Reading Help War of the worlds Book 2
together several of the pieces of apparatus it had taken out of the `
` cylinder into a shape having an unmistakable likeness to its own; and `
` down on the left a busy little digging mechanism had come into view, `
` emitting jets of green vapour and working its way round the pit, `
` excavating and embanking in a methodical and discriminating manner. `
` This it was which had caused the regular beating noise, and the `
` rhythmic shocks that had kept our ruinous refuge quivering. It piped `
` and whistled as it worked. So far as I could see, the thing was `
` without a directing Martian at all. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER THREE `
` `
` THE DAYS OF IMPRISONMENT `
` `
` `
` The arrival of a second fighting-machine drove us from our peephole `
` into the scullery, for we feared that from his elevation the Martian `
` might see down upon us behind our barrier. At a later date we began `
` to feel less in danger of their eyes, for to an eye in the dazzle of `
` the sunlight outside our refuge must have been blank blackness, but at `
` first the slightest suggestion of approach drove us into the scullery `
` in heart-throbbing retreat. Yet terrible as was the danger we `
` incurred, the attraction of peeping was for both of us irresistible. `
` And I recall now with a sort of wonder that, in spite of the infinite `
` danger in which we were between starvation and a still more terrible `
` death, we could yet struggle bitterly for that horrible privilege of `
` sight. We would race across the kitchen in a grotesque way between `
` eagerness and the dread of making a noise, and strike each other, and `
` thrust and kick, within a few inches of exposure. `
` `
` The fact is that we had absolutely incompatible dispositions and `
` habits of thought and action, and our danger and isolation only `
` accentuated the incompatibility. At Halliford I had already come to `
` hate the curate's trick of helpless exclamation, his stupid rigidity `
` of mind. His endless muttering monologue vitiated every effort I made `
` to think out a line of action, and drove me at times, thus pent up and `
` intensified, almost to the verge of craziness. He was as lacking in `
` restraint as a silly woman. He would weep for hours together, and I `
` verily believe that to the very end this spoiled child of life thought `
` his weak tears in some way efficacious. And I would sit in the `
` darkness unable to keep my mind off him by reason of his `
` importunities. He ate more than I did, and it was in vain I pointed `
` out that our only chance of life was to stop in the house until the `
` Martians had done with their pit, that in that long patience a time `
` might presently come when we should need food. He ate and drank `
` impulsively in heavy meals at long intervals. He slept little. `
` `
` As the days wore on, his utter carelessness of any consideration so `
` intensified our distress and danger that I had, much as I loathed `
` doing it, to resort to threats, and at last to blows. That brought him `
` to reason for a time. But he was one of those weak creatures, void of `
` pride, timorous, anaemic, hateful souls, full of shifty cunning, who `
` face neither God nor man, who face not even themselves. `
` `
` It is disagreeable for me to recall and write these things, but I `
` set them down that my story may lack nothing. Those who have escaped `
` the dark and terrible aspects of life will find my brutality, my flash `
` of rage in our final tragedy, easy enough to blame; for they know what `
` is wrong as well as any, but not what is possible to tortured men. But `
` those who have been under the shadow, who have gone down at last to `
` elemental things, will have a wider charity. `
` `
` And while within we fought out our dark, dim contest of whispers, `
` snatched food and drink, and gripping hands and blows, without, in the `
` pitiless sunlight of that terrible June, was the strange wonder, the `
` unfamiliar routine of the Martians in the pit. Let me return to those `
` first new experiences of mine. After a long time I ventured back to `
` the peephole, to find that the new-comers had been reinforced by the `
` occupants of no fewer than three of the fighting-machines. These last `
` had brought with them certain fresh appliances that stood in an `
` orderly manner about the cylinder. The second handling-machine was now `
` completed, and was busied in serving one of the novel contrivances the `
` big machine had brought. This was a body resembling a milk can in its `
` general form, above which oscillated a pear-shaped receptacle, and `
` from which a stream of white powder flowed into a circular basin `
` below. `
` `
` The oscillatory motion was imparted to this by one tentacle of the `
` handling-machine. With two spatulate hands the handling-machine was `
` digging out and flinging masses of clay into the pear-shaped `
` receptacle above, while with another arm it periodically opened a door `
` and removed rusty and blackened clinkers from the middle part of the `
` machine. Another steely tentacle directed the powder from the basin `
` along a ribbed channel towards some receiver that was hidden from me `
` by the mound of bluish dust. From this unseen receiver a little `
` thread of green smoke rose vertically into the quiet air. As I looked, `
` the handling-machine, with a faint and musical clinking, extended, `
` telescopic fashion, a tentacle that had been a moment before a mere `
` blunt projection, until its end was hidden behind the mound of clay. `
` In another second it had lifted a bar of white aluminium into sight, `
` untarnished as yet, and shining dazzlingly, and deposited it in a `
` growing stack of bars that stood at the side of the pit. Between `
` sunset and starlight this dexterous machine must have made more than a `
` hundred such bars out of the crude clay, and the mound of bluish dust `
` rose steadily until it topped the side of the pit. `
` `
` The contrast between the swift and complex movements of these `
` contrivances and the inert panting clumsiness of their masters was `
` acute, and for days I had to tell myself repeatedly that these latter `
` were indeed the living of the two things. `
` `
` The curate had possession of the slit when the first men were `
` brought to the pit. I was sitting below, huddled up, listening with `
` all my ears. He made a sudden movement backward, and I, fearful that `
` we were observed, crouched in a spasm of terror. He came sliding down `
` the rubbish and crept beside me in the darkness, inarticulate, `
` gesticulating, and for a moment I shared his panic. His gesture `
` suggested a resignation of the slit, and after a little while my `
` curiosity gave me courage, and I rose up, stepped across him, and `
` clambered up to it. At first I could see no reason for his frantic `
` behaviour. The twilight had now come, the stars were little and `
` faint, but the pit was illuminated by the flickering green fire that `
` came from the aluminium-making. The whole picture was a flickering `
` scheme of green gleams and shifting rusty black shadows, strangely `
` trying to the eyes. Over and through it all went the bats, heeding it `
` not at all. The sprawling Martians were no longer to be seen, the `
` mound of blue-green powder had risen to cover them from sight, and a `
` fighting-machine, with its legs contracted, crumpled, and abbreviated, `
` stood across the corner of the pit. And then, amid the clangour of `
` the machinery, came a drifting suspicion of human voices, that I `
` entertained at first only to dismiss. `
` `
` I crouched, watching this fighting-machine closely, satisfying `
` myself now for the first time that the hood did indeed contain a `
` Martian. As the green flames lifted I could see the oily gleam of `
` his integument and the brightness of his eyes. And suddenly I heard `
` a yell, and saw a long tentacle reaching over the shoulder of the `
` machine to the little cage that hunched upon its back. Then `
` something--something struggling violently--was lifted high against the `
` sky, a black, vague enigma against the starlight; and as this black `
` object came down again, I saw by the green brightness that it was a `
` man. For an instant he was clearly visible. He was a stout, ruddy, `
` middle-aged man, well dressed; three days before, he must have been `
` walking the world, a man of considerable consequence. I could see his `
` staring eyes and gleams of light on his studs and watch chain. He `
` vanished behind the mound, and for a moment there was silence. And `
` then began a shrieking and a sustained and cheerful hooting from the `
` Martians. `
` `
` I slid down the rubbish, struggled to my feet, clapped my hands `
` over my ears, and bolted into the scullery. The curate, who had been `
` crouching silently with his arms over his head, looked up as I passed, `
` cried out quite loudly at my desertion of him, and came running after `
` me. `
` `
` That night, as we lurked in the scullery, balanced between our `
` horror and the terrible fascination this peeping had, although I felt `
` an urgent need of action I tried in vain to conceive some plan of `
` escape; but afterwards, during the second day, I was able to consider `
` our position with great clearness. The curate, I found, was quite `
` incapable of discussion; this new and culminating atrocity had robbed `
` him of all vestiges of reason or forethought. Practically he had `
` already sunk to the level of an animal. But as the saying goes, I `
` gripped myself with both hands. It grew upon my mind, once I could `
` face the facts, that terrible as our position was, there was as yet `
` no justification for absolute despair. Our chief chance lay in the `
` possibility of the Martians making the pit nothing more than a `
` temporary encampment. Or even if they kept it permanently, they might `
` not consider it necessary to guard it, and a chance of escape might be `
` afforded us. I also weighed very carefully the possibility of our `
` digging a way out in a direction away from the pit, but the chances of `
` our emerging within sight of some sentinel fighting-machine seemed at `
` first too great. And I should have had to do all the digging myself. `
` The curate would certainly have failed me. `
` `
` It was on the third day, if my memory serves me right, that I saw `
` the lad killed. It was the only occasion on which I actually saw the `
` Martians feed. After that experience I avoided the hole in the wall `
` for the better part of a day. I went into the scullery, removed the `
` door, and spent some hours digging with my hatchet as silently as `
` possible; but when I had made a hole about a couple of feet deep the `
` loose earth collapsed noisily, and I did not dare continue. I lost `
` heart, and lay down on the scullery floor for a long time, having no `
` spirit even to move. And after that I abandoned altogether the idea `
` of escaping by excavation. `
` `
` It says much for the impression the Martians had made upon me that `
` at first I entertained little or no hope of our escape being brought `
` about by their overthrow through any human effort. But on the fourth `
` or fifth night I heard a sound like heavy guns. `
` `
` It was very late in the night, and the moon was shining brightly. `
` The Martians had taken away the excavating-machine, and, save for a `
` fighting-machine that stood in the remoter bank of the pit and a `
` handling-machine that was buried out of my sight in a corner of the `
` pit immediately beneath my peephole, the place was deserted by them. `
` Except for the pale glow from the handling-machine and the bars and `
` patches of white moonlight the pit was in darkness, and, except for `
` the clinking of the handling-machine, quite still. That night was a `
` beautiful serenity; save for one planet, the moon seemed to have the `
` sky to herself. I heard a dog howling, and that familiar sound it was `
` that made me listen. Then I heard quite distinctly a booming exactly `
` like the sound of great guns. Six distinct reports I counted, and `
` after a long interval six again. And that was all. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER FOUR `
` `
`
` cylinder into a shape having an unmistakable likeness to its own; and `
` down on the left a busy little digging mechanism had come into view, `
` emitting jets of green vapour and working its way round the pit, `
` excavating and embanking in a methodical and discriminating manner. `
` This it was which had caused the regular beating noise, and the `
` rhythmic shocks that had kept our ruinous refuge quivering. It piped `
` and whistled as it worked. So far as I could see, the thing was `
` without a directing Martian at all. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER THREE `
` `
` THE DAYS OF IMPRISONMENT `
` `
` `
` The arrival of a second fighting-machine drove us from our peephole `
` into the scullery, for we feared that from his elevation the Martian `
` might see down upon us behind our barrier. At a later date we began `
` to feel less in danger of their eyes, for to an eye in the dazzle of `
` the sunlight outside our refuge must have been blank blackness, but at `
` first the slightest suggestion of approach drove us into the scullery `
` in heart-throbbing retreat. Yet terrible as was the danger we `
` incurred, the attraction of peeping was for both of us irresistible. `
` And I recall now with a sort of wonder that, in spite of the infinite `
` danger in which we were between starvation and a still more terrible `
` death, we could yet struggle bitterly for that horrible privilege of `
` sight. We would race across the kitchen in a grotesque way between `
` eagerness and the dread of making a noise, and strike each other, and `
` thrust and kick, within a few inches of exposure. `
` `
` The fact is that we had absolutely incompatible dispositions and `
` habits of thought and action, and our danger and isolation only `
` accentuated the incompatibility. At Halliford I had already come to `
` hate the curate's trick of helpless exclamation, his stupid rigidity `
` of mind. His endless muttering monologue vitiated every effort I made `
` to think out a line of action, and drove me at times, thus pent up and `
` intensified, almost to the verge of craziness. He was as lacking in `
` restraint as a silly woman. He would weep for hours together, and I `
` verily believe that to the very end this spoiled child of life thought `
` his weak tears in some way efficacious. And I would sit in the `
` darkness unable to keep my mind off him by reason of his `
` importunities. He ate more than I did, and it was in vain I pointed `
` out that our only chance of life was to stop in the house until the `
` Martians had done with their pit, that in that long patience a time `
` might presently come when we should need food. He ate and drank `
` impulsively in heavy meals at long intervals. He slept little. `
` `
` As the days wore on, his utter carelessness of any consideration so `
` intensified our distress and danger that I had, much as I loathed `
` doing it, to resort to threats, and at last to blows. That brought him `
` to reason for a time. But he was one of those weak creatures, void of `
` pride, timorous, anaemic, hateful souls, full of shifty cunning, who `
` face neither God nor man, who face not even themselves. `
` `
` It is disagreeable for me to recall and write these things, but I `
` set them down that my story may lack nothing. Those who have escaped `
` the dark and terrible aspects of life will find my brutality, my flash `
` of rage in our final tragedy, easy enough to blame; for they know what `
` is wrong as well as any, but not what is possible to tortured men. But `
` those who have been under the shadow, who have gone down at last to `
` elemental things, will have a wider charity. `
` `
` And while within we fought out our dark, dim contest of whispers, `
` snatched food and drink, and gripping hands and blows, without, in the `
` pitiless sunlight of that terrible June, was the strange wonder, the `
` unfamiliar routine of the Martians in the pit. Let me return to those `
` first new experiences of mine. After a long time I ventured back to `
` the peephole, to find that the new-comers had been reinforced by the `
` occupants of no fewer than three of the fighting-machines. These last `
` had brought with them certain fresh appliances that stood in an `
` orderly manner about the cylinder. The second handling-machine was now `
` completed, and was busied in serving one of the novel contrivances the `
` big machine had brought. This was a body resembling a milk can in its `
` general form, above which oscillated a pear-shaped receptacle, and `
` from which a stream of white powder flowed into a circular basin `
` below. `
` `
` The oscillatory motion was imparted to this by one tentacle of the `
` handling-machine. With two spatulate hands the handling-machine was `
` digging out and flinging masses of clay into the pear-shaped `
` receptacle above, while with another arm it periodically opened a door `
` and removed rusty and blackened clinkers from the middle part of the `
` machine. Another steely tentacle directed the powder from the basin `
` along a ribbed channel towards some receiver that was hidden from me `
` by the mound of bluish dust. From this unseen receiver a little `
` thread of green smoke rose vertically into the quiet air. As I looked, `
` the handling-machine, with a faint and musical clinking, extended, `
` telescopic fashion, a tentacle that had been a moment before a mere `
` blunt projection, until its end was hidden behind the mound of clay. `
` In another second it had lifted a bar of white aluminium into sight, `
` untarnished as yet, and shining dazzlingly, and deposited it in a `
` growing stack of bars that stood at the side of the pit. Between `
` sunset and starlight this dexterous machine must have made more than a `
` hundred such bars out of the crude clay, and the mound of bluish dust `
` rose steadily until it topped the side of the pit. `
` `
` The contrast between the swift and complex movements of these `
` contrivances and the inert panting clumsiness of their masters was `
` acute, and for days I had to tell myself repeatedly that these latter `
` were indeed the living of the two things. `
` `
` The curate had possession of the slit when the first men were `
` brought to the pit. I was sitting below, huddled up, listening with `
` all my ears. He made a sudden movement backward, and I, fearful that `
` we were observed, crouched in a spasm of terror. He came sliding down `
` the rubbish and crept beside me in the darkness, inarticulate, `
` gesticulating, and for a moment I shared his panic. His gesture `
` suggested a resignation of the slit, and after a little while my `
` curiosity gave me courage, and I rose up, stepped across him, and `
` clambered up to it. At first I could see no reason for his frantic `
` behaviour. The twilight had now come, the stars were little and `
` faint, but the pit was illuminated by the flickering green fire that `
` came from the aluminium-making. The whole picture was a flickering `
` scheme of green gleams and shifting rusty black shadows, strangely `
` trying to the eyes. Over and through it all went the bats, heeding it `
` not at all. The sprawling Martians were no longer to be seen, the `
` mound of blue-green powder had risen to cover them from sight, and a `
` fighting-machine, with its legs contracted, crumpled, and abbreviated, `
` stood across the corner of the pit. And then, amid the clangour of `
` the machinery, came a drifting suspicion of human voices, that I `
` entertained at first only to dismiss. `
` `
` I crouched, watching this fighting-machine closely, satisfying `
` myself now for the first time that the hood did indeed contain a `
` Martian. As the green flames lifted I could see the oily gleam of `
` his integument and the brightness of his eyes. And suddenly I heard `
` a yell, and saw a long tentacle reaching over the shoulder of the `
` machine to the little cage that hunched upon its back. Then `
` something--something struggling violently--was lifted high against the `
` sky, a black, vague enigma against the starlight; and as this black `
` object came down again, I saw by the green brightness that it was a `
` man. For an instant he was clearly visible. He was a stout, ruddy, `
` middle-aged man, well dressed; three days before, he must have been `
` walking the world, a man of considerable consequence. I could see his `
` staring eyes and gleams of light on his studs and watch chain. He `
` vanished behind the mound, and for a moment there was silence. And `
` then began a shrieking and a sustained and cheerful hooting from the `
` Martians. `
` `
` I slid down the rubbish, struggled to my feet, clapped my hands `
` over my ears, and bolted into the scullery. The curate, who had been `
` crouching silently with his arms over his head, looked up as I passed, `
` cried out quite loudly at my desertion of him, and came running after `
` me. `
` `
` That night, as we lurked in the scullery, balanced between our `
` horror and the terrible fascination this peeping had, although I felt `
` an urgent need of action I tried in vain to conceive some plan of `
` escape; but afterwards, during the second day, I was able to consider `
` our position with great clearness. The curate, I found, was quite `
` incapable of discussion; this new and culminating atrocity had robbed `
` him of all vestiges of reason or forethought. Practically he had `
` already sunk to the level of an animal. But as the saying goes, I `
` gripped myself with both hands. It grew upon my mind, once I could `
` face the facts, that terrible as our position was, there was as yet `
` no justification for absolute despair. Our chief chance lay in the `
` possibility of the Martians making the pit nothing more than a `
` temporary encampment. Or even if they kept it permanently, they might `
` not consider it necessary to guard it, and a chance of escape might be `
` afforded us. I also weighed very carefully the possibility of our `
` digging a way out in a direction away from the pit, but the chances of `
` our emerging within sight of some sentinel fighting-machine seemed at `
` first too great. And I should have had to do all the digging myself. `
` The curate would certainly have failed me. `
` `
` It was on the third day, if my memory serves me right, that I saw `
` the lad killed. It was the only occasion on which I actually saw the `
` Martians feed. After that experience I avoided the hole in the wall `
` for the better part of a day. I went into the scullery, removed the `
` door, and spent some hours digging with my hatchet as silently as `
` possible; but when I had made a hole about a couple of feet deep the `
` loose earth collapsed noisily, and I did not dare continue. I lost `
` heart, and lay down on the scullery floor for a long time, having no `
` spirit even to move. And after that I abandoned altogether the idea `
` of escaping by excavation. `
` `
` It says much for the impression the Martians had made upon me that `
` at first I entertained little or no hope of our escape being brought `
` about by their overthrow through any human effort. But on the fourth `
` or fifth night I heard a sound like heavy guns. `
` `
` It was very late in the night, and the moon was shining brightly. `
` The Martians had taken away the excavating-machine, and, save for a `
` fighting-machine that stood in the remoter bank of the pit and a `
` handling-machine that was buried out of my sight in a corner of the `
` pit immediately beneath my peephole, the place was deserted by them. `
` Except for the pale glow from the handling-machine and the bars and `
` patches of white moonlight the pit was in darkness, and, except for `
` the clinking of the handling-machine, quite still. That night was a `
` beautiful serenity; save for one planet, the moon seemed to have the `
` sky to herself. I heard a dog howling, and that familiar sound it was `
` that made me listen. Then I heard quite distinctly a booming exactly `
` like the sound of great guns. Six distinct reports I counted, and `
` after a long interval six again. And that was all. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER FOUR `
` `
`