THE PORT
by H. P. LOVECRAFT
Ten miles from Arkham I had struck the trail
That rides the cliff-edge over Boynton Beach,
And hoped that just at sunset I could reach
The crest that looks on Innsmouth in the vale.
Far out at sea was a retreating sail,
White as hard years of ancient winds could bleach,
But evil with some portent beyond speech,
So that I did not wave my hand or hail.
Sails out of Innsmouth! Echoing old renown
Of long-dead times. But now a too-swift night
Is closing in, and I have reached the height
Whence I so often scan the distant town.
The spires and roofs are there—but look! The gloom
Sinks on dark lanes, as lightless as the tomb!
INNSMOUTH BANE
by JOHN GLASBY
I AM WRITING this narrative in the sincere belief that something terrible has come to Innsmouth—something about which it is not wise to speak openly. Many of my neighbours, if they should ever read this account, will undoubtedly assume that any accusations I make against Obed Marsh are based upon jealousy since there is little doubt that he, alone, is prospering while those of us who lost much during the years of depression are still finding it difficult to profit from this strange upturn in fortune which is his alone.
My name is Jedediah Allen. My family left Boston and settled in Innsmouth in 1676, twenty-one years after the town was founded, my grandfather and father being engaged in trade with the Orient, prospering well following the success of the Revolution. The war of 1812, however, brought misfortune to many Innsmouth families. The loss of men and ships was heavy, the Gilman shipping business suffering particularly badly.
Only Obed Marsh seemed to have come out of the depression successfully. His three vessels, the Sumatra Queen, Hetty and Columbia still made regular sailings to the islands of the South Seas. Yet there was, from the very beginning, something odd about these voyages. From the first, he returned with large quantities of gold trinkets, more treasure than anyone in Innsmouth had ever seen.
One rumour had it that this hoard of gold had been discovered by him concealed in some secret cave on Devil Reef, left there by buccaneers more than two centuries earlier—that he covertly ferried it ashore on nights when there was no moon. Yet having seen some of these artefacts for myself, for Obed displayed many of them quite openly, I was more inclined towards the former explanation as to their origin.
Certainly, the objects were beautiful in their intricate workmanship and design but this was marred by an alienness in their imagery. All of the objects appeared to have an aquatic motif. To my eye, they had disturbing suggestions of fish or frog symbols, totally unlike any of the Spanish trinkets from the West Indies.
There was also something strange about the metal from which they were fashioned, which indicated a non-European source.
My attempts to get Obed to divulge any information about them all met with evasiveness. He would neither confirm nor deny any of the rumours.
There was one man, however, who might talk.
* * *
Matt Eliot, first mate on the Sumatra Queen, was known to frequent the inn on Water Street whenever he was in port and it was from him that I hoped to learn something.
It was two weeks before an opportunity presented itself. Entering the inn just after dark, I spotted Eliot in the far corner, among the shadows, and for once he appeared to be without his usual drinking companions. After purchasing two drinks, I walked over and sat in the chair opposite him. He clearly had had a lot to drink although the hour was still early.
I knew him to be a man of violent temper, readily aroused, one who had to be approached with caution and diplomacy.
Setting the drink down in front of him, I sat back and studied him closely for several moments. I wanted him to be sufficiently drunk to talk, but not too drunk to fall into a stupor. For a time, he gave no indication that he had noticed my presence. Then his hand went out for the glass and he took several swallows, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth.
Leaning forward, he peered closely at me. Then he grinned. “Jedediah Allen, ain’t it?”
I nodded. “I’d like to talk with you, Matt,” I said. “About these voyages you go on with Captain Marsh. Where’d he get all that gold? I’d like to buy some of it for myself.”
His eyes opened and closed several times before he replied, “Reckon you’ll have to speak to Obed about the gold. He keeps all of that for himself.”
“But you do know where he gets it.”
“O’ course I do. Every man on those ships knows where that gold comes from.” He leaned forward a little further, pushing his face up to mine, and dropping his voice to a hoarse whisper. “Every trip he makes, Obed sails for Othaheite. Couple o’ years ago, we came across an island to the east not shown on any of our charts. The natives there, the Kanakys, worship some kind o’ fish-god and they get all the fish and gold they want in exchange for sacrifices to this heathen god. Obed gives ’em beads and baubles for it.”
He took another swallow of his drink. “There’s somethin’ else, somethin’—”
He broke off abruptly, as if suddenly aware he was on the point of saying something he shouldn’t.
“Go on,” I urged. “This is just between you and me, Matt.”
“There’s another island close to that where the Kanakys live. That’s where they offer their sacrifices. Obed got me and two others to row him out there one night. God, it was horrible. Not just the ruins that looked as if they’d lain on the bottom of the sea for millions of years, but what we heard and saw while we were there, on the other side of the island. Things comin’ up out o’ the sea like fish and frogs, only they walked on two legs like men, croakin’ and whistlin’ like demons.”
I saw him shudder at the memory. “Obed never went back to that accursed island again. I reckon even he was scared by what we saw.”
Finishing my drink, I thanked him for his information and left. As a staunch member of the Baptist Church, I knew that it was my duty to warn others of Marsh’s activities. But without proof, it was doubtful if I would be even listened to. Obed was a prominent figure in town and after all, it had long been an established practice for sea captains to exchange goods with the natives of these far-flung islands. Before I could tell anyone, I needed to know a lot more about what Obed was bringing into Innsmouth apart from gold.
It was then I decided to wait for his return from his latest voyage. I already knew that both the Hetty and the Columbia had sailed some seven months previously, leaving the Sumatra Queen tied up at the harbour for repairs.
* * *
Over the next few weeks, I made discreet enquiries concerning these ships and finally ascertained they were due off Innsmouth some five weeks later. I had already decided upon the best vantage-point to maintain a close watch on any activity without exposing myself to view. Accordingly, on the night in question, I made my way along Water Street to the harbour. The night was dark and starlit with no moon, and I let myself into one of the large warehouses lining the waterfront.
Going up to one of the upper storeys, I crouched down by the window from where I had a clear and unrestricted view of the entire harbour. Although dark, there was sufficient starlight for me to readily make out the irregular black outline of Devil Reef perhaps a mile and a half away.