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together several of the pieces of apparatus it had taken out of the `
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cylinder into a shape having an unmistakable likeness to its own; and `
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down on the left a busy little digging mechanism had come into view, `
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emitting jets of green vapour and working its way round the pit, `
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excavating and embanking in a methodical and discriminating manner. `
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This it was which had caused the regular beating noise, and the `
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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. `
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CHAPTER THREE `
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`
`
THE DAYS OF IMPRISONMENT `
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`
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The arrival of a second fighting-machine drove us from our peephole `
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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. `
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And I recall now with a sort of wonder that, in spite of the infinite `
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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 `
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eagerness and the dread of making a noise, and strike each other, and `
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thrust and kick, within a few inches of exposure. `
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`
`
The fact is that we had absolutely incompatible dispositions and `
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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 `
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of mind. His endless muttering monologue vitiated every effort I made `
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to think out a line of action, and drove me at times, thus pent up and `
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intensified, almost to the verge of craziness. He was as lacking in `
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restraint as a silly woman. He would weep for hours together, and I `
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verily believe that to the very end this spoiled child of life thought `
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his weak tears in some way efficacious. And I would sit in the `
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darkness unable to keep my mind off him by reason of his `
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importunities. He ate more than I did, and it was in vain I pointed `
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out that our only chance of life was to stop in the house until the `
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Martians had done with their pit, that in that long patience a time `
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might presently come when we should need food. He ate and drank `
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impulsively in heavy meals at long intervals. He slept little. `
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As the days wore on, his utter carelessness of any consideration so `
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intensified our distress and danger that I had, much as I loathed `
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doing it, to resort to threats, and at last to blows. That brought him `
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to reason for a time. But he was one of those weak creatures, void of `
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pride, timorous, anaemic, hateful souls, full of shifty cunning, who `
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face neither God nor man, who face not even themselves. `
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`
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It is disagreeable for me to recall and write these things, but I `
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set them down that my story may lack nothing. Those who have escaped `
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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 `
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those who have been under the shadow, who have gone down at last to `
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elemental things, will have a wider charity. `
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`
`
And while within we fought out our dark, dim contest of whispers, `
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snatched food and drink, and gripping hands and blows, without, in the `
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pitiless sunlight of that terrible June, was the strange wonder, the `
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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 `
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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 `
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had brought with them certain fresh appliances that stood in an `
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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 `
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from which a stream of white powder flowed into a circular basin `
`
below. `
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`
`
The oscillatory motion was imparted to this by one tentacle of the `
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handling-machine. With two spatulate hands the handling-machine was `
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digging out and flinging masses of clay into the pear-shaped `
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receptacle above, while with another arm it periodically opened a door `
`
and removed rusty and blackened clinkers from the middle part of the `
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machine. Another steely tentacle directed the powder from the basin `
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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, `
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the handling-machine, with a faint and musical clinking, extended, `
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telescopic fashion, a tentacle that had been a moment before a mere `
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blunt projection, until its end was hidden behind the mound of clay. `
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In another second it had lifted a bar of white aluminium into sight, `
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untarnished as yet, and shining dazzlingly, and deposited it in a `
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growing stack of bars that stood at the side of the pit. Between `
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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 `
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rose steadily until it topped the side of the pit. `
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`
`
The contrast between the swift and complex movements of these `
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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. `
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`
`
The curate had possession of the slit when the first men were `
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brought to the pit. I was sitting below, huddled up, listening with `
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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, `
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gesticulating, and for a moment I shared his panic. His gesture `
`
suggested a resignation of the slit, and after a little while my `
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curiosity gave me courage, and I rose up, stepped across him, and `
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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 `
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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 `
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mound of blue-green powder had risen to cover them from sight, and a `
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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 `
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entertained at first only to dismiss. `
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`
`
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, `
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middle-aged man, well dressed; three days before, he must have been `
`
walking the world, a man of considerable consequence. I could see his `
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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 `
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then began a shrieking and a sustained and cheerful hooting from the `
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Martians. `
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`
`
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, `
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cried out quite loudly at my desertion of him, and came running after `
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me. `
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`
`
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. `
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`
`
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. `
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`
`
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. `
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`
`
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. `
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CHAPTER FOUR `
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