The old man had seemed to be growing more and more excited, carried away by his subject, apparently. But now, calming down, he paused to collect his thoughts and settled himself deeper in his chair before continuing. And:
“There now,” he finally said. “Didn’t I warn you that I was easily sidetracked? And wouldn’t you know it, but now I’ve completely lost the thread!”
“I had asked you about that native jewellery,” she reminded him. “I thought maybe you could describe it for me, or at least tell me where you saw it. And there was something else you said—something about the old sea captains and…and things they associated with other than the natives?—that I somehow found, well, interesting.”
“Ah!” the old man answered. “But I can assure you, my dear, that last was sheer fantasy. And as for the jewellery…where did I see it? Why, in Innsmouth itself, where else? In a museum there—well, a sort of museum—but more properly a shrine, or a site of remembrance, really. I suppose I could tell you about it if you still wish it? And if you’re sure none of this is too troubling for you?” The way he looked at her, his gaze was very penetrating. But having come this far, Jilly wasn’t about to be put off.
“I do wish it,” she nodded. “And I promise you I’ll try not…not to be troubled. So do please go on.”
The old man nodded and stroked his chin, and after a while carried on with his story.
“Anthropology, the study of man’s origins and ways of life, was always something of a hobby of mine,” he began. “And crumbling old Innsmouth, despite its many drawbacks, was not without its sources—its own often fascinating history and background—which as yet I’ve so poorly delineated.
“Some of the women—I can’t really call them ladies—who attended my practice were of the blood. Not necessarily tainted blood but native blood, certainly. Despite the many generations separating them from their dusky forebears,still there was that of the South Sea islands in them. And it was a handful of these patients of mine, my clients, so to speak, that led to my enquiries after the jewellery they wore…the odd clasp or brooch, a wrist bangle or necklace. I saw quite a few, all displaying a uniform, somehow rude style of workmanship, and all very similarly adorned or embellished.
“But as for a detailed description, that’s rather difficult. Floral? No, not really. Arabesque? That would more properly fit the picture; weird foliage and other plant forms, curiously and intricately intertwined…but not foliage of the land. It was oceanic: seaweeds and sea grasses, with rare conches and fishes hidden in the design—particularly fishes—forming what may only be described as an unearthly piscine or perhaps batrachian depiction. And occasionally, as a backdrop to the seaweeds and grasses, there were hinted buildings: strange, squat pyramids, and oddly-angled towers. It was as if the unknown craftsman—who or whatever—had attempted to convey the lost Atlantis or some other watery civilization…”
The old man paused again, then said, “There. As a description, however inadequate, that will have to suffice. Of course, I was never so close to the Innsmouth women that I was able to study their clasps and brooches in any great detail, but I did enquire of them as to their origin. Ah, but they were a closemouthed lot and would say very little…well, except for one, who was younger and less typical of her kind; and she directed me to the museum.
“In its heyday it had been a church—that was before the tainted blood had moved in and the more orthodox religions out,—a squat-towered stone church, yes, but long since desanctified. It stood close to another once-grand building: a pillared hall of considerable size, still bearing upon its pediment the faded legend, ‘Esoteric Order of Dagon.’
“Dagon, eh? But here a point of great interest:
“Many years ago, this great hall, too, had been a place of worship…or obeisance of some sort, certainly. And how was this for an anthropological puzzle? For of course the fish-god Dagon—half man, half fish—had been a deity of the Philistines, later to be adopted by the Phoenicians who called him Oannes. And yet these Polynesian islanders, thousands of miles away around the world, had offered up their sacrifices—or at least their prayers—to the selfsame god. And in the Innsmouth of the 1820s their descendants were carrying on that same tradition! But you know, my dear, and silly as it may seem, I can’t help wondering if perhaps they’re doing it still…I mean today, even now.
“But there you go, I’ve sidetracked myself again! So where was I? Ah, yes! The old church, or rather the museum.
“The place was gothic in its looks, with shuttered windows and a disproportionately high basement. And it was there in the half-sunken basement—the museum proper—that the ‘exhibits’ were housed. There under dusty glass in unlocked boxwood cases, I saw such a fabulous collection of golden jewellery and ornaments…why, it amazed me that there were no labels to describe the treasure, and more so that there was no curator to guard it against thieves or to enlighten casual visitors with its story! Not that there were many visitors. Indeed, on such occasions as I was there I saw no one—not even a church mouse.
“But that jewellery, made of those strange golden alloys…oh, it was truly fascinating! As was a small, apparently specialized library of some hundreds of books; all of them antiques, and all quietly rotting away on damp, easily accessible shelves. Apart from one or two titles of particularly unpleasant connotation, I recognized nothing that I saw; and, since most of those titles were in any case beyond me, I never so much as paused to turn a page. But as with the exotic, alien jewellery—and if I had been a thief, of course—I’m sure I might have walked out of there with a fortune in rare and forbidden volumes under my coat, and no one to stop, accuse or search me. In fact, searching my memory, I believe I’ve heard mention that certain books and a quantity of jewellery were indeed stolen from the museum some twenty-odd years ago. Not that gold was ever of any great rarity in Innsmouth, for those old sea captains had brought it home in such large amounts that back in the 1800’s one of them had even opened up a refinery in order to purify his holdings! I tried to visit the refinery, too, only to find it in a state of total dereliction…as was much of the old town itself in the wake of a…well, of a rumoured epidemic, and subsequent government raids in 1927-28. But there, that’s another story.”
And fidgeting a very little—seeming suddenly reticent—Jamieson brought his narrative to an abrupt halt, saying, “And there you have it, my dear. With regard to your question about the strange jewellery…well, I’ve tried to answer it as best possible. So, er, what else can I tell you? Nothing, I fear…”
But now it was Jilly White’s eyes searching the old man’s face, and not the other way about. For she had noticed several vague allusions and some major omissions in his narrative, for which she required explanations.
“About the jewellery…yes, I believe I understand,” she said. “But you’ve said some other things that aren’t nearly so clear. In fact you seemed to be avoiding certain subjects. And I w-w-want…I wan-w-w…!” She slammed her arms down on the arms of her chair, trying to control her stammering. “I want to know! About—how did you put it?—the associations of those old sea captains with something other than the island women, which you said was sheer fantasy. But fantasy or not, I want to know. And about…about their beliefs…their religion and d-d-dedication to Dagon. Also, w-w-with regard to that foreign jewellery, you said something about its craftsman, ‘who or whatever!’ Now what did you mean by that? And that epidemic you mentioned: what was all that about? What, an epidemic that warranted government raids? James—if you’re my friend at all—surely you m-m-must see that I have to know!”