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.