No place in Lovecraft’s America has been more frequently visited by Mythos writers than Innsmouth. The crumbling, near-abandoned, fishing village on the Massachusetts coastline has inspired the imaginations of those who explore the Lovecraftian world. The story appeared in Lovecraft’s 1936 novella “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” and remains the only one of his works published during his lifetime that did not appear in a periodical.
The village was founded as a small town in 1643 and rapidly became a major seaport, mainly due to its position on the coast and its large harbor. From Innsmouth, trading ships sailed all over the world, bringing back goods from places as exotic and as far away as the South Sea Islands. It was the War of 1812 that began to reverse this prosperity and turned the town into the derelict place that it is today. Also, many of the Innsmouth captains turned privateer and started attacking British shipping. Consequently, a British fleet attacked the town, reducing many of the buildings there to rubble. Half the town’s sailors perished in subsequent skirmishes with the enemy, greatly reducing Innsmouth’s population.
Following the War, most of the town’s income came from mills that had been established on the Manuxet and from the ships of Captain Obed Marsh. Much of Marsh’s trade was in South America where he had traded in gold among some of the Spanish colonies there. However, around 1840, he lost one of his major gold sources on which he depended, and the town began to steadily decline while Marsh’s ships were forced to range much further for trade.
He had already been trading with groups of natives around Ponape, seeking out new gold sources there. His three ships, The Columbia, The Hetty, and The Sumatra Queen had been dealing with natives who traded with a species of beings who came from a sunken place in the ocean known as the Deep Ones. Marsh had engaged in the rites of some of these natives and was influenced by their religious beliefs. In 1838, however, the group of natives with whom he had been dealing were wiped out by some of the tribes from other islands and Marsh’s source of gold was gone.
Things in Innsmouth were in a perilous state as the mills began to fail and there was little trade coming into the port. In 1839/40 Obed Marsh returned from the southern seas and began preaching a new religion based on that of the Ponape Islanders. He set up a church that he called “The Esoteric Order of Dagon.” This, he claimed, would be the salvation of Innsmouth and, instead of trading, the town’s economy became based on fishing. It was said that Marsh had established some form of relationship with the Deep Ones whom the Ponape Islanders had worshipped. After a time, Marsh’s Order was so popular that all other churches in the Innsmouth area were forced to close down.
In 1846, a plague swept through the town. The exact nature of the disease has never been discovered, though it was described as a fever brought in from overseas by one of the few remaining traders in the town. What happened during this time remains a mystery, as no records have survived, but it’s thought that much of the town was wiped out by the disease and the remainder resorted to looting and murder. The plague passed, leaving half of Innsmouth’s population dead and Obed Marsh and his Esoteric Order of Dagon firmly in control of the town.
Although Innsmouth’s wealth now came from fishing and there was still some trading, the place continued in its decline. At this time, some of the newborn babies there began to show physical deformities and abnormalities, which were supposedly linked with poor diet and poverty; some attributed it to the after-effects of the plague, but perhaps the problem ran far deeper. During the Civil War, the town seemed unable to meet its quota of volunteers because of this now-widespread problem, plus no one would fight alongside anyone who came from a cursed place. During this time, Obed Marsh and his family maintained tight control of the town through the Esoteric Order of Dagon, almost cutting it off from the outside world. When Marsh died in 1878, other members of the family took over leadership of the Order, ensuring that his dynasty would continue there. The place was shunned by most people in the communities and few people ventured to Innsmouth unless absolutely necessary.
Legend says that as fishing stocks declined, the town maintained itself through bootlegging and rum-running. As word of these activities began to filter out, they drew the attention of the federal authorities who decided to investigate. This led to a raid on the town in mid-February 1928 in which boatloads of federal agents descended on the town and began to search the ramshackle buildings there. What they found remains in sealed government files and no official report has ever been given, but it is known that the agents dynamited many of the decrepit and abandoned buildings, disbanded the Esoteric Order of Dagon, and took large numbers into military camps never to be released. It’s thought that some of the residents were held in these camps until the 1940s when they were transferred to other facilities; some may still be there today.
Although the authorities had been taking an interest in Innsmouth’s affairs for several years, the raid was actually instigated by the testimony of Robert Martin Olmstead, a college student from Toledo, Ohio, who visited the town on July 15th, 1927. Olmstead was a junior at Oberlin College and visited the town in order to ascertain the development of its fish processing business. Instead, he had a rather harrowing experience concerning some of the local townspeople and the Esoteric Order of Dagon. Managing to escape from the town, Olmstead sought out the federal authorities. Fearful of what might happen to him following the raid, Olmstead sought government protection, however, late in 1929 it was withdrawn and in 1930 Olmstead and a cousin who had been committed to an insane asylum both vanished without a trace.
Lovecraft never used the name Olmstead in his work, but it was certainly found among his notes and papers after his death. Derleth, on the other hand, used the name “Williamson” for this character. Stan Sargent uses the name from Lovecraft’s notes in his 2002 Mythos story Live Bait.
Since the raid, accounts of Innsmouth’s activities became extremely muddled. Some descriptions of the place state that it’s little more than a ghost town with only a few inhabitants left; others say the government has set up a business facility there in order to manufacture computer software, and that it is a tourist destination with a number of strange museums and attractions. The most likely outcome of the raid is that the entire area is under government quarantine and that Innsmouth is now populated by both military and scientific personnel. This idea has been given some credence by recent reference to a sub-committee of the U.S. Senate, which is responsible for a specific facility on the New England coast. This committee reports directly to the president, however no paperwork appears to exist, there is no record of who sits on it, and its business doesn’t appear to be recorded anywhere. Could the “facility” that it oversees be Innsmouth?
Just outside the great bay in which Innsmouth lies is a rocky outcropping, rising just above the waterline, which is known locally as Devil’s Reef. During the 19th century, the Reef was visited on a number of occasions by Obed Marsh who claimed he was looking for pirate treasure in one of the many caves that dotted the top of the outcrop, however, others have claimed that he was looking for something else. Later, Marsh’s Esoteric Order of Dagon frequently visited the Reef for some of their rituals until the cult was closed down in 1928. It was also somewhere off the Reef that the Naval submarine fired its torpedoes just after the 1928 raid, though no record of the action or what the vessel was firing at can be found. Local fishermen still refuse to fish anywhere near the Reef, and it is believed that a Navy vessel still patrols the waters nearby. It has also been suggested that the Reef forms some sort of gateway to another world that is known only to the Deep Ones, which they may use from time to time.
On some maps of the region, Devil’s Reef is sometimes shown as Allen’s Reef, and this may take its name from Captain Nathan Allen who is reputed to have once lived in the town and was one of its more prominent seafarers. His family hit hard times when the Marsh family came to prominence and their decline was spectacular. He is the ancestor of the town drunk Zadok Allen, who appears in Lovecraft’s novella.
A little further along the coastline lies Falcon Point. The name appeared in a story, the notes for which were initially compiled by Lovecraft. The idea originally appeared in his Commonplace Book after his death, but was later written up by August Derleth and called The Fisherman of Falcon Point. It was published by Derleth’s Arkham House Press in a collection entitle The Shuttered Room and Other Pieces in 1959, and was described by Derleth as “a posthumous collaboration.”
There is a rather unsavory legend connected with the Point. It appears that in the past, a local fisherman named Enoch Conger captured a “mermaid” with whom he did some sort of deal. The “mermaid” captured may have been one of the Deep Ones and it inflicted some sort of genetic curse on him. Gradually, he became increasingly aquatic, both in physical form and in his mental yearnings, and eventually seems to have been absorbed by the ocean. It is said that the Deep Ones congregate around the Point at certain times of the year and that those who venture there often leave themselves open to abduction by these sea people. Falcon Point is therefore considered to be a place best avoided, unless those who venture there wish to share the awful fate of Enoch Conger.
Within the Mythos there is another town by the same name. This Innsmouth is located on the Cornish coast and, similar to its New England counterpart, it is a small fishing village. The most famous landmark there is Trevor Towers, which was at one time home to Kuranes, king of the Dreamlands’ city of Celephas. He somehow crossed the barrier between the two worlds and took up residence in Innsmouth, but having fallen on hard time, moved to London where he became an author under a variety of names. He was the foremost of all Dreamers and created the mystical city of Celephas from his own dreams, making himself ruler there. While in a dream state, he visited the Court of Azathoth and was the only Dreamer ever to return sane from that experience. Upon his return to Innsmouth, he fell over the cliffs there while on a walk, and his earthly body was destroyed. However, he fled back to the Dreamlands where he now rules, although he often longs to return to our world, something which he cannot ever do. The Cornish Innsmouth, therefore, seems to be some cross-over point between our own world and the Dreamlands.
It has already been noted that a number of babies were born in Innsmouth with either physical deformities or peculiarities. However, many people of the area (prior to the Federal raid of 1928), already exhibited what has been referred to as “the Innsmouth look.” This is believed to be a hereditary condition that gradually overtakes the inhabitants of the village as they grow older. Babies seem to be quite normal at the time of birth, but through the years subtle changes start to occur. The main transformation occurs between the subject’s 20th birthday and middle age. The affliction is initially characterized by large bulging eyes, loss of hair, and scaly, peeling skin. As the condition develops, the nose tends to flatten, the ears become abnormally small, and there is a slight webbing between the fingers and toes. A wattling occurs on the individual’s neck, resembling gills, and in the later stages the bone structure gradually shifts with the shape of the skull and pelvis, forcing the victim to adopt a kind of shuffling gait and hunched position with the entire body thrust slightly forward. Accompanying his physical change there are also several mental abnormalities. The subject may experience continual dreams about the sea, coupled with a certain fixation on the ocean. Eventually, the person involved disappears and it is presumed that they have drowned themselves while answering the obsessive call of the sea.
It is suggested that the “look” did not begin with Captain Obed Marsh, but with his immediate ancestor Obadiah Marsh. Obadiah was a famous Innsmouth sea-captain in his own right, and it was said to have been he who began the trade in the South Seas. One one occasion, Obadiah set sail again, returning with a wife who was seldom seen outside the Marsh house. Those who did glimpse her said that she seemed slightly peculiar, and it was thought that Obadiah Marsh had taken a wife from among the Deep Ones. The mating of a human with the piscine-like woman is though to have altered the genetic makeup of both the Marshes and the Phillips (who married into them), and thus created “the Innsmouth look.” The DNA around the town changed through marriage and intermarriage, and this manifested itself in the physical appearance and general demeanor of the people.
Could such a place as Innsmouth really have existed, and did Lovecraft know of it? Certainly there is no location vaguely resembling the decaying township along the New England coast today. Some scholars have linked Lovecraft’s idea to the town of Cohasset, Massachusetts, claiming that it bears some relation to Innsmouth. The suggestion is that Lovecraft knew of the place at a time when their industries were declining, and used it as a template for his fearsome town. Other than perhaps a close geographical location and a slight historical similarity, however, it does not match Innsmouth at all.
The area of Cohasset was first seen by European explorers in 1614 when Captain John Smith sailed up the coast. The town, which was first settled in 1670, took its name from an Algonquin word Conahasset meaning “a long rocky place.” The area was prominent during the Revolutionary War, providing a hiding place for the Boston Revolutionary leader John Pulling and a base for the Libertarian Pastor John Browne. Several Cohasset men attacked the British shipping that was anchored near the town. Apart from this, there is little to connect Cohasset with decaying Innsmouth.
A much better candidate might be the settlement of Dogtown out on Cape Ann, near the port of Gloucester. Dogtown or Dogtown Commons is known as “Massachusetts’ most famous abandoned village” and lies between Gloucester and the town of Rockport. Indeed, during the late 18th century the main road between the two towns ran through Dogtown and all trade had to pass through the settlement. At the peak of its population from 1750 to the beginning of the 19th century, it has been estimated that there were more than 100 families living in Dogtown.
The settlement that would become known as Dogtown was established around 1693 between the colonies of Gloucester and Rockport and it was set well back on the coast, high up on easily defensible ground to protect it from both pirate and Indian attack. The ground on which it was built was rocky, and the soil was sandy and gravely—not very good for agriculture—so the settlers began to look around for other forms of commerce. They found it in the forests that were being cleared away to dispense with the cover for Indian attacks, and soon a large sawmill was established, exporting Cape Ann hardwoods as far away as England from the bay below. By the beginning of the 1700s, the entire area had been completely deforested. Lumber, mainly sturdy cordwood, was flowing through the port of Gloucester at an impressive rate. But there was a downside to this business: Although the forests had been cleared, the harsh soil that was left was not all that good for anything apart from growing weeds.
The Selectmen of Gloucester did not worry too much about this. They didn’t see their future in farming, but in merchant commerce and fishing. The Selectmen had hoped to draw new families into the area, but it was some of the Gloucester families who moved beyond the Alewife Brook and took up residence in the developing town. One of the first buildings that they raised was a parish hall and though they didn’t know it at the time, such a place would soon prove divisive.
A number of folks wanted to relocate the first Parish Meeting House from the town to the new settlement. In early New England, the Parish Meeting House combined spiritual, political, and practical functions for those who came to it. It was a place where the community gathered to observe both civic and religious matters. Property, sales, announcements concerning Colonial law, and even marriage bans were read there. Sometimes petty criminals were examined and tried there before the community, the heads of predatory wolves were displayed there, and in times of threat, gunpowder was often stored there while religious services were conducted around it. It was certainly central to the life of the community.
Not only was the Hall an important social venue for general and religious meetings, but similar to many New England churches, the seating arrangements within it were extremely important for establishing social status. Seating was laid out so that the community leaders would always sit at the front and a gradual diminution in social status ran all the way to the back of the Hall. There was a pre-specified seating plan drawn up by a Parish Committee that reflected age, wealth, lineage, public service, and Godliness.
However, the new Parish Meeting House proved to be a problem. There was a mixture of old Gloucester folk and newcomers, a number of which owned land in the new settlement and so were to be counted as relatively wealthy. Moreover, some of these newcomers were descendants of old Gloucester families and felt entitled to more prominent seating. Thus, within the new House, seating was being continually rearranged in order to satisfy local egos, but this did not prevent grumblings and disputes.
The newcomers decided that the new House was theirs and that they would assume predominant status there. They had been responsible for building up the new community, so it was only right that they should have full status in the new Hall. The old families whose rank had been assured by their lineage, spirituality, and service to the community suddenly found themselves marginalized, and their place taken by new settlers and a rising merchant class in Gloucester. There was even an idea of actually selling the more prominent seats in the new House to the more prosperous merchants, thus ensuring that all construction costs were covered.
The old families fought back, however, and their protest centered around one man: Nathaniel Coit. Coit came from an old Gloucester family and was vehemently opposed to the movement to the new Meeting House where newcomers could sit on Parish Councils. He had several disputes with the harbor leaders who were aligning themselves with the newcomers, and when the new House was built he encouraged people not to attend it.
In 1734, the Parish Council voted to abandon the old Meeting House by Gloucester and move to the new one. Nathaniel Coit redoubled his efforts and for a full year the new Meeting House stood empty. Coit also petitioned to have a new Parish created, which would use the old Hall.
In May 1739, after numerous reconsiderations and resubmissions, Coit’s petition was rejected by the Massachusetts legislature leading to great disruption all through the Cape. Undeterred by his setback, Coit filed another petition. In an attempt to reach some form of compromise the Court ruled that meetings could be held in the old Meeting House during the winter months and that those who wished could attend and assume their normal seats. Frustrated beyond words, the Court split the Parish, handing the old Meeting House over to Coit and his followers and the new one to the incomers and harbor folk. Coit had won a hollow victory, but he had split the entire Gloucester colony.
In 1743, Nathaniel Coit passed away at the age of 84, leaving behind a legacy of bitterness and hatred that was almost unimaginable. It was customary in many Puritan communities for local children to come and look into the open grave of the dead person to be reminded of his or her own mortality. Such was the division in Gloucester than only a small handful of children turned up at Coit’s graveside. Bile and bitterness rippled through the Cape with a yawning division between many of the Gloucester folk and those in the new settlement. However, this was to change slightly with the dawn of the American Revolution.
One morning in August 1775, a British warship—the Falcon—appeared off Gloucester and fired a cannonade into the town. On November 1st, the Massachusetts Legislature granted “Letters of Marque,” which sanctioned New England vessels to “harass and plunder” all British merchant vessels coming from the port of Boston and elsewhere. With the War now in full swing, one of Gloucester’s most prominent merchants, David Pearce, began building and fitting a ship for the defense of the Massachusetts coast. British warships saw the ports in New England as legitimate targets and Cape Ann was particularly exposed.
On July 1st, 1777, Pearce’s ship, The Gloucester, sailed off to attack British shipping and defend the Massachusetts coast. Six weeks later, the ship’s crew sailed into Gloucester harbor in command of a captured British cargo ship The Two Friends carrying liquorice root, balsam, gum, and a supply of much-needed salt. The ship had been captured by the Gloucester on the open seas east of New York. There was even greater rejoicing when several weeks later another British trading ship, The Spark, sailed into Gloucester. The ship had been bound for Newfoundland, but had been taken by the Gloucester just off Grand Banks and sent back to Cape Ann as a prize.
On August 31st, a Captain Fisk, commanding the warship Massachusetts out of Boston, recorded that his vessel was leading a squadron of four Massachusetts privateers making their way up the New England coast, one of which was the Gloucester. The ship seems to have swung north to go raiding off Newfoundland, but Fisk’s entry was the last record of it. Somewhere in the ocean, the Gloucester disappeared with all her crew.
Back in the town, women waited for news of their husbands and sweethearts. As the days passed, the apprehension grew, and strange stories began to circulate about the vanished crew—many with supernatural overtones. In one, the faces of several sailors had been seen in a well; in another a corposant (a ball of supernatural light) was said to have traveled through the settlement lingering at the door of each seaman’s house in turn.
With their men gone, things were hard for the women of the settlement. And the divisions that had been created by Nathaniel Coit meant that they could not turn to some of their most prosperous neighbors in Gloucester for help. But times were hard in Cape Ann as well. English privateers were attacking American shipping and the port of Gloucester was badly hit by their exploits. Cargos were taken and boats sunk, their crews drowned. By 1779, the town had lost more than half its fleet and one sixth of its inhabitants were dependent on charity of one sort or another. There was disease and plague, particularly in the Commons, deepening old divisions even further.
In October 1780, the Revolutionary War was finally over. America had won, but it had been at a grave cost. Cape Ann had been decimated, its people reduced to near-beggary, and the Commons was all but destroyed. The Commons settlement was now living in a state of utter destitution as the poverty created by the War took hold.
To add to all of this, the social split created by Nathaniel Coit still remained as virulent as ever, and few felt inclined to help their neighbors up on higher ground. Indeed, the land beyond the Alewife Brook was considered “evil territory,” which was inhabited by witches. As the area deteriorated even further, those who could afford to leave, did. Others built new houses down near the harbor and began to integrate themselves into the developing post-War Gloucester society. Some, however, had no other choice but to stay. And, as the more genteel moved out, more dubious and colorful characters began to move in.
No one knows exactly when the name “Dogtown” was first used in relation to the Commons or what it referred to. Some suggest that it may have originated from the large numbers of feral canines that roamed the area or from the fierce dogs kept by old widows for their protection. Whatever its origins, it gave the place a somewhat seedy air. The name suggests derision and a superior perspective on the part of the Gloucester folk, as well as a reason for keeping the place at arm’s length.
For the most part, the people who lived in Dogtown were not foreigners, but descendents of the “Old Commons” people who had originally founded the town back in 1693. Perhaps their relative isolation from mainstream society made them appear colorful and eccentric.
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Could a place like Dogtown have somehow served as a template for shadowy, decaying Innsmouth? Could Lovecraft have somehow known about the dismal settlement and used it as the model for several of the gloomy places about which he wrote? After all, places like Dogtown would certainly have exercised a fascination on his imagination.