There was something in his threat that sent a shiver through me. I had long known him to be a man who never made idle threats.
While the rest of the men made a thorough search of the house, with five of them climbing the stairs to the upper storeys, I made a slow circuit of the room. A number of portraits of Marsh family members, going back for several generations, hung on the walls, but it was not these that made me feel uneasy. There were also other things, lining the mantelpiece above the wide hearth and on top of several long shelves around the walls.
There could be only one place where Marsh could have obtained them. Grotesque statues depicting hideous monstrosities, the likes of which I had never seen before. In particular, I came across a trio of statuettes, each about ten inches in height, which were frightful in the extreme. Apart from the nightmarish contours, which appeared to be hybrids of various sea creatures, the anatomical quintessence of these idols, the grotesque tentacular nature of the limbs and malformed torsos, suggested to me things from some distant pre-human era. The nature of the material from which they were fashioned was also highly peculiar. A pale, nauseous green, striated with minute black lines, it was extremely heavy and none of us could even hazard a guess as to what it was.
A sudden shout from one of the adjoining rooms jerked my attention from them. In a loose bunch, we made our way towards the sound, leaving Jensen to keep an eye on Marsh.
In one of the rooms, the men had come across a locked door which, on being broken down, revealed a flight of stone steps, clearly leading to cellars beneath the house. Lighting three of the lanterns we had brought with us, we descended the steps, almost retching on the stench which came up to meet us. It was a sharp, fishy odour, which caught at the backs of our throats, almost suffocating us.
At the bottom, in the pale light from our lanterns, we saw the shocking confirmation of what I had said earlier concerning my nocturnal vigils on the cliffs. There were more than a score of natives crowded into the cellar, and one or two of the men cried out as we tried to assimilate what we saw.
Several of us had sailed to many foreign ports during the prosperous trading and privateering days and were fully conversant with the many native races found on different islands of the Pacific. But what we saw in the wavering lantern light was something none of us had ever witnessed!
These were the most repulsive creatures I had ever set eyes on. Apart from some curious deformity of their bodies, their bulging eyes and oddly shaped heads held something of the aquatic physiognomy of fishes, and I could swear that some of them had hands and feet which seemed to be webbed!
Sickened by the sight and smell, I turned away, and it was then that I noticed the hastily boarded-up doorway in the far wall where the shadows were thickest. Drawing Corder’s attention to it, we soon ripped away the boards and shone the light of one of the lanterns into the gaping aperture that lay behind them. There was no doubting what it was—the opening into one of the old smugglers’ tunnels leading down towards the sea.
“So that’s how he brought them here,” Corder muttered grimly. “God alone knows how many more of these creatures are in the town, probably concealed in cellars like this.”
Charged the next day with illegally importing unidentified aliens, Obed Marsh and several of his crew were thrown into jail to await trial, and for two days thereafter an uneasy quiet reigned in Innsmouth.
* * *
It was not to last, however. For then came the day which was to change Innsmouth forever.
As far as I was concerned, my suspicions were aroused when I noticed several groups of men in the streets adjoining the jail. All of them were either men who had sailed with Marsh in the past or those who had joined him later, when he had spoken out against the various religious denominations.
It was clear their intention was to secure Obed’s release by force, and this seemed confirmed when they began moving in the direction of Main Street. Hurriedly alerting several of my neighbours and telling them to spread the word, we succeeded in gathering more than fifty men armed with muskets, pikes, knives and any other weapons they could lay their hands on.
By the time we reached the jail, we found it had already come under attack. Some of the raiders had forced their way inside, and the unmistakable sound of shots came from somewhere within the building. Moments later, we were set upon by the yelling mob, and I was fighting for my life against men I had known for years who now acted like crazed madmen.
For a time, since we outnumbered them by almost two to one, we succeeded in driving them back from their objective. But as they retreated along Main Street, a great horde of natives burst out of Waite Street, forcing us back towards the bridge over the Manuxet.
In the distance, I could clearly pick out more gunfire coming from all directions, but concentrated mainly near the centre of the town and along the waterfront, and I guessed that fighting had broken out in several places. Already we had suffered a number of casualties—seven men had been killed, and almost twice that number wounded.
Luckily, the majority of the natives were unarmed, relying on sheer weight of numbers to overwhelm us. Several were killed within the first few minutes, but the rest came on, heedless of their casualties.
It was the bridge that temporarily saved us. On either side, the riverbank as far as the falls was far too steep and treacherous to be readily scaled, and the Manuxet was in full flood after the recent rains, thereby preventing the creatures from crossing the river and assaulting us from the rear.
For almost an hour we managed to hold off the attackers, inflicting terrible carnage among their ranks. When they began to pull back, we believed we had beaten them off, and although firing could still be heard around the town centre, it was sporadic, and it appeared the situation was slowly being brought under control.
After what several of us had witnessed in the cellar below the Marsh mansion, I think we believed we were prepared for anything. But nothing could have prepared us for what came next.
It was Silas Benson who suddenly called our attention to the river below us. As I have said, the Manuxet was in full flood, but now it teemed with black shapes, swimming upstream against the racing current. That they had come from the sea was immediately obvious. Literally hundreds of them came swarming onto the bank, and one horrified glance was enough to show that these creatures were even less human than those we had stumbled upon earlier.
Hopping in a manner hideously suggestive of frogs, they clambered up the steep sides with ease. There was no chance of defeating such a multitude, and our only hope of survival was to flee across the bridge and along Main Street. Another bank of natives, surging out of Dock Street, attempted to halt us, and our ammunition was almost spent by the time we broke through them. Four more of our number were killed before we reached the relative safety of my house, where we barricaded ourselves in.
By now it was abundantly clear that those monsters from the sea had taken over the whole of the town. Sporadic firing could still be heard in the distance, but we all knew that further resistance was futile.
By the morning of the next day, after spending the night confined to the house, we finally pieced together the full story of what had happened. Obed Marsh and those imprisoned with him had been released. Both of the Federal investigators who had accompanied us to the Marsh mansion had been slaughtered. John Lawrence, editor of the Innsmouth Courier on Dock Street, who had often spoken out against Marsh, had been dragged into the street and murdered. The presses and printing equipment had been smashed and the offices set on fire.