Reading Help War of the worlds Book 2
accident. And these are only pioneers. They kept on coming. These `
` green stars--I've seen none these five or six days, but I've no doubt `
` they're falling somewhere every night. Nothing's to be done. We're `
` under! We're beat!" `
` `
` I made him no answer. I sat staring before me, trying in vain to `
` devise some countervailing thought. `
` `
` "This isn't a war," said the artilleryman. "It never was a war, `
` any more than there's war between man and ants." `
` `
` Suddenly I recalled the night in the observatory. `
` `
` "After the tenth shot they fired no more--at least, until the first `
` cylinder came." `
` `
` "How do you know?" said the artilleryman. I explained. He thought. `
` "Something wrong with the gun," he said. "But what if there is? `
` They'll get it right again. And even if there's a delay, how can it `
` alter the end? It's just men and ants. There's the ants builds their `
` cities, live their lives, have wars, revolutions, until the men want `
` them out of the way, and then they go out of the way. That's what we `
` are now--just ants. Only----" `
` `
` "Yes," I said. `
` `
` "We're eatable ants." `
` `
` We sat looking at each other. `
` `
` "And what will they do with us?" I said. `
` `
` "That's what I've been thinking," he said; "that's what I've been `
` thinking. After Weybridge I went south--thinking. I saw what was up. `
` Most of the people were hard at it squealing and exciting themselves. `
` But I'm not so fond of squealing. I've been in sight of death once or `
` twice; I'm not an ornamental soldier, and at the best and worst, `
` death--it's just death. And it's the man that keeps on thinking comes `
` through. I saw everyone tracking away south. Says I, 'Food won't `
` last this way,' and I turned right back. I went for the Martians like `
` a sparrow goes for man. All round"--he waved a hand to the `
` horizon--"they're starving in heaps, bolting, treading on each other. `
` . . ." `
` `
` He saw my face, and halted awkwardly. `
` `
` "No doubt lots who had money have gone away to France," he said. He `
` seemed to hesitate whether to apologise, met my eyes, and went on: `
` "There's food all about here. Canned things in shops; wines, spirits, `
` mineral waters; and the water mains and drains are empty. Well, I was `
` telling you what I was thinking. 'Here's intelligent things,' I said, `
` 'and it seems they want us for food. First, they'll smash us up--ships, `
` machines, guns, cities, all the order and organisation. All `
` that will go. If we were the size of ants we might pull through. But `
` we're not. It's all too bulky to stop. That's the first certainty.' `
` Eh?" `
` `
` I assented. `
` `
` "It is; I've thought it out. Very well, then--next; at present `
` we're caught as we're wanted. A Martian has only to go a few miles to `
` get a crowd on the run. And I saw one, one day, out by Wandsworth, `
` picking houses to pieces and routing among the wreckage. But they `
` won't keep on doing that. So soon as they've settled all our guns and `
` ships, and smashed our railways, and done all the things they are `
` doing over there, they will begin catching us systematic, picking the `
` best and storing us in cages and things. That's what they will start `
` doing in a bit. Lord! They haven't begun on us yet. Don't you see `
` that?" `
` `
` "Not begun!" I exclaimed. `
` `
` "Not begun. All that's happened so far is through our not having `
` the sense to keep quiet--worrying them with guns and such foolery. And `
` losing our heads, and rushing off in crowds to where there wasn't any `
` more safety than where we were. They don't want to bother us yet. `
` They're making their things--making all the things they couldn't bring `
` with them, getting things ready for the rest of their people. Very `
` likely that's why the cylinders have stopped for a bit, for fear of `
` hitting those who are here. And instead of our rushing about blind, `
` on the howl, or getting dynamite on the chance of busting them up, `
` we've got to fix ourselves up according to the new state of affairs. `
` That's how I figure it out. It isn't quite according to what a man `
` wants for his species, but it's about what the facts point to. And `
` that's the principle I acted upon. Cities, nations, civilisation, `
` progress--it's all over. That game's up. We're beat." `
` `
` "But if that is so, what is there to live for?" `
` `
` The artilleryman looked at me for a moment. `
` `
` "There won't be any more blessed concerts for a million years or `
` so; there won't be any Royal Academy of Arts, and no nice little feeds `
` at restaurants. If it's amusement you're after, I reckon the game is `
` up. If you've got any drawing-room manners or a dislike to eating `
` peas with a knife or dropping aitches, you'd better chuck 'em away. `
` They ain't no further use." `
` `
` "You mean----" `
` `
` "I mean that men like me are going on living--for the sake of the `
` breed. I tell you, I'm grim set on living. And if I'm not mistaken, `
` you'll show what insides _you've_ got, too, before long. We aren't `
` going to be exterminated. And I don't mean to be caught either, and `
` tamed and fattened and bred like a thundering ox. Ugh! Fancy those `
` brown creepers!" `
` `
` "You don't mean to say----" `
` `
` "I do. I'm going on, under their feet. I've got it planned; I've `
` thought it out. We men are beat. We don't know enough. We've got to `
` learn before we've got a chance. And we've got to live and keep `
` independent while we learn. See! That's what has to be done." `
` `
` I stared, astonished, and stirred profoundly by the man's `
` resolution. `
` `
` "Great God!" cried I. "But you are a man indeed!" And suddenly I `
` gripped his hand. `
` `
` "Eh!" he said, with his eyes shining. "I've thought it out, eh?" `
` `
` "Go on," I said. `
` `
` "Well, those who mean to escape their catching must get ready. I'm `
` getting ready. Mind you, it isn't all of us that are made for wild `
` beasts; and that's what it's got to be. That's why I watched you. I `
` had my doubts. You're slender. I didn't know that it was you, you `
` see, or just how you'd been buried. All these--the sort of people `
` that lived in these houses, and all those damn little clerks that used `
` to live down that way--they'd be no good. They haven't any spirit in `
` them--no proud dreams and no proud lusts; and a man who hasn't one or `
` the other--Lord! What is he but funk and precautions? They just used `
` to skedaddle off to work--I've seen hundreds of 'em, bit of breakfast `
` in hand, running wild and shining to catch their little season-ticket `
` train, for fear they'd get dismissed if they didn't; working at `
` businesses they were afraid to take the trouble to understand; `
` skedaddling back for fear they wouldn't be in time for dinner; keeping `
` indoors after dinner for fear of the back streets, and sleeping with `
` the wives they married, not because they wanted them, but because they `
` had a bit of money that would make for safety in their one little `
` miserable skedaddle through the world. Lives insured and a bit `
` invested for fear of accidents. And on Sundays--fear of the `
` hereafter. As if hell was built for rabbits! Well, the Martians will `
` just be a godsend to these. Nice roomy cages, fattening food, careful `
` breeding, no worry. After a week or so chasing about the fields and `
` lands on empty stomachs, they'll come and be caught cheerful. They'll `
` be quite glad after a bit. They'll wonder what people did before `
` there were Martians to take care of them. And the bar loafers, and `
` mashers, and singers--I can imagine them. I can imagine them," he `
` said, with a sort of sombre gratification. "There'll be any amount of `
` sentiment and religion loose among them. There's hundreds of things I `
` saw with my eyes that I've only begun to see clearly these last few `
` days. There's lots will take things as they are--fat and stupid; and `
` lots will be worried by a sort of feeling that it's all wrong, and `
` that they ought to be doing something. Now whenever things are so `
` that a lot of people feel they ought to be doing something, the weak, `
` and those who go weak with a lot of complicated thinking, always make `
` for a sort of do-nothing religion, very pious and superior, and `
` submit to persecution and the will of the Lord. Very likely you've `
` seen the same thing. It's energy in a gale of funk, and turned clean `
` inside out. These cages will be full of psalms and hymns and piety. `
` And those of a less simple sort will work in a bit of--what is `
` it?--eroticism." `
` `
` He paused. `
` `
` "Very likely these Martians will make pets of some of them; train `
` them to do tricks--who knows?--get sentimental over the pet boy who `
` grew up and had to be killed. And some, maybe, they will train to `
` hunt us." `
` `
` "No," I cried, "that's impossible! No human being----" `
` `
` "What's the good of going on with such lies?" said the `
` artilleryman. "There's men who'd do it cheerful. What nonsense to `
` pretend there isn't!" `
` `
` And I succumbed to his conviction. `
` `
` "If they come after me," he said; "Lord, if they come after me!" `
` and subsided into a grim meditation. `
` `
` I sat contemplating these things. I could find nothing to bring `
` against this man's reasoning. In the days before the invasion no one `
` would have questioned my intellectual superiority to his--I, a `
` professed and recognised writer on philosophical themes, and he, a `
` common soldier; and yet he had already formulated a situation that I `
` had scarcely realised. `
` `
` "What are you doing?" I said presently. "What plans have you `
` made?" `
` `
` He hesitated. `
` `
` "Well, it's like this," he said. "What have we to do? We have to `
` invent a sort of life where men can live and breed, and be `
` sufficiently secure to bring the children up. Yes--wait a bit, and `
` I'll make it clearer what I think ought to be done. The tame ones `
` will go like all tame beasts; in a few generations they'll be big, `
` beautiful, rich-blooded, stupid--rubbish! The risk is that we who keep `
`
` green stars--I've seen none these five or six days, but I've no doubt `
` they're falling somewhere every night. Nothing's to be done. We're `
` under! We're beat!" `
` `
` I made him no answer. I sat staring before me, trying in vain to `
` devise some countervailing thought. `
` `
` "This isn't a war," said the artilleryman. "It never was a war, `
` any more than there's war between man and ants." `
` `
` Suddenly I recalled the night in the observatory. `
` `
` "After the tenth shot they fired no more--at least, until the first `
` cylinder came." `
` `
` "How do you know?" said the artilleryman. I explained. He thought. `
` "Something wrong with the gun," he said. "But what if there is? `
` They'll get it right again. And even if there's a delay, how can it `
` alter the end? It's just men and ants. There's the ants builds their `
` cities, live their lives, have wars, revolutions, until the men want `
` them out of the way, and then they go out of the way. That's what we `
` are now--just ants. Only----" `
` `
` "Yes," I said. `
` `
` "We're eatable ants." `
` `
` We sat looking at each other. `
` `
` "And what will they do with us?" I said. `
` `
` "That's what I've been thinking," he said; "that's what I've been `
` thinking. After Weybridge I went south--thinking. I saw what was up. `
` Most of the people were hard at it squealing and exciting themselves. `
` But I'm not so fond of squealing. I've been in sight of death once or `
` twice; I'm not an ornamental soldier, and at the best and worst, `
` death--it's just death. And it's the man that keeps on thinking comes `
` through. I saw everyone tracking away south. Says I, 'Food won't `
` last this way,' and I turned right back. I went for the Martians like `
` a sparrow goes for man. All round"--he waved a hand to the `
` horizon--"they're starving in heaps, bolting, treading on each other. `
` . . ." `
` `
` He saw my face, and halted awkwardly. `
` `
` "No doubt lots who had money have gone away to France," he said. He `
` seemed to hesitate whether to apologise, met my eyes, and went on: `
` "There's food all about here. Canned things in shops; wines, spirits, `
` mineral waters; and the water mains and drains are empty. Well, I was `
` telling you what I was thinking. 'Here's intelligent things,' I said, `
` 'and it seems they want us for food. First, they'll smash us up--ships, `
` machines, guns, cities, all the order and organisation. All `
` that will go. If we were the size of ants we might pull through. But `
` we're not. It's all too bulky to stop. That's the first certainty.' `
` Eh?" `
` `
` I assented. `
` `
` "It is; I've thought it out. Very well, then--next; at present `
` we're caught as we're wanted. A Martian has only to go a few miles to `
` get a crowd on the run. And I saw one, one day, out by Wandsworth, `
` picking houses to pieces and routing among the wreckage. But they `
` won't keep on doing that. So soon as they've settled all our guns and `
` ships, and smashed our railways, and done all the things they are `
` doing over there, they will begin catching us systematic, picking the `
` best and storing us in cages and things. That's what they will start `
` doing in a bit. Lord! They haven't begun on us yet. Don't you see `
` that?" `
` `
` "Not begun!" I exclaimed. `
` `
` "Not begun. All that's happened so far is through our not having `
` the sense to keep quiet--worrying them with guns and such foolery. And `
` losing our heads, and rushing off in crowds to where there wasn't any `
` more safety than where we were. They don't want to bother us yet. `
` They're making their things--making all the things they couldn't bring `
` with them, getting things ready for the rest of their people. Very `
` likely that's why the cylinders have stopped for a bit, for fear of `
` hitting those who are here. And instead of our rushing about blind, `
` on the howl, or getting dynamite on the chance of busting them up, `
` we've got to fix ourselves up according to the new state of affairs. `
` That's how I figure it out. It isn't quite according to what a man `
` wants for his species, but it's about what the facts point to. And `
` that's the principle I acted upon. Cities, nations, civilisation, `
` progress--it's all over. That game's up. We're beat." `
` `
` "But if that is so, what is there to live for?" `
` `
` The artilleryman looked at me for a moment. `
` `
` "There won't be any more blessed concerts for a million years or `
` so; there won't be any Royal Academy of Arts, and no nice little feeds `
` at restaurants. If it's amusement you're after, I reckon the game is `
` up. If you've got any drawing-room manners or a dislike to eating `
` peas with a knife or dropping aitches, you'd better chuck 'em away. `
` They ain't no further use." `
` `
` "You mean----" `
` `
` "I mean that men like me are going on living--for the sake of the `
` breed. I tell you, I'm grim set on living. And if I'm not mistaken, `
` you'll show what insides _you've_ got, too, before long. We aren't `
` going to be exterminated. And I don't mean to be caught either, and `
` tamed and fattened and bred like a thundering ox. Ugh! Fancy those `
` brown creepers!" `
` `
` "You don't mean to say----" `
` `
` "I do. I'm going on, under their feet. I've got it planned; I've `
` thought it out. We men are beat. We don't know enough. We've got to `
` learn before we've got a chance. And we've got to live and keep `
` independent while we learn. See! That's what has to be done." `
` `
` I stared, astonished, and stirred profoundly by the man's `
` resolution. `
` `
` "Great God!" cried I. "But you are a man indeed!" And suddenly I `
` gripped his hand. `
` `
` "Eh!" he said, with his eyes shining. "I've thought it out, eh?" `
` `
` "Go on," I said. `
` `
` "Well, those who mean to escape their catching must get ready. I'm `
` getting ready. Mind you, it isn't all of us that are made for wild `
` beasts; and that's what it's got to be. That's why I watched you. I `
` had my doubts. You're slender. I didn't know that it was you, you `
` see, or just how you'd been buried. All these--the sort of people `
` that lived in these houses, and all those damn little clerks that used `
` to live down that way--they'd be no good. They haven't any spirit in `
` them--no proud dreams and no proud lusts; and a man who hasn't one or `
` the other--Lord! What is he but funk and precautions? They just used `
` to skedaddle off to work--I've seen hundreds of 'em, bit of breakfast `
` in hand, running wild and shining to catch their little season-ticket `
` train, for fear they'd get dismissed if they didn't; working at `
` businesses they were afraid to take the trouble to understand; `
` skedaddling back for fear they wouldn't be in time for dinner; keeping `
` indoors after dinner for fear of the back streets, and sleeping with `
` the wives they married, not because they wanted them, but because they `
` had a bit of money that would make for safety in their one little `
` miserable skedaddle through the world. Lives insured and a bit `
` invested for fear of accidents. And on Sundays--fear of the `
` hereafter. As if hell was built for rabbits! Well, the Martians will `
` just be a godsend to these. Nice roomy cages, fattening food, careful `
` breeding, no worry. After a week or so chasing about the fields and `
` lands on empty stomachs, they'll come and be caught cheerful. They'll `
` be quite glad after a bit. They'll wonder what people did before `
` there were Martians to take care of them. And the bar loafers, and `
` mashers, and singers--I can imagine them. I can imagine them," he `
` said, with a sort of sombre gratification. "There'll be any amount of `
` sentiment and religion loose among them. There's hundreds of things I `
` saw with my eyes that I've only begun to see clearly these last few `
` days. There's lots will take things as they are--fat and stupid; and `
` lots will be worried by a sort of feeling that it's all wrong, and `
` that they ought to be doing something. Now whenever things are so `
` that a lot of people feel they ought to be doing something, the weak, `
` and those who go weak with a lot of complicated thinking, always make `
` for a sort of do-nothing religion, very pious and superior, and `
` submit to persecution and the will of the Lord. Very likely you've `
` seen the same thing. It's energy in a gale of funk, and turned clean `
` inside out. These cages will be full of psalms and hymns and piety. `
` And those of a less simple sort will work in a bit of--what is `
` it?--eroticism." `
` `
` He paused. `
` `
` "Very likely these Martians will make pets of some of them; train `
` them to do tricks--who knows?--get sentimental over the pet boy who `
` grew up and had to be killed. And some, maybe, they will train to `
` hunt us." `
` `
` "No," I cried, "that's impossible! No human being----" `
` `
` "What's the good of going on with such lies?" said the `
` artilleryman. "There's men who'd do it cheerful. What nonsense to `
` pretend there isn't!" `
` `
` And I succumbed to his conviction. `
` `
` "If they come after me," he said; "Lord, if they come after me!" `
` and subsided into a grim meditation. `
` `
` I sat contemplating these things. I could find nothing to bring `
` against this man's reasoning. In the days before the invasion no one `
` would have questioned my intellectual superiority to his--I, a `
` professed and recognised writer on philosophical themes, and he, a `
` common soldier; and yet he had already formulated a situation that I `
` had scarcely realised. `
` `
` "What are you doing?" I said presently. "What plans have you `
` made?" `
` `
` He hesitated. `
` `
` "Well, it's like this," he said. "What have we to do? We have to `
` invent a sort of life where men can live and breed, and be `
` sufficiently secure to bring the children up. Yes--wait a bit, and `
` I'll make it clearer what I think ought to be done. The tame ones `
` will go like all tame beasts; in a few generations they'll be big, `
` beautiful, rich-blooded, stupid--rubbish! The risk is that we who keep `
`