they git ready ... I say, _when
they git ready_ ... ever hear tell of a _shoggoth_?....
"Hey, d'ye hear me? I tell ye I _know what them things be--I seen 'em
one night when_.... EH-AHHHH--AH! E'YAAHHHH...."
The hideous suddenness and inhuman frightfulness of the old man's
shriek almost made me faint. His eyes, looking past me toward the
malodorous sea, were positively starting from his head; while his
face was a mask of fear worthy of Greek tragedy. His bony claw dug
monstrously into my shoulder, and he made no motion as I turned my head
to look at whatever he had glimpsed.
There was nothing that I could see. Only the incoming tide, with
perhaps one set of ripples more local than the long-flung line of
breakers. But now Zadok was shaking me, and I turned back to watch the
melting of that fear-frozen face into a chaos of twitching eyelids and
mumbling gums. Presently his voice came back--albeit as a trembling
whisper.
"_Git aout o' here!_ Git aout o' here! _They seen us_--git aout
fer your life! Dun't wait fer nothin'--_they know naow_--Run fer
it--quick--_aout o' this taown_--"
Another heavy wave dashed against the loosening masonry of the bygone
wharf, and changed the mad ancient's whisper to another inhuman and
blood-curdling scream.
"E-YAAAHHHH!...
"YHAAAAAAAA!..."
Before I could recover my scattered wits he had relaxed his clutch
on my shoulder and dashed wildly inland toward the street, reeling
northward around the ruined warehouse wall.
I glanced back at the sea, but there was nothing there. And when I
reached Water Street and looked along it toward the north there was no
remaining trace of Zadok Allen.