There seemed to be unusual
activity in the town, but I judged that the news of my escape from
the Gilman had not yet spread. The open space was, as I had expected,
strongly moonlit. But my progress was unimpeded, and no fresh sound
arose to hint that I had been spied. Glancing about me, I involuntarily
let my pace slacken for a second to take in the sight of the sea,
gorgeous in the burning moonlight at the street's end. Far out beyond
the breakwater was the dim, dark line of Devil Reef. Then, without warning, I saw the intermittent flashes of light on the
distant reef. My muscles tightened for panic flight, held in only by a
certain unconscious caution and half-hypnotic fascination. And to make
matters worse, there now flashed forth from the lofty cupola of the
Gilman House, which loomed up to the northeast behind me, a series of
analogous though differently spaced gleams which could be nothing less
than an answering signal. I now bent to the left around the ruinous green; still gazing toward
the ocean as it blazed in the spectral summer moonlight, and watching
the cryptical flashing of those nameless, unexplainable beacons. It was then that the most horrible impression of all was borne in upon
me--the impression which destroyed my last vestige of self-control and
sent me running frantically southward past the yawning black doorways
and fishily staring windows of that deserted nightmare street. For at
a closer glance I saw that the moonlit waters between the reef and
the shore were far from empty. They were alive with a teeming horde of
shapes swimming inward toward the town! My frantic running ceased before I had covered a block, for at my left
I began to hear something like the hue and cry of organized pursuit. There were footsteps and guttural sounds, and a rattling motor wheezed
south along Federal Street. In a second all my plans were utterly
changed--for if the southward highway were blocked ahead of me, I must
clearly find another egress from Innsmouth. I paused and drew into a
gaping doorway, reflecting how lucky I was to have left the moonlit
open space before these pursuers came down the parallel street. Then I thought of the abandoned railway to Rowley, whose solid line of
ballasted, weed-grown earth still stretched off to the northwest from
the crumbling station on the edge of the river gorge. There was just a
chance that the townsfolk would not think of that! Drawing inside the hall of my deserted shelter, I once more consulted
the grocery boy's map with the aid of the flashlight. The immediate
problem was how to reach the ancient railway; and I now saw that the
safest course was ahead to Babson Street, then west to Lafayette--there
edging around but not crossing an open space homologous to the one
I had traversed--and subsequently back northward and westward in
zigzagging line through Lafayette, Bates, Adams, and Banks Streets--the
latter skirting the river gorge--to the abandoned and dilapidated
station I had seen from my window. My reason for going ahead to Babson
was that I wished neither to re-cross the earlier open space nor to
begin my westward course along a cross street as broad as South. I
crossed the street to the right-hand side in order to edge around into
Babson as inconspicuously as possible. In Babson Street I clung as closely as possible to the sagging,
uneven buildings; twice pausing in a doorway as the noises behind me
momentarily increased. The open space ahead shone wide and desolate
under the moon, but my route would not force me to cross it. During
my second pause I began to detect a fresh distribution of the vague
sounds; and upon looking cautiously out from cover beheld a motor car
darting across the open space, bound outward along Eliot Street. As I watched--choked by a sudden rise in the fishy odor after a short
abatement--I saw a band of uncouth, crouching shapes loping and
shambling in the same direction; and knew that this must be the party
guarding the Ipswich road, since that highway forms an extension of
Eliot Street. Two of the figures I glimpsed were in voluminous robes,
and one wore a peaked diadem which glistened whitely in the moonlight. The gait of this figure was so odd that it sent a chill through me--for
it seemed to me the creature was almost _hopping_. When the last of the band was out of sight I resumed my progress;
darting around the corner into Lafayette Street, and crossing Eliot
very hurriedly lest stragglers of the party be still advancing along
that thoroughfare. I did hear some croaking and clattering sounds
far off toward Town Square, but accomplished the passage without
disaster. My greatest dread was in re-crossing broad and moonlit South
Street--with its seaward view--and I had to nerve myself for the
ordeal. Someone might easily be looking, and possible Eliot Street
stragglers could not fail to glimpse me from either of two points. At
the last moment I decided I had better slacken my trot and make the
crossing as before in the shambling gait of an average Innsmouth native. I had not quite crossed the street when I heard a muttering band
advancing along Washington from the north. As they reached the broad
open space where I had had my first disquieting glimpse of the moonlit
water I could see them plainly only a block away--and was horrified by
the bestial abnormality of their faces and the dog-like sub-humanness
of their crouching gait. One man moved in a positively simian way, with
long arms frequently touching the ground; while another figure--robed
and tiaraed--seemed to progress in an almost hopping fashion. I judged
this party to be the one I had seen in the Gilman's courtyard--the one,
therefore, most closely on my trail. As some of the figures turned
to look in my direction I was transfixed with fright, yet managed to
preserve the casual, shambling gait I had assumed. To this day I do
not know whether they saw me or not. If they did, my stratagem must
have deceived them, for they passed on across the moonlit space without
varying their course--meanwhile croaking and jabbering in some hateful
guttural patois I could not identify. Once more in shadow, I resumed my former dog-trot past the leaning and
decrepit houses that stared blankly into the night. Having crossed to
the western sidewalk I rounded the nearest corner into Bates Street,
where I kept close to the buildings on the southern side. At last I saw
the ancient arcaded station--or what was left of it--and made directly
for the tracks that started from its farther end. The rails were rusty but mainly intact, and not more than half the
ties had rotted away. Walking or running on such a surface was very
difficult; but I did my best, and on the whole made very fair time. For
some distance the line kept on along the gorge's brink, but at length I
reached the long covered bridge where it crossed the chasm at a dizzy
height. The condition of this bridge would determine my next step.