The arrival of a second fighting-machine drove us from our peephole into the scullery, for we feared that from his elevation1 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 incurred2, the attraction of peeping was for both of us irresistible3. 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 grotesque4 way between eagerness and the dread5 of making a noise, and strike each other, and thrust add kick, within a few inches of exposure.
The fact is that we had absolutely incompatible6 dispositions7 and habits of thought and action, and our danger and isolation8 only accentuated9 the incompatibility10. At Halliford I had already come to hate the curate's trick of helpless exclamation11, his stupid rigidity12 of mind. His endless muttering monologue13 vitiated every effort I made to think out a line of action, and drove me at times, thus pent up and intensified14, almost to the verge15 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 pointed16 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 impulsively17 in heavy meals at long intervals19. He slept little.
As the days wore on, his utter carelessness of any consideration so intensified our distress20 and danger that I had, much as I loathed21 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, timorous22, 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 brutality23, 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 unfamiliab 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 fightingmachines. These last had brought with them certain fresh appliances that stood in an orderly manner about the cylinder24. 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 tentacle25 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 rusty26 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 mound27 of bluish dust. From this unseen receiver a little thread of green smoke rose vertically28 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 mere29 blunt projection30, until its end was hidden behind the mound of clay. In another second it had lifted a bar of white aluminium31 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 dexterous32 machine must have made more than a hundred such bars out of the crude clay, and the mound of bluish dust rose steadily33 until it topped the side of the pit.
The contrast between the swift and complex movements of these contrivances and the inert34 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 slit35 when the first men were brought to the pit. I was sitting below, huddled36 up, listening with all my ears. He made a sudden movement backward, and I, fearful that we were observed, crouched37 in a spasm38 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 frantic39 behaviour. The twilight40 had now come, the stars were little and faint, but the pit was illuminated41 by the flickering42 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, heeding43 it not at all. The sprawling44 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, crumpled45, and abbreviated46, stood across the corner of the pit. And then, amid the clangour of the machinery47, 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 hood48 did indeed contain a Martian. As the green flames lifted I could see the oily gleam of his integument49 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 hunched50 upon its back. Then something--something struggling violently--was lifted high against the sky, a black, vague enigma51 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 stout52, ruddy, middle-aged53 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 shrieking54 and a sustained and cheerful hooting55 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 crouching56 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 lurked57 in the scullery, balanced between our horror and the terrible fascination58 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 incapable59 of discussion; this new and culminating atrocity60 had robbed him of all vestiges61 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 justification62 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 permanently63, 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 hatchet64 as silently as possible; but when I had made a hole about a couple of feet deep the loose earth collapsed65 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 excavation66.
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 overthrow67 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 excavatingmachine, 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 deserted68 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 serenity69; 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 interval18 six again. And that was all.
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1
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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incurred
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| [医]招致的，遭受的； incur的过去式 | |
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irresistible
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| adj.非常诱人的，无法拒绝的，无法抗拒的 | |
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grotesque
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| adj.怪诞的，丑陋的；n.怪诞的图案，怪人（物） | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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incompatible
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| adj.不相容的，不协调的，不相配的 | |
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dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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accentuated
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| v.重读( accentuate的过去式和过去分词 )；使突出；使恶化；加重音符号于 | |
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incompatibility
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| n.不兼容 | |
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exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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rigidity
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| adj.钢性，坚硬 | |
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monologue
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| n.长篇大论，（戏剧等中的）独白 | |
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intensified
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| v.（使）增强， （使）加剧( intensify的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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impulsively
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| adv.冲动地 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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loathed
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| v.憎恨，厌恶( loathe的过去式和过去分词 )；极不喜欢 | |
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timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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cylinder
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| n.圆筒，柱(面)，汽缸 | |
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tentacle
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| n.触角，触须，触手 | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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mound
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| n.土墩，堤，小山；v.筑堤，用土堆防卫 | |
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vertically
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| adv.垂直地 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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projection
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| n.发射，计划，突出部分 | |
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aluminium
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| n.铝 (=aluminum) | |
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32
dexterous
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| adj.灵敏的；灵巧的 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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inert
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| adj.无活动能力的，惰性的；迟钝的 | |
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slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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crouched
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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41
illuminated
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| adj.被照明的；受启迪的 | |
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42
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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43
heeding
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| v.听某人的劝告，听从( heed的现在分词 ) | |
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sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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45
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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46
abbreviated
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| adj. 简短的，省略的 动词abbreviate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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47
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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48
hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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49
integument
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| n.皮肤 | |
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50
hunched
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| （常指因寒冷、生病或愁苦）耸肩弓身的，伏首前倾的 | |
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51
enigma
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| n.谜，谜一样的人或事 | |
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53
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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54
shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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55
hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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56
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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57
lurked
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| vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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58
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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59
incapable
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| adj.无能力的，不能做某事的 | |
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60
atrocity
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| n.残暴，暴行 | |
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61
vestiges
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| 残余部分( vestige的名词复数 )； 遗迹； 痕迹； 毫不 | |
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62
justification
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| n.正当的理由；辩解的理由 | |
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63
permanently
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| adv.永恒地，永久地，固定不变地 | |
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64
hatchet
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| n.短柄小斧；v.扼杀 | |
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65
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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66
excavation
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| n.挖掘，发掘；被挖掘之地 | |
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67
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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68
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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