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SHADOW OF CTHULHU
CHRONICLES OF CAIN BOOK 6
JOHN CORWIN
RAVEN HOUSE
 CONTENTS

Books by John Corwin

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41

Books by John Corwin

About the Author
 THE MAD WORLD

The god killer has escaped from her chains on Prometheus's Rock.
Aura from Dimension Beta killed Athena and unleashed eldritch
horrors on Gaia Beta with the Apocalypse weapons stolen from
Hephaestus's lost armory on Oblivion. She executed a plan that Cain
never saw coming and even fooled the gods.
The gods are too busy fighting minions of the Elder Things in the
divine realm to care about an escaped elf, no matter how dangerous
she is. Since no one else will track down Aura Beta, Cain decides to
take on the task himself. After all, tracking down hard-to-find
individuals was his bread and butter before Hannah changed his life.
What starts out as a straightforward task quickly turns into a
nightmare. Reaching Prometheus's Rock requires going through
minotaur and centaur country. Beyond that is the land of the giants.
But these dangers pale in comparison to what lies ahead.
Aura Beta is on Gaia Beta, a world overrun with eldritch horrors,
and plans to invade Prime. Cain would usually assassinate such a
dangerous person but killing Aura Beta is only a temporary measure.
Thanks to the bargain struck with Athena, Auras from all dimensions
are now immortal. If they die, they come back to life at midnight.
Cain has no choice but to wade through a sea of monsters so he
can capture Aura Beta and put an end to the madness. Otherwise,
Gaia Prime will fall, and the Elder Things will rule the human worlds.
 BOOKS BY JOHN CORWIN

Join the Overworld Conclave for all the news, memes and tentacles you could
ever desire!
https://www.facebook.com/groups/overworldconclave
Or get your tentacles via email: www.johncorwin.net
Fan page: https://www.facebook.com/johncorwinauthor

CHRONICLES OF CAIN
To Kill a Unicorn
Enter Oblivion
Throne of Lies
At The Forest of Madness
The Dead Never Die
Shadow of Cthulhu

THE OVERWORLD CHRONICLES

Sweet Blood of Mine
Dark Light of Mine
Fallen Angel of Mine
Dread Nemesis of Mine
Twisted Sister of Mine
Dearest Mother of Mine
Infernal Father of Mine
Sinister Seraphim of Mine
Wicked War of Mine
Dire Destiny of Ours
Aetherial Annihilation
Baleful Betrayal
Ominous Odyssey
 Insidious Insurrection
Utopia Undone
Overworld Apocalypse
Apocryphan Rising
Soul Storm
Devil's Due
Overworld Ascension

Assignment Zero (An Elyssa Short Story)

OVERWORLD UNDERGROUND
Soul Seer
Demonicus
Infernal Blade

OVERWORLD ARCANUM
Conrad Edison and the Living Curse
Conrad Edison and the Anchored World
Conrad Edison and the Broken Relic
Conrad Edison and the Infernal Design
Conrad Edison and the First Power

STAND ALONE NOVELS

Mars Rising
No Darker Fate
The Next Thing I Knew
Outsourced
 1

I t's the unexpected things that kick you in the ass.

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, but it was already
too late. Something hard met my backside and sent me flying. I
tucked and rolled across the torn earth. A tall stone wall stopped my
forward momentum. I gained my feet quickly, but it seemed my
attacker was in no hurry to finish me off.
He was huge—ten feet tall and bulging with muscles. He wore a
ridiculously short loincloth that barely covered his junk. His height
and hairy balls weren't the most notable thing about him, however.
His bull head and the large, curving horns really drew my attention.
The minotaur pawed the dusty earth with a hoof and glowered at me.
Then again, he could've been smiling. I wouldn't have known the
difference.
"That was but a kick, human. The next blow comes from my
horns if I'm not satisfied with your explanation as to why you are
here in our lands."
I blinked. "So, your policy is donkey kick first and ask questions
later?"
"Do not compare me to a lowly donkey, human." He bared his
unnaturally sharp teeth, and the ring in his nose clinked against
them. "Your kind brings death and misery wherever you go. That is
why we have a labyrinth to dissuade visitors."
 I'd been all over Feary during my days with the Oblivion Guard
but had rarely visited this part of the world. The cities in this area
resembled those of ancient Greece in all their glory but were
primarily populated by creatures lost to legend and myth. It was no
coincidence that it was geographically relative to Greece on Gaia.
I held up my hands. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm traveling to
Prometheus's Rock."
He pawed the ground again. "There are other ways to reach that
place, human."
"Yeah, but that would mean going around your labyrinth and over
goblin-infested mountains." I pointed straight ahead. "This is the
shortest and safest route."
"How safe is it if it costs you your life?" He stepped closer. "Go
back whence you came or die."
I blew out a breath. "Maybe if you just escorted me through your
city, I'd be out of your hair in a few hours, and you wouldn't have to
resort to murder."
"Humans are not allowed in Minos!"
I hated name-dropping to the point of loathing, especially when
the name was mine. But it seemed like if there was ever a good time
to do it, it was now. "I'm Cain Sthyldor."
His eyes flared, and his chest heaved with a bellow of rage. "How
dare you show your face here, criminal!" The minotaur reached over
his shoulder and drew a great, iron war hammer. By great, I mean
the thing was seven feet long with a hammerhead big enough to turn
me to paste in a single blow.
"That's not the reaction I was expecting." I backed up a few feet
and glanced at the ground to my right where I'd left sigils that would
lead me back out of the maze.
"Cain, what's that noise?" Hannah's voice echoed through the
stone corridors. "Did you find a minotaur?"
I'd left her and Aura in one of the many gardens inside the maze
while I scouted ahead and marked out the route. It seemed I'd have
to beat a hasty retreat to them if I wanted to remain in one piece.
The minotaur's gaze darted toward her voice. "How many of you
are there, evil one?"
 I backed up a few more steps. "I don't know which Cain Sthyldor
you're thinking of, but I'm the one who freed minotaurs from slavery
in the Beast War."
He stomped toward me, eyes glowing with bloodlust, war
hammer swinging easily in one of his hands. "You freed minotaurs?"
He bellowed. "You murdered my people, griffins, and other beasts,
trading their lives for riches. The fae tried to stop you and finally
banished you from Feary!" His teeth clacked together. "You are a war
criminal!"
My thoughts turned to the orc historian Raghat and the warning
he'd imparted last time we'd spoken. The fae had ordered him to
alter the historical record of our little adventure in the Dead Forest,
and it seemed they'd also spread heavily doctored versions of the
Beast War. They were trying to make me public enemy number one
in Feary.
I probably deserved to be called a war criminal, but only because
of deeds I'd performed under orders for the Oblivion Guard.
I cupped my hands and shouted, "Hannah, stay where you are."
She shouted back, but her words were drowned out by the
furious roar of the charging minotaur. I summoned my staff, and the
brightblade hummed to life. The sight of it didn't slow the minotaur in
the slightest.
Even though I hadn't worn Death's cloak in a month, I still felt
naked without its protection. My brief time serving as the Grim
Reaper had made me grow accustomed to the supernatural strength
and reflexes it had given me. Having the abilities of a powerful deity,
no matter how briefly, had spoiled me.
Now, I was just normal ol’ me—completely reliant on magical
tattoos that gave me a little extra boost when the odds were stacked
against me. I still couldn't believe this beast had gotten close enough
to donkey kick me in the ass. Then again, the labyrinth was
enchanted in ways that were supposed to make a trespasser's head
spin. Disorient them so they'd become trapped forever, living out
their days among the food-filled gardens. The disorientation aura
was playing havoc with even my well-tuned senses.
 The fact that a minotaur had confronted me meant that I was
somewhere close to the city entrance. Unfortunately, I might not
have long to celebrate my success.
I powered the invisible tattoos along my body and dodged to the
side just as the charging beast lowered his head and swung the
hammer. I swung the brightblade at his heel, thinking a mild nick
might be enough to bring him down. His size should have hindered
him, but he was deceptively quick on his hooves, spinning away from
my blow. His shoulder rammed the wall. If it had been ordinary
stone, it would've cracked, but the enchantment prevented it from
suffering even a scratch.
The minotaur gripped the war hammer in both hands and swung
it back over his head. At first, I thought he meant to throw it, but
instead, he slammed it to the ground. A shockwave of earth and air
crashed into me. I tumbled backward in a storm of dirt and debris.
Somehow, I planted my brightblade in the ground and anchored
myself to keep from plowing into the wall behind me.
The minotaur was already charging again.
I threw out small shields about ankle and shin height. He
shattered the first and second one, stumbled against the third, and
slowed his roll considerably when he struck the fourth, roaring in
pain. The shields couldn't stop him, but the delay was enough for me
to take a deep breath, wish I hadn't gotten out of bed that morning,
and climb to my feet.
If I'd learned anything during my brief encounter with this
minotaur, it was that he had zero finesse, relying instead on brute
force and rolling over his opponents. His size and strength gave him
that luxury. But as a battle tactic, it was stupid. If it weren't for his
catlike reflexes, I would have already crippled him.
I readied my blade, knees bent, shoulder angled toward the
oncoming threat. The minotaur lowered his head the moment he
entered striking distance and swung the war hammer in an overhead
arc with his left hand while his right arm swung out as a
counterbalance. I remained perfectly still, waiting for the right
moment to act.
 The beast's accuracy was spot-on. If I'd been a stake, he
would've pounded me into the ground in one blow. Just as the
hammer was about to land, I saw the opening I needed. I
deactivated the brightblade, ghostwalked forward, thrust the staff up,
and tapped the beast in his great, big, hairy balls. I probably could
have neutered him on the spot with the brightblade, but I wasn't
looking to permanently ruin his sex life.
The war hammer dropped. The beast bellowed and grabbed his
privates as he dropped to his knees and rolled over onto his back.
Before he had a chance to recover, I put a foot on his chest, and
the brightblade sizzled to life, hovering just over his neck. "Yield."
Eyes watering in pain, he glared at me. "I am no coward. Kill me,
or I will rise and smash you into oblivion."
I lowered the brightblade to his crotch. "How about I slice and
dice your nethers and let you live."
"No!" Sweat beaded between his horns. "This is why the fae call
you the Butcher. You have no mercy."
"I don't know what stories the fae peddled about me, but I assure
you that I did not slaughter minotaurs, griffins, or any other beasts." I
kept my eyes locked on his. "I'm the one who started the uprising.
Granted, I did it for my own selfish purposes, but everything worked
out."
"Why should I believe you?" the minotaur growled.
I wished I had a plausible answer, but I didn't. I could kill this guy,
skip the bullshit, and possibly sneak my way around the perimeter of
the city, perhaps hugging the wall and using a camouflage blind. The
only problem with that tactic was my knowledge about Minos was
close to zero. The entire city might be a maze, or it might have a
nice, convenient way to sneak around the perimeter without being
seen.
The minotaur thought I was a war criminal. Not killing him
wouldn't prove much. In fact, he'd probably think I was trying to
deceive him by playing nice. The best course of action was to knock
him out and try my luck inside the maze.
I banished my staff and backed well away from the minotaur.
"What is your name?"
 His nostrils flared, but confusion replaced the anger in his eyes.
"My name?" One hand cupping his jewels, he rose slowly to his feet,
but didn't reach for his hammer. "I am Taurin, human. I am the
guardian of the maze, defender of Minos."
"That's your day job?" I frowned and made a show of looking
around at the colorful foliage. "How many invaders do you get
through here in a week?"
He stared blankly at me.
"In a month?" I folded my arms over my chest. "How about a
year?"
He mumbled something under his breath.
I cupped a hand over my ear. "I'm sorry, what was that?"
"One," he growled.
I put a hand to my chest. "Little ol’ me?"
He nodded. "You are the first in many years."
I frowned. "Um, so what do you do with all your free time?"
His nostrils flared. "I tend to the gardens."
During our journey through the labyrinth, Hannah, Aura, and I
had found ten large gardens, each one flawlessly maintained. In
addition to flowers and shrubs, there were fruit trees and rows of
vegetables, presumably planted to feed any who became trapped
within these walls.
"Well, they're lovely. My companions and I were very impressed,
especially with the tomatoes. I've never seen them so large and red."
His chest puffed out with pride. "I make a very special fertilizer
with my own manure."
That was a bit of information I could have done without. Note to
self: Don't eat the tomatoes.
Taurin's bullish eyebrows pinched. "Where are your
companions?"
As if on cue, Hannah and Aura stumbled around the corner, eyes
wide.
"Holy shit, Cain, it's a minotaur!" Hannah leaped in front of me,
spreading her hands as if to shield me. "Don't worry, I'll keep you
safe!"
 "You have a child and an elf with you?" Taurin flinched as if the
conflicting information assaulting him right now was more than he
could handle. "And why does the child act as a protector?"
Hannah raised a fist. "Just try and attack Cain. I dare you!"
I put a hand on her shoulder. "Hannah, we're just talking about
gardening."
She blinked, mouth falling open. "Huh? Then what was all the
pounding and bellowing about?"
Taurin seemed to regain his purpose, reaching for the war
hammer. "No humans are allowed in Minos, but especially not the
war criminal, Cain Sthyldor."
Aura snorted in disbelief. "Cain is a lot of things, but a war
criminal?"
"Well, he did murder all those women and children," Hannah
said. "That's basically a war crime."
"Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that." Aura hissed a breath between
her teeth. "Okay, so you got us there, but he hasn't killed any kids in
a long time."
Hannah winced. "He killed Sigma."
Aura frowned. "Yeah, but Sigma was trying to kill you."
"He was still a kid, so technically—"
I held up a hand. "Can you two stop digging my hole deeper?"
"He murdered many humans?" Taurin lowered the hammer. "How
many?"
"Oh, countless humans," Hannah said. "God, all those
mechanists he slaughtered probably numbered in the hundreds."
The minotaur pawed a hoof in the dust. "And yet he also
slaughtered beasts."
"Beasts?" Aura shook her head. "Do you mean sentient beasts?"
"Yes." He stomped the ground. "He slaughtered many in the
Beast War."
"No, Cain saved the beasts. The fae just spread false rumors
about him because they hated him for inciting the beast uprising."
Hannah nodded as if suddenly sure I wasn't a mass murderer. "Cain
might have killed a lot of people, but he totally helped free griffins,
cecrops, and a bunch of other intelligent creatures."
 Taurin looked at Aura uncertainly. "Elves are known for their
honesty. Even to this day, we trade with elves because they have
always helped my people. What say you of Cain?"
Aura winced, because she sure as hell wasn't an ordinary elf.
She'd betrayed me and Hannah, then did a one-eighty and started
helping us. "Cain is not exactly a good person, but many griffins call
him Liberator because he started the rebellion that led to the Beast
War and forced the fae to emancipate all sentient creatures."
"Cain is the one known as Liberator?" Taurin shook his head. "I
thought that was Torvin Rayne, the Great Drow."
Hannah groaned. "That dude was pure evil."
Aura nodded in agreement. "Torvin hated Cain, and he'd never
do anything to help anyone except himself."
Taurin stared blankly at the maze wall with the look of someone
deeply conflicted.
"We are on a quest to save an elf," Aura said. "She was taken by
the gods and bound to Prometheus's Rock."
The minotaur clenched his teeth. "The gods are cruel. What they
give with one hand, they take with another. Poseidon, in his anger,
caused Pasiphae to fall in love with a white bull that should have
been his sacrifice. Though the stories only mention the original
minotaur, they do not tell the tale of his twin sister or how Pasiphae
secretly sent her away."
Hannah gasped. "Wait, this woman fucked a bull and got
pregnant? Pretty sure my high school biology teacher would say
that's impossible."
This was a can of worms I didn't want to dive into, so I waved a
hand. "Taurin, you've been lied to by the fae. The question is, will
you help us pass through Minos so we can rescue our elf friend?"
He straightened and turned to Aura. "Lady elf, I accept your word
and will gladly aid you."
Aura blinked several times before answering. "Um, great! Can we
go now?"
Taurin lifted his hammer and sheathed it over his back. "Yes.
Follow me."
He turned, and we headed forward into minotaur central.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 The Cook-Oliver House

THE COOK-OLIVER HOUSE

One of the most elaborate examples of the work of Samuel

McIntire is found in the Cook-Oliver house at 142 Federal Street.
The amount of detail upon the entrance-posts and about the
doorways is unusual, and is carried to a point where it just misses
being overdone. Originally carved for the Derby house on Market
Square, much of this work was transferred to the Cook-Oliver house
about 1804, at which date this mansion was begun, although
unfortunate commercial ventures delayed its completion until about
1814 or 1815. This delay may have worked out as a blessing in
disguise, as was also perhaps the use of material from the Derby
house, which was finally razed in 1815, although the work of
demolition had begun at an earlier date.
Samuel Cook was a sea-captain, the father-in-law of General
Henry K. Oliver, who was prominent in political and industrial affairs,
being at various times Mayor of the city of Lawrence, Mayor also of
Salem at the advanced age of eighty years, Treasurer of the State of
Massachusetts, Treasurer of the Lawrence Cotton Mills, and
Adjutant-General. With the present-day public, however, his chief
claim to recognition lies in the fact that he was the composer of
many familiar hymns, notably ‘Federal Street,’ named from the
thoroughfare where he then lived.
The Cook-Oliver house is a three-story square clapboarded
structure save on the eastern side, which is constructed of brick to
keep out the east wind. An old-fashioned ‘jut-by,’ with flat boarding,
projects from the rear L, with a side-entrance—an arrangement
seldom found in houses of this late period, though common in lean-
to days.
The porch of the Cook-Oliver house exemplifies once more that
characteristic quality of McIntire’s genius—freedom of combination
conjoined with restraint of artistic taste—which lends his work so
much of originality, while it never approaches the bizarre. Here we
find Tuscan, Corinthian, and Doric motives all present, yet without
discord. The garlands and festoons about the door-casing and side-
lights relieve the severity of the right angles, while elliptical fanlight
and side-lights with unique leading complete the harmonious whole.
The modern door is again the sole jarring note.
A word must be added regarding the gate-posts, which are the
most ornate among many of similar design in Salem. The
medallions, carved knots and garlands, the cornice directly below the
urns, and the moulded urns themselves with their flames at the top,
represent a veritable labor of love on the part of the master-
craftsman. The final touch is found in fence and gate, which, simple
to plainness, modestly concede to the remainder of the work its
proper importance.
 The George M. Whipple House

THE GEORGE M. WHIPPLE HOUSE

Erected in the year 1804, the George M. Whipple house at 2

Andover Street is a typical example of the three-story square
wooden dwelling of the period. The enclosed porch with its
balustraded roof is of more recent construction, but in keeping with
the best architectural traditions. Rather shallow as to depth, light is
admitted by means of leaded side-lights of unusual design, as well
as by the glazed upper panels of the door itself. Pilasters of Doric
order support a dentiled entablature, while the door is divided after
the Dutch fashion into upper and lower leaves.
Above is a fine Palladian window of design harmonious with that of
the entrance, surmounted by an arched pediment enriched by a
carved ornament representing a basket of flowers.
In many of the old houses of the earlier Salem times, the location
of the doorway with relation to the façade was dictated by
considerations of convenience rather than a desire for symmetry.
Sometimes, as in the cabins of the first period, it was placed as far
from the fireplace as possible, so that the smoke might not be blown
about the room. Structural arrangements of the interior sometimes
determined its position, as well as that of the windows, which in
many instances seemed to be placed haphazard.
In the Whipple house the front entrance is at the left of the center
as one faces the building, with two windows on one side of it and
one upon the other—an unusual arrangement in houses of this type.
 The Nathan Robinson-Little House

THE NATHAN ROBINSON-LITTLE HOUSE

One of the most pleasing porches and doorways of all in Old

Salem is that of the house at 10 Chestnut Street, built by Nathan
Robinson about 1804. Resting upon the massive granite plinths so
favored by the famous McIntire, fluted Ionic columns support a
simple entablature with dentiled cornice above. The fanlight and
side-lights are artistically designed, the latter showing a pattern of
alternate circles and diamonds. Above the door itself is a curious and
unusual strip of dentil character, and this is supported by four slender
half-round pilasters which constitute the framework of the door.
 Close to the plinths at the base of the porch columns are set the
handsome gate-posts with their surmounting urns. The posts
themselves are paneled, and adorned by carved rosettes within a
paneled square. They possess flat capitals with a fine dentil member
just beneath, and the bodies of the urns are delicately fluted.
In making some changes within this old house, it was discovered
that there were in the hallway three fireplaces, one within the other,
in the thickness of the wall. Successive alterations had changed the
dimensions of the opening, until it narrowed finally to culminate in a
small modern grate. It now stands as at first constructed, its narrow
mantel adorned with rare bits of old pewter.
 The Dodge-Shreve House
This splendid old house at 29 Chestnut Street deserves to be
called sumptuous in architectural detail, as no part of doorway,
porch, or Palladian window lacks its elaborate decoration—with the
single exception of the side-lights, which are chastely simple.
Both supporting and engaged columns are of the Corinthian type,
these being reproduced in miniature in others which form the
framework of the doorway itself.
The porch roof has a handsome balustrade, and above this we
find once more slender Corinthian columns in the frame of the
Palladian window. The arched pediment of the latter has a keystone
bearing a carved emblem, and frames a fanlight of original design.
The windows of all three stories receive special attention in the
addition of carved lintels, embodying the familiar ‘Grecian border’
motif, with interesting variations.
The beautiful paneled door of this fine old mansion is of the true
Colonial pattern, and has three leaves, with a handsome brass knob.
A spear-head iron fence curving gracefully inward to the granite
steps, and iron hand-rails of a different design, complete the
architectural whole, which is said to have been imitated more than
any other in Old Salem.
 The White-Lord House

THE WHITE-LORD HOUSE

Like other old New England towns, Salem once possessed a

‘Common,’ originally a pasture for cattle. The Salem Common
consisted of eight acres of land. In early days this tract was swampy,
containing several small ponds, and thick with blackberry bushes. At
the eastern end was an enclosure in which animals might be shut up
at night. The herdsman was a regular functionary of the town, like
the ‘fence-viewer’ and ‘herring inspector,’ and under bonds for the
honest performance of his duty. In 1770 the almshouse was erected
upon the northeast corner of the plot; but in 1801 this was much
improved by grading and the setting-out of trees, Colonel Elias
Hasket Derby heading the subscription-list for the purpose. A few
years later the field was fenced in, with four entrances or ‘gateways’
consisting of tall wooden arches with suitable ornamentation. The
‘Western Gateway’ was crowned by one of McIntire’s famous eagles,
gilded; while upon the face of the arch appeared a medallion of
Washington in profile—the ‘Common’ having been dedicated in 1802
to the General under the name of Washington Square. This famous
medallion measured thirty-eight by fifty-six inches, and was carved
from McIntire’s sketch of Washington made while he stood on the
porch of the City Hall to receive the welcome of the citizens of Salem
in the Square below.
On the various sides of Washington Square stood many of the
chief mansions of the old town. Among these were the Boardman
house, the Hosmer-Townsend-Waters house, the Crowninshield-
Devereux-Waters house, the Baldwin-Lyman house, and that now
under consideration, the White-Lord house. This, erected in 1818,
stands at 31 Washington Square. Its doorway has been said to
embody reminiscences, architecturally speaking, of two famous
houses in Germantown and Philadelphia.
 The Salem Club

THE SALEM CLUB

Closely resembling in its architectural features the Baldwin-Lyman

porch at 92 Washington Square, East, and the Dodge-Shreve porch
at 29 Chestnut Street, the porch of the Salem Club at 29 Washington
Square presents a fine example of the Corinthian style which came
into vogue in Salem about 1816. A wrought-iron balustrade on the
porch roof adds an unusual touch.
Like so many old family residences in Salem, which in time
became converted to public use through their acquisition by
societies, homes, and lodges, the building now housing the Salem
Club was once a private dwelling. It was built in 1818 for John
Forrester. After this fine mansion passed out of the Forrester family,
it was owned by Colonel George Peabody, whose daughter married
the Honorable William C. Endicott, Secretary of War in Cleveland’s
Cabinet.
Colonel Peabody owned many art treasures, one of which, housed
in this dwelling, was Murillo’s ‘Immaculate Conception,’ valued by
connoisseurs at the sum of $100,000.
The story is told of one Salem citizen, named Simon Forrester,
father of the original owner of the house in question, that he
projected a plan for the decoration of his own residence, including
the representation upon the walls of drawing-rooms and hallways,
not of the favorite scenes so often found on the costly wall-papers of
the time, such as Cupid and Psyche, Roman ruins, Venetian
lagoons, the English hunting-fields, the adventures of Don Quixote,
etc., but rather a series of episodes from his own life, ‘showing his
rise from poverty to grandeur; the place of his birth, a humble
cottage in Ireland; his various places of business, with the wharves
of Salem, and the vessels which had brought his merchandise to
them.’
 The Baldwin-Lyman House

THE BALDWIN-LYMAN HOUSE

Also on Washington Square, at Number 92, the square three-story

brick house in question, standing well apart from other buildings, its
mellow façade almost completely hidden by ivy, deserves far more
than passing mention. The date of its erection is 1818. It bears a
peculiar and charming air of self-respecting reserve, to which effect
the simple wooden picket fence with ornamental posts contributes by
seeming to supply an appropriate frame to the picture.
The windows of the top floor, as was customary at the period, are
shorter than those of the other tiers, giving the desired effect of
foreshortening. The windows themselves, however, have been
modernized by the use of four-panel sashes, and this substitution
detracts from the Colonial ensemble.
The porch of the Baldwin-Lyman house, supported by four smooth
Corinthian columns and surmounted by a pleasing wooden
balustrade, with its white six-paneled door, its plain square-panel
side-lights, simple fanlight, and complete absence of embellishment
or decoration, presents a singularly pure and distinctive appearance.
In contrast to this simplicity, the gate-posts are in full dress—they are
fronted by small Ionic pilasters with a wide reeded band above, and
are further embellished with carved diamonds or lozenges, some
placed in a vertical and some in a horizontal position, in the space
immediately below the capital. The surmounting urns again are
purely designed. Their covers, however, have a beaded edge; and
the details of the flames which they emit are more deeply and
carefully carved than usual.
 The Andrew-Safford House

THE ANDREW-SAFFORD HOUSE

The mahogany door was discovered in the cellar and replaced in its original
position

Another fine example of the old brick mansion of the closing period
of Colonial Salem is the Andrew-Safford house at 13 Washington
Square. Erected in 1818, it was reputed to be the most costly private
residence in New England. Thanks to successful commercial
ventures in foreign trade, money was plentiful in Salem, and it was
freely spent in the provision of comfortable and indeed luxurious
homes for those who had earned it. It seems, perhaps, a wonder that
there was so little in the architecture of the time which was merely
ornate or pretentious, and so much which exhibited refinement and
restraint. But we must remember that for thirty years the genius of
Samuel McIntire dominated Salem in this field, and his tradition lived
after him; so that up to the time of the so-called Greek revival, about
the second quarter of the nineteenth century, there was no
inclination, as there was indeed, no occasion, for departure from the
best artistic ideals in building and decoration.
The Andrew-Safford estate comprises the house itself, an
extensive garden of old-fashioned flowers at one side, and out-
buildings and stables in suitable style. The house has suffered from
a coat of paint; four-paned sashes have replaced the quaint twelve-
paned style of the period. At the rear a beautiful portico resting upon
fluted columns extends to the full height of the three stories. The
Andrew-Safford house as a whole is as well worth study as any of
equal age in Salem.
A thing of genuine beauty is the stately porch at the front entrance.
Elaborate almost to overloading, it still avoids this, maintaining an air
of pride and dignity almost reaching the majestic.
Six mighty Corinthian columns hold aloft the heavy elliptical roof,
with a rectangular element at either side. Smaller columns frame the
side-light and door. The pattern of side-lights and fanlights repeats
the suggestion of the ellipse; while a heavy balustrade about the
roof-edge crowns the work, with a total impression of nobleness and
power. The handsome granite steps and iron hand-railings below,
and the charming and appropriate Palladian window above,
complete a harmonious whole.
This dwelling was built by John Andrew, whose famous nephew
John A. Andrew, War Governor of the Commonwealth, frequently
enjoyed its hospitable welcome.
Here Hawthorne was a favored guest, as was his charming cousin
Susan Ingersoll, familiarly known as ‘The Duchess.’ Henry Clay was
at one time entertained here.
 The Gardner-White-Pingree House

THE GARDNER-WHITE-PINGREE HOUSE

Samuel McIntire, the famous Salem architect, died in 1811. The

Gardner-White-Pingree house was designed by him in the previous
year, and was possibly his last achievement. The shape of the
building is oblong, most of the best houses of the period being
square. The windows of the top story are foreshortened. The narrow
bands of white marble running across the façade at the height of the
first and second floor deceive the eye, and make the building appear
lower than it is.
 In the front doorway and porch we have a notable specimen of
McIntire’s work, illustrating the freedom with which he employed
original ideas in the use of the various architectural orders.
Corinthian columns support the porch roof, but they are without the
usual fluting; while the pilasters farther back are fluted. The slender
grace of the tall columns is most pleasing and the elliptical roof with
its simple mouldings well crowns the whole. A spider-web fanlight of
beautiful proportions surmounts the doorway, which is flanked by
side-lights of pleasing design. The wide door itself, though not of
original Colonial type, is not a discordant note in the ensemble.
A most elaborate cast-iron fence with square openwork posts
resembling tree-boxes, standing at the foot of the steps and
continued by simpler hand-rails, lends a proper finish to the
approach; while the marble sills and keyed lintels of the windows
relieve the plain expanse of the façade.
 The House of the Seven Gables
Reference has been made to two of the doorways of the famous
‘House of the Seven Gables’ at the lower end of Turner Street, close
to the harbor. This romantic old dwelling dates from the year 1662, a
fact gleaned from an ancient iron fire-back standing in one of the
fireplaces, bearing this date.
The many gables doubtless belong to sections of the house, built
at different times, and the assemblage as a whole is rendered
charming by the many irregularities of its composition. It was for four
successive generations occupied by the Turner family, from whom
Turner Street received its name; they were wealthy citizens,
prominent in the civil, military, and mercantile life of the town.
Captain Turner was a representative in the General Court, or
legislature, and was once sent with a detail of militia to prevent the
town of Andover from falling into the hands of hostile Indians,
bringing back as a trophy, as told by his great-granddaughter, a
string of scalps which were for many years in his possession.
After the passing of the Turners, the house was occupied by the
Ingersoll family. Susan Ingersoll, termed by Hawthorne ‘The
Duchess,’ was a favorite cousin. Tradition has it that a chance
remark of hers confirmed him in the choice of the name for his
famous novel ‘The House of the Seven Gables’—one that has
immortalized the old house.
 The J. Foster Smith House

THE J. FOSTER SMITH HOUSE

In Old Salem at Christmas-time a charming custom prevails of

decking entrance-door and porch with greens and garlands.
A typical enclosed porch, with the favorite oval side-lights, fluted
Tuscan pilasters, and triangular pediment adorned with a hand-
tooled wooden wreath, is shown, with the Christmas greens
gracefully draped about it. This is the residence of J. Foster Smith, at
132 Federal Street, and is about a hundred and fifty years old.
 The Grace Machado House

THE GRACE MACHADO HOUSE

Most of the old-time houses in Salem stood bare and unadorned,

except for the beauty of their architectural embellishments. In a few
cases, however, vines and creepers have been encouraged to
embower the porch, or even to cling to the façade itself. Examples of
this are: the Hosmer-Townsend-Waters house on Washington
Square; the Studio at 2-4 Chestnut Street; the Mansfield-Bolles
house at 8 Chestnut Street; the Baldwin-Lyman house at 92
Washington Square; the Mack and Stone house at 21 and 23