The Shadow Over Innsmouth | Page 7

to look at it. Then we turned to the left so High Street,
when the going was smoother; flying by stately old mansions of the
early republic and still older colonial farmhouses, passing the Lower
Green and Parker River, and finally emerging Into a long, monotonous
stretch of open shore country.
The day was warm and sunny, but the landscape of sand and
sedge-grass, and stunted shrubbery became more and desolate as we
proceeded. Out the window I could see the blue water and the sandy
line of Plum Island, and we presently drew very near the beach as our
narrow road veered off from the main highway to Rowley and Ipswich.
There were no visible houses, and I could tell by the state of the road
that traffic was very light hereabouts. The weather-worn telephone
poles carried only two wires. Now and then we crossed crude wooden
bridges over tidal creeks that wound far inland and promoted the
general isolation of the region.
Once in a while I noticed dead stumps and crumbling foundation-walls
above the drifting sand, and recalled the old tradition quoted in one of
the histories I had read, that this was once a fertile and thickly-settled
countryside. The change, it was said, came simultaneously with the
Innsmouth epidemic of 1846, and was thought by simple folk to have a
dark connection with hidden forces of evil. Actually, it was caused by
the unwise cutting of woodlands near the shore, which robbed the soil
of the best protection and open the way for waves of wind-blown sand.

At last we lost sight of Plum Island and saw the vast expanse of the
open Atlantic on our left. Our narrow course began to climb steeply,
and I felt a singular sense of disquiet in looking at the lonely crest
ahead where the rutted road-way met the sky. It was as if the bus were
about to keep on in its ascent, leaving the sane earth altogether and
merging with the unknown arcana of upper air and cryptical sky. The
smell of the sea took on ominous implications, and the silent driver's
bent, rigid back and narrow head became more and more hateful. As I
looked at him I saw that the back of his head was almost as hairless as
his face, having only a few straggling yellow strands upon a grey
scabrous surface.
Then we reached the crest and beheld the outspread valley beyond,
where the Manuxet joins the sea just north of the long line of cliffs that
culminate in Kingsport Head and veer off toward Cape Ann. On the far
misty horizon I could just make out the dizzy profile of the Head,
topped by the queer ancient house of which so many legends are told;
but for the moment all my attention was captured by the nearer
panorama just below me. I had, I realized, come face to face with
rumour-shadowed Innsmouth.
It was a town of wide extent and dense construction, yet one with a
portentous dearth of visible life. From the tangle of chimney-pots
scarcely a wisp of smoke came, and the three tall steeples loomed stark
and unpainted against the seaward horizon. One of them was crumbling
down at the top, and in that and another there were only black gaping
holes where clock-dials should have been. The vast huddle of sagging
gambrel roofs and peaked gables conveyed with offensive clearness the
idea of wormy decay, and as we approached along the now descending
road I could see that many roofs had wholly caved in. There were some
large square Georgian houses, too, with hipped roofs, cupolas, and
railed "widow's walks." These were mostly well back from the water,
and one or two seemed to be in moderately sound condition. Stretching
inland from among them I saw the rusted, grass-grown line of the
abandoned railway, with leaning telegraph-poles now devoid of wires,
and the half-obscured lines of the old carriage roads to Rowley and
Ipswich.

The decay was worst close to the waterfront, though in its very midst I
could spy the white belfry of a fairly well preserved brick structure
which looked like a small factory. The harbour, long clogged with sand,
was enclosed by an ancient stone breakwater; on which I could begin to
discern the minute forms of a few seated fishermen, and at whose end
were what looked like the foundations of a bygone lighthouse. A sandy
tongue had formed inside this barrier and upon it I saw a few decrepit
cabins, moored dories, and scattered lobster-pots. The only deep water
seemed to be where the river poured out past the belfried structure and
turned southward to join the ocean at the breakwater's end.
Here and there the ruins of wharves jutted out from the shore to end