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Thearrivalofasecondfighting–machinedroveusfromourpeepholeintothescullery,forwefearedthatfromhiselevationtheMartianmightseedownuponusbehindourbarrier.
Atalaterdatewebegantofeellessindangeroftheireyes,fortoaneyeinthedazzleofthesunlightoutsideourrefugemusthavebeenblankblackness,butatfirsttheslightestsuggestionofapproachdroveusintothesculleryinheart–throbbingretreat.
Yetterribleaswasthedangerweincurred,theattractionofpeepingwasforbothofusirresistible.
AndIrecallnowwithasortofwonderthat,inspiteoftheinfinitedangerinwhichwewerebetweenstarvationandastillmoreterribledeath,wecouldyetstrugglebitterlyforthathorribleprivilegeofsight.
Wewouldraceacrossthekitcheninagrotesquewaybetweeneagernessandthedreadofmakinganoise,andstrikeeachother,andthrustandkick,withinafewinchesofexposure.
Thefactisthatwehadabsolutelyincompatibledispositionsandhabitsofthoughtandaction,andourdangerandisolationonlyaccentuatedtheincompatibility.
AtHallifordIhadalreadycometohatethecurate'strickofhelplessexclamation,hisstupidrigidityofmind.
HisendlessmutteringmonologuevitiatedeveryeffortImadetothinkoutalineofaction,anddrovemeattimes,thuspentupandintensified,almosttothevergeofcraziness.
Hewasaslackinginrestraintasasillywoman.
Hewouldweepforhourstogether,andIverilybelievethattotheveryendthisspoiledchildoflifethoughthisweaktearsinsomewayefficacious.
AndIwouldsitinthedarknessunabletokeepmymindoffhimbyreasonofhisimportunities.
HeatemorethanIdid,anditwasinvainIpointedoutthatouronlychanceoflifewastostopinthehouseuntiltheMartianshaddonewiththeirpit,thatinthatlongpatienceatimemightpresentlycomewhenweshouldneedfood.
Heateanddrankimpulsivelyinheavymealsatlongintervals.Hesleptlittle.
Asthedaysworeon,hisuttercarelessnessofanyconsiderationsointensifiedourdistressanddangerthatIhad,muchasIloatheddoingit,toresorttothreats,andatlasttoblows.Thatbroughthimtoreasonforatime.
Buthewasoneofthoseweakcreatures,voidofpride,timorous,anaemic,hatefulsouls,fullofshiftycunning,whofaceneitherGodnorman,whofacenoteventhemselves.
Itisdisagreeableformetorecallandwritethesethings,butIsetthemdownthatmystorymaylacknothing.
Thosewhohaveescapedthedarkandterribleaspectsoflifewillfindmybrutality,myflashofrageinourfinaltragedy,easyenoughtoblame;fortheyknowwhatiswrongaswellasany,butnotwhatispossibletotorturedmen.
Butthosewhohavebeenundertheshadow,whohavegonedownatlasttoelementalthings,willhaveawidercharity.
Andwhilewithinwefoughtoutourdark,dimcontestofwhispers,snatchedfoodanddrink,andgrippinghandsandblows,without,inthepitilesssunlightofthatterribleJune,wasthestrangewonder,theunfamiliarroutineoftheMartiansinthepit.
Letmereturntothosefirstnewexperiencesofmine.
AfteralongtimeIventuredbacktothepeephole,tofindthatthenew–comershadbeenreinforcedbytheoccupantsofnofewerthanthreeofthefighting–machines.
Theselasthadbroughtwiththemcertainfreshappliancesthatstoodinanorderlymanneraboutthecylinder.
Thesecondhandling–machinewasnowcompleted,andwasbusiedinservingoneofthenovelcontrivancesthebigmachinehadbrought.
Thiswasabodyresemblingamilkcaninitsgeneralform,abovewhichoscillatedapear–shapedreceptacle,andfromwhichastreamofwhitepowderflowedintoacircularbasinbelow.
Theoscillatorymotionwasimpartedtothisbyonetentacleofthehandling–machine.
Withtwospatulatehandsthehandling–machinewasdiggingoutandflingingmassesofclayintothepear–shapedreceptacleabove,whilewithanotherarmitperiodicallyopenedadoorandremovedrustyandblackenedclinkersfromthemiddlepartofthemachine.
Anothersteelytentacledirectedthepowderfromthebasinalongaribbedchanneltowardssomereceiverthatwashiddenfrommebythemoundofbluishdust.
Fromthisunseenreceiveralittlethreadofgreensmokeroseverticallyintothequietair.
AsIlooked,thehandling–machine,withafaintandmusicalclinking,extended,telescopicfashion,atentaclethathadbeenamomentbeforeamerebluntprojection,untilitsendwashiddenbehindthemoundofclay.
Inanothersecondithadliftedabarofwhitealuminiumintosight,untarnishedasyet,andshiningdazzlingly,anddepositeditinagrowingstackofbarsthatstoodatthesideofthepit.
Betweensunsetandstarlightthisdexterousmachinemusthavemademorethanahundredsuchbarsoutofthecrudeclay,andthemoundofbluishdustrosesteadilyuntilittoppedthesideofthepit.
Thecontrastbetweentheswiftandcomplexmovementsofthesecontrivancesandtheinertpantingclumsinessoftheirmasterswasacute,andfordaysIhadtotellmyselfrepeatedlythattheselatterwereindeedthelivingofthetwothings.
Thecuratehadpossessionoftheslitwhenthefirstmenwerebroughttothepit.
Iwassittingbelow,huddledup,listeningwithallmyears.
Hemadeasuddenmovementbackward,andI,fearfulthatwewereobserved,crouchedinaspasmofterror.
Hecameslidingdowntherubbishandcreptbesidemeinthedarkness,inarticulate,gesticulating,andforamomentIsharedhispanic.
Hisgesturesuggestedaresignationoftheslit,andafteralittlewhilemycuriositygavemecourage,andIroseup,steppedacrosshim,andclambereduptoit.
AtfirstIcouldseenoreasonforhisfranticbehaviour.
Thetwilighthadnowcome,thestarswerelittleandfaint,butthepitwasilluminatedbytheflickeringgreenfirethatcamefromthealuminium–making.
Thewholepicturewasaflickeringschemeofgreengleamsandshiftingrustyblackshadows,strangelytryingtotheeyes.
Overandthroughitallwentthebats,heedingitnotatall.
ThesprawlingMartianswerenolongertobeseen,themoundofblue–greenpowderhadrisentocoverthemfromsight,andafighting–machine,withitslegscontracted,crumpled,andabbreviated,stoodacrossthecornerofthepit.
Andthen,amidtheclangourofthemachinery,cameadriftingsuspicionofhumanvoices,thatIentertainedatfirstonlytodismiss.
Icrouched,watchingthisfighting–machineclosely,satisfyingmyselfnowforthefirsttimethatthehooddidindeedcontainaMartian.
AsthegreenflamesliftedIcouldseetheoilygleamofhisintegumentandthebrightnessofhiseyes.
AndsuddenlyIheardayell,andsawalongtentaclereachingovertheshoulderofthemachinetothelittlecagethathuncheduponitsback.
Thensomething—somethingstrugglingviolently—wasliftedhighagainstthesky,ablack,vagueenigmaagainstthestarlight;andasthisblackobjectcamedownagain,Isawbythegreenbrightnessthatitwasaman.Foraninstanthewasclearlyvisible.
Hewasastout,ruddy,middle–agedman,welldressed;threedaysbefore,hemusthavebeenwalkingtheworld,amanofconsiderableconsequence.
Icouldseehisstaringeyesandgleamsoflightonhisstudsandwatchchain.
Hevanishedbehindthemound,andforamomenttherewassilence.
AndthenbeganashriekingandasustainedandcheerfulhootingfromtheMartians.
Isliddowntherubbish,struggledtomyfeet,clappedmyhandsovermyears,andboltedintothescullery.
Thecurate,whohadbeencrouchingsilentlywithhisarmsoverhishead,lookedupasIpassed,criedoutquiteloudlyatmydesertionofhim,andcamerunningafterme.
Thatnight,aswelurkedinthescullery,balancedbetweenourhorrorandtheterriblefascinationthispeepinghad,althoughIfeltanurgentneedofactionItriedinvaintoconceivesomeplanofescape;butafterwards,duringthesecondday,Iwasabletoconsiderourpositionwithgreatclearness.
Thecurate,Ifound,wasquiteincapableofdiscussion;thisnewandculminatingatrocityhadrobbedhimofallvestigesofreasonorforethought.
Practicallyhehadalreadysunktothelevelofananimal.
Butasthesayinggoes,Igrippedmyselfwithbothhands.
Itgrewuponmymind,onceIcouldfacethefacts,thatterribleasourpositionwas,therewasasyetnojustificationforabsolutedespair.
OurchiefchancelayinthepossibilityoftheMartiansmakingthepitnothingmorethanatemporaryencampment.
Oreveniftheykeptitpermanently,theymightnotconsideritnecessarytoguardit,andachanceofescapemightbeaffordedus.
Ialsoweighedverycarefullythepossibilityofourdiggingawayoutinadirectionawayfromthepit,butthechancesofouremergingwithinsightofsomesentinelfighting–machineseemedatfirsttoogreat.
AndIshouldhavehadtodoallthediggingmyself.
Thecuratewouldcertainlyhavefailedme.
Itwasonthethirdday,ifmymemoryservesmeright,thatIsawtheladkilled.
ItwastheonlyoccasiononwhichIactuallysawtheMartiansfeed.
AfterthatexperienceIavoidedtheholeinthewallforthebetterpartofaday.
Iwentintothescullery,removedthedoor,andspentsomehoursdiggingwithmyhatchetassilentlyaspossible;butwhenIhadmadeaholeaboutacoupleoffeetdeepthelooseearthcollapsednoisily,andIdidnotdarecontinue.
Ilostheart,andlaydownonthesculleryfloorforalongtime,havingnospiriteventomove.
AndafterthatIabandonedaltogethertheideaofescapingbyexcavation.
ItsaysmuchfortheimpressiontheMartianshadmadeuponmethatatfirstIentertainedlittleornohopeofourescapebeingbroughtaboutbytheiroverthrowthroughanyhumaneffort.
ButonthefourthorfifthnightIheardasoundlikeheavyguns.
Itwasverylateinthenight,andthemoonwasshiningbrightly.
TheMartianshadtakenawaytheexcavating–machine,and,saveforafighting–machinethatstoodintheremoterbankofthepitandahandling–machinethatwasburiedoutofmysightinacornerofthepitimmediatelybeneathmypeephole,theplacewasdesertedbythem.
Exceptforthepaleglowfromthehandling–machineandthebarsandpatchesofwhitemoonlightthepitwasindarkness,and,exceptfortheclinkingofthehandling–machine,quitestill.
Thatnightwasabeautifulserenity;saveforoneplanet,themoonseemedtohavetheskytoherself.
Iheardadoghowling,andthatfamiliarsounditwasthatmademelisten.
ThenIheardquitedistinctlyaboomingexactlylikethesoundofgreatguns.
SixdistinctreportsIcounted,andafteralongintervalsixagain.Andthatwasall.
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