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diff --git a/old/1013-0.txt b/old/1013-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 699ee17..0000000 --- a/old/1013-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7745 +0,0 @@ -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1013 *** - -[Illustration] - - - - -The First Men In The Moon - -by H. G. Wells - - -Contents - - I. Mr. Bedford Meets Mr. Cavor at Lympne - II. The First Making of Cavorite - III. The Building of the sphere - IV. Inside the Sphere - V. The Journey to the Moon - VI. The Landing on the Moon - VII. Sunrise on the Moon - VIII. A Lunar Morning - IX. Prospecting Begins - X. Lost Men in the Moon - XI. The Mooncalf Pastures - XII. The Selenite’s Face - XIII. Mr. Cavor Makes Some Suggestions - XIV. Experiments in intercourse - XV. The Giddy Bridge - XVI. Points of View - XVII. The Fight in the Cave of the Moon Butchers - XVIII. In the Sunlight - XIX. Mr. Bedford Alone - XX. Mr. Bedford in Infinite Space - XXI. Mr. Bedford at Littlestone - XXII. The Astonishing Communication of Mr. Julius Wendigee - XXIII. An Abstract of the Six Messages First Received from Mr. Cavor - XXIV. The Natural History of the Selenites - XXV. The Grand Lunar - XXVI. The Last Message Cavor sent to the Earth - - - - -I. -Mr. Bedford Meets Mr. Cavor at Lympne - - -As I sit down to write here amidst the shadows of vine-leaves under the -blue sky of southern Italy, it comes to me with a certain quality of -astonishment that my participation in these amazing adventures of Mr. -Cavor was, after all, the outcome of the purest accident. It might have -been any one. I fell into these things at a time when I thought myself -removed from the slightest possibility of disturbing experiences. I had -gone to Lympne because I had imagined it the most uneventful place in -the world. “Here, at any rate,” said I, “I shall find peace and a -chance to work!” - -And this book is the sequel. So utterly at variance is destiny with all -the little plans of men. I may perhaps mention here that very recently -I had come an ugly cropper in certain business enterprises. Sitting now -surrounded by all the circumstances of wealth, there is a luxury in -admitting my extremity. I can admit, even, that to a certain extent my -disasters were conceivably of my own making. It may be there are -directions in which I have some capacity, but the conduct of business -operations is not among these. But in those days I was young, and my -youth among other objectionable forms took that of a pride in my -capacity for affairs. I am young still in years, but the things that -have happened to me have rubbed something of the youth from my mind. -Whether they have brought any wisdom to light below it is a more -doubtful matter. - -It is scarcely necessary to go into the details of the speculations -that landed me at Lympne, in Kent. Nowadays even about business -transactions there is a strong spice of adventure. I took risks. In -these things there is invariably a certain amount of give and take, and -it fell to me finally to do the giving reluctantly enough. Even when I -had got out of everything, one cantankerous creditor saw fit to be -malignant. Perhaps you have met that flaming sense of outraged virtue, -or perhaps you have only felt it. He ran me hard. It seemed to me, at -last, that there was nothing for it but to write a play, unless I -wanted to drudge for my living as a clerk. I have a certain -imagination, and luxurious tastes, and I meant to make a vigorous fight -for it before that fate overtook me. In addition to my belief in my -powers as a business man, I had always in those days had an idea that I -was equal to writing a very good play. It is not, I believe, a very -uncommon persuasion. I knew there is nothing a man can do outside -legitimate business transactions that has such opulent possibilities, -and very probably that biased my opinion. I had, indeed, got into the -habit of regarding this unwritten drama as a convenient little reserve -put by for a rainy day. That rainy day had come, and I set to work. - -I soon discovered that writing a play was a longer business than I had -supposed; at first I had reckoned ten days for it, and it was to have a -_pied-à-terre_ while it was in hand that I came to Lympne. I reckoned -myself lucky in getting that little bungalow. I got it on a three -years’ agreement. I put in a few sticks of furniture, and while the -play was in hand I did my own cooking. My cooking would have shocked -Mrs. Bond. And yet, you know, it had flavour. I had a coffee-pot, a -sauce-pan for eggs, and one for potatoes, and a frying-pan for sausages -and bacon—such was the simple apparatus of my comfort. One cannot -always be magnificent, but simplicity is always a possible alternative. -For the rest I laid in an eighteen-gallon cask of beer on credit, and a -trustful baker came each day. It was not, perhaps, in the style of -Sybaris, but I have had worse times. I was a little sorry for the -baker, who was a very decent man indeed, but even for him I hoped. - -Certainly if any one wants solitude, the place is Lympne. It is in the -clay part of Kent, and my bungalow stood on the edge of an old sea -cliff and stared across the flats of Romney Marsh at the sea. In very -wet weather the place is almost inaccessible, and I have heard that at -times the postman used to traverse the more succulent portions of his -route with boards upon his feet. I never saw him doing so, but I can -quite imagine it. Outside the doors of the few cottages and houses that -make up the present village big birch besoms are stuck, to wipe off the -worst of the clay, which will give some idea of the texture of the -district. I doubt if the place would be there at all, if it were not a -fading memory of things gone for ever. It was the big port of England -in Roman times, Portus Lemanis, and now the sea is four miles away. All -down the steep hill are boulders and masses of Roman brickwork, and -from it old Watling Street, still paved in places, starts like an arrow -to the north. I used to stand on the hill and think of it all, the -galleys and legions, the captives and officials, the women and traders, -the speculators like myself, all the swarm and tumult that came -clanking in and out of the harbour. And now just a few lumps of rubble -on a grassy slope, and a sheep or two—and I. And where the port had -been were the levels of the marsh, sweeping round in a broad curve to -distant Dungeness, and dotted here and there with tree clumps and the -church towers of old mediæval towns that are following Lemanis now -towards extinction. - -That outlook on the marsh was, indeed, one of the finest views I have -ever seen. I suppose Dungeness was fifteen miles away; it lay like a -raft on the sea, and farther westward were the hills by Hastings under -the setting sun. Sometimes they hung close and clear, sometimes they -were faded and low, and often the drift of the weather took them clean -out of sight. And all the nearer parts of the marsh were laced and lit -by ditches and canals. - -The window at which I worked looked over the skyline of this crest, and -it was from this window that I first set eyes on Cavor. It was just as -I was struggling with my scenario, holding down my mind to the sheer -hard work of it, and naturally enough he arrested my attention. - -The sun had set, the sky was a vivid tranquillity of green and yellow, -and against that he came out black—the oddest little figure. - -He was a short, round-bodied, thin-legged little man, with a jerky -quality in his motions; he had seen fit to clothe his extraordinary -mind in a cricket cap, an overcoat, and cycling knickerbockers and -stockings. Why he did so I do not know, for he never cycled and he -never played cricket. It was a fortuitous concurrence of garments, -arising I know not how. He gesticulated with his hands and arms, and -jerked his head about and buzzed. He buzzed like something electric. -You never heard such buzzing. And ever and again he cleared his throat -with a most extraordinary noise. - -There had been rain, and that spasmodic walk of his was enhanced by the -extreme slipperiness of the footpath. Exactly as he came against the -sun he stopped, pulled out a watch, hesitated. Then with a sort of -convulsive gesture he turned and retreated with every manifestation of -haste, no longer gesticulating, but going with ample strides that -showed the relatively large size of his feet—they were, I remember, -grotesquely exaggerated in size by adhesive clay—to the best possible -advantage. - -This occurred on the first day of my sojourn, when my play-writing -energy was at its height and I regarded the incident simply as an -annoying distraction—the waste of five minutes. I returned to my -scenario. But when next evening the apparition was repeated with -remarkable precision, and again the next evening, and indeed every -evening when rain was not falling, concentration upon the scenario -became a considerable effort. “Confound the man,” I said, “one would -think he was learning to be a marionette!” and for several evenings I -cursed him pretty heartily. Then my annoyance gave way to amazement and -curiosity. Why on earth should a man do this thing? On the fourteenth -evening I could stand it no longer, and so soon as he appeared I opened -the french window, crossed the verandah, and directed myself to the -point where he invariably stopped. - -He had his watch out as I came up to him. He had a chubby, rubicund -face with reddish brown eyes—previously I had seen him only against the -light. “One moment, sir,” said I as he turned. He stared. “One moment,” -he said, “certainly. Or if you wish to speak to me for longer, and it -is not asking too much—your moment is up—would it trouble you to -accompany me?” - -“Not in the least,” said I, placing myself beside him. - -“My habits are regular. My time for intercourse—limited.” - -“This, I presume, is your time for exercise?” - -“It is. I come here to enjoy the sunset.” - -“You don’t.” - -“Sir?” - -“You never look at it.” - -“Never look at it?” - -“No. I’ve watched you thirteen nights, and not once have you looked at -the sunset—not once.” - -He knitted his brows like one who encounters a problem. - -“Well, I enjoy the sunlight—the atmosphere—I go along this path, -through that gate”—he jerked his head over his shoulder—“and round—” - -“You don’t. You never have been. It’s all nonsense. There isn’t a way. -To-night for instance—” - -“Oh! to-night! Let me see. Ah! I just glanced at my watch, saw that I -had already been out just three minutes over the precise half-hour, -decided there was not time to go round, turned—” - -“You always do.” - -He looked at me—reflected. “Perhaps I do, now I come to think of it. -But what was it you wanted to speak to me about?” - -“Why, this!” - -“This?” - -“Yes. Why do you do it? Every night you come making a noise—” - -“Making a noise?” - -“Like this.” I imitated his buzzing noise. He looked at me, and it was -evident the buzzing awakened distaste. “Do I do _that?_” he asked. - -“Every blessed evening.” - -“I had no idea.” - -He stopped dead. He regarded me gravely. “Can it be,” he said, “that I -have formed a Habit?” - -“Well, it looks like it. Doesn’t it?” - -He pulled down his lower lip between finger and thumb. He regarded a -puddle at his feet. - -“My mind is much occupied,” he said. “And you want to know _why!_ Well, -sir, I can assure you that not only do I not know why I do these -things, but I did not even know I did them. Come to think, it is just -as you say; I never _have_ been beyond that field.... And these things -annoy you?” - -For some reason I was beginning to relent towards him. “Not _annoy_,” I -said. “But—imagine yourself writing a play!” - -“I couldn’t.” - -“Well, anything that needs concentration.” - -“Ah!” he said, “of course,” and meditated. His expression became so -eloquent of distress, that I relented still more. After all, there is a -touch of aggression in demanding of a man you don’t know why he hums on -a public footpath. - -“You see,” he said weakly, “it’s a habit.” - -“Oh, I recognise that.” - -“I must stop it.” - -“But not if it puts you out. After all, I had no business—it’s -something of a liberty.” - -“Not at all, sir,” he said, “not at all. I am greatly indebted to you. -I should guard myself against these things. In future I will. Could I -trouble you—once again? That noise?” - -“Something like this,” I said. “Zuzzoo, zuzzoo. But really, you know—” - -“I am greatly obliged to you. In fact, I know I am getting absurdly -absent-minded. You are quite justified, sir—perfectly justified. -Indeed, I am indebted to you. The thing shall end. And now, sir, I have -already brought you farther than I should have done.” - -“I do hope my impertinence—” - -“Not at all, sir, not at all.” - -We regarded each other for a moment. I raised my hat and wished him a -good evening. He responded convulsively, and so we went our ways. - -At the stile I looked back at his receding figure. His bearing had -changed remarkably, he seemed limp, shrunken. The contrast with his -former gesticulating, zuzzoing self took me in some absurd way as -pathetic. I watched him out of sight. Then wishing very heartily I had -kept to my own business, I returned to my bungalow and my play. - -The next evening I saw nothing of him, nor the next. But he was very -much in my mind, and it had occurred to me that as a sentimental comic -character he might serve a useful purpose in the development of my -plot. The third day he called upon me. - -For a time I was puzzled to think what had brought him. He made -indifferent conversation in the most formal way, then abruptly he came -to business. He wanted to buy me out of my bungalow. - -“You see,” he said, “I don’t blame you in the least, but you’ve -destroyed a habit, and it disorganises my day. I’ve walked past here -for years—years. No doubt I’ve hummed.... You’ve made all that -impossible!” - -I suggested he might try some other direction. - -“No. There is no other direction. This is the only one. I’ve inquired. -And now—every afternoon at four—I come to a dead wall.” - -“But, my dear sir, if the thing is so important to you—” - -“It’s vital. You see, I’m—I’m an investigator—I am engaged in a -scientific research. I live—” he paused and seemed to think. “Just over -there,” he said, and pointed suddenly dangerously near my eye. “The -house with white chimneys you see just over the trees. And my -circumstances are abnormal—abnormal. I am on the point of completing -one of the most important—demonstrations—I can assure you one of _the -most important_ demonstrations that have ever been made. It requires -constant thought, constant mental ease and activity. And the afternoon -was my brightest time!—effervescing with new ideas—new points of view.” - -“But why not come by still?” - -“It would be all different. I should be self-conscious. I should think -of you at your play—watching me irritated—instead of thinking of my -work. No! I must have the bungalow.” - -I meditated. Naturally, I wanted to think the matter over thoroughly -before anything decisive was said. I was generally ready enough for -business in those days, and selling always attracted me; but in the -first place it was not my bungalow, and even if I sold it to him at a -good price I might get inconvenienced in the delivery of goods if the -current owner got wind of the transaction, and in the second I was, -well—undischarged. It was clearly a business that required delicate -handling. Moreover, the possibility of his being in pursuit of some -valuable invention also interested me. It occurred to me that I would -like to know more of this research, not with any dishonest intention, -but simply with an idea that to know what it was would be a relief from -play-writing. I threw out feelers. - -He was quite willing to supply information. Indeed, once he was fairly -under way the conversation became a monologue. He talked like a man -long pent up, who has had it over with himself again and again. He -talked for nearly an hour, and I must confess I found it a pretty stiff -bit of listening. But through it all there was the undertone of -satisfaction one feels when one is neglecting work one has set oneself. -During that first interview I gathered very little of the drift of his -work. Half his words were technicalities entirely strange to me, and he -illustrated one or two points with what he was pleased to call -elementary mathematics, computing on an envelope with a copying-ink -pencil, in a manner that made it hard even to seem to understand. -“Yes,” I said, “yes. Go on!” Nevertheless I made out enough to convince -me that he was no mere crank playing at discoveries. In spite of his -crank-like appearance there was a force about him that made that -impossible. Whatever it was, it was a thing with mechanical -possibilities. He told me of a work-shed he had, and of three -assistants—originally jobbing carpenters—whom he had trained. Now, from -the work-shed to the patent office is clearly only one step. He invited -me to see those things. I accepted readily, and took care, by a remark -or so, to underline that. The proposed transfer of the bungalow -remained very conveniently in suspense. - -At last he rose to depart, with an apology for the length of his call. -Talking over his work was, he said, a pleasure enjoyed only too rarely. -It was not often he found such an intelligent listener as myself, he -mingled very little with professional scientific men. - -“So much pettiness,” he explained; “so much intrigue! And really, when -one has an idea—a novel, fertilising idea—I don’t want to be -uncharitable, but—” - -I am a man who believes in impulses. I made what was perhaps a rash -proposition. But you must remember, that I had been alone, play-writing -in Lympne, for fourteen days, and my compunction for his ruined walk -still hung about me. “Why not,” said I, “make this your new habit? In -the place of the one I spoilt? At least, until we can settle about the -bungalow. What you want is to turn over your work in your mind. That -you have always done during your afternoon walk. Unfortunately that’s -over—you can’t get things back as they were. But why not come and talk -about your work to me; use me as a sort of wall against which you may -throw your thoughts and catch them again? It’s certain I don’t know -enough to steal your ideas myself—and I know no scientific men—” - -I stopped. He was considering. Evidently the thing attracted him. “But -I’m afraid I should bore you,” he said. - -“You think I’m too dull?” - -“Oh, no; but technicalities—” - -“Anyhow, you’ve interested me immensely this afternoon.” - -“Of course it _would_ be a great help to me. Nothing clears up one’s -ideas so much as explaining them. Hitherto—” - -“My dear sir, say no more.” - -“But really can you spare the time?” - -“There is no rest like change of occupation,” I said, with profound -conviction. - -The affair was over. On my verandah steps he turned. “I am already -greatly indebted to you,” he said. - -I made an interrogative noise. - -“You have completely cured me of that ridiculous habit of humming,” he -explained. - -I think I said I was glad to be of any service to him, and he turned -away. - -Immediately the train of thought that our conversation had suggested -must have resumed its sway. His arms began to wave in their former -fashion. The faint echo of “zuzzoo” came back to me on the breeze.... - -Well, after all, that was not my affair.... - -He came the next day, and again the next day after that, and delivered -two lectures on physics to our mutual satisfaction. He talked with an -air of being extremely lucid about the “ether” and “tubes of force,” -and “gravitational potential,” and things like that, and I sat in my -other folding-chair and said, “Yes,” “Go on,” “I follow you,” to keep -him going. It was tremendously difficult stuff, but I do not think he -ever suspected how much I did not understand him. There were moments -when I doubted whether I was well employed, but at any rate I was -resting from that confounded play. Now and then things gleamed on me -clearly for a space, only to vanish just when I thought I had hold of -them. Sometimes my attention failed altogether, and I would give it up -and sit and stare at him, wondering whether, after all, it would not be -better to use him as a central figure in a good farce and let all this -other stuff slide. And then, perhaps, I would catch on again for a bit. - -At the earliest opportunity I went to see his house. It was large and -carelessly furnished; there were no servants other than his three -assistants, and his dietary and private life were characterised by a -philosophical simplicity. He was a water-drinker, a vegetarian, and all -those logical disciplinary things. But the sight of his equipment -settled many doubts. It looked like business from cellar to attic—an -amazing little place to find in an out-of-the-way village. The -ground-floor rooms contained benches and apparatus, the bakehouse and -scullery boiler had developed into respectable furnaces, dynamos -occupied the cellar, and there was a gasometer in the garden. He showed -it to me with all the confiding zest of a man who has been living too -much alone. His seclusion was overflowing now in an excess of -confidence, and I had the good luck to be the recipient. - -The three assistants were creditable specimens of the class of -“handy-men” from which they came. Conscientious if unintelligent, -strong, civil, and willing. One, Spargus, who did the cooking and all -the metal work, had been a sailor; a second, Gibbs, was a joiner; and -the third was an ex-jobbing gardener, and now general assistant. They -were the merest labourers. All the intelligent work was done by Cavor. -Theirs was the darkest ignorance compared even with my muddled -impression. - -And now, as to the nature of these inquiries. Here, unhappily, comes a -grave difficulty. I am no scientific expert, and if I were to attempt -to set forth in the highly scientific language of Mr. Cavor the aim to -which his experiments tended, I am afraid I should confuse not only the -reader but myself, and almost certainly I should make some blunder that -would bring upon me the mockery of every up-to-date student of -mathematical physics in the country. The best thing I can do therefore -is, I think to give my impressions in my own inexact language, without -any attempt to wear a garment of knowledge to which I have no claim. - -The object of Mr. Cavor’s search was a substance that should be -“opaque”—he used some other word I have forgotten, but “opaque” conveys -the idea—to “all forms of radiant energy.” “Radiant energy,” he made me -understand, was anything like light or heat, or those Röntgen Rays -there was so much talk about a year or so ago, or the electric waves of -Marconi, or gravitation. All these things, he said, _radiate_ out from -centres, and act on bodies at a distance, whence comes the term -“radiant energy.” Now almost all substances are opaque to some form or -other of radiant energy. Glass, for example, is transparent to light, -but much less so to heat, so that it is useful as a fire-screen; and -alum is transparent to light, but blocks heat completely. A solution of -iodine in carbon bisulphide, on the other hand, completely blocks -light, but is quite transparent to heat. It will hide a fire from you, -but permit all its warmth to reach you. Metals are not only opaque to -light and heat, but also to electrical energy, which passes through -both iodine solution and glass almost as though they were not -interposed. And so on. - -Now all known substances are “transparent” to gravitation. You can use -screens of various sorts to cut off the light or heat, or electrical -influence of the sun, or the warmth of the earth from anything; you can -screen things by sheets of metal from Marconi’s rays, but nothing will -cut off the gravitational attraction of the sun or the gravitational -attraction of the earth. Yet why there should be nothing is hard to -say. Cavor did not see why such a substance should not exist, and -certainly I could not tell him. I had never thought of such a -possibility before. He showed me by calculations on paper, which Lord -Kelvin, no doubt, or Professor Lodge, or Professor Karl Pearson, or any -of those great scientific people might have understood, but which -simply reduced me to a hopeless muddle, that not only was such a -substance possible, but that it must satisfy certain conditions. It was -an amazing piece of reasoning. Much as it amazed and exercised me at -the time, it would be impossible to reproduce it here. “Yes,” I said to -it all, “yes; go on!” Suffice it for this story that he believed he -might be able to manufacture this possible substance opaque to -gravitation out of a complicated alloy of metals and something new—a -new element, I fancy—called, I believe, _helium_, which was sent to him -from London in sealed stone jars. Doubt has been thrown upon this -detail, but I am almost certain it was _helium_ he had sent him in -sealed stone jars. It was certainly something very gaseous and thin. If -only I had taken notes... - -But then, how was I to foresee the necessity of taking notes? - -Any one with the merest germ of an imagination will understand the -extraordinary possibilities of such a substance, and will sympathise a -little with the emotion I felt as this understanding emerged from the -haze of abstruse phrases in which Cavor expressed himself. Comic relief -in a play indeed! It was some time before I would believe that I had -interpreted him aright, and I was very careful not to ask questions -that would have enabled him to gauge the profundity of misunderstanding -into which he dropped his daily exposition. But no one reading the -story of it here will sympathise fully, because from my barren -narrative it will be impossible to gather the strength of my conviction -that this astonishing substance was positively going to be made. - -I do not recall that I gave my play an hour’s consecutive work at any -time after my visit to his house. My imagination had other things to -do. There seemed no limit to the possibilities of the stuff; whichever -way I tried I came on miracles and revolutions. For example, if one -wanted to lift a weight, however enormous, one had only to get a sheet -of this substance beneath it, and one might lift it with a straw. My -first natural impulse was to apply this principle to guns and -ironclads, and all the material and methods of war, and from that to -shipping, locomotion, building, every conceivable form of human -industry. The chance that had brought me into the very birth-chamber of -this new time—it was an epoch, no less—was one of those chances that -come once in a thousand years. The thing unrolled, it expanded and -expanded. Among other things I saw in it my redemption as a business -man. I saw a parent company, and daughter companies, applications to -right of us, applications to left, rings and trusts, privileges, and -concessions spreading and spreading, until one vast, stupendous -Cavorite company ran and ruled the world. - -And I was in it! - -I took my line straight away. I knew I was staking everything, but I -jumped there and then. - -“We’re on absolutely the biggest thing that has ever been invented,” I -said, and put the accent on “we.” “If you want to keep me out of this, -you’ll have to do it with a gun. I’m coming down to be your fourth -labourer to-morrow.” - -He seemed surprised at my enthusiasm, but not a bit suspicious or -hostile. Rather, he was self-depreciatory. He looked at me doubtfully. -“But do you really think—?” he said. “And your play! How about that -play?” - -“It’s vanished!” I cried. “My dear sir, don’t you see what you’ve got? -Don’t you see what you’re going to do?” - -That was merely a rhetorical turn, but positively, he didn’t. At first -I could not believe it. He had not had the beginning of the inkling of -an idea. This astonishing little man had been working on purely -theoretical grounds the whole time! When he said it was “the most -important” research the world had ever seen, he simply meant it squared -up so many theories, settled so much that was in doubt; he had troubled -no more about the application of the stuff he was going to turn out -than if he had been a machine that makes guns. This was a possible -substance, and he was going to make it! _V’la tout_, as the Frenchman -says. - -Beyond that, he was childish! If he made it, it would go down to -posterity as Cavorite or Cavorine, and he would be made an F.R.S., and -his portrait given away as a scientific worthy with _Nature_, and -things like that. And that was all he saw! He would have dropped this -bombshell into the world as though he had discovered a new species of -gnat, if it had not happened that I had come along. And there it would -have lain and fizzled, like one or two other little things these -scientific people have lit and dropped about us. - -When I realised this, it was I did the talking, and Cavor who said, “Go -on!” I jumped up. I paced the room, gesticulating like a boy of twenty. -I tried to make him understand his duties and responsibilities in the -matter—_our_ duties and responsibilities in the matter. I assured him -we might make wealth enough to work any sort of social revolution we -fancied, we might own and order the whole world. I told him of -companies and patents, and the case for secret processes. All these -things seemed to take him much as his mathematics had taken me. A look -of perplexity came into his ruddy little face. He stammered something -about indifference to wealth, but I brushed all that aside. He had got -to be rich, and it was no good his stammering. I gave him to understand -the sort of man I was, and that I had had very considerable business -experience. I did not tell him I was an undischarged bankrupt at the -time, because that was temporary, but I think I reconciled my evident -poverty with my financial claims. And quite insensibly, in the way such -projects grow, the understanding of a Cavorite monopoly grew up between -us. He was to make the stuff, and I was to make the boom. - -I stuck like a leech to the “we”—“you” and “I” didn’t exist for me. - -His idea was that the profits I spoke of might go to endow research, -but that, of course, was a matter we had to settle later. “That’s all -right,” I shouted, “that’s all right.” The great point, as I insisted, -was to get the thing done. - -“Here is a substance,” I cried, “no home, no factory, no fortress, no -ship can dare to be without—more universally applicable even than a -patent medicine. There isn’t a solitary aspect of it, not one of its -ten thousand possible uses that will not make us rich, Cavor, beyond -the dreams of avarice!” - -“No!” he said. “I begin to see. It’s extraordinary how one gets new -points of view by talking over things!” - -“And as it happens you have just talked to the right man!” - -“I suppose no one,” he said, “is absolutely _averse_ to enormous -wealth. Of course there is one thing—” - -He paused. I stood still. - -“It is just possible, you know, that we may not be able to make it -after all! It may be one of those things that are a theoretical -possibility, but a practical absurdity. Or when we make it, there may -be some little hitch!” - -“We’ll tackle the hitch when it comes,” said I. - - - - -II. -The First Making of Cavorite - - -But Cavor’s fears were groundless, so far as the actual making was -concerned. On the 14th of October, 1899, this incredible substance was -made! - -Oddly enough, it was made at last by accident, when Mr. Cavor least -expected it. He had fused together a number of metals and certain other -things—I wish I knew the particulars now!—and he intended to leave the -mixture a week and then allow it to cool slowly. Unless he had -miscalculated, the last stage in the combination would occur when the -stuff sank to a temperature of 60 degrees Fahrenheit. But it chanced -that, unknown to Cavor, dissension had arisen about the furnace -tending. Gibbs, who had previously seen to this, had suddenly attempted -to shift it to the man who had been a gardener, on the score that coal -was soil, being dug, and therefore could not possibly fall within the -province of a joiner; the man who had been a jobbing gardener alleged, -however, that coal was a metallic or ore-like substance, let alone that -he was cook. But Spargus insisted on Gibbs doing the coaling, seeing -that he was a joiner and that coal is notoriously fossil wood. -Consequently Gibbs ceased to replenish the furnace, and no one else did -so, and Cavor was too much immersed in certain interesting problems -concerning a Cavorite flying machine (neglecting the resistance of the -air and one or two other points) to perceive that anything was wrong. -And the premature birth of his invention took place just as he was -coming across the field to my bungalow for our afternoon talk and tea. - -I remember the occasion with extreme vividness. The water was boiling, -and everything was prepared, and the sound of his “zuzzoo” had brought -me out upon the verandah. His active little figure was black against -the autumnal sunset, and to the right the chimneys of his house just -rose above a gloriously tinted group of trees. Remoter rose the Wealden -Hills, faint and blue, while to the left the hazy marsh spread out -spacious and serene. And then— - -The chimneys jerked heavenward, smashing into a string of bricks as -they rose, and the roof and a miscellany of furniture followed. Then -overtaking them came a huge white flame. The trees about the building -swayed and whirled and tore themselves to pieces, that sprang towards -the flare. My ears were smitten with a clap of thunder that left me -deaf on one side for life, and all about me windows smashed, unheeded. - -I took three steps from the verandah towards Cavor’s house, and even as -I did so came the wind. - -Instantly my coat tails were over my head, and I was progressing in -great leaps and bounds, and quite against my will, towards him. In the -same moment the discoverer was seized, whirled about, and flew through -the screaming air. I saw one of my chimney pots hit the ground within -six yards of me, leap a score of feet, and so hurry in great strides -towards the focus of the disturbance. Cavor, kicking and flapping, came -down again, rolled over and over on the ground for a space, struggled -up and was lifted and borne forward at an enormous velocity, vanishing -at last among the labouring, lashing trees that writhed about his -house. - -A mass of smoke and ashes, and a square of bluish shining substance -rushed up towards the zenith. A large fragment of fencing came sailing -past me, dropped edgeways, hit the ground and fell flat, and then the -worst was over. The aerial commotion fell swiftly until it was a mere -strong gale, and I became once more aware that I had breath and feet. -By leaning back against the wind I managed to stop, and could collect -such wits as still remained to me. - -In that instant the whole face of the world had changed. The tranquil -sunset had vanished, the sky was dark with scurrying clouds, everything -was flattened and swaying with the gale. I glanced back to see if my -bungalow was still in a general way standing, then staggered forwards -towards the trees amongst which Cavor had vanished, and through whose -tall and leaf-denuded branches shone the flames of his burning house. - -I entered the copse, dashing from one tree to another and clinging to -them, and for a space I sought him in vain. Then amidst a heap of -smashed branches and fencing that had banked itself against a portion -of his garden wall I perceived something stir. I made a run for this, -but before I reached it a brown object separated itself, rose on two -muddy legs, and protruded two drooping, bleeding hands. Some tattered -ends of garment fluttered out from its middle portion and streamed -before the wind. - -For a moment I did not recognise this earthy lump, and then I saw that -it was Cavor, caked in the mud in which he had rolled. He leant forward -against the wind, rubbing the dirt from his eyes and mouth. - -He extended a muddy lump of hand, and staggered a pace towards me. His -face worked with emotion, little lumps of mud kept falling from it. He -looked as damaged and pitiful as any living creature I have ever seen, -and his remark therefore amazed me exceedingly. - -“Gratulate me,” he gasped; “gratulate me!” - -“Congratulate you!” said I. “Good heavens! What for?” - -“I’ve done it.” - -“You _have_. What on earth caused that explosion?” - -A gust of wind blew his words away. I understood him to say that it -wasn’t an explosion at all. The wind hurled me into collision with him, -and we stood clinging to one another. - -“Try and get back—to my bungalow,” I bawled in his ear. He did not hear -me, and shouted something about “three martyrs—science,” and also -something about “not much good.” At the time he laboured under the -impression that his three attendants had perished in the whirlwind. -Happily this was incorrect. Directly he had left for my bungalow they -had gone off to the public-house in Lympne to discuss the question of -the furnaces over some trivial refreshment. - -I repeated my suggestion of getting back to my bungalow, and this time -he understood. We clung arm-in-arm and started, and managed at last to -reach the shelter of as much roof as was left to me. For a space we sat -in arm-chairs and panted. All the windows were broken, and the lighter -articles of furniture were in great disorder, but no irrevocable damage -was done. Happily the kitchen door had stood the pressure upon it, so -that all my crockery and cooking materials had survived. The oil stove -was still burning, and I put on the water to boil again for tea. And -that prepared, I could turn on Cavor for his explanation. - -“Quite correct,” he insisted; “quite correct. I’ve done it, and it’s -all right.” - -“But,” I protested. “All right! Why, there can’t be a rick standing, or -a fence or a thatched roof undamaged for twenty miles round....” - -“It’s all right—_really_. I didn’t, of course, foresee this little -upset. My mind was preoccupied with another problem, and I’m apt to -disregard these practical side issues. But it’s all right—” - -“My dear sir,” I cried, “don’t you see you’ve done thousands of pounds’ -worth of damage?” - -“There, I throw myself on your discretion. I’m not a practical man, of -course, but don’t you think they will regard it as a cyclone?” - -“But the explosion—” - -“It was _not_ an explosion. It’s perfectly simple. Only, as I say, I’m -apt to overlook these little things. It’s that zuzzoo business on a -larger scale. Inadvertently I made this substance of mine, this -Cavorite, in a thin, wide sheet....” - -He paused. “You are quite clear that the stuff is opaque to -gravitation, that it cuts off things from gravitating towards each -other?” - -“Yes,” said I. “Yes.” - -“Well, so soon as it reached a temperature of 60 degrees Fahrenheit, -and the process of its manufacture was complete, the air above it, the -portions of roof and ceiling and floor above it ceased to have weight. -I suppose you know—everybody knows nowadays—that, as a usual thing, the -air _has_ weight, that it presses on everything at the surface of the -earth, presses in all directions, with a pressure of fourteen and a -half pounds to the square inch?” - -“I know that,” said I. “Go on.” - -“I know that too,” he remarked. “Only this shows you how useless -knowledge is unless you apply it. You see, over our Cavorite this -ceased to be the case, the air there ceased to exert any pressure, and -the air round it and not over the Cavorite was exerting a pressure of -fourteen pounds and a half to the square inch upon this suddenly -weightless air. Ah! you begin to see! The air all about the Cavorite -crushed in upon the air above it with irresistible force. The air above -the Cavorite was forced upward violently, the air that rushed in to -replace it immediately lost weight, ceased to exert any pressure, -followed suit, blew the ceiling through and the roof off.... - -“You perceive,” he said, “it formed a sort of atmospheric fountain, a -kind of chimney in the atmosphere. And if the Cavorite itself hadn’t -been loose and so got sucked up the chimney, does it occur to you what -would have happened?” - -I thought. “I suppose,” I said, “the air would be rushing up and up -over that infernal piece of stuff now.” - -“Precisely,” he said. “A huge fountain—” - -“Spouting into space! Good heavens! Why, it would have squirted all the -atmosphere of the earth away! It would have robbed the world of air! It -would have been the death of all mankind! That little lump of stuff!” - -“Not exactly into space,” said Cavor, “but as bad—practically. It would -have whipped the air off the world as one peels a banana, and flung it -thousands of miles. It would have dropped back again, of course—but on -an asphyxiated world! From our point of view very little better than if -it never came back!” - -I stared. As yet I was too amazed to realise how all my expectations -had been upset. “What do you mean to do now?” I asked. - -“In the first place if I may borrow a garden trowel I will remove some -of this earth with which I am encased, and then if I may avail myself -of your domestic conveniences I will have a bath. This done, we will -converse more at leisure. It will be wise, I think”—he laid a muddy -hand on my arm—“if nothing were said of this affair beyond ourselves. I -know I have caused great damage—probably even dwelling-houses may be -ruined here and there upon the country-side. But on the other hand, I -cannot possibly pay for the damage I have done, and if the real cause -of this is published, it will lead only to heartburning and the -obstruction of my work. One cannot foresee _everything_, you know, and -I cannot consent for one moment to add the burthen of practical -considerations to my theorising. Later on, when you have come in with -your practical mind, and Cavorite is floated—floated _is_ the word, -isn’t it?—and it has realised all you anticipate for it, we may set -matters right with these persons. But not now—not now. If no other -explanation is offered, people, in the present unsatisfactory state of -meteorological science, will ascribe all this to a cyclone; there might -be a public subscription, and as my house has collapsed and been burnt, -I should in that case receive a considerable share in the compensation, -which would be extremely helpful to the prosecution of our researches. -But if it is known that _I_ caused this, there will be no public -subscription, and everybody will be put out. Practically I should never -get a chance of working in peace again. My three assistants may or may -not have perished. That is a detail. If they have, it is no great loss; -they were more zealous than able, and this premature event must be -largely due to their joint neglect of the furnace. If they have not -perished, I doubt if they have the intelligence to explain the affair. -They will accept the cyclone story. And if during the temporary -unfitness of my house for occupation, I may lodge in one of the -untenanted rooms of this bungalow of yours—” - -He paused and regarded me. - -A man of such possibilities, I reflected, is no ordinary guest to -entertain. - -“Perhaps,” said I, rising to my feet, “we had better begin by looking -for a trowel,” and I led the way to the scattered vestiges of the -greenhouse. - -And while he was having his bath I considered the entire question -alone. It was clear there were drawbacks to Mr. Cavor’s society I had -not foreseen. The absentmindedness that had just escaped depopulating -the terrestrial globe, might at any moment result in some other grave -inconvenience. On the other hand I was young, my affairs were in a -mess, and I was in just the mood for reckless adventure—with a chance -of something good at the end of it. I had quite settled in my mind that -I was to have half at least in that aspect of the affair. Fortunately I -held my bungalow, as I have already explained, on a three-year -agreement, without being responsible for repairs; and my furniture, -such as there was of it, had been hastily purchased, was unpaid for, -insured, and altogether devoid of associations. In the end I decided to -keep on with him, and see the business through. - -Certainly the aspect of things had changed very greatly. I no longer -doubted at all the enormous possibilities of the substance, but I began -to have doubts about the gun-carriage and the patent boots. We set to -work at once to reconstruct his laboratory and proceed with our -experiments. Cavor talked more on my level than he had ever done -before, when it came to the question of how we should make the stuff -next. - -“Of course we must make it again,” he said, with a sort of glee I had -not expected in him, “of course we must make it again. We have caught a -Tartar, perhaps, but we have left the theoretical behind us for good -and all. If we can possibly avoid wrecking this little planet of ours, -we will. But—there _must_ be risks! There must be. In experimental work -there always are. And here, as a practical man, _you_ must come in. For -my own part it seems to me we might make it edgeways, perhaps, and very -thin. Yet I don’t know. I have a certain dim perception of another -method. I can hardly explain it yet. But curiously enough it came into -my mind, while I was rolling over and over in the mud before the wind, -and very doubtful how the whole adventure was to end, as being -absolutely the thing I ought to have done.” - -Even with my aid we found some little difficulty, and meanwhile we kept -at work restoring the laboratory. There was plenty to do before it -became absolutely necessary to decide upon the precise form and method -of our second attempt. Our only hitch was the strike of the three -labourers, who objected to my activity as a foreman. But that matter we -compromised after two days’ delay. - - - - -III. -The Building of the sphere - - -I remember the occasion very distinctly when Cavor told me of his idea -of the sphere. He had had intimations of it before, but at the time it -seemed to come to him in a rush. We were returning to the bungalow for -tea, and on the way he fell humming. Suddenly he shouted, “That’s it! -That finishes it! A sort of roller blind!” - -“Finishes what?” I asked. - -“Space—anywhere! The moon.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“Mean? Why—it must be a sphere! That’s what I mean!” - -I saw I was out of it, and for a time I let him talk in his own -fashion. I hadn’t the ghost of an idea then of his drift. But after he -had taken tea he made it clear to me. - -“It’s like this,” he said. “Last time I ran this stuff that cuts things -off from gravitation into a flat tank with an overlap that held it -down. And directly it had cooled and the manufacture was completed all -that uproar happened, nothing above it weighed anything, the air went -squirting up, the house squirted up, and if the stuff itself hadn’t -squirted up too, I don’t know what would have happened! But suppose the -substance is loose, and quite free to go up?” - -“It will go up at once!” - -“Exactly. With no more disturbance than firing a big gun.” - -“But what good will that do?” - -“I’m going up with it!” - -I put down my teacup and stared at him. - -“Imagine a sphere,” he explained, “large enough to hold two people and -their luggage. It will be made of steel lined with thick glass; it will -contain a proper store of solidified air, concentrated food, water -distilling apparatus, and so forth. And enamelled, as it were, on the -outer steel—” - -“Cavorite?” - -“Yes.” - -“But how will you get inside?” - -“There was a similar problem about a dumpling.” - -“Yes, I know. But how?” - -“That’s perfectly easy. An air-tight manhole is all that is needed. -That, of course, will have to be a little complicated; there will have -to be a valve, so that things may be thrown out, if necessary, without -much loss of air.” - -“Like Jules Verne’s thing in _A Trip to the Moon_.” - -But Cavor was not a reader of fiction. - -“I begin to see,” I said slowly. “And you could get in and screw -yourself up while the Cavorite was warm, and as soon as it cooled it -would become impervious to gravitation, and off you would fly—” - -“At a tangent.” - -“You would go off in a straight line—” I stopped abruptly. “What is to -prevent the thing travelling in a straight line into space for ever?” I -asked. “You’re not safe to get anywhere, and if you do—how will you get -back?” - -“I’ve just thought of that,” said Cavor. “That’s what I meant when I -said the thing is finished. The inner glass sphere can be air-tight, -and, except for the manhole, continuous, and the steel sphere can be -made in sections, each section capable of rolling up after the fashion -of a roller blind. These can easily be worked by springs, and released -and checked by electricity conveyed by platinum wires fused through the -glass. All that is merely a question of detail. So you see, that except -for the thickness of the blind rollers, the Cavorite exterior of the -sphere will consist of windows or blinds, whichever you like to call -them. Well, when all these windows or blinds are shut, no light, no -heat, no gravitation, no radiant energy of any sort will get at the -inside of the sphere, it will fly on through space in a straight line, -as you say. But open a window, imagine one of the windows open. Then at -once any heavy body that chances to be in that direction will attract -us—” - -I sat taking it in. - -“You see?” he said. - -“Oh, I _see_.” - -“Practically we shall be able to tack about in space just as we wish. -Get attracted by this and that.” - -“Oh, yes. _That’s_ clear enough. Only—” - -“Well?” - -“I don’t quite see what we shall do it for! It’s really only jumping -off the world and back again.” - -“Surely! For example, one might go to the moon.” - -“And when one got there? What would you find?” - -“We should see—Oh! consider the new knowledge.” - -“Is there air there?” - -“There may be.” - -“It’s a fine idea,” I said, “but it strikes me as a large order all the -same. The moon! I’d much rather try some smaller things first.” - -“They’re out of the question, because of the air difficulty.” - -“Why not apply that idea of spring blinds—Cavorite blinds in strong -steel cases—to lifting weights?” - -“It wouldn’t work,” he insisted. “After all, to go into outer space is -not so much worse, if at all, than a polar expedition. Men go on polar -expeditions.” - -“Not business men. And besides, they get paid for polar expeditions. -And if anything goes wrong there are relief parties. But this—it’s just -firing ourselves off the world for nothing.” - -“Call it prospecting.” - -“You’ll have to call it that.... One might make a book of it perhaps,” -I said. - -“I have no doubt there will be minerals,” said Cavor. - -“For example?” - -“Oh! sulphur, ores, gold perhaps, possibly new elements.” - -“Cost of carriage,” I said. “You know you’re _not_ a practical man. The -moon’s a quarter of a million miles away.” - -“It seems to me it wouldn’t cost much to cart any weight anywhere if -you packed it in a Cavorite case.” - -I had not thought of that. “Delivered free on head of purchaser, eh?” - -“It isn’t as though we were confined to the moon.” - -“You mean?” - -“There’s Mars—clear atmosphere, novel surroundings, exhilarating sense -of lightness. It might be pleasant to go there.” - -“Is there air on Mars?” - -“Oh, yes!” - -“Seems as though you might run it as a sanatorium. By the way, how far -is Mars?” - -“Two hundred million miles at present,” said Cavor airily; “and you go -close by the sun.” - -My imagination was picking itself up again. “After all,” I said, -“there’s something in these things. There’s travel—” - -An extraordinary possibility came rushing into my mind. Suddenly I saw, -as in a vision, the whole solar system threaded with Cavorite liners -and spheres _de luxe_. “Rights of pre-emption,” came floating into my -head—planetary rights of pre-emption. I recalled the old Spanish -monopoly in American gold. It wasn’t as though it was just this planet -or that—it was all of them. I stared at Cavor’s rubicund face, and -suddenly my imagination was leaping and dancing. I stood up, I walked -up and down; my tongue was unloosened. - -“I’m beginning to take it in,” I said; “I’m beginning to take it in.” -The transition from doubt to enthusiasm seemed to take scarcely any -time at all. “But this is tremendous!” I cried. “This is Imperial! I -haven’t been dreaming of this sort of thing.” - -Once the chill of my opposition was removed, his own pent-up excitement -had play. He too got up and paced. He too gesticulated and shouted. We -behaved like men inspired. We _were_ men inspired. - -“We’ll settle all that!” he said in answer to some incidental -difficulty that had pulled me up. “We’ll soon settle that! We’ll start -the drawings for mouldings this very night.” - -“We’ll start them now,” I responded, and we hurried off to the -laboratory to begin upon this work forthwith. - -I was like a child in Wonderland all that night. The dawn found us both -still at work—we kept our electric light going heedless of the day. I -remember now exactly how these drawings looked. I shaded and tinted -while Cavor drew—smudged and haste-marked they were in every line, but -wonderfully correct. We got out the orders for the steel blinds and -frames we needed from that night’s work, and the glass sphere was -designed within a week. We gave up our afternoon conversations and our -old routine altogether. We worked, and we slept and ate when we could -work no longer for hunger and fatigue. Our enthusiasm infected even our -three men, though they had no idea what the sphere was for. Through -those days the man Gibbs gave up walking, and went everywhere, even -across the room, at a sort of fussy run. - -And it grew—the sphere. December passed, January—I spent a day with a -broom sweeping a path through the snow from bungalow to -laboratory—February, March. By the end of March the completion was in -sight. In January had come a team of horses, a huge packing-case; we -had our thick glass sphere now ready, and in position under the crane -we had rigged to sling it into the steel shell. All the bars and blinds -of the steel shell—it was not really a spherical shell, but polyhedral, -with a roller blind to each facet—had arrived by February, and the -lower half was bolted together. The Cavorite was half made by March, -the metallic paste had gone through two of the stages in its -manufacture, and we had plastered quite half of it on to the steel bars -and blinds. It was astonishing how closely we kept to the lines of -Cavor’s first inspiration in working out the scheme. When the bolting -together of the sphere was finished, he proposed to remove the rough -roof of the temporary laboratory in which the work was done, and build -a furnace about it. So the last stage of Cavorite making, in which the -paste is heated to a dull red glow in a stream of helium, would be -accomplished when it was already on the sphere. - -And then we had to discuss and decide what provisions we were to -take—compressed foods, concentrated essences, steel cylinders -containing reserve oxygen, an arrangement for removing carbonic acid -and waste from the air and restoring oxygen by means of sodium -peroxide, water condensers, and so forth. I remember the little heap -they made in the corner—tins, and rolls, and boxes—convincingly -matter-of-fact. - -It was a strenuous time, with little chance of thinking. But one day, -when we were drawing near the end, an odd mood came over me. I had been -bricking up the furnace all the morning, and I sat down by these -possessions dead beat. Everything seemed dull and incredible. - -“But look here, Cavor,” I said. “After all! What’s it all for?” - -He smiled. “The thing now is to go.” - -“The moon,” I reflected. “But what do you expect? I thought the moon -was a dead world.” - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“We’re going to see.” - -“_Are_ we?” I said, and stared before me. - -“You are tired,” he remarked. “You’d better take a walk this -afternoon.” - -“No,” I said obstinately; “I’m going to finish this brickwork.” - -And I did, and insured myself a night of insomnia. I don’t think I have -ever had such a night. I had some bad times before my business -collapse, but the very worst of those was sweet slumber compared to -this infinity of aching wakefulness. I was suddenly in the most -enormous funk at the thing we were going to do. - -I do not remember before that night thinking at all of the risks we -were running. Now they came like that array of spectres that once -beleaguered Prague, and camped around me. The strangeness of what we -were about to do, the unearthliness of it, overwhelmed me. I was like a -man awakened out of pleasant dreams to the most horrible surroundings. -I lay, eyes wide open, and the sphere seemed to get more flimsy and -feeble, and Cavor more unreal and fantastic, and the whole enterprise -madder and madder every moment. - -I got out of bed and wandered about. I sat at the window and stared at -the immensity of space. Between the stars was the void, the -unfathomable darkness! I tried to recall the fragmentary knowledge of -astronomy I had gained in my irregular reading, but it was all too -vague to furnish any idea of the things we might expect. At last I got -back to bed and snatched some moments of sleep—moments of nightmare -rather—in which I fell and fell and fell for evermore into the abyss of -the sky. - -I astonished Cavor at breakfast. I told him shortly, “I’m not coming -with you in the sphere.” - -I met all his protests with a sullen persistence. “The thing’s too -mad,” I said, “and I won’t come. The thing’s too mad.” - -I would not go with him to the laboratory. I fretted about my bungalow -for a time, and then took hat and stick and set out alone, I knew not -whither. It chanced to be a glorious morning: a warm wind and deep blue -sky, the first green of spring abroad, and multitudes of birds singing. -I lunched on beef and beer in a little public-house near Elham, and -startled the landlord by remarking _apropos_ of the weather, “A man who -leaves the world when days of this sort are about is a fool!” - -“That’s what I says when I heerd on it!” said the landlord, and I found -that for one poor soul at least this world had proved excessive, and -there had been a throat-cutting. I went on with a new twist to my -thoughts. - -In the afternoon I had a pleasant sleep in a sunny place, and went on -my way refreshed. - -I came to a comfortable-looking inn near Canterbury. It was bright with -creepers, and the landlady was a clean old woman and took my eye. I -found I had just enough money to pay for my lodging with her. I decided -to stop the night there. She was a talkative body, and among many other -particulars I learnt she had never been to London. “Canterbury’s as far -as ever I been,” she said. “I’m not one of your gad-about sort.” - -“How would you like a trip to the moon?” I cried. - -“I never did hold with them ballooneys,” she said evidently under the -impression that this was a common excursion enough. “I wouldn’t go up -in one—not for ever so.” - -This struck me as being funny. After I had supped I sat on a bench by -the door of the inn and gossiped with two labourers about brickmaking, -and motor cars, and the cricket of last year. And in the sky a faint -new crescent, blue and vague as a distant Alp, sank westward over the -sun. - -The next day I returned to Cavor. “I am coming,” I said. “I’ve been a -little out of order, that’s all.” - -That was the only time I felt any serious doubt our enterprise. Nerves -purely! After that I worked a little more carefully, and took a trudge -for an hour every day. And at last, save for the heating in the -furnace, our labours were at an end. - - - - -IV. -Inside the Sphere - - -“Go on,” said Cavor, as I sat across the edge of the manhole, and -looked down into the black interior of the sphere. We two were alone. -It was evening, the sun had set, and the stillness of the twilight was -upon everything. - -I drew my other leg inside and slid down the smooth glass to the bottom -of the sphere, then turned to take the cans of food and other -impedimenta from Cavor. The interior was warm, the thermometer stood at -eighty, and as we should lose little or none of this by radiation, we -were dressed in shoes and thin flannels. We had, however, a bundle of -thick woollen clothing and several thick blankets to guard against -mischance. - -By Cavor’s direction I placed the packages, the cylinders of oxygen, -and so forth, loosely about my feet, and soon we had everything in. He -walked about the roofless shed for a time seeking anything we had -overlooked, and then crawled in after me. I noted something in his -hand. - -“What have you got there?” I asked. - -“Haven’t you brought anything to read?” - -“Good Lord! No.” - -“I forgot to tell you. There are uncertainties— The voyage may last— We -may be weeks!” - -“But—” - -“We shall be floating in this sphere with absolutely no occupation.” - -“I wish I’d known—” - -He peered out of the manhole. “Look!” he said. “There’s something -there!” - -“Is there time?” - -“We shall be an hour.” - -I looked out. It was an old number of _Tit-Bits_ that one of the men -must have brought. Farther away in the corner I saw a torn _Lloyd’s -News_. I scrambled back into the sphere with these things. “What have -you got?” I said. - -I took the book from his hand and read, “The Works of William -Shakespeare”. - -He coloured slightly. “My education has been so purely scientific—” he -said apologetically. - -“Never read him?” - -“Never.” - -“He knew a little, you know—in an irregular sort of way.” - -“Precisely what I am told,” said Cavor. - -I assisted him to screw in the glass cover of the manhole, and then he -pressed a stud to close the corresponding blind in the outer case. The -little oblong of twilight vanished. We were in darkness. For a time -neither of us spoke. Although our case would not be impervious to -sound, everything was very still. I perceived there was nothing to grip -when the shock of our start should come, and I realised that I should -be uncomfortable for want of a chair. - -“Why have we no chairs?” I asked. - -“I’ve settled all that,” said Cavor. “We won’t need them.” - -“Why not?” - -“You will see,” he said, in the tone of a man who refuses to talk. - -I became silent. Suddenly it had come to me clear and vivid that I was -a fool to be inside that sphere. Even now, I asked myself, is to too -late to withdraw? The world outside the sphere, I knew, would be cold -and inhospitable enough for me—for weeks I had been living on subsidies -from Cavor—but after all, would it be as cold as the infinite zero, as -inhospitable as empty space? If it had not been for the appearance of -cowardice, I believe that even then I should have made him let me out. -But I hesitated on that score, and hesitated, and grew fretful and -angry, and the time passed. - -There came a little jerk, a noise like champagne being uncorked in -another room, and a faint whistling sound. For just one instant I had a -sense of enormous tension, a transient conviction that my feet were -pressing downward with a force of countless tons. It lasted for an -infinitesimal time. - -But it stirred me to action. “Cavor!” I said into the darkness, “my -nerve’s in rags. I don’t think—” - -I stopped. He made no answer. - -“Confound it!” I cried; “I’m a fool! What business have I here? I’m not -coming, Cavor. The thing’s too risky. I’m getting out.” - -“You can’t,” he said. - -“Can’t! We’ll soon see about that!” - -He made no answer for ten seconds. “It’s too late for us to quarrel -now, Bedford,” he said. “That little jerk was the start. Already we are -flying as swiftly as a bullet up into the gulf of space.” - -“I—” I said, and then it didn’t seem to matter what happened. For a -time I was, as it were, stunned; I had nothing to say. It was just as -if I had never heard of this idea of leaving the world before. Then I -perceived an unaccountable change in my bodily sensations. It was a -feeling of lightness, of unreality. Coupled with that was a queer -sensation in the head, an apoplectic effect almost, and a thumping of -blood vessels at the ears. Neither of these feelings diminished as time -went on, but at last I got so used to them that I experienced no -inconvenience. - -I heard a click, and a little glow lamp came into being. - -I saw Cavor’s face, as white as I felt my own to be. We regarded one -another in silence. The transparent blackness of the glass behind him -made him seem as though he floated in a void. - -“Well, we’re committed,” I said at last. - -“Yes,” he said, “we’re committed.” - -“Don’t move,” he exclaimed, at some suggestion of a gesture. “Let your -muscles keep quite lax—as if you were in bed. We are in a little -universe of our own. Look at those things!” - -He pointed to the loose cases and bundles that had been lying on the -blankets in the bottom of the sphere. I was astonished to see that they -were floating now nearly a foot from the spherical wall. Then I saw -from his shadow that Cavor was no longer leaning against the glass. I -thrust out my hand behind me, and found that I too was suspended in -space, clear of the glass. - -I did not cry out nor gesticulate, but fear came upon me. It was like -being held and lifted by something—you know not what. The mere touch of -my hand against the glass moved me rapidly. I understood what had -happened, but that did not prevent my being afraid. We were cut off -from all exterior gravitation, only the attraction of objects within -our sphere had effect. Consequently everything that was not fixed to -the glass was falling—slowly because of the slightness of our -masses—towards the centre of gravity of our little world, which seemed -to be somewhere about the middle of the sphere, but rather nearer to -myself than Cavor, on account of my greater weight. - -“We must turn round,” said Cavor, “and float back to back, with the -things between us.” - -It was the strangest sensation conceivable, floating thus loosely in -space, at first indeed horribly strange, and when the horror passed, -not disagreeable at all, exceeding restful; indeed, the nearest thing -in earthly experience to it that I know is lying on a very thick, soft -feather bed. But the quality of utter detachment and independence! I -had not reckoned on things like this. I had expected a violent jerk at -starting, a giddy sense of speed. Instead I felt—as if I were -disembodied. It was not like the beginning of a journey; it was like -the beginning of a dream. - - - - -V. -The Journey to the Moon - - -Presently Cavor extinguished the light. He said we had not overmuch -energy stored, and that what we had we must economise for reading. For -a time, whether it was long or short I do not know, there was nothing -but blank darkness. - -A question floated up out of the void. “How are we pointing?” I said. -“What is our direction?” - -“We are flying away from the earth at a tangent, and as the moon is -near her third quarter we are going somewhere towards her. I will open -a blind—” - -Came a click, and then a window in the outer case yawned open. The sky -outside was as black as the darkness within the sphere, but the shape -of the open window was marked by an infinite number of stars. - -Those who have only seen the starry sky from the earth cannot imagine -its appearance when the vague, half luminous veil of our air has been -withdrawn. The stars we see on earth are the mere scattered survivors -that penetrate our misty atmosphere. But now at last I could realise -the meaning of the hosts of heaven! - -Stranger things we were presently to see, but that airless, star-dusted -sky! Of all things, I think that will be one of the last I shall -forget. - -The little window vanished with a click, another beside it snapped open -and instantly closed, and then a third, and for a moment I had to close -my eyes because of the blinding splendour of the waning moon. - -For a space I had to stare at Cavor and the white-lit things about me -to season my eyes to light again, before I could turn them towards that -pallid glare. - -Four windows were open in order that the gravitation of the moon might -act upon all the substances in our sphere. I found I was no longer -floating freely in space, but that my feet were resting on the glass in -the direction of the moon. The blankets and cases of provisions were -also creeping slowly down the glass, and presently came to rest so as -to block out a portion of the view. It seemed to me, of course, that I -looked “down” when I looked at the moon. On earth “down” means -earthward, the way things fall, and “up” the reverse direction. Now the -pull of gravitation was towards the moon, and for all I knew to the -contrary our earth was overhead. And, of course, when all the Cavorite -blinds were closed, “down” was towards the centre of our sphere, and -“up” towards its outer wall. - -It was curiously unlike earthly experience, too, to have the light -coming _up_ to one. On earth light falls from above, or comes slanting -down sideways, but here it came from beneath our feet, and to see our -shadows we had to look up. - -At first it gave me a sort of vertigo to stand only on thick glass and -look down upon the moon through hundreds of thousands of miles of -vacant space; but this sickness passed very speedily. And then—the -splendour of the sight! - -The reader may imagine it best if he will lie on the ground some warm -summer’s night and look between his upraised feet at the moon, but for -some reason, probably because the absence of air made it so much more -luminous, the moon seemed already considerably larger than it does from -earth. The minutest details of its surface were acutely clear. And -since we did not see it through air, its outline was bright and sharp, -there was no glow or halo about it, and the star-dust that covered the -sky came right to its very margin, and marked the outline of its -unilluminated part. And as I stood and stared at the moon between my -feet, that perception of the impossible that had been with me off and -on ever since our start, returned again with tenfold conviction. - -“Cavor,” I said, “this takes me queerly. Those companies we were going -to run, and all that about minerals?” - -“Well?” - -“I don’t see ‘em here.” - -“No,” said Cavor; “but you’ll get over all that.” - -“I suppose I’m made to turn right side up again. Still, _this_— For a -moment I could half believe there never was a world.” - -“That copy of _Lloyd’s News_ might help you.” - -I stared at the paper for a moment, then held it above the level of my -face, and found I could read it quite easily. I struck a column of mean -little advertisements. “A gentleman of private means is willing to lend -money,” I read. I knew that gentleman. Then somebody eccentric wanted -to sell a Cutaway bicycle, “quite new and cost £15,” for five pounds; -and a lady in distress wished to dispose of some fish knives and forks, -“a wedding present,” at a great sacrifice. No doubt some simple soul -was sagely examining these knives and forks, and another triumphantly -riding off on that bicycle, and a third trustfully consulting that -benevolent gentleman of means even as I read. I laughed, and let the -paper drift from my hand. - -“Are we visible from the earth?” I asked. - -“Why?” - -“I knew some one who was rather interested in astronomy. It occurred to -me that it would be rather odd if—my friend—chanced to be looking -through some telescope.” - -“It would need the most powerful telescope on earth even now to see us -as the minutest speck.” - -For a time I stared in silence at the moon. - -“It’s a world,” I said; “one feels that infinitely more than one ever -did on earth. People perhaps—” - -“People!” he exclaimed. “_No!_ Banish all that! Think yourself a sort -of ultra-arctic voyager exploring the desolate places of space. Look at -it!” - -He waved his hand at the shining whiteness below. “It’s dead—dead! Vast -extinct volcanoes, lava wildernesses, tumbled wastes of snow, or frozen -carbonic acid, or frozen air, and everywhere landslip seams and cracks -and gulfs. Nothing happens. Men have watched this planet systematically -with telescopes for over two hundred years. How much change do you -think they have seen?” - -“None.” - -“They have traced two indisputable landslips, a doubtful crack, and one -slight periodic change of colour, and that’s all.” - -“I didn’t know they’d traced even that.” - -“Oh, yes. But as for people—!” - -“By the way,” I asked, “how small a thing will the biggest telescopes -show upon the moon?” - -“One could see a fair-sized church. One could certainly see any towns -or buildings, or anything like the handiwork of men. There might -perhaps be insects, something in the way of ants, for example, so that -they could hide in deep burrows from the lunar light, or some new sort -of creatures having no earthly parallel. That is the most probable -thing, if we are to find life there at all. Think of the difference in -conditions! Life must fit itself to a day as long as fourteen earthly -days, a cloudless sun-blaze of fourteen days, and then a night of equal -length, growing ever colder and colder under these cold, sharp stars. -In that night there must be cold, the ultimate cold, absolute zero, -273° C. below the earthly freezing point. Whatever life there is must -hibernate through _that_, and rise again each day.” - -He mused. “One can imagine something worm-like,” he said, “taking its -air solid as an earth-worm swallows earth, or thick-skinned monsters—” - -“By the bye,” I said, “why didn’t we bring a gun?” - -He did not answer that question. “No,” he concluded, “we just have to -go. We shall see when we get there.” - -I remembered something. “Of course, there’s my minerals, anyhow,” I -said; “whatever the conditions may be.” - -Presently he told me he wished to alter our course a little by letting -the earth tug at us for a moment. He was going to open one earthward -blind for thirty seconds. He warned me that it would make my head swim, -and advised me to extend my hands against the glass to break my fall. I -did as he directed, and thrust my feet against the bales of food cases -and air cylinders to prevent their falling upon me. Then with a click -the window flew open. I fell clumsily upon hands and face, and saw for -a moment between my black extended fingers our mother earth—a planet in -a downward sky. - -We were still very near—Cavor told me the distance was perhaps eight -hundred miles and the huge terrestrial disc filled all heaven. But -already it was plain to see that the world was a globe. The land below -us was in twilight and vague, but westward the vast grey stretches of -the Atlantic shone like molten silver under the receding day. I think I -recognised the cloud-dimmed coast-lines of France and Spain and the -south of England, and then, with a click, the shutter closed again, and -I found myself in a state of extraordinary confusion sliding slowly -over the smooth glass. - -When at last things settled themselves in my mind again, it seemed -quite beyond question that the moon was “down” and under my feet, and -that the earth was somewhere away on the level of the horizon—the earth -that had been “down” to me and my kindred since the beginning of -things. - -So slight were the exertions required of us, so easy did the practical -annihilation of our weight make all we had to do, that the necessity -for taking refreshment did not occur to us for nearly six hours (by -Cavor’s chronometer) after our start. I was amazed at that lapse of -time. Even then I was satisfied with very little. Cavor examined the -apparatus for absorbing carbonic acid and water, and pronounced it to -be in satisfactory order, our consumption of oxygen having been -extraordinarily slight. And our talk being exhausted for the time, and -there being nothing further for us to do, we gave way to a curious -drowsiness that had come upon us, and spreading our blankets on the -bottom of the sphere in such a manner as to shut out most of the -moonlight, wished each other good-night, and almost immediately fell -asleep. - -And so, sleeping, and sometimes talking and reading a little, and at -times eating, although without any keenness of appetite,[1] but for the -most part in a sort of quiescence that was neither waking nor slumber, -we fell through a space of time that had neither night nor day in it, -silently, softly, and swiftly down towards the moon. - - [1] It is a curious thing, that while we were in the sphere we felt - not the slightest desire for food, nor did we feel the want of it when - we abstained. At first we forced our appetites, but afterwards we - fasted completely. Altogether we did not consume one-hundredth part of - the compressed provisions we had brought with us. The amount of - carbonic acid we breathed was also unnaturally low, but why this was, - I am quite unable to explain. - - - - -VI. -The Landing on the Moon - - -I remember how one day Cavor suddenly opened six of our shutters and -blinded me so that I cried aloud at him. The whole area was moon, a -stupendous scimitar of white dawn with its edge hacked out by notches -of darkness, the crescent shore of an ebbing tide of darkness, out of -which peaks and pinnacles came glittering into the blaze of the sun. I -take it the reader has seen pictures or photographs of the moon and -that I need not describe the broader features of that landscape, those -spacious ring-like ranges vaster than any terrestrial mountains, their -summits shining in the day, their shadows harsh and deep, the grey -disordered plains, the ridges, hills, and craterlets, all passing at -last from a blazing illumination into a common mystery of black. -Athwart this world we were flying scarcely a hundred miles above its -crests and pinnacles. And now we could see, what no eye on earth will -ever see, that under the blaze of the day the harsh outlines of the -rocks and ravines of the plains and crater floor grew grey and -indistinct under a thickening haze, that the white of their lit -surfaces broke into lumps and patches, and broke again and shrank and -vanished, and that here and there strange tints of brown and olive grew -and spread. - -But little time we had for watching then. For now we had come to the -real danger of our journey. We had to drop ever closer to the moon as -we spun about it, to slacken our pace and watch our chance, until at -last we could dare to drop upon its surface. - -For Cavor that was a time of intense exertion; for me it was an anxious -inactivity. I seemed perpetually to be getting out of his way. He leapt -about the sphere from point to point with an agility that would have -been impossible on earth. He was perpetually opening and closing the -Cavorite windows, making calculations, consulting his chronometer by -means of the glow lamp during those last eventful hours. For a long -time we had all our windows closed and hung silently in darkness -hurling through space. - -Then he was feeling for the shutter studs, and suddenly four windows -were open. I staggered and covered my eyes, drenched and scorched and -blinded by the unaccustomed splendour of the sun beneath my feet. Then -again the shutters snapped, leaving my brain spinning in a darkness -that pressed against the eyes. And after that I floated in another -vast, black silence. - -Then Cavor switched on the electric light, and told me he proposed to -bind all our luggage together with the blankets about it, against the -concussion of our descent. We did this with our windows closed, because -in that way our goods arranged themselves naturally at the centre of -the sphere. That too was a strange business; we two men floating loose -in that spherical space, and packing and pulling ropes. Imagine it if -you can! No up nor down, and every effort resulting in unexpected -movements. Now I would be pressed against the glass with the full force -of Cavor’s thrust, now I would be kicking helplessly in a void. Now the -star of the electric light would be overhead, now under foot. Now -Cavor’s feet would float up before my eyes, and now we would be -crossways to each other. But at last our goods were safely bound -together in a big soft bale, all except two blankets with head holes -that we were to wrap about ourselves. - -Then for a flash Cavor opened a window moonward, and we saw that we -were dropping towards a huge central crater with a number of minor -craters grouped in a sort of cross about it. And then again Cavor flung -our little sphere open to the scorching, blinding sun. I think he was -using the sun’s attraction as a brake. “Cover yourself with a blanket,” -he cried, thrusting himself from me, and for a moment I did not -understand. - -Then I hauled the blanket from beneath my feet and got it about me and -over my head and eyes. Abruptly he closed the shutters again, snapped -one open again and closed it, then suddenly began snapping them all -open, each safely into its steel roller. There came a jar, and then we -were rolling over and over, bumping against the glass and against the -big bale of our luggage, and clutching at each other, and outside some -white substance splashed as if we were rolling down a slope of snow.... - -Over, clutch, bump, clutch, bump, over.... - -Came a thud, and I was half buried under the bale of our possessions, -and for a space everything was still. Then I could hear Cavor puffing -and grunting, and the snapping of a shutter in its sash. I made an -effort, thrust back our blanket-wrapped luggage, and emerged from -beneath it. Our open windows were just visible as a deeper black set -with stars. - -We were still alive, and we were lying in the darkness of the shadow of -the wall of the great crater into which we had fallen. - -We sat getting our breath again, and feeling the bruises on our limbs. -I don’t think either of us had had a very clear expectation of such -rough handling as we had received. I struggled painfully to my feet. -“And now,” said I, “to look at the landscape of the moon! But—! It’s -tremendously dark, Cavor!” - -The glass was dewy, and as I spoke I wiped at it with my blanket. -“We’re half an hour or so beyond the day,” he said. “We must wait.” - -It was impossible to distinguish anything. We might have been in a -sphere of steel for all that we could see. My rubbing with the blanket -simply smeared the glass, and as fast as I wiped it, it became opaque -again with freshly condensed moisture mixed with an increasing quantity -of blanket hairs. Of course I ought not to have used the blanket. In my -efforts to clear the glass I slipped upon the damp surface, and hurt my -shin against one of the oxygen cylinders that protruded from our bale. - -The thing was exasperating—it was absurd. Here we were just arrived -upon the moon, amidst we knew not what wonders, and all we could see -was the grey and streaming wall of the bubble in which we had come. - -“Confound it!” I said, “but at this rate we might have stopped at -home;” and I squatted on the bale and shivered, and drew my blanket -closer about me. - -Abruptly the moisture turned to spangles and fronds of frost. “Can you -reach the electric heater,” said Cavor. “Yes—that black knob. Or we -shall freeze.” - -I did not wait to be told twice. “And now,” said I, “what are we to -do?” - -“Wait,” he said. - -“Wait?” - -“Of course. We shall have to wait until our air gets warm again, and -then this glass will clear. We can’t do anything till then. It’s night -here yet; we must wait for the day to overtake us. Meanwhile, don’t you -feel hungry?” - -For a space I did not answer him, but sat fretting. I turned -reluctantly from the smeared puzzle of the glass and stared at his -face. “Yes,” I said, “I am hungry. I feel somehow enormously -disappointed. I had expected—I don’t know what I had expected, but not -this.” - -I summoned my philosophy, and rearranging my blanket about me sat down -on the bale again and began my first meal on the moon. I don’t think I -finished it—I forget. Presently, first in patches, then running rapidly -together into wider spaces, came the clearing of the glass, came the -drawing of the misty veil that hid the moon world from our eyes. - -We peered out upon the landscape of the moon. - - - - -VII. -Sunrise on the Moon - - -As we saw it first it was the wildest and most desolate of scenes. We -were in an enormous amphitheatre, a vast circular plain, the floor of -the giant crater. Its cliff-like walls closed us in on every side. From -the westward the light of the unseen sun fell upon them, reaching to -the very foot of the cliff, and showed a disordered escarpment of drab -and greyish rock, lined here and there with banks and crevices of snow. -This was perhaps a dozen miles away, but at first no intervening -atmosphere diminished in the slightest the minutely detailed brilliancy -with which these things glared at us. They stood out clear and dazzling -against a background of starry blackness that seemed to our earthly -eyes rather a gloriously spangled velvet curtain than the spaciousness -of the sky. - -The eastward cliff was at first merely a starless selvedge to the -starry dome. No rosy flush, no creeping pallor, announced the -commencing day. Only the Corona, the Zodiacal light, a huge -cone-shaped, luminous haze, pointing up towards the splendour of the -morning star, warned us of the imminent nearness of the sun. - -Whatever light was about us was reflected by the westward cliffs. It -showed a huge undulating plain, cold and grey, a grey that deepened -eastward into the absolute raven darkness of the cliff shadow. -Innumerable rounded grey summits, ghostly hummocks, billows of snowy -substance, stretching crest beyond crest into the remote obscurity, -gave us our first inkling of the distance of the crater wall. These -hummocks looked like snow. At the time I thought they were snow. But -they were not—they were mounds and masses of frozen air. - -So it was at first; and then, sudden, swift, and amazing, came the -lunar day. - -The sunlight had crept down the cliff, it touched the drifted masses at -its base and incontinently came striding with seven-leagued boots -towards us. The distant cliff seemed to shift and quiver, and at the -touch of the dawn a reek of grey vapour poured upward from the crater -floor, whirls and puffs and drifting wraiths of grey, thicker and -broader and denser, until at last the whole westward plain was steaming -like a wet handkerchief held before the fire, and the westward cliffs -were no more than refracted glare beyond. - -“It is air,” said Cavor. “It must be air—or it would not rise like -this—at the mere touch of a sun-beam. And at this pace....” - -He peered upwards. “Look!” he said. - -“What?” I asked. - -“In the sky. Already. On the blackness—a little touch of blue. See! The -stars seem larger. And the little ones and all those dim nebulosities -we saw in empty space—they are hidden!” - -Swiftly, steadily, the day approached us. Grey summit after grey summit -was overtaken by the blaze, and turned to a smoking white intensity. At -last there was nothing to the west of us but a bank of surging fog, the -tumultuous advance and ascent of cloudy haze. The distant cliff had -receded farther and farther, had loomed and changed through the whirl, -and foundered and vanished at last in its confusion. - -Nearer came that steaming advance, nearer and nearer, coming as fast as -the shadow of a cloud before the south-west wind. About us rose a thin -anticipatory haze. - -Cavor gripped my arm. “What?” I said. - -“Look! The sunrise! The sun!” - -He turned me about and pointed to the brow of the eastward cliff, -looming above the haze about us, scarce lighter than the darkness of -the sky. But now its line was marked by strange reddish shapes, tongues -of vermilion flame that writhed and danced. I fancied it must be -spirals of vapour that had caught the light and made this crest of -fiery tongues against the sky, but indeed it was the solar prominences -I saw, a crown of fire about the sun that is forever hidden from -earthly eyes by our atmospheric veil. - -And then—the sun! - -Steadily, inevitably came a brilliant line, came a thin edge of -intolerable effulgence that took a circular shape, became a bow, became -a blazing sceptre, and hurled a shaft of heat at us as though it was a -spear. - -It seemed verily to stab my eyes! I cried aloud and turned about -blinded, groping for my blanket beneath the bale. - -And with that incandescence came a sound, the first sound that had -reached us from without since we left the earth, a hissing and -rustling, the stormy trailing of the aerial garment of the advancing -day. And with the coming of the sound and the light the sphere lurched, -and blinded and dazzled we staggered helplessly against each other. It -lurched again, and the hissing grew louder. I had shut my eyes -perforce, I was making clumsy efforts to cover my head with my blanket, -and this second lurch sent me helplessly off my feet. I fell against -the bale, and opening my eyes had a momentary glimpse of the air just -outside our glass. It was running—it was boiling—like snow into which a -white-hot rod is thrust. What had been solid air had suddenly at the -touch of the sun become a paste, a mud, a slushy liquefaction, that -hissed and bubbled into gas. - -There came a still more violent whirl of the sphere and we had clutched -one another. In another moment we were spun about again. Round we went -and over, and then I was on all fours. The lunar dawn had hold of us. -It meant to show us little men what the moon could do with us. - -I caught a second glimpse of things without, puffs of vapour, half -liquid slush, excavated, sliding, falling, sliding. We dropped into -darkness. I went down with Cavor’s knees in my chest. Then he seemed to -fly away from me, and for a moment I lay with all the breath out of my -body staring upward. A toppling crag of the melting stuff had splashed -over us, buried us, and now it thinned and boiled off us. I saw the -bubbles dancing on the glass above. I heard Cavor exclaiming feebly. - -Then some huge landslip in the thawing air had caught us, and -spluttering expostulation, we began to roll down a slope, rolling -faster and faster, leaping crevasses and rebounding from banks, faster -and faster, westward into the white-hot boiling tumult of the lunar -day. - -Clutching at one another we spun about, pitched this way and that, our -bale of packages leaping at us, pounding at us. We collided, we -gripped, we were torn asunder—our heads met, and the whole universe -burst into fiery darts and stars! On the earth we should have smashed -one another a dozen times, but on the moon, luckily for us, our weight -was only one-sixth of what it is terrestrially, and we fell very -mercifully. I recall a sensation of utter sickness, a feeling as if my -brain were upside down within my skull, and then— - -Something was at work upon my face, some thin feelers worried my ears. -Then I discovered the brilliance of the landscape around was mitigated -by blue spectacles. Cavor bent over me, and I saw his face upside down, -his eyes also protected by tinted goggles. His breath came irregularly, -and his lip was bleeding from a bruise. “Better?” he said, wiping the -blood with the back of his hand. - -Everything seemed swaying for a space, but that was simply my -giddiness. I perceived that he had closed some of the shutters in the -outer sphere to save me—from the direct blaze of the sun. I was aware -that everything about us was very brilliant. - -“Lord!” I gasped. “But this—” - -I craned my neck to see. I perceived there was a blinding glare -outside, an utter change from the gloomy darkness of our first -impressions. “Have I been insensible long?” I asked. - -“I don’t know—the chronometer is broken. Some little time.... My dear -chap! I have been afraid...” - -I lay for a space taking this in. I saw his face still bore evidences -of emotion. For a while I said nothing. I passed an inquisitive hand -over my contusions, and surveyed his face for similar damages. The back -of my right hand had suffered most, and was skinless and raw. My -forehead was bruised and had bled. He handed me a little measure with -some of the restorative—I forget the name of it—he had brought with us. -After a time I felt a little better. I began to stretch my limbs -carefully. Soon I could talk. - -“It wouldn’t have done,” I said, as though there had been no interval. - -“No! it _wouldn’t_.” - -He thought, his hands hanging over his knees. He peered through the -glass and then stared at me. “Good Lord!” he said. “_No!_” - -“What has happened?” I asked after a pause. “Have we jumped to the -tropics?” - -“It was as I expected. This air has evaporated—if it is air. At any -rate, it has evaporated, and the surface of the moon is showing. We are -lying on a bank of earthy rock. Here and there bare soil is exposed. A -queer sort of soil!” - -It occurred to him that it was unnecessary to explain. He assisted me -into a sitting position, and I could see with my own eyes. - - - - -VIII. -A Lunar Morning - - -The harsh emphasis, the pitiless black and white of scenery had -altogether disappeared. The glare of the sun had taken upon itself a -faint tinge of amber; the shadows upon the cliff of the crater wall -were deeply purple. To the eastward a dark bank of fog still crouched -and sheltered from the sunrise, but to the westward the sky was blue -and clear. I began to realise the length of my insensibility. - -We were no longer in a void. An atmosphere had arisen about us. The -outline of things had gained in character, had grown acute and varied; -save for a shadowed space of white substance here and there, white -substance that was no longer air but snow, the arctic appearance had -gone altogether. Everywhere broad rusty brown spaces of bare and -tumbled earth spread to the blaze of the sun. Here and there at the -edge of the snowdrifts were transient little pools and eddies of water, -the only things stirring in that expanse of barrenness. The sunlight -inundated the upper two blinds of our sphere and turned our climate to -high summer, but our feet were still in shadow, and the sphere was -lying upon a drift of snow. - -And scattered here and there upon the slope, and emphasised by little -white threads of unthawed snow upon their shady sides, were shapes like -sticks, dry twisted sticks of the same rusty hue as the rock upon which -they lay. That caught one’s thoughts sharply. Sticks! On a lifeless -world? Then as my eye grew more accustomed to the texture of their -substance, I perceived that almost all this surface had a fibrous -texture, like the carpet of brown needles one finds beneath the shade -of pine trees. - -“Cavor!” I said. - -“Yes.” - -“It may be a dead world now—but once—” - -Something arrested my attention. I had discovered among these needles a -number of little round objects. And it seemed to me that one of these -had moved. “Cavor,” I whispered. - -“What?” - -But I did not answer at once. I stared incredulous. For an instant I -could not believe my eyes. I gave an inarticulate cry. I gripped his -arm. I pointed. “Look!” I cried, finding my tongue. “There! Yes! And -there!” - -His eyes followed my pointing finger. “Eh?” he said. - -How can I describe the thing I saw? It is so petty a thing to state, -and yet it seemed so wonderful, so pregnant with emotion. I have said -that amidst the stick-like litter were these rounded bodies, these -little oval bodies that might have passed as very small pebbles. And -now first one and then another had stirred, had rolled over and -cracked, and down the crack of each of them showed a minute line of -yellowish green, thrusting outward to meet the hot encouragement of the -newly-risen sun. For a moment that was all, and then there stirred, and -burst a third! - -“It is a seed,” said Cavor. And then I heard him whisper very softly, -“_Life!_” - -“Life!” And immediately it poured upon us that our vast journey had not -been made in vain, that we had come to no arid waste of minerals, but -to a world that lived and moved! We watched intensely. I remember I -kept rubbing the glass before me with my sleeve, jealous of the -faintest suspicion of mist. - -The picture was clear and vivid only in the middle of the field. All -about that centre the dead fibres and seeds were magnified and -distorted by the curvature of the glass. But we could see enough! One -after another all down the sunlit slope these miraculous little brown -bodies burst and gaped apart, like seed-pods, like the husks of fruits; -opened eager mouths that drank in the heat and light pouring in a -cascade from the newly-risen sun. - -Every moment more of these seed coats ruptured, and even as they did so -the swelling pioneers overflowed their rent-distended seed-cases, and -passed into the second stage of growth. With a steady assurance, a -swift deliberation, these amazing seeds thrust a rootlet downward to -the earth and a queer little bundle-like bud into the air. In a little -while the whole slope was dotted with minute plantlets standing at -attention in the blaze of the sun. - -They did not stand for long. The bundle-like buds swelled and strained -and opened with a jerk, thrusting out a coronet of little sharp tips, -spreading a whorl of tiny, spiky, brownish leaves, that lengthened -rapidly, lengthened visibly even as we watched. The movement was slower -than any animal’s, swifter than any plant’s I have ever seen before. -How can I suggest it to you—the way that growth went on? The leaf tips -grew so that they moved onward even while we looked at them. The brown -seed-case shrivelled and was absorbed with an equal rapidity. Have you -ever on a cold day taken a thermometer into your warm hand and watched -the little thread of mercury creep up the tube? These moon plants grew -like that. - -In a few minutes, as it seemed, the buds of the more forward of these -plants had lengthened into a stem and were even putting forth a second -whorl of leaves, and all the slope that had seemed so recently a -lifeless stretch of litter was now dark with the stunted olive-green -herbage of bristling spikes that swayed with the vigour of their -growing. - -I turned about, and behold! along the upper edge of a rock to the -eastward a similar fringe in a scarcely less forward condition swayed -and bent, dark against the blinding glare of the sun. And beyond this -fringe was the silhouette of a plant mass, branching clumsily like a -cactus, and swelling visibly, swelling like a bladder that fills with -air. - -Then to the westward also I discovered that another such distended form -was rising over the scrub. But here the light fell upon its sleek -sides, and I could see that its colour was a vivid orange hue. It rose -as one watched it; if one looked away from it for a minute and then -back, its outline had changed; it thrust out blunt congested branches -until in a little time it rose a coralline shape of many feet in -height. Compared with such a growth the terrestrial puff-ball, which -will sometimes swell a foot in diameter in a single night, would be a -hopeless laggard. But then the puff-ball grows against a gravitational -pull six times that of the moon. Beyond, out of gullies and flats that -had been hidden from us, but not from the quickening sun, over reefs -and banks of shining rock, a bristling beard of spiky and fleshy -vegetation was straining into view, hurrying tumultuously to take -advantage of the brief day in which it must flower and fruit and seed -again and die. It was like a miracle, that growth. So, one must -imagine, the trees and plants arose at the Creation and covered the -desolation of the new-made earth. - -Imagine it! Imagine that dawn! The resurrection of the frozen air, the -stirring and quickening of the soil, and then this silent uprising of -vegetation, this unearthly ascent of fleshiness and spikes. Conceive it -all lit by a blaze that would make the intensest sunlight of earth seem -watery and weak. And still around this stirring jungle, wherever there -was shadow, lingered banks of bluish snow. And to have the picture of -our impression complete, you must bear in mind that we saw it all -through a thick bent glass, distorting it as things are distorted by a -lens, acute only in the centre of the picture, and very bright there, -and towards the edges magnified and unreal. - - - - -IX. -Prospecting Begins - - -We ceased to gaze. We turned to each other, the same thought, the same -question in our eyes. For these plants to grow, there must be some air, -however attenuated, air that we also should be able to breathe. - -“The manhole?” I said. - -“Yes!” said Cavor, “if it is air we see!” - -“In a little while,” I said, “these plants will be as high as we are. -Suppose—suppose after all— Is it certain? How do you know that stuff -_is_ air? It may be nitrogen—it may be carbonic acid even!” - -“That’s easy,” he said, and set about proving it. He produced a big -piece of crumpled paper from the bale, lit it, and thrust it hastily -through the man-hole valve. I bent forward and peered down through the -thick glass for its appearance outside, that little flame on whose -evidence depended so much! - -I saw the paper drop out and lie lightly upon the snow. The pink flame -of its burning vanished. For an instant it seemed to be extinguished. -And then I saw a little blue tongue upon the edge of it that trembled, -and crept, and spread! - -Quietly the whole sheet, save where it lay in immediate contact with -the snow, charred and shrivelled and sent up a quivering thread of -smoke. There was no doubt left to me; the atmosphere of the moon was -either pure oxygen or air, and capable therefore—unless its tenuity was -excessive—of supporting our alien life. We might emerge—and live! - -I sat down with my legs on either side of the manhole and prepared to -unscrew it, but Cavor stopped me. “There is first a little precaution,” -he said. He pointed out that although it was certainly an oxygenated -atmosphere outside, it might still be so rarefied as to cause us grave -injury. He reminded me of mountain sickness, and of the bleeding that -often afflicts aeronauts who have ascended too swiftly, and he spent -some time in the preparation of a sickly-tasting drink which he -insisted on my sharing. It made me feel a little numb, but otherwise -had no effect on me. Then he permitted me to begin unscrewing. - -Presently the glass stopper of the manhole was so far undone that the -denser air within our sphere began to escape along the thread of the -screw, singing as a kettle sings before it boils. Thereupon he made me -desist. It speedily became evident that the pressure outside was very -much less than it was within. How much less it was we had no means of -telling. - -I sat grasping the stopper with both hands, ready to close it again if, -in spite of our intense hope, the lunar atmosphere should after all -prove too rarefied for us, and Cavor sat with a cylinder of compressed -oxygen at hand to restore our pressure. We looked at one another in -silence, and then at the fantastic vegetation that swayed and grew -visibly and noiselessly without. And ever that shrill piping continued. - -My blood-vessels began to throb in my ears, and the sound of Cavor’s -movements diminished. I noted how still everything had become, because -of the thinning of the air. - -As our air sizzled out from the screw the moisture of it condensed in -little puffs. - -Presently I experienced a peculiar shortness of breath that lasted -indeed during the whole of the time of our exposure to the moon’s -exterior atmosphere, and a rather unpleasant sensation about the ears -and finger-nails and the back of the throat grew upon my attention, and -presently passed off again. - -But then came vertigo and nausea that abruptly changed the quality of -my courage. I gave the lid of the manhole half a turn and made a hasty -explanation to Cavor; but now he was the more sanguine. He answered me -in a voice that seemed extraordinarily small and remote, because of the -thinness of the air that carried the sound. He recommended a nip of -brandy, and set me the example, and presently I felt better. I turned -the manhole stopper back again. The throbbing in my ears grew louder, -and then I remarked that the piping note of the outrush had ceased. For -a time I could not be sure that it had ceased. - -“Well?” said Cavor, in the ghost of a voice. - -“Well?” said I. - -“Shall we go on?” - -I thought. “Is this all?” - -“If you can stand it.” - -By way of answer I went on unscrewing. I lifted the circular operculum -from its place and laid it carefully on the bale. A flake or so of snow -whirled and vanished as that thin and unfamiliar air took possession of -our sphere. I knelt, and then seated myself at the edge of the manhole, -peering over it. Beneath, within a yard of my face, lay the untrodden -snow of the moon. - -There came a little pause. Our eyes met. - -“It doesn’t distress your lungs too much?” said Cavor. - -“No,” I said. “I can stand this.” - -He stretched out his hand for his blanket, thrust his head through its -central hole, and wrapped it about him. He sat down on the edge of the -manhole, he let his feet drop until they were within six inches of the -lunar ground. He hesitated for a moment, then thrust himself forward, -dropped these intervening inches, and stood upon the untrodden soil of -the moon. - -As he stepped forward he was refracted grotesquely by the edge of the -glass. He stood for a moment looking this way and that. Then he drew -himself together and leapt. - -The glass distorted everything, but it seemed to me even then to be an -extremely big leap. He had at one bound become remote. He seemed twenty -or thirty feet off. He was standing high upon a rocky mass and -gesticulating back to me. Perhaps he was shouting—but the sound did not -reach me. But how the deuce had he done this? I felt like a man who has -just seen a new conjuring trick. - -In a puzzled state of mind I too dropped through the manhole. I stood -up. Just in front of me the snowdrift had fallen away and made a sort -of ditch. I made a step and jumped. - -I found myself flying through the air, saw the rock on which he stood -coming to meet me, clutched it and clung in a state of infinite -amazement. - -I gasped a painful laugh. I was tremendously confused. Cavor bent down -and shouted in piping tones for me to be careful. - -I had forgotten that on the moon, with only an eighth part of the -earth’s mass and a quarter of its diameter, my weight was barely a -sixth what it was on earth. But now that fact insisted on being -remembered. - -“We are out of Mother Earth’s leading-strings now,” he said. - -With a guarded effort I raised myself to the top, and moving as -cautiously as a rheumatic patient, stood up beside him under the blaze -of the sun. The sphere lay behind us on its dwindling snowdrift thirty -feet away. - -As far as the eye could see over the enormous disorder of rocks that -formed the crater floor, the same bristling scrub that surrounded us -was starting into life, diversified here and there by bulging masses of -a cactus form, and scarlet and purple lichens that grew so fast they -seemed to crawl over the rocks. The whole area of the crater seemed to -me then to be one similar wilderness up to the very foot of the -surrounding cliff. - -This cliff was apparently bare of vegetation save at its base, and with -buttresses and terraces and platforms that did not very greatly attract -our attention at the time. It was many miles away from us in every -direction; we seemed to be almost at the centre of the crater, and we -saw it through a certain haziness that drove before the wind. For there -was even a wind now in the thin air, a swift yet weak wind that chilled -exceedingly but exerted little pressure. It was blowing round the -crater, as it seemed, to the hot illuminated side from the foggy -darkness under the sunward wall. It was difficult to look into this -eastward fog; we had to peer with half-closed eyes beneath the shade of -our hands, because of the fierce intensity of the motionless sun. - -“It seems to be deserted,” said Cavor, “absolutely desolate.” - -I looked about me again. I retained even then a clinging hope of some -quasi-human evidence, some pinnacle of building, some house or engine, -but everywhere one looked spread the tumbled rocks in peaks and crests, -and the darting scrub and those bulging cacti that swelled and swelled, -a flat negation as it seemed of all such hope. - -“It looks as though these plants had it to themselves,” I said. “I see -no trace of any other creature.” - -“No insects—no birds, no! Not a trace, not a scrap nor particle of -animal life. If there was—what would they do in the night? ... No; -there’s just these plants alone.” - -I shaded my eyes with my hand. “It’s like the landscape of a dream. -These things are less like earthly land plants than the things one -imagines among the rocks at the bottom of the sea. Look at that yonder! -One might imagine it a lizard changed into a plant. And the glare!” - -“This is only the fresh morning,” said Cavor. - -He sighed and looked about him. “This is no world for men,” he said. -“And yet in a way—it appeals.” - -He became silent for a time, then commenced his meditative humming. - -I started at a gentle touch, and found a thin sheet of livid lichen -lapping over my shoe. I kicked at it and it fell to powder, and each -speck began to grow. - -I heard Cavor exclaim sharply, and perceived that one of the fixed -bayonets of the scrub had pricked him. He hesitated, his eyes sought -among the rocks about us. A sudden blaze of pink had crept up a ragged -pillar of crag. It was a most extraordinary pink, a livid magenta. - -“Look!” said I, turning, and behold Cavor had vanished. - -For an instant I stood transfixed. Then I made a hasty step to look -over the verge of the rock. But in my surprise at his disappearance I -forgot once more that we were on the moon. The thrust of my foot that I -made in striding would have carried me a yard on earth; on the moon it -carried me six—a good five yards over the edge. For the moment the -thing had something of the effect of those nightmares when one falls -and falls. For while one falls sixteen feet in the first second of a -fall on earth, on the moon one falls two, and with only a sixth of -one’s weight. I fell, or rather I jumped down, about ten yards I -suppose. It seemed to take quite a long time, five or six seconds, I -should think. I floated through the air and fell like a feather, -knee-deep in a snow-drift in the bottom of a gully of blue-grey, -white-veined rock. - -I looked about me. “Cavor!” I cried; but no Cavor was visible. - -“Cavor!” I cried louder, and the rocks echoed me. - -I turned fiercely to the rocks and clambered to the summit of them. -“Cavor!” I cried. My voice sounded like the voice of a lost lamb. - -The sphere, too, was not in sight, and for a moment a horrible feeling -of desolation pinched my heart. - -Then I saw him. He was laughing and gesticulating to attract my -attention. He was on a bare patch of rock twenty or thirty yards away. -I could not hear his voice, but “jump” said his gestures. I hesitated, -the distance seemed enormous. Yet I reflected that surely I must be -able to clear a greater distance than Cavor. - -I made a step back, gathered myself together, and leapt with all my -might. I seemed to shoot right up in the air as though I should never -come down. - -It was horrible and delightful, and as wild as a nightmare, to go -flying off in this fashion. I realised my leap had been altogether too -violent. I flew clean over Cavor’s head and beheld a spiky confusion in -a gully spreading to meet my fall. I gave a yelp of alarm. I put out my -hands and straightened my legs. - -I hit a huge fungoid bulk that burst all about me, scattering a mass of -orange spores in every direction, and covering me with orange powder. I -rolled over spluttering, and came to rest convulsed with breathless -laughter. - -I became aware of Cavor’s little round face peering over a bristling -hedge. He shouted some faded inquiry. “Eh?” I tried to shout, but could -not do so for want of breath. He made his way towards me, coming -gingerly among the bushes. - -“We’ve got to be careful,” he said. “This moon has no discipline. -She’ll let us smash ourselves.” - -He helped me to my feet. “You exerted yourself too much,” he said, -dabbing at the yellow stuff with his hand to remove it from my -garments. - -I stood passive and panting, allowing him to beat off the jelly from my -knees and elbows and lecture me upon my misfortunes. “We don’t quite -allow for the gravitation. Our muscles are scarcely educated yet. We -must practise a little, when you have got your breath.” - -I pulled two or three little thorns out of my hand, and sat for a time -on a boulder of rock. My muscles were quivering, and I had that feeling -of personal disillusionment that comes at the first fall to the learner -of cycling on earth. - -It suddenly occurred to Cavor that the cold air in the gully, after the -brightness of the sun, might give me a fever. So we clambered back into -the sunlight. We found that beyond a few abrasions I had received no -serious injuries from my tumble, and at Cavor’s suggestion we were -presently looking round for some safe and easy landing-place for my -next leap. We chose a rocky slab some ten yards off, separated from us -by a little thicket of olive-green spikes. - -“Imagine it there!” said Cavor, who was assuming the airs of a trainer, -and he pointed to a spot about four feet from my toes. This leap I -managed without difficulty, and I must confess I found a certain -satisfaction in Cavor’s falling short by a foot or so and tasting the -spikes of the scrub. “One has to be careful, you see,” he said, pulling -out his thorns, and with that he ceased to be my mentor and became my -fellow-learner in the art of lunar locomotion. - -We chose a still easier jump and did it without difficulty, and then -leapt back again, and to and fro several times, accustoming our muscles -to the new standard. I could never have believed had I not experienced -it, how rapid that adaptation would be. In a very little time indeed, -certainly after fewer than thirty leaps, we could judge the effort -necessary for a distance with almost terrestrial assurance. - -And all this time the lunar plants were growing around us, higher and -denser and more entangled, every moment thicker and taller, spiked -plants, green cactus masses, fungi, fleshy and lichenous things, -strangest radiate and sinuous shapes. But we were so intent upon our -leaping, that for a time we gave no heed to their unfaltering -expansion. - -An extraordinary elation had taken possession of us. Partly, I think, -it was our sense of release from the confinement of the sphere. Mainly, -however, the thin sweetness of the air, which I am certain contained a -much larger proportion of oxygen than our terrestrial atmosphere. In -spite of the strange quality of all about us, I felt as adventurous and -experimental as a cockney would do placed for the first time among -mountains and I do not think it occurred to either of us, face to face -though we were with the unknown, to be very greatly afraid. - -We were bitten by a spirit of enterprise. We selected a lichenous kopje -perhaps fifteen yards away, and landed neatly on its summit one after -the other. “Good!” we cried to each other; “good!” and Cavor made three -steps and went off to a tempting slope of snow a good twenty yards and -more beyond. I stood for a moment struck by the grotesque effect of his -soaring figure—his dirty cricket cap, and spiky hair, his little round -body, his arms and his knicker-bockered legs tucked up tightly—against -the weird spaciousness of the lunar scene. A gust of laughter seized -me, and then I stepped off to follow. Plump! I dropped beside him. - -We made a few gargantuan strides, leapt three or four times more, and -sat down at last in a lichenous hollow. Our lungs were painful. We sat -holding our sides and recovering our breath, looking appreciation to -one another. Cavor panted something about “amazing sensations.” And -then came a thought into my head. For the moment it did not seem a -particularly appalling thought, simply a natural question arising out -of the situation. - -“By the way,” I said, “where exactly is the sphere?” - -Cavor looked at me. “Eh?” - -The full meaning of what we were saying struck me sharply. - -“Cavor!” I cried, laying a hand on his arm, “where is the sphere?” - - - - -X. -Lost Men in the Moon - - -His face caught something of my dismay. He stood up and stared about -him at the scrub that fenced us in and rose about us, straining upward -in a passion of growth. He put a dubious hand to his lips. He spoke -with a sudden lack of assurance. “I think,” he said slowly, “we left it -... somewhere ... about _there_.” - -He pointed a hesitating finger that wavered in an arc. - -“I’m not sure.” His look of consternation deepened. “Anyhow,” he said, -with his eyes on me, “it can’t be far.” - -We had both stood up. We made unmeaning ejaculations, our eyes sought -in the twining, thickening jungle round about us. - -All about us on the sunlit slopes frothed and swayed the darting -shrubs, the swelling cactus, the creeping lichens, and wherever the -shade remained the snow-drifts lingered. North, south, east, and west -spread an identical monotony of unfamiliar forms. And somewhere, buried -already among this tangled confusion, was our sphere, our home, our -only provision, our only hope of escape from this fantastic wilderness -of ephemeral growths into which we had come. - -“I think after all,” he said, pointing suddenly, “it might be over -there.” - -“No,” I said. “We have turned in a curve. See! here is the mark of my -heels. It’s clear the thing must be more to the eastward, much more. -No—the sphere must be over there.” - -“I _think_,” said Cavor, “I kept the sun upon my right all the time.” - -“Every leap, it seems to _me_,” I said, “my shadow flew before me.” - -We stared into one another’s eyes. The area of the crater had become -enormously vast to our imaginations, the growing thickets already -impenetrably dense. - -“Good heavens! What fools we have been!” - -“It’s evident that we must find it again,” said Cavor, “and that soon. -The sun grows stronger. We should be fainting with the heat already if -it wasn’t so dry. And ... I’m hungry.” - -I stared at him. I had not suspected this aspect of the matter before. -But it came to me at once—a positive craving. “Yes,” I said with -emphasis. “I am hungry too.” - -He stood up with a look of active resolution. “Certainly we must find -the sphere.” - -As calmly as possible we surveyed the interminable reefs and thickets -that formed the floor of the crater, each of us weighing in silence the -chances of our finding the sphere before we were overtaken by heat and -hunger. - -“It can’t be fifty yards from here,” said Cavor, with indecisive -gestures. “The only thing is to beat round about until we come upon -it.” - -“That is all we can do,” I said, without any alacrity to begin our -hunt. “I wish this confounded spike bush did not grow so fast!” - -“That’s just it,” said Cavor. “But it was lying on a bank of snow.” - -I stared about me in the vain hope of recognising some knoll or shrub -that had been near the sphere. But everywhere was a confusing sameness, -everywhere the aspiring bushes, the distending fungi, the dwindling -snow banks, steadily and inevitably changed. The sun scorched and -stung, the faintness of an unaccountable hunger mingled with our -infinite perplexity. And even as we stood there, confused and lost -amidst unprecedented things, we became aware for the first time of a -sound upon the moon other than the air of the growing plants, the faint -sighing of the wind, or those that we ourselves had made. - -Boom.... Boom.... Boom. - -It came from beneath our feet, a sound in the earth. We seemed to hear -it with our feet as much as with our ears. Its dull resonance was -muffled by distance, thick with the quality of intervening substance. -No sound that I can imagine could have astonished us more, or have -changed more completely the quality of things about us. For this sound, -rich, slow, and deliberate, seemed to us as though it could be nothing -but the striking of some gigantic buried clock. - -Boom.... Boom.... Boom. - -Sound suggestive of still cloisters, of sleepless nights in crowded -cities, of vigils and the awaited hour, of all that is orderly and -methodical in life, booming out pregnant and mysterious in this -fantastic desert! To the eye everything was unchanged: the desolation -of bushes and cacti waving silently in the wind, stretched unbroken to -the distant cliffs, the still dark sky was empty overhead, and the hot -sun hung and burned. And through it all, a warning, a threat, throbbed -this enigma of sound. - -Boom.... Boom.... Boom.... - -We questioned one another in faint and faded voices. - -“A clock?” - -“Like a clock!” - -“What is it?” - -“What can it be?” - -“Count,” was Cavor’s belated suggestion, and at that word the striking -ceased. - -The silence, the rhythmic disappointment of the silence, came as a -fresh shock. For a moment one could doubt whether one had ever heard a -sound. Or whether it might not still be going on. Had I indeed heard a -sound? - -I felt the pressure of Cavor’s hand upon my arm. He spoke in an -undertone, as though he feared to wake some sleeping thing. “Let us -keep together,” he whispered, “and look for the sphere. We must get -back to the sphere. This is beyond our understanding.” - -“Which way shall we go?” - -He hesitated. An intense persuasion of presences, of unseen things -about us and near us, dominated our minds. What could they be? Where -could they be? Was this arid desolation, alternately frozen and -scorched, only the outer rind and mask of some subterranean world? And -if so, what sort of world? What sort of inhabitants might it not -presently disgorge upon us? - -And then, stabbing the aching stillness as vivid and sudden as an -unexpected thunderclap, came a clang and rattle as though great gates -of metal had suddenly been flung apart. - -It arrested our steps. We stood gaping helplessly. Then Cavor stole -towards me. - -“I do not understand!” he whispered close to my face. He waved his hand -vaguely skyward, the vague suggestion of still vaguer thoughts. - -“A hiding-place! If anything came...” - -I looked about us. I nodded my head in assent to him. - -We started off, moving stealthily with the most exaggerated precautions -against noise. We went towards a thicket of scrub. A clangour like -hammers flung about a boiler hastened our steps. “We must crawl,” -whispered Cavor. - -The lower leaves of the bayonet plants, already overshadowed by the -newer ones above, were beginning to wilt and shrivel so that we could -thrust our way in among the thickening stems without serious injury. A -stab in the face or arm we did not heed. At the heart of the thicket I -stopped, and stared panting into Cavor’s face. - -“Subterranean,” he whispered. “Below.” - -“They may come out.” - -“We must find the sphere!” - -“Yes,” I said; “but how?” - -“Crawl till we come to it.” - -“But if we don’t?” - -“Keep hidden. See what they are like.” - -“We will keep together,” said I. - -He thought. “Which way shall we go?” - -“We must take our chance.” - -We peered this way and that. Then very circumspectly, we began to crawl -through the lower jungle, making, so far as we could judge, a circuit, -halting now at every waving fungus, at every sound, intent only on the -sphere from which we had so foolishly emerged. Ever and again from out -of the earth beneath us came concussions, beatings, strange, -inexplicable, mechanical sounds; and once, and then again, we thought -we heard something, a faint rattle and tumult, borne to us through the -air. But fearful as we were we dared essay no vantage-point to survey -the crater. For long we saw nothing of the beings whose sounds were so -abundant and insistent. But for the faintness of our hunger and the -drying of our throats that crawling would have had the quality of a -very vivid dream. It was so absolutely unreal. The only element with -any touch of reality was these sounds. - -Picture it to yourself! About us the dream-like jungle, with the silent -bayonet leaves darting overhead, and the silent, vivid, sun-splashed -lichens under our hands and knees, waving with the vigour of their -growth as a carpet waves when the wind gets beneath it. Ever and again -one of the bladder fungi, bulging and distending under the sun, loomed -upon us. Ever and again some novel shape in vivid colour obtruded. The -very cells that built up these plants were as large as my thumb, like -beads of coloured glass. And all these things were saturated in the -unmitigated glare of the sun, were seen against a sky that was bluish -black and spangled still, in spite of the sunlight, with a few -surviving stars. Strange! the very forms and texture of the stones were -strange. It was all strange, the feeling of one’s body was -unprecedented, every other movement ended in a surprise. The breath -sucked thin in one’s throat, the blood flowed through one’s ears in a -throbbing tide—thud, thud, thud, thud.... - -And ever and again came gusts of turmoil, hammering, the clanging and -throb of machinery, and presently—the bellowing of great beasts! - - - - -XI. -The Mooncalf Pastures - - -So we two poor terrestrial castaways, lost in that wild-growing moon -jungle, crawled in terror before the sounds that had come upon us. We -crawled, as it seemed, a long time before we saw either Selenite or -mooncalf, though we heard the bellowing and gruntulous noises of these -latter continually drawing nearer to us. We crawled through stony -ravines, over snow slopes, amidst fungi that ripped like thin bladders -at our thrust, emitting a watery humour, over a perfect pavement of -things like puff-balls, and beneath interminable thickets of scrub. And -ever more helplessly our eyes sought for our abandoned sphere. The -noise of the mooncalves would at times be a vast flat calf-like sound, -at times it rose to an amazed and wrathy bellowing, and again it would -become a clogged bestial sound, as though these unseen creatures had -sought to eat and bellow at the same time. - -Our first view was but an inadequate transitory glimpse, yet none the -less disturbing because it was incomplete. Cavor was crawling in front -at the time, and he first was aware of their proximity. He stopped -dead, arresting me with a single gesture. - -A crackling and smashing of the scrub appeared to be advancing directly -upon us, and then, as we squatted close and endeavoured to judge of the -nearness and direction of this noise, there came a terrific bellow -behind us, so close and vehement that the tops of the bayonet scrub -bent before it, and one felt the breath of it hot and moist. And, -turning about, we saw indistinctly through a crowd of swaying stems the -mooncalf’s shining sides, and the long line of its back loomed out -against the sky. - -Of course it is hard for me now to say how much I saw at that time, -because my impressions were corrected by subsequent observation. First -of all impressions was its enormous size; the girth of its body was -some fourscore feet, its length perhaps two hundred. Its sides rose and -fell with its laboured breathing. I perceived that its gigantic, flabby -body lay along the ground, and that its skin was of a corrugated white, -dappling into blackness along the backbone. But of its feet we saw -nothing. I think also that we saw then the profile at least of the -almost brainless head, with its fat-encumbered neck, its slobbering -omnivorous mouth, its little nostrils, and tight shut eyes. (For the -mooncalf invariably shuts its eyes in the presence of the sun.) We had -a glimpse of a vast red pit as it opened its mouth to bleat and bellow -again; we had a breath from the pit, and then the monster heeled over -like a ship, dragged forward along the ground, creasing all its -leathery skin, rolled again, and so wallowed past us, smashing a path -amidst the scrub, and was speedily hidden from our eyes by the dense -interlacings beyond. Another appeared more distantly, and then another, -and then, as though he was guiding these animated lumps of provender to -their pasture, a Selenite came momentarily into ken. My grip upon -Cavor’s foot became convulsive at the sight of him, and we remained -motionless and peering long after he had passed out of our range. - -By contrast with the mooncalves he seemed a trivial being, a mere ant, -scarcely five feet high. He was wearing garments of some leathery -substance, so that no portion of his actual body appeared, but of this, -of course, we were entirely ignorant. He presented himself, therefore, -as a compact, bristling creature, having much of the quality of a -complicated insect, with whip-like tentacles and a clanging arm -projecting from his shining cylindrical body case. The form of his head -was hidden by his enormous many-spiked helmet—we discovered afterwards -that he used the spikes for prodding refractory mooncalves—and a pair -of goggles of darkened glass, set very much at the side, gave a -bird-like quality to the metallic apparatus that covered his face. His -arms did not project beyond his body case, and he carried himself upon -short legs that, wrapped though they were in warm coverings, seemed to -our terrestrial eyes inordinately flimsy. They had very short thighs, -very long shanks, and little feet. - -In spite of his heavy-looking clothing, he was progressing with what -would be, from the terrestrial point of view, very considerable -strides, and his clanging arm was busy. The quality of his motion -during the instant of his passing suggested haste and a certain anger, -and soon after we had lost sight of him we heard the bellow of a -mooncalf change abruptly into a short, sharp squeal followed by the -scuffle of its acceleration. And gradually that bellowing receded, and -then came to an end, as if the pastures sought had been attained. - -We listened. For a space the moon world was still. But it was some time -before we resumed our crawling search for the vanished sphere. - -When next we saw mooncalves they were some little distance away from us -in a place of tumbled rocks. The less vertical surfaces of the rocks -were thick with a speckled green plant growing in dense mossy clumps, -upon which these creatures were browsing. We stopped at the edge of the -reeds amidst which we were crawling at the sight of them, peering out -at then and looking round for a second glimpse of a Selenite. They lay -against their food like stupendous slugs, huge, greasy hulls, eating -greedily and noisily, with a sort of sobbing avidity. They seemed -monsters of mere fatness, clumsy and overwhelmed to a degree that would -make a Smithfield ox seem a model of agility. Their busy, writhing, -chewing mouths, and eyes closed, together with the appetising sound of -their munching, made up an effect of animal enjoyment that was -singularly stimulating to our empty frames. - -“Hogs!” said Cavor, with unusual passion. “Disgusting hogs!” and after -one glare of angry envy crawled off through the bushes to our right. I -stayed long enough to see that the speckled plant was quite hopeless -for human nourishment, then crawled after him, nibbling a quill of it -between my teeth. - -Presently we were arrested again by the proximity of a Selenite, and -this time we were able to observe him more exactly. Now we could see -that the Selenite covering was indeed clothing, and not a sort of -crustacean integument. He was quite similar in his costume to the -former one we had glimpsed, except that ends of something like wadding -were protruding from his neck, and he stood on a promontory of rock and -moved his head this way and that, as though he was surveying the -crater. We lay quite still, fearing to attract his attention if we -moved, and after a time he turned about and disappeared. - -We came upon another drove of mooncalves bellowing up a ravine, and -then we passed over a place of sounds, sounds of beating machinery as -if some huge hall of industry came near the surface there. And while -these sounds were still about us we came to the edge of a great open -space, perhaps two hundred yards in diameter, and perfectly level. Save -for a few lichens that advanced from its margin this space was bare, -and presented a powdery surface of a dusty yellow colour. We were -afraid to strike out across this space, but as it presented less -obstruction to our crawling than the scrub, we went down upon it and -began very circumspectly to skirt its edge. - -For a little while the noises from below ceased and everything, save -for the faint stir of the growing vegetation, was very still. Then -abruptly there began an uproar, louder, more vehement, and nearer than -any we had so far heard. Of a certainty it came from below. -Instinctively we crouched as flat as we could, ready for a prompt -plunge into the thicket beside us. Each knock and throb seemed to -vibrate through our bodies. Louder grew this throbbing and beating, and -that irregular vibration increased until the whole moon world seemed to -be jerking and pulsing. - -“Cover,” whispered Cavor, and I turned towards the bushes. - -At that instant came a thud like the thud of a gun, and then a thing -happened—it still haunts me in my dreams. I had turned my head to look -at Cavor’s face, and thrust out my hand in front of me as I did so. And -my hand met nothing! I plunged suddenly into a bottomless hole! - -My chest hit something hard, and I found myself with my chin on the -edge of an unfathomable abyss that had suddenly opened beneath me, my -hand extended stiffly into the void. The whole of that flat circular -area was no more than a gigantic lid, that was now sliding sideways -from off the pit it had covered into a slot prepared for it. - -Had it not been for Cavor I think I should have remained rigid, hanging -over this margin and staring into the enormous gulf below, until at -last the edges of the slot scraped me off and hurled me into its -depths. But Cavor had not received the shock that had paralysed me. He -had been a little distance from the edge when the lid had first opened, -and perceiving the peril that held me helpless, gripped my legs and -pulled me backward. I came into a sitting position, crawled away from -the edge for a space on all fours, then staggered up and ran after him -across the thundering, quivering sheet of metal. It seemed to be -swinging open with a steadily accelerated velocity, and the bushes in -front of me shifted sideways as I ran. - -I was none too soon. Cavor’s back vanished amidst the bristling -thicket, and as I scrambled up after him, the monstrous valve came into -its position with a clang. For a long time we lay panting, not daring -to approach the pit. - -But at last very cautiously and bit by bit we crept into a position -from which we could peer down. The bushes about us creaked and waved -with the force of a breeze that was blowing down the shaft. We could -see nothing at first except smooth vertical walls descending at last -into an impenetrable black. And then very gradually we became aware of -a number of very faint and little lights going to and fro. - -For a time that stupendous gulf of mystery held us so that we forgot -even our sphere. In time, as we grew more accustomed to the darkness, -we could make out very small, dim, elusive shapes moving about among -those needle-point illuminations. We peered amazed and incredulous, -understanding so little that we could find no words to say. We could -distinguish nothing that would give us a clue to the meaning of the -faint shapes we saw. - -“What can it be?” I asked; “what can it be?” - -“The engineering!... They must live in these caverns during the night, -and come out during the day.” - -“Cavor!” I said. “Can they be—_that_—it was something like—men?” - -“_That_ was not a man.” - -“We dare risk nothing!” - -“We dare do nothing until we find the sphere!” - -“We _can_ do nothing until we find the sphere.” - -He assented with a groan and stirred himself to move. He stared about -him for a space, sighed, and indicated a direction. We struck out -through the jungle. For a time we crawled resolutely, then with -diminishing vigour. Presently among great shapes of flabby purple there -came a noise of trampling and cries about us. We lay close, and for a -long time the sounds went to and fro and very near. But this time we -saw nothing. I tried to whisper to Cavor that I could hardly go without -food much longer, but my mouth had become too dry for whispering. - -“Cavor,” I said, “I must have food.” - -He turned a face full of dismay towards me. “It’s a case for holding -out,” he said. - -“But I _must_,” I said, “and look at my lips!” - -“I’ve been thirsty some time.” - -“If only some of that snow had remained!” - -“It’s clean gone! We’re driving from arctic to tropical at the rate of -a degree a minute....” - -I gnawed my hand. - -“The sphere!” he said. “There is nothing for it but the sphere.” - -We roused ourselves to another spurt of crawling. My mind ran entirely -on edible things, on the hissing profundity of summer drinks, more -particularly I craved for beer. I was haunted by the memory of a -sixteen gallon cask that had swaggered in my Lympne cellar. I thought -of the adjacent larder, and especially of steak and kidney pie—tender -steak and plenty of kidney, and rich, thick gravy between. Ever and -again I was seized with fits of hungry yawning. We came to flat places -overgrown with fleshy red things, monstrous coralline growths; as we -pushed against them they snapped and broke. I noted the quality of the -broken surfaces. The confounded stuff certainly looked of a biteable -texture. Then it seemed to me that it smelt rather well. - -I picked up a fragment and sniffed at it. - -“Cavor,” I said in a hoarse undertone. - -He glanced at me with his face screwed up. “Don’t,” he said. I put down -the fragment, and we crawled on through this tempting fleshiness for a -space. - -“Cavor,” I asked, “why _not?_” - -“Poison,” I heard him say, but he did not look round. - -We crawled some way before I decided. - -“I’ll chance it,” said I. - -He made a belated gesture to prevent me. I stuffed my mouth full. He -crouched watching my face, his own twisted into the oddest expression. -“It’s good,” I said. - -“O Lord!” he cried. - -He watched me munch, his face wrinkled between desire and disapproval, -then suddenly succumbed to appetite and began to tear off huge -mouthfuls. For a time we did nothing but eat. - -The stuff was not unlike a terrestrial mushroom, only it was much laxer -in texture, and, as one swallowed it, it warmed the throat. At first we -experienced a mere mechanical satisfaction in eating; then our blood -began to run warmer, and we tingled at the lips and fingers, and then -new and slightly irrelevant ideas came bubbling up in our minds. - -“It’s good,” said I. “Infernally good! What a home for our surplus -population! Our poor surplus population,” and I broke off another large -portion. It filled me with a curiously benevolent satisfaction that -there was such good food in the moon. The depression of my hunger gave -way to an irrational exhilaration. The dread and discomfort in which I -had been living vanished entirely. I perceived the moon no longer as a -planet from which I most earnestly desired the means of escape, but as -a possible refuge from human destitution. I think I forgot the -Selenites, the mooncalves, the lid, and the noises completely so soon -as I had eaten that fungus. - -Cavor replied to my third repetition of my “surplus population” remark -with similar words of approval. I felt that my head swam, but I put -this down to the stimulating effect of food after a long fast. -“Ess’lent discov’ry yours, Cavor,” said I. “Se’nd on’y to the ‘tato.” - -“Whajer mean?” asked Cavor. “‘Scovery of the moon—se’nd on’y to the -tato?” - -I looked at him, shocked at his suddenly hoarse voice, and by the -badness of his articulation. It occurred to me in a flash that he was -intoxicated, possibly by the fungus. It also occurred to me that he -erred in imagining that he had discovered the moon; he had not -discovered it, he had only reached it. I tried to lay my hand on his -arm and explain this to him, but the issue was too subtle for his -brain. It was also unexpectedly difficult to express. After a momentary -attempt to understand me—I remember wondering if the fungus had made my -eyes as fishy as his—he set off upon some observations on his own -account. - -“We are,” he announced with a solemn hiccup, “the creashurs o’ what we -eat and drink.” - -He repeated this, and as I was now in one of my subtle moods, I -determined to dispute it. Possibly I wandered a little from the point. -But Cavor certainly did not attend at all properly. He stood up as well -as he could, putting a hand on my head to steady himself, which was -disrespectful, and stood staring about him, quite devoid now of any -fear of the moon beings. - -I tried to point out that this was dangerous for some reason that was -not perfectly clear to me, but the word “dangerous” had somehow got -mixed with “indiscreet,” and came out rather more like “injurious” than -either; and after an attempt to disentangle them, I resumed my -argument, addressing myself principally to the unfamiliar but attentive -coralline growths on either side. I felt that it was necessary to clear -up this confusion between the moon and a potato at once—I wandered into -a long parenthesis on the importance of precision of definition in -argument. I did my best to ignore the fact that my bodily sensations -were no longer agreeable. - -In some way that I have now forgotten, my mind was led back to projects -of colonisation. “We must annex this moon,” I said. “There must be no -shilly-shally. This is part of the White Man’s Burthen. Cavor—we -are—_hic_—Satap—mean Satraps! Nempire Cæsar never dreamt. B’in all the -newspapers. Cavorecia. Bedfordecia. Bedfordecia—hic—Limited. -Mean—unlimited! Practically.” - -Certainly I was intoxicated. - -I embarked upon an argument to show the infinite benefits our arrival -would confer on the moon. I involved myself in a rather difficult proof -that the arrival of Columbus was, on the whole, beneficial to America. -I found I had forgotten the line of argument I had intended to pursue, -and continued to repeat “sim’lar to C’lumbus,” to fill up time. - -From that point my memory of the action of that abominable fungus -becomes confused. I remember vaguely that we declared our intention of -standing no nonsense from any confounded insects, that we decided it -ill became men to hide shamefully upon a mere satellite, that we -equipped ourselves with huge armfuls of the fungus—whether for missile -purposes or not I do not know—and, heedless of the stabs of the bayonet -scrub, we started forth into the sunshine. - -Almost immediately we must have come upon the Selenites. There were six -of them, and they were marching in single file over a rocky place, -making the most remarkable piping and whining sounds. They all seemed -to become aware of us at once, all instantly became silent and -motionless, like animals, with their faces turned towards us. - -For a moment I was sobered. - -“Insects,” murmured Cavor, “insects! And they think I’m going to crawl -about on my stomach—on my vertebrated stomach! - -“Stomach,” he repeated slowly, as though he chewed the indignity. - -Then suddenly, with a sort of fury, he made three vast strides and -leapt towards them. He leapt badly; he made a series of somersaults in -the air, whirled right over them, and vanished with an enormous splash -amidst the cactus bladders. What the Selenites made of this amazing, -and to my mind undignified irruption from another planet, I have no -means of guessing. I seem to remember the sight of their backs as they -ran in all directions, but I am not sure. All these last incidents -before oblivion came are vague and faint in my mind. I know I made a -step to follow Cavor, and tripped and fell headlong among the rocks. I -was, I am certain, suddenly and vehemently ill. I seem to remember a -violent struggle and being gripped by metallic clasps.... - -My next clear recollection is that we were prisoners at we knew not -what depths beneath the moon’s surface; we were in darkness amidst -strange distracting noises; our bodies were covered with scratches and -bruises, and our heads racked with pain. - - - - -XII. -The Selenite’s Face - - -I found myself sitting crouched together in a tumultuous darkness. For -a long time I could not understand where I was, nor how I had come to -this perplexity. I thought of the cupboard into which I had been thrust -at times when I was a child, and then of a very dark and noisy bedroom -in which I had slept during an illness. But these sounds about me were -not the noises I had known, and there was a thin flavour in the air -like the wind of a stable. Then I supposed we must still be at work -upon the sphere, and that somehow I had got into the cellar of Cavor’s -house. I remembered we had finished the sphere, and fancied I must -still be in it and travelling through space. - -“Cavor,” I said, “cannot we have some light?” - -There came no answer. - -“Cavor!” I insisted. - -I was answered by a groan. “My head!” I heard him say; “my head!” - -I attempted to press my hands to my brow, which ached, and discovered -they were tied together. This startled me very much. I brought them up -to my mouth and felt the cold smoothness of metal. They were chained -together. I tried to separate my legs and made out they were similarly -fastened, and also that I was fastened to the ground by a much thicker -chain about the middle of my body. - -I was more frightened than I had yet been by anything in all our -strange experiences. For a time I tugged silently at my bonds. “Cavor!” -I cried out sharply. “Why am I tied? Why have you tied me hand and -foot?” - -“I haven’t tied you,” he answered. “It’s the Selenites.” - -The Selenites! My mind hung on that for a space. Then my memories came -back to me: the snowy desolation, the thawing of the air, the growth of -the plants, our strange hopping and crawling among the rocks and -vegetation of the crater. All the distress of our frantic search for -the sphere returned to me.... Finally the opening of the great lid that -covered the pit! - -Then as I strained to trace our later movements down to our present -plight, the pain in my head became intolerable. I came to an -insurmountable barrier, an obstinate blank. - -“Cavor!” - -“Yes?” - -“Where are we?” - -“How should I know?” - -“Are we dead?” - -“What nonsense!” - -“They’ve got us, then!” - -He made no answer but a grunt. The lingering traces of the poison -seemed to make him oddly irritable. - -“What do you mean to do?” - -“How should I know what to do?” - -“Oh, very well!” said I, and became silent. Presently, I was roused -from a stupor. “O _Lord!_” I cried; “I wish you’d stop that buzzing!” - -We lapsed into silence again, listening to the dull confusion of noises -like the muffled sounds of a street or factory that filled our ears. I -could make nothing of it, my mind pursued first one rhythm and then -another, and questioned it in vain. But after a long time I became -aware of a new and sharper element, not mingling with the rest but -standing out, as it were, against that cloudy background of sound. It -was a series of relatively very little definite sounds, tappings and -rubbings, like a loose spray of ivy against a window or a bird moving -about upon a box. We listened and peered about us, but the darkness was -a velvet pall. There followed a noise like the subtle movement of the -wards of a well-oiled lock. And then there appeared before me, hanging -as it seemed in an immensity of black, a thin bright line. - -“Look!” whispered Cavor very softly. - -“What is it?” - -“I don’t know.” - -We stared. - -The thin bright line became a band, and broader and paler. It took upon -itself the quality of a bluish light falling upon a white-washed wall. -It ceased to be parallel-sided; it developed a deep indentation on one -side. I turned to remark this to Cavor, and was amazed to see his ear -in a brilliant illumination—all the rest of him in shadow. I twisted my -head round as well as my bonds would permit. “Cavor,” I said, “it’s -behind!” - -His ear vanished—gave place to an eye! - -Suddenly the crack that had been admitting the light broadened out, and -revealed itself as the space of an opening door. Beyond was a sapphire -vista, and in the doorway stood a grotesque outline silhouetted against -the glare. - -We both made convulsive efforts to turn, and failing, sat staring over -our shoulders at this. My first impression was of some clumsy quadruped -with lowered head. Then I perceived it was the slender pinched body and -short and extremely attenuated bandy legs of a Selenite, with his head -depressed between his shoulders. He was without the helmet and body -covering they wear upon the exterior. - -He was a blank, black figure to us, but instinctively our imaginations -supplied features to his very human outline. I, at least, took it -instantly that he was somewhat hunchbacked, with a high forehead and -long features. - -He came forward three steps and paused for a time. His movements seemed -absolutely noiseless. Then he came forward again. He walked like a -bird, his feet fell one in front of the other. He stepped out of the -ray of light that came through the doorway, and it seemed as though he -vanished altogether in the shadow. - -For a moment my eyes sought him in the wrong place, and then I -perceived him standing facing us both in the full light. Only the human -features I had attributed to him were not there at all! - -Of course I ought to have expected that, only I didn’t. It came to me -as an absolute, for a moment an overwhelming shock. It seemed as though -it wasn’t a face, as though it must needs be a mask, a horror, a -deformity, that would presently be disavowed or explained. There was no -nose, and the thing had dull bulging eyes at the side—in the silhouette -I had supposed they were ears. There were no ears.... I have tried to -draw one of these heads, but I cannot. There was a mouth, downwardly -curved, like a human mouth in a face that stares ferociously.... - -The neck on which the head was poised was jointed in three places, -almost like the short joints in the leg of a crab. The joints of the -limbs I could not see, because of the puttee-like straps in which they -were swathed, and which formed the only clothing the being wore. - -There the thing was, looking at us! - -At the time my mind was taken up by the mad impossibility of the -creature. I suppose he also was amazed, and with more reason, perhaps, -for amazement than we. Only, confound him! he did not show it. We did -at least know what had brought about this meeting of incompatible -creatures. But conceive how it would seem to decent Londoners, for -example, to come upon a couple of living things, as big as men and -absolutely unlike any other earthly animals, careering about among the -sheep in Hyde Park! It must have taken him like that. - -Figure us! We were bound hand and foot, fagged and filthy; our beards -two inches long, our faces scratched and bloody. Cavor you must imagine -in his knickerbockers (torn in several places by the bayonet scrub) his -Jaegar shirt and old cricket cap, his wiry hair wildly disordered, a -tail to every quarter of the heavens. In that blue light his face did -not look red but very dark, his lips and the drying blood upon my hands -seemed black. If possible I was in a worse plight than he, on account -of the yellow fungus into which I had jumped. Our jackets were -unbuttoned, and our shoes had been taken off and lay at our feet. And -we were sitting with our backs to this queer bluish light, peering at -such a monster as Durer might have invented. - -Cavor broke the silence; started to speak, went hoarse, and cleared his -throat. Outside began a terrific bellowing, as if a mooncalf were in -trouble. It ended in a shriek, and everything was still again. - -Presently the Selenite turned about, flickered into the shadow, stood -for a moment retrospective at the door, and then closed it on us; and -once more we were in that murmurous mystery of darkness into which we -had awakened. - - - - -XIII. -Mr. Cavor Makes Some Suggestions - - -For a time neither of us spoke. To focus together all the things we had -brought upon ourselves seemed beyond my mental powers. - -“They’ve got us,” I said at last. - -“It was that fungus.” - -“Well—if I hadn’t taken it we should have fainted and starved.” - -“We might have found the sphere.” - -I lost my temper at his persistence, and swore to myself. For a time we -hated one another in silence. I drummed with my fingers on the floor -between my knees, and gritted the links of my fetters together. -Presently I was forced to talk again. - -“What do you make of it, anyhow?” I asked humbly. - -“They are reasonable creatures—they can make things and do things. -Those lights we saw...” - -He stopped. It was clear he could make nothing of it. - -When he spoke again it was to confess, “After all, they are more human -than we had a right to expect. I suppose—” - -He stopped irritatingly. - -“Yes?” - -“I suppose, anyhow—on any planet where there is an intelligent -animal—it will carry its brain case upward, and have hands, and walk -erect.” - -Presently he broke away in another direction. - -“We are some way in,” he said. “I mean—perhaps a couple of thousand -feet or more.” - -“Why?” - -“It’s cooler. And our voices are so much louder. That faded quality—it -has altogether gone. And the feeling in one’s ears and throat.” - -I had not noted that, but I did now. - -“The air is denser. We must be some depths—a mile even, we may -be—inside the moon.” - -“We never thought of a world inside the moon.” - -“No.” - -“How could we?” - -“We might have done. Only one gets into habits of mind.” - -He thought for a time. - -“_Now_,” he said, “it seems such an obvious thing.” - -“Of course! The moon must be enormously cavernous, with an atmosphere -within, and at the centre of its caverns a sea. - -“One knew that the moon had a lower specific gravity than the earth, -one knew that it had little air or water outside, one knew, too, that -it was sister planet to the earth, and that it was unaccountable that -it should be different in composition. The inference that it was -hollowed out was as clear as day. And yet one never saw it as a fact. -Kepler, of course—” - -His voice had the interest now of a man who has discerned a pretty -sequence of reasoning. - -“Yes,” he said, “Kepler with his _sub-volvani_ was right after all.” - -“I wish you had taken the trouble to find that out before we came,” I -said. - -He answered nothing, buzzing to himself softly, as he pursued his -thoughts. My temper was going. - -“What do you think has become of the sphere, anyhow?” I asked. - -“Lost,” he said, like a man who answers an uninteresting question. - -“Among those plants?” - -“Unless they find it.” - -“And then?” - -“How can I tell?” - -“Cavor,” I said, with a sort of hysterical bitterness, “things look -bright for my Company...” - -He made no answer. - -“Good Lord!” I exclaimed. “Just think of all the trouble we took to get -into this pickle! What did we come for? What are we after? What was the -moon to us or we to the moon? We wanted too much, we tried too much. We -ought to have started the little things first. It was you proposed the -moon! Those Cavorite spring blinds! I am certain we could have worked -them for terrestrial purposes. Certain! Did you really understand what -I proposed? A steel cylinder—” - -“Rubbish!” said Cavor. - -We ceased to converse. - -For a time Cavor kept up a broken monologue without much help from me. - -“If they find it,” he began, “if they find it ... what will they do -with it? Well, that’s a question. It may be that’s _the_ question. They -won’t understand it, anyhow. If they understood that sort of thing they -would have come long since to the earth. Would they? Why shouldn’t -they? But they would have sent something—they couldn’t keep their hands -off such a possibility. No! But they will examine it. Clearly they are -intelligent and inquisitive. They will examine it—get inside it—trifle -with the studs. Off! ... That would mean the moon for us for all the -rest of our lives. Strange creatures, strange knowledge....” - -“As for strange knowledge—” said I, and language failed me. - -“Look here, Bedford,” said Cavor, “you came on this expedition of your -own free will.” - -“You said to me, ‘Call it prospecting’.” - -“There’s always risks in prospecting.” - -“Especially when you do it unarmed and without thinking out every -possibility.” - -“I was so taken up with the sphere. The thing rushed on us, and carried -us away.” - -“Rushed on _me_, you mean.” - -“Rushed on me just as much. How was I to know when I set to work on -molecular physics that the business would bring me here—of all places?” - -“It’s this accursed science,” I cried. “It’s the very Devil. The -mediæval priests and persecutors were right and the Moderns are all -wrong. You tamper with it—and it offers you gifts. And directly you -take them it knocks you to pieces in some unexpected way. Old passions -and new weapons—now it upsets your religion, now it upsets your social -ideas, now it whirls you off to desolation and misery!” - -“Anyhow, it’s no use your quarrelling with me _now_. These -creatures—these Selenites, or whatever we choose to call them—have got -us tied hand and foot. Whatever temper you choose to go through with it -in, you will have to go through with it.... We have experiences before -us that will need all our coolness.” - -He paused as if he required my assent. But I sat sulking. “Confound -your science!” I said. - -“The problem is communication. Gestures, I fear, will be different. -Pointing, for example. No creatures but men and monkeys point.” - -That was too obviously wrong for me. “Pretty nearly every animal,” I -cried, “points with its eyes or nose.” - -Cavor meditated over that. “Yes,” he said at last, “and we don’t. -There’s such differences—such differences!” - -“One might.... But how can I tell? There is speech. The sounds they -make, a sort of fluting and piping. I don’t see how we are to imitate -that. Is it their speech, that sort of thing? They may have different -senses, different means of communication. Of course they are minds and -we are minds; there must be something in common. Who knows how far we -may not get to an understanding?” - -“The things are outside us,” I said. “They’re more different from us -than the strangest animals on earth. They are a different clay. What is -the good of talking like this?” - -Cavor thought. “I don’t see that. Where there are minds they will have -something _similar_—even though they have been evolved on different -planets. Of course if it was a question of instincts, if we or they are -no more than animals—” - -“Well, _are_ they? They’re much more like ants on their hind legs than -human beings, and who ever got to any sort of understanding with ants?” - -“But these machines and clothing! No, I don’t hold with you, Bedford. -The difference is wide—” - -“It’s insurmountable.” - -“The resemblance must bridge it. I remember reading once a paper by the -late Professor Galton on the possibility of communication between the -planets. Unhappily, at that time it did not seem probable that that -would be of any material benefit to me, and I fear I did not give it -the attention I should have done—in view of this state of affairs. -Yet.... Now, let me see! - -“His idea was to begin with those broad truths that must underlie all -conceivable mental existences and establish a basis on those. The great -principles of geometry, to begin with. He proposed to take some leading -proposition of Euclid’s, and show by construction that its truth was -known to us, to demonstrate, for example, that the angles at the base -of an isosceles triangle are equal, and that if the equal sides be -produced the angles on the other side of the base are equal also, or -that the square on the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle is equal -to the sum of the squares on the two other sides. By demonstrating our -knowledge of these things we should demonstrate our possession of a -reasonable intelligence.... Now, suppose I ... I might draw the -geometrical figure with a wet finger, or even trace it in the air....” - -He fell silent. I sat meditating his words. For a time his wild hope of -communication, of interpretation, with these weird beings held me. Then -that angry despair that was a part of my exhaustion and physical misery -resumed its sway. I perceived with a sudden novel vividness the -extraordinary folly of everything I had ever done. “Ass!” I said; “oh, -ass, unutterable ass.... I seem to exist only to go about doing -preposterous things. Why did we ever leave the thing? ... Hopping about -looking for patents and concessions in the craters of the moon!... If -only we had had the sense to fasten a handkerchief to a stick to show -where we had left the sphere!” - -I subsided, fuming. - -“It is clear,” meditated Cavor, “they are intelligent. One can -hypothecate certain things. As they have not killed us at once, they -must have ideas of mercy. Mercy! at any rate of restraint. Possibly of -intercourse. They may meet us. And this apartment and the glimpses we -had of its guardian. These fetters! A high degree of intelligence...” - -“I wish to heaven,” cried I, “I’d thought even twice! Plunge after -plunge. First one fluky start and then another. It was my confidence in -you! _Why_ didn’t I stick to my play? That was what I was equal to. -That was my world and the life I was made for. I could have finished -that play. I’m certain ... it was a good play. I had the scenario as -good as done. Then.... Conceive it! leaping to the moon! -Practically—I’ve thrown my life away! That old woman in the inn near -Canterbury had better sense.” - -I looked up, and stopped in mid-sentence. The darkness had given place -to that bluish light again. The door was opening, and several noiseless -Selenites were coming into the chamber. I became quite still, staring -at their grotesque faces. - -Then suddenly my sense of disagreeable strangeness changed to interest. -I perceived that the foremost and second carried bowls. One elemental -need at least our minds could understand in common. They were bowls of -some metal that, like our fetters, looked dark in that bluish light; -and each contained a number of whitish fragments. All the cloudy pain -and misery that oppressed me rushed together and took the shape of -hunger. I eyed these bowls wolfishly, and, though it returned to me in -dreams, at that time it seemed a small matter that at the end of the -arms that lowered one towards me were not hands, but a sort of flap and -thumb, like the end of an elephant’s trunk. The stuff in the bowl was -loose in texture, and whitish brown in colour—rather like lumps of some -cold souffle, and it smelt faintly like mushrooms. From a partially -divided carcass of a mooncalf that we presently saw, I am inclined to -believe it must have been mooncalf flesh. - -My hands were so tightly chained that I could barely contrive to reach -the bowl; but when they saw the effort I made, two of them dexterously -released one of the turns about my wrist. Their tentacle hands were -soft and cold to my skin. I immediately seized a mouthful of the food. -It had the same laxness in texture that all organic structures seem to -have upon the moon; it tasted rather like a gauffre or a damp meringue, -but in no way was it disagreeable. I took two other mouthfuls. “I -_wanted_—foo’!” said I, tearing off a still larger piece.... - -For a time we ate with an utter absence of self-consciousness. We ate -and presently drank like tramps in a soup kitchen. Never before nor -since have I been hungry to the ravenous pitch, and save that I have -had this very experience I could never have believed that, a quarter of -a million of miles out of our proper world, in utter perplexity of -soul, surrounded, watched, touched by beings more grotesque and inhuman -than the worst creations of a nightmare, it would be possible for me to -eat in utter forgetfulness of all these things. They stood about us -watching us, and ever and again making a slight elusive twittering that -stood, I suppose, in the stead of speech. I did not even shiver at -their touch. And when the first zeal of my feeding was over, I could -note that Cavor, too, had been eating with the same shameless abandon. - - - - -XIV. -Experiments in intercourse - - -When at last we had made an end of eating, the Selenites linked our -hands closely together again, and then untwisted the chains about our -feet and rebound them, so as to give us a limited freedom of movement. -Then they unfastened the chains about our waists. To do all this they -had to handle us freely, and ever and again one of their queer heads -came down close to my face, or a soft tentacle-hand touched my head or -neck. I don’t remember that I was afraid then or repelled by their -proximity. I think that our incurable anthropomorphism made us imagine -there were human heads inside their masks. The skin, like everything -else, looked bluish, but that was on account of the light; and it was -hard and shiny, quite in the beetle-wing fashion, not soft, or moist, -or hairy, as a vertebrated animal’s would be. Along the crest of the -head was a low ridge of whitish spines running from back to front, and -a much larger ridge curved on either side over the eyes. The Selenite -who untied me used his mouth to help his hands. - -“They seem to be releasing us,” said Cavor. “Remember we are on the -moon! Make no sudden movements!” - -“Are you going to try that geometry?” - -“If I get a chance. But, of course, they may make an advance first.” - -We remained passive, and the Selenites, having finished their -arrangements, stood back from us, and seemed to be looking at us. I say -seemed to be, because as their eyes were at the side and not in front, -one had the same difficulty in determining the direction in which they -were looking as one has in the case of a hen or a fish. They conversed -with one another in their reedy tones, that seemed to me impossible to -imitate or define. The door behind us opened wider, and, glancing over -my shoulder, I saw a vague large space beyond, in which quite a little -crowd of Selenites were standing. They seemed a curiously miscellaneous -rabble. - -“Do they want us to imitate those sounds?” I asked Cavor. - -“I don’t think so,” he said. - -“It seems to me that they are trying to make us understand something.” - -“I can’t make anything of their gestures. Do you notice this one, who -is worrying with his head like a man with an uncomfortable collar?” - -“Let us shake our heads at him.” - -We did that, and finding it ineffectual, attempted an imitation of the -Selenites’ movements. That seemed to interest them. At any rate they -all set up the same movement. But as that seemed to lead to nothing, we -desisted at last and so did they, and fell into a piping argument among -themselves. Then one of them, shorter and very much thicker than the -others, and with a particularly wide mouth, squatted down suddenly -beside Cavor, and put his hands and feet in the same posture as Cavor’s -were bound, and then by a dexterous movement stood up. - -“Cavor,” I shouted, “they want us to get up!” - -He stared open-mouthed. “That’s it!” he said. - -And with much heaving and grunting, because our hands were tied -together, we contrived to struggle to our feet. The Selenites made way -for our elephantine heavings, and seemed to twitter more volubly. As -soon as we were on our feet the thick-set Selenite came and patted each -of our faces with his tentacles, and walked towards the open doorway. -That also was plain enough, and we followed him. We saw that four of -the Selenites standing in the doorway were much taller than the others, -and clothed in the same manner as those we had seen in the crater, -namely, with spiked round helmets and cylindrical body-cases, and that -each of the four carried a goad with spike and guard made of that same -dull-looking metal as the bowls. These four closed about us, one on -either side of each of us, as we emerged from our chamber into the -cavern from which the light had come. - -We did not get our impression of that cavern all at once. Our attention -was taken up by the movements and attitudes of the Selenites -immediately about us, and by the necessity of controlling our motion, -lest we should startle and alarm them and ourselves by some excessive -stride. In front of us was the short, thick-set being who had solved -the problem of asking us to get up, moving with gestures that seemed, -almost all of them, intelligible to us, inviting us to follow him. His -spout-like face turned from one of us to the other with a quickness -that was clearly interrogative. For a time, I say, we were taken up -with these things. - -But at last the great place that formed a background to our movements -asserted itself. It became apparent that the source of much, at least, -of the tumult of sounds which had filled our ears ever since we had -recovered from the stupefaction of the fungus was a vast mass of -machinery in active movement, whose flying and whirling parts were -visible indistinctly over the heads and between the bodies of the -Selenites who walked about us. And not only did the web of sounds that -filled the air proceed from this mechanism, but also the peculiar blue -light that irradiated the whole place. We had taken it as a natural -thing that a subterranean cavern should be artificially lit, and even -now, though the fact was patent to my eyes, I did not really grasp its -import until presently the darkness came. The meaning and structure of -this huge apparatus we saw I cannot explain, because we neither of us -learnt what it was for or how it worked. One after another, big shafts -of metal flung out and up from its centre, their heads travelling in -what seemed to me to be a parabolic path; each dropped a sort of -dangling arm as it rose towards the apex of its flight and plunged down -into a vertical cylinder, forcing this down before it. About it moved -the shapes of tenders, little figures that seemed vaguely different -from the beings about us. As each of the three dangling arms of the -machine plunged down, there was a clank and then a roaring, and out of -the top of the vertical cylinder came pouring this incandescent -substance that lit the place, and ran over as milk runs over a boiling -pot, and dripped luminously into a tank of light below. It was a cold -blue light, a sort of phosphorescent glow but infinitely brighter, and -from the tanks into which it fell it ran in conduits athwart the -cavern. - -Thud, thud, thud, thud, came the sweeping arms of this unintelligible -apparatus, and the light substance hissed and poured. At first the -thing seemed only reasonably large and near to us, and then I saw how -exceedingly little the Selenites upon it seemed, and I realised the -full immensity of cavern and machine. I looked from this tremendous -affair to the faces of the Selenites with a new respect. I stopped, and -Cavor stopped, and stared at this thunderous engine. - -“But this is stupendous!” I said. “What can it be for?” - -Cavor’s blue-lit face was full of an intelligent respect. “I can’t -dream! Surely these beings— Men could not make a thing like that! Look -at those arms, are they on connecting rods?” - -The thick-set Selenite had gone some paces unheeded. He came back and -stood between us and the great machine. I avoided seeing him, because I -guessed somehow that his idea was to beckon us onward. He walked away -in the direction he wished us to go, and turned and came back, and -flicked our faces to attract our attention. - -Cavor and I looked at one another. - -“Cannot we show him we are interested in the machine?” I said. - -“Yes,” said Cavor. “We’ll try that.” He turned to our guide and smiled, -and pointed to the machine, and pointed again, and then to his head, -and then to the machine. By some defect of reasoning he seemed to -imagine that broken English might help these gestures. “Me look ‘im,” -he said, “me think ‘im very much. Yes.” - -His behaviour seemed to check the Selenites in their desire for our -progress for a moment. They faced one another, their queer heads moved, -the twittering voices came quick and liquid. Then one of them, a lean, -tall creature, with a sort of mantle added to the puttee in which the -others were dressed, twisted his elephant trunk of a hand about Cavor’s -waist, and pulled him gently to follow our guide, who again went on -ahead. Cavor resisted. “We may just as well begin explaining ourselves -now. They may think we are new animals, a new sort of mooncalf perhaps! -It is most important that we should show an intelligent interest from -the outset.” - -He began to shake his head violently. “No, no,” he said, “me not come -on one minute. Me look at ‘im.” - -“Isn’t there some geometrical point you might bring in _apropos_ of -that affair?” I suggested, as the Selenites conferred again. - -“Possibly a parabolic—” he began. - -He yelled loudly, and leaped six feet or more! - -One of the four armed moon-men had pricked him with a goad! - -I turned on the goad-bearer behind me with a swift threatening gesture, -and he started back. This and Cavor’s sudden shout and leap clearly -astonished all the Selenites. They receded hastily, facing us. For one -of those moments that seem to last for ever, we stood in angry protest, -with a scattered semicircle of these inhuman beings about us. - -“He pricked me!” said Cavor, with a catching of the voice. - -“I saw him,” I answered. - -“Confound it!” I said to the Selenites; “we’re not going to stand that! -What on earth do you take us for?” - -I glanced quickly right and left. Far away across the blue wilderness -of cavern I saw a number of other Selenites running towards us; broad -and slender they were, and one with a larger head than the others. The -cavern spread wide and low, and receded in every direction into -darkness. Its roof, I remember, seemed to bulge down as if with the -weight of the vast thickness of rocks that prisoned us. There was no -way out of it—no way out of it. Above, below, in every direction, was -the unknown, and these inhuman creatures, with goads and gestures, -confronting us, and we two unsupported men! - - - - -XV. -The Giddy Bridge - - -Just for a moment that hostile pause endured. I suppose that both we -and the Selenites did some very rapid thinking. My clearest impression -was that there was nothing to put my back against, and that we were -bound to be surrounded and killed. The overwhelming folly of our -presence there loomed over me in black, enormous reproach. Why had I -ever launched myself on this mad, inhuman expedition? - -Cavor came to my side and laid his hand on my arm. His pale and -terrified face was ghastly in the blue light. - -“We can’t do anything,” he said. “It’s a mistake. They don’t -understand. We must go. As they want us to go.” - -I looked down at him, and then at the fresh Selenites who were coming -to help their fellows. “If I had my hands free—” - -“It’s no use,” he panted. - -“No.” - -“We’ll go.” - -And he turned about and led the way in the direction that had been -indicated for us. - -I followed, trying to look as subdued as possible, and feeling at the -chains about my wrists. My blood was boiling. I noted nothing more of -that cavern, though it seemed to take a long time before we had marched -across it, or if I noted anything I forgot it as I saw it. My thoughts -were concentrated, I think, upon my chains and the Selenites, and -particularly upon the helmeted ones with the goads. At first they -marched parallel with us, and at a respectful distance, but presently -they were overtaken by three others, and then they drew nearer, until -they were within arms length again. I winced like a beaten horse as -they came near to us. The shorter, thicker Selenite marched at first on -our right flank, but presently came in front of us again. - -How well the picture of that grouping has bitten into my brain; the -back of Cavor’s downcast head just in front of me, and the dejected -droop of his shoulders, and our guide’s gaping visage, perpetually -jerking about him, and the goad-bearers on either side, watchful, yet -open-mouthed—a blue monochrome. And after all, I _do_ remember one -other thing besides the purely personal affair, which is, that a sort -of gutter came presently across the floor of the cavern, and then ran -along by the side of the path of rock we followed. And it was full of -that same bright blue luminous stuff that flowed out of the great -machine. I walked close beside it, and I can testify it radiated not a -particle of heat. It was brightly shining, and yet it was neither -warmer nor colder than anything else in the cavern. - -Clang, clang, clang, we passed right under the thumping levers of -another vast machine, and so came at last to a wide tunnel, in which we -could even hear the pad, pad, of our shoeless feet, and which, save for -the trickling thread of blue to the right of us, was quite unlit. The -shadows made gigantic travesties of our shapes and those of the -Selenites on the irregular wall and roof of the tunnel. Ever and again -crystals in the walls of the tunnel scintillated like gems, ever and -again the tunnel expanded into a stalactitic cavern, or gave off -branches that vanished into darkness. - -We seemed to be marching down that tunnel for a long time. “Trickle, -trickle,” went the flowing light very softly, and our footfalls and -their echoes made an irregular paddle, paddle. My mind settled down to -the question of my chains. If I were to slip off one turn _so_, and -then to twist it _so_ ... - -If I tried to do it very gradually, would they see I was slipping my -wrist out of the looser turn? If they did, what would they do? - -“Bedford,” said Cavor, “it goes down. It keeps on going down.” - -His remark roused me from my sullen pre-occupation. - -“If they wanted to kill us,” he said, dropping back to come level with -me, “there is no reason why they should not have done it.” - -“No,” I admitted, “that’s true.” - -“They don’t understand us,” he said, “they think we are merely strange -animals, some wild sort of mooncalf birth, perhaps. It will be only -when they have observed us better that they will begin to think we have -minds—” - -“When you trace those geometrical problems,” said I. - -“It may be that.” - -We tramped on for a space. - -“You see,” said Cavor, “these may be Selenites of a lower class.” - -“The infernal fools!” said I viciously, glancing at their exasperating -faces. - -“If we endure what they do to us—” - -“We’ve got to endure it,” said I. - -“There may be others less stupid. This is the mere outer fringe of -their world. It must go down and down, cavern, passage, tunnel, down at -last to the sea—hundreds of miles below.” - -His words made me think of the mile or so of rock and tunnel that might -be over our heads already. It was like a weight dropping on my -shoulders. “Away from the sun and air,” I said. “Even a mine half a -mile deep is stuffy.” - -“This is not, anyhow. It’s probable—Ventilation! The air would blow -from the dark side of the moon to the sunlit, and all the carbonic acid -would well out there and feed those plants. Up this tunnel, for -example, there is quite a breeze. And what a world it must be. The -earnest we have in that shaft, and those machines—” - -“And the goad,” I said. “Don’t forget the goad!” - -He walked a little in front of me for a time. - -“Even that goad—” he said. - -“Well?” - -“I was angry at the time. But—it was perhaps necessary we should get -on. They have different skins, and probably different nerves. They may -not understand our objection—just as a being from Mars might not like -our earthly habit of nudging.” - -“They’d better be careful how they nudge _me_.” - -“And about that geometry. After all, their way is a way of -understanding, too. They begin with the elements of life and not of -thought. Food. Compulsion. Pain. They strike at fundamentals.” - -“There’s no doubt about _that_,” I said. - -He went on to talk of the enormous and wonderful world into which we -were being taken. I realised slowly from his tone, that even now he was -not absolutely in despair at the prospect of going ever deeper into -this inhuman planet-burrow. His mind ran on machines and invention, to -the exclusion of a thousand dark things that beset me. It wasn’t that -he intended to make any use of these things, he simply wanted to know -them. - -“After all,” he said, “this is a tremendous occasion. It is the meeting -of two worlds! What are we going to see? Think of what is below us -here.” - -“We shan’t see much if the light isn’t better,” I remarked. - -“This is only the outer crust. Down below— On this scale— There will be -everything. Do you notice how different they seem one from another? The -story we shall take back!” - -“Some rare sort of animal,” I said, “might comfort himself in that way -while they were bringing him to the Zoo.... It doesn’t follow that we -are going to be shown all these things.” - -“When they find we have reasonable minds,” said Cavor, “they will want -to learn about the earth. Even if they have no generous emotions, they -will teach in order to learn.... And the things they must know! The -unanticipated things!” - -He went on to speculate on the possibility of their knowing things he -had never hoped to learn on earth, speculating in that way, with a raw -wound from that goad already in his skin! Much that he said I forget, -for my attention was drawn to the fact that the tunnel along which we -had been marching was opening out wider and wider. We seemed, from the -feeling of the air, to be going out into a huge space. But how big the -space might really be we could not tell, because it was unlit. Our -little stream of light ran in a dwindling thread and vanished far -ahead. Presently the rocky walls had vanished altogether on either -hand. There was nothing to be seen but the path in front of us and the -trickling hurrying rivulet of blue phosphorescence. The figures of -Cavor and the guiding Selenite marched before me, the sides of their -legs and heads that were towards the rivulet were clear and bright -blue, their darkened sides, now that the reflection of the tunnel wall -no longer lit them, merged indistinguishably in the darkness beyond. - -And soon I perceived that we were approaching a declivity of some sort, -because the little blue stream dipped suddenly out of sight. - -In another moment, as it seemed, we had reached the edge. The shining -stream gave one meander of hesitation and then rushed over. It fell to -a depth at which the sound of its descent was absolutely lost to us. -Far below was a bluish glow, a sort of blue mist—at an infinite -distance below. And the darkness the stream dropped out of became -utterly void and black, save that a thing like a plank projected from -the edge of the cliff and stretched out and faded and vanished -altogether. There was a warm air blowing up out of the gulf. - -For a moment I and Cavor stood as near the edge as we dared, peering -into a blue-tinged profundity. And then our guide was pulling at my -arm. - -Then he left me, and walked to the end of that plank and stepped upon -it, looking back. Then when he perceived we watched him, he turned -about and went on along it, walking as surely as though he was on firm -earth. For a moment his form was distinct, then he became a blue blur, -and then vanished into the obscurity. I became aware of some vague -shape looming darkly out of the black. - -There was a pause. “Surely!—” said Cavor. - -One of the other Selenites walked a few paces out upon the plank, and -turned and looked back at us unconcernedly. The others stood ready to -follow after us. Our guide’s expectant figure reappeared. He was -returning to see why we had not advanced. - -“What is that beyond there?” I asked. - -“I can’t see.” - -“We can’t cross this at any price,” said I. - -“I could not go three steps on it,” said Cavor, “even with my hands -free.” - -We looked at each other’s drawn faces in blank consternation. - -“They can’t know what it is to be giddy!” said Cavor. - -“It’s quite impossible for us to walk that plank.” - -“I don’t believe they see as we do. I’ve been watching them. I wonder -if they know this is simply blackness for us. How can we make them -understand?” - -“Anyhow, we must make them understand.” - -I think we said these things with a vague half hope the Selenites might -somehow understand. I knew quite clearly that all that was needed was -an explanation. Then as I saw their faces, I realised that an -explanation was impossible. Just here it was that our resemblances were -not going to bridge our differences. Well, I wasn’t going to walk the -plank, anyhow. I slipped my wrist very quickly out of the coil of chain -that was loose, and then began to twist my wrists in opposite -directions. I was standing nearest to the bridge, and as I did this two -of the Selenites laid hold of me, and pulled me gently towards it. - -I shook my head violently. “No go,” I said, “no use. You don’t -understand.” - -Another Selenite added his compulsion. I was forced to step forward. - -“I’ve got an idea,” said Cavor; but I knew his ideas. - -“Look here!” I exclaimed to the Selenites. “Steady on! It’s all very -well for you—” - -I sprang round upon my heel. I burst out into curses. For one of the -armed Selenites had stabbed me behind with his goad. - -I wrenched my wrists free from the little tentacles that held them. I -turned on the goad-bearer. “Confound you!” I cried. “I’ve warned you of -that. What on earth do you think I’m made of, to stick that into me? If -you touch me again—” - -By way of answer he pricked me forthwith. - -I heard Cavor’s voice in alarm and entreaty. Even then I think he -wanted to compromise with these creatures. “I say, Bedford,” he cried, -“I know a way!” But the sting of that second stab seemed to set free -some pent-up reserve of energy in my being. Instantly the link of the -wrist-chain snapped, and with it snapped all considerations that had -held us unresisting in the hands of these moon creatures. For that -second, at least, I was mad with fear and anger. I took no thought of -consequences. I hit straight out at the face of the thing with the -goad. The chain was twisted round my fist. - -There came another of these beastly surprises of which the moon world -is full. - -My mailed hand seemed to go clean through him. He smashed like—like -some softish sort of sweet with liquid in it! He broke right in! He -squelched and splashed. It was like hitting a damp toadstool. The -flimsy body went spinning a dozen yards, and fell with a flabby impact. -I was astonished. I was incredulous that any living thing could be so -flimsy. For an instant I could have believed the whole thing a dream. - -Then it had become real and imminent again. Neither Cavor nor the other -Selenites seemed to have done anything from the time when I had turned -about to the time when the dead Selenite hit the ground. Every one -stood back from us two, every one alert. That arrest seemed to last at -least a second after the Selenite was down. Every one must have been -taking the thing in. I seem to remember myself standing with my arm -half retracted, trying also to take it in. “What next?” clamoured my -brain; “what next?” Then in a moment every one was moving! - -I perceived we must get our chains loose, and that before we could do -this these Selenites had to be beaten off. I faced towards the group of -the three goad-bearers. Instantly one threw his goad at me. It swished -over my head, and I suppose went flying into the abyss behind. - -I leaped right at him with all my might as the goad flew over me. He -turned to run as I jumped, and I bore him to the ground, came down -right upon him, and slipped upon his smashed body and fell. He seemed -to wriggle under my foot. - -I came into a sitting position, and on every hand the blue backs of the -Selenites were receding into the darkness. I bent a link by main force -and untwisted the chain that had hampered me about the ankles, and -sprang to my feet, with the chain in my hand. Another goad, flung -javelin-wise, whistled by me, and I made a rush towards the darkness -out of which it had come. Then I turned back towards Cavor, who was -still standing in the light of the rivulet near the gulf convulsively -busy with his wrists, and at the same time jabbering nonsense about his -idea. - -“Come on!” I cried. - -“My hands!” he answered. - -Then, realising that I dared not run back to him, because my -ill-calculated steps might carry me over the edge, he came shuffling -towards me, with his hands held out before him. - -I gripped his chains at once to unfasten them. - -“Where are they?” he panted. - -“Run away. They’ll come back. They’re throwing things! Which way shall -we go?” - -“By the light. To that tunnel. Eh?” - -“Yes,” said I, and his hands were free. - -I dropped on my knees and fell to work on his ankle bonds. Whack came -something—I know not what—and splashed the livid streamlet into drops -about us. Far away on our right a piping and whistling began. - -I whipped the chain off his feet, and put it in his hand. “Hit with -that!” I said, and without waiting for an answer, set off in big bounds -along the path by which we had come. I had a nasty sort of feeling that -these things could jump out of the darkness on to my back. I heard the -impact of his leaps come following after me. - -We ran in vast strides. But that running, you must understand, was an -altogether different thing from any running on earth. On earth one -leaps and almost instantly hits the ground again, but on the moon, -because of its weaker pull, one shot through the air for several -seconds before one came to earth. In spite of our violent hurry this -gave an effect of long pauses, pauses in which one might have counted -seven or eight. “Step,” and one soared off! All sorts of questions ran -through my mind: “Where are the Selenites? What will they do? Shall we -ever get to that tunnel? Is Cavor far behind? Are they likely to cut -him off?” Then whack, stride, and off again for another step. - -I saw a Selenite running in front of me, his legs going exactly as a -man’s would go on earth, saw him glance over his shoulder, and heard -him shriek as he ran aside out of my way into the darkness. He was, I -think, our guide, but I am not sure. Then in another vast stride the -walls of rock had come into view on either hand, and in two more -strides I was in the tunnel, and tempering my pace to its low roof. I -went on to a bend, then stopped and turned back, and plug, plug, plug, -Cavor came into view, splashing into the stream of blue light at every -stride, and grew larger and blundered into me. We stood clutching each -other. For a moment, at least, we had shaken off our captors and were -alone. - -We were both very much out of breath. We spoke in panting, broken -sentences. - -“You’ve spoilt it all!” panted Cavor. “Nonsense,” I cried. “It was that -or death!” - -“What are we to do?” - -“Hide.” - -“How can we?” - -“It’s dark enough.” - -“But where?” - -“Up one of these side caverns.” - -“And then?” - -“Think.” - -“Right—come on.” - -We strode on, and presently came to a radiating dark cavern. Cavor was -in front. He hesitated, and chose a black mouth that seemed to promise -good hiding. He went towards it and turned. - -“It’s dark,” he said. - -“Your legs and feet will light us. You’re wet with that luminous -stuff.” - -“But—” - -A tumult of sounds, and in particular a sound like a clanging gong, -advancing up the main tunnel, became audible. It was horribly -suggestive of a tumultuous pursuit. We made a bolt for the unlit side -cavern forthwith. As we ran along it our way was lit by the irradiation -of Cavor’s legs. “It’s lucky,” I panted, “they took off our boots, or -we should fill this place with clatter.” On we rushed, taking as small -steps as we could to avoid striking the roof of the cavern. After a -time we seemed to be gaining on the uproar. It became muffled, it -dwindled, it died away. - -I stopped and looked back, and I heard the pad, pad of Cavor’s feet -receding. Then he stopped also. “Bedford,” he whispered; “there’s a -sort of light in front of us.” - -I looked, and at first could see nothing. Then I perceived his head and -shoulders dimly outlined against a fainter darkness. I saw, also, that -this mitigation of the darkness was not blue, as all the other light -within the moon had been, but a pallid grey, a very vague, faint white, -the daylight colour. Cavor noted this difference as soon, or sooner, -than I did, and I think, too, that it filled him with much the same -wild hope. - -“Bedford,” he whispered, and his voice trembled. “That light—it is -possible—” - -He did not dare to say the thing he hoped. Then came a pause. Suddenly -I knew by the sound of his feet that he was striding towards that -pallor. I followed him with a beating heart. - - - - -XVI. -Points of View - - -The light grew stronger as we advanced. In a little time it was nearly -as strong as the phosphorescence on Cavor’s legs. Our tunnel was -expanding into a cavern, and this new light was at the farther end of -it. I perceived something that set my hopes leaping and bounding. - -“Cavor,” I said, “it comes from above! I am certain it comes from -above!” - -He made no answer, but hurried on. - -Indisputably it was a grey light, a silvery light. - -In another moment we were beneath it. It filtered down through a chink -in the walls of the cavern, and as I stared up, drip, came a drop of -water upon my face. I started and stood aside—drip, fell another drop -quite audibly on the rocky floor. - -“Cavor,” I said, “if one of us lifts the other, he can reach that -crack!” - -“I’ll lift you,” he said, and incontinently hoisted me as though I was -a baby. - -I thrust an arm into the crack, and just at my finger tips found a -little ledge by which I could hold. I could see the white light was -very much brighter now. I pulled myself up by two fingers with scarcely -an effort, though on earth I weigh twelve stone, reached to a still -higher corner of rock, and so got my feet on the narrow ledge. I stood -up and searched up the rocks with my fingers; the cleft broadened out -upwardly. “It’s climbable,” I said to Cavor. “Can you jump up to my -hand if I hold it down to you?” - -I wedged myself between the sides of the cleft, rested knee and foot on -the ledge, and extended a hand. I could not see Cavor, but I could hear -the rustle of his movements as he crouched to spring. Then whack and he -was hanging to my arm—and no heavier than a kitten! I lugged him up -until he had a hand on my ledge, and could release me. - -“Confound it!” I said, “any one could be a mountaineer on the moon;” -and so set myself in earnest to the climbing. For a few minutes I -clambered steadily, and then I looked up again. The cleft opened out -steadily, and the light was brighter. Only— - -It was not daylight after all. - -In another moment I could see what it was, and at the sight I could -have beaten my head against the rocks with disappointment. For I beheld -simply an irregularly sloping open space, and all over its slanting -floor stood a forest of little club-shaped fungi, each shining -gloriously with that pinkish silvery light. For a moment I stared at -their soft radiance, then sprang forward and upward among them. I -plucked up half a dozen and flung them against the rocks, and then sat -down, laughing bitterly, as Cavor’s ruddy face came into view. - -“It’s phosphorescence again!” I said. “No need to hurry. Sit down and -make yourself at home.” And as he spluttered over our disappointment, I -began to lob more of these growths into the cleft. - -“I thought it was daylight,” he said. - -“Daylight!” cried I. “Daybreak, sunset, clouds, and windy skies! Shall -we ever see such things again?” - -As I spoke, a little picture of our world seemed to rise before me, -bright and little and clear, like the background of some old Italian -picture. “The sky that changes, and the sea that changes, and the hills -and the green trees and the towns and cities shining in the sun. Think -of a wet roof at sunset, Cavor! Think of the windows of a westward -house!” He made no answer. - -“Here we are burrowing in this beastly world that isn’t a world, with -its inky ocean hidden in some abominable blackness below, and outside -that torrid day and that death stillness of night. And all these things -that are chasing us now, beastly men of leather—insect men, that come -out of a nightmare! After all, they’re right! What business have we -here smashing them and disturbing their world! For all we know the -whole planet is up and after us already. In a minute we may hear them -whimpering, and their gongs going. What are we to do? Where are we to -go? Here we are as comfortable as snakes from Jamrach’s loose in a -Surbiton villa!” - -“It was your fault,” said Cavor. - -“My fault!” I shouted. “Good Lord!” - -“I had an idea!” - -“Curse your ideas!” - -“If we had refused to budge—” - -“Under those goads?” - -“Yes. They would have carried us!” - -“Over that bridge?” - -“Yes. They must have carried us from outside.” - -“I’d rather be carried by a fly across a ceiling.” - -“Good Heavens!” - -I resumed my destruction of the fungi. Then suddenly I saw something -that struck me even then. “Cavor,” I said, “these chains are of gold!” - -He was thinking intently, with his hands gripping his cheeks. He turned -his head slowly and stared at me, and when I had repeated my words, at -the twisted chain about his right hand. “So they are,” he said, “so -they are.” His face lost its transitory interest even as he looked. He -hesitated for a moment, then went on with his interrupted meditation. I -sat for a space puzzling over the fact that I had only just observed -this, until I considered the blue light in which we had been, and which -had taken all the colour out of the metal. And from that discovery I -also started upon a train of thought that carried me wide and far. I -forgot that I had just been asking what business we had in the moon. -Gold.... - -It was Cavor who spoke first. “It seems to me that there are two -courses open to us.” - -“Well?” - -“Either we can attempt to make our way—fight our way if necessary—out -to the exterior again, and then hunt for our sphere until we find it, -or the cold of the night comes to kill us, or else—” - -He paused. “Yes?” I said, though I knew what was coming. - -“We might attempt once more to establish some sort of understanding -with the minds of the people in the moon.” - -“So far as I’m concerned—it’s the first.” - -“I doubt.” - -“I don’t.” - -“You see,” said Cavor, “I do not think we can judge the Selenites by -what we have seen of them. Their central world, their civilised world -will be far below in the profounder caverns about their sea. This -region of the crust in which we are is an outlying district, a pastoral -region. At any rate, that is my interpretation. These Selenites we have -seen may be only the equivalent of cowboys and engine-tenders. Their -use of goads—in all probability mooncalf goads—the lack of imagination -they show in expecting us to be able to do just what they can do, their -indisputable brutality, all seem to point to something of that sort. -But if we endured—” - -“Neither of us could endure a six-inch plank across the bottomless pit -for very long.” - -“No,” said Cavor; “but then—” - -“I _won’t_,” I said. - -He discovered a new line of possibilities. “Well, suppose we got -ourselves into some corner, where we could defend ourselves against -these hinds and labourers. If, for example, we could hold out for a -week or so, it is probable that the news of our appearance would filter -down to the more intelligent and populous parts—” - -“If they exist.” - -“They must exist, or whence came those tremendous machines?” - -“That’s possible, but it’s the worst of the two chances.” - -“We might write up inscriptions on walls—” - -“How do we know their eyes would see the sort of marks we made?” - -“If we cut them—” - -“That’s possible, of course.” - -I took up a new thread of thought. “After all,” I said, “I suppose you -don’t think these Selenites so infinitely wiser than men.” - -“They must know a lot more—or at least a lot of different things.” - -“Yes, but—” I hesitated. - -“I think you’ll quite admit, Cavor, that you’re rather an exceptional -man.” - -“How?” - -“Well, you—you’re a rather lonely man—have been, that is. You haven’t -married.” - -“Never wanted to. But why—” - -“And you never grew richer than you happened to be?” - -“Never wanted that either.” - -“You’ve just rooted after knowledge?” - -“Well, a certain curiosity is natural—” - -“You think so. That’s just it. You think every other mind wants to -_know_. I remember once, when I asked you why you conducted all these -researches, you said you wanted your F.R.S., and to have the stuff -called Cavorite, and things like that. You know perfectly well you -didn’t do it for that; but at the time my question took you by -surprise, and you felt you ought to have something to look like a -motive. Really you conducted researches because you _had_ to. It’s your -twist.” - -“Perhaps it is—” - -“It isn’t one man in a million has that twist. Most men want—well, -various things, but very few want knowledge for its own sake. _I_ -don’t, I know perfectly well. Now, these Selenites seem to be a -driving, busy sort of being, but how do you know that even the most -intelligent will take an interest in us or our world? I don’t believe -they’ll even know we have a world. They never come out at night—they’d -freeze if they did. They’ve probably never seen any heavenly body at -all except the blazing sun. How are they to know there is another -world? What does it matter to them if they do? Well, even if they -_have_ had a glimpse of a few stars, or even of the earth crescent, -what of that? Why should people living _inside_ a planet trouble to -observe that sort of thing? Men wouldn’t have done it except for the -seasons and sailing; why should the moon people?... - -“Well, suppose there are a few philosophers like yourself. They are -just the very Selenites who’ll never have heard of our existence. -Suppose a Selenite had dropped on the earth when you were at Lympne, -you’d have been the last man in the world to hear he had come. You -never read a newspaper! You see the chances against you. Well, it’s for -these chances we’re sitting here doing nothing while precious time is -flying. I tell you we’ve got into a fix. We’ve come unarmed, we’ve lost -our sphere, we’ve got no food, we’ve shown ourselves to the Selenites, -and made them think we’re strange, strong, dangerous animals; and -unless these Selenites are perfect fools, they’ll set about now and -hunt us till they find us, and when they find us they’ll try to take us -if they can, and kill us if they can’t, and that’s the end of the -matter. If they take us, they’ll probably kill us, through some -misunderstanding. After we’re done for, they may discuss us perhaps, -but we shan’t get much fun out of that.” - -“Go on.” - -“On the other hand, here’s gold knocking about like cast iron at home. -If only we can get some of it back, if only we can find our sphere -again before they do, and get back, then—” - -“Yes?” - -“We might put the thing on a sounder footing. Come back in a bigger -sphere with guns.” - -“Good Lord!” cried Cavor, as though that was horrible. - -I shied another luminous fungus down the cleft. - -“Look here, Cavor,” I said, “I’ve half the voting power anyhow in this -affair, and this is a case for a practical man. I’m a practical man, -and you are not. I’m not going to trust to Selenites and geometrical -diagrams if I can help it. That’s all. Get back. Drop all this -secrecy—or most of it. And come again.” - -He reflected. “When I came to the moon,” he said, “I ought to have come -alone.” - -“The question before the meeting,” I said, “is how to get back to the -sphere.” - -For a time we nursed our knees in silence. Then he seemed to decide for -my reasons. - -“I think,” he said, “one can get data. It is clear that while the sun -is on this side of the moon the air will be blowing through this planet -sponge from the dark side hither. On this side, at any rate, the air -will be expanding and flowing out of the moon caverns into the -craters.... Very well, there’s a draught here.” - -“So there is.” - -“And that means that this is not a dead end; somewhere behind us this -cleft goes on and up. The draught is blowing up, and that is the way we -have to go. If we try to get up any sort of chimney or gully there is, -we shall not only get out of these passages where they are hunting for -us—” - -“But suppose the gully is too narrow?” - -“We’ll come down again.” - -“Ssh!” I said suddenly; “what’s that?” - -We listened. At first it was an indistinct murmur, and then one picked -out the clang of a gong. “They must think we are mooncalves,” said I, -“to be frightened at that.” - -“They’re coming along that passage,” said Cavor. - -“They must be.” - -“They’ll not think of the cleft. They’ll go past.” - -I listened again for a space. “This time,” I whispered, “they’re likely -to have some sort of weapon.” - -Then suddenly I sprang to my feet. “Good heavens, Cavor!” I cried. “But -they _will!_ They’ll see the fungi I have been pitching down. They’ll—” - -I didn’t finish my sentence. I turned about and made a leap over the -fungus tops towards the upper end of the cavity. I saw that the space -turned upward and became a draughty cleft again, ascending to -impenetrable darkness. I was about to clamber up into this, and then -with a happy inspiration turned back. - -“What are you doing?” asked Cavor. - -“Go on!” said I, and went back and got two of the shining fungi, and -putting one into the breast pocket of my flannel jacket, so that it -stuck out to light our climbing, went back with the other for Cavor. -The noise of the Selenites was now so loud that it seemed they must be -already beneath the cleft. But it might be they would have difficulty -in clambering in to it, or might hesitate to ascend it against our -possible resistance. At any rate, we had now the comforting knowledge -of the enormous muscular superiority our birth in another planet gave -us. In other minute I was clambering with gigantic vigour after Cavor’s -blue-lit heels. - - - - -XVII. -The Fight in the Cave of the Moon Butchers - - -I do not know how far we clambered before we came to the grating. It -may be we ascended only a few hundred feet, but at the time it seemed -to me we might have hauled and jammed and hopped and wedged ourselves -through a mile or more of vertical ascent. Whenever I recall that time, -there comes into my head the heavy clank of our golden chains that -followed every movement. Very soon my knuckles and knees were raw, and -I had a bruise on one cheek. After a time the first violence of our -efforts diminished, and our movements became more deliberate and less -painful. The noise of the pursuing Selenites had died away altogether. -It seemed almost as though they had not traced us up the crack after -all, in spite of the tell-tale heap of broken fungi that must have lain -beneath it. At times the cleft narrowed so much that we could scarce -squeeze up it; at others it expanded into great drusy cavities, studded -with prickly crystals or thickly beset with dull, shining fungoid -pimples. Sometimes it twisted spirally, and at other times slanted down -nearly to the horizontal direction. Ever and again there was the -intermittent drip and trickle of water by us. Once or twice it seemed -to us that small living things had rustled out of our reach, but what -they were we never saw. They may have been venomous beasts for all I -know, but they did us no harm, and we were now tuned to a pitch when a -weird creeping thing more or less mattered little. And at last, far -above, came the familiar bluish light again, and then we saw that it -filtered through a grating that barred our way. - -We whispered as we pointed this out to one another, and became more and -more cautious in our ascent. Presently we were close under the grating, -and by pressing my face against its bars I could see a limited portion -of the cavern beyond. It was clearly a large space, and lit no doubt by -some rivulet of the same blue light that we had seen flow from the -beating machinery. An intermittent trickle of water dropped ever and -again between the bars near my face. - -My first endeavour was naturally to see what might be upon the floor of -the cavern, but our grating lay in a depression whose rim hid all this -from our eyes. Our foiled attention then fell back upon the suggestion -of the various sounds we heard, and presently my eye caught a number of -faint shadows that played across the dim roof far overhead. - -Indisputably there were several Selenites, perhaps a considerable -number, in this space, for we could hear the noises of their -intercourse, and faint sounds that I identified as their footfalls. -There was also a succession of regularly repeated sounds—chid, chid, -chid—which began and ceased, suggestive of a knife or spade hacking at -some soft substance. Then came a clank as if of chains, a whistle and a -rumble as of a truck running over a hollowed place, and then again that -chid, chid, chid resumed. The shadows told of shapes that moved quickly -and rhythmically, in agreement with that regular sound, and rested when -it ceased. - -We put our heads close together, and began to discuss these things in -noiseless whispers. - -“They are occupied,” I said, “they are occupied in some way.” - -“Yes.” - -“They’re not seeking us, or thinking of us.” - -“Perhaps they have not heard of us.” - -“Those others are hunting about below. If suddenly we appeared here—” - -We looked at one another. - -“There might be a chance to parley,” said Cavor. - -“No,” I said. “Not as we are.” - -For a space we remained, each occupied by his own thoughts. - -Chid, chid, chid went the chipping, and the shadows moved to and fro. - -I looked at the grating. “It’s flimsy,” I said. “We might bend two of -the bars and crawl through.” - -We wasted a little time in vague discussion. Then I took one of the -bars in both hands, and got my feet up against the rock until they were -almost on a level with my head, and so thrust against the bar. It bent -so suddenly that I almost slipped. I clambered about and bent the -adjacent bar in the opposite direction, and then took the luminous -fungus from my pocket and dropped it down the fissure. - -“Don’t do anything hastily,” whispered Cavor, as I twisted myself up -through the opening I had enlarged. I had a glimpse of busy figures as -I came through the grating, and immediately bent down, so that the rim -of the depression in which the grating lay hid me from their eyes, and -so lay flat, signalling advice to Cavor as he also prepared to come -through. Presently we were side by side in the depression, peering over -the edge at the cavern and its occupants. - -It was a much larger cavern than we had supposed from our first glimpse -of it, and we looked up from the lowest portion of its sloping floor. -It widened out as it receded from us, and its roof came down and hid -the remoter portion altogether. And lying in a line along its length, -vanishing at last far away in that tremendous perspective, were a -number of huge shapes, huge pallid hulls, upon which the Selenites were -busy. At first they seemed big white cylinders of vague import. Then I -noted the heads upon them lying towards us, eyeless and skinless like -the heads of sheep at a butcher’s, and perceived they were the -carcasses of mooncalves being cut up, much as the crew of a whaler -might cut up a moored whale. They were cutting off the flesh in strips, -and on some of the farther trunks the white ribs were showing. It was -the sound of their hatchets that made that chid, chid, chid. Some way -away a thing like a trolley cable, drawn and loaded with chunks of lax -meat, was running up the slope of the cavern floor. This enormous long -avenue of hulls that were destined to be food gave us a sense of the -vast populousness of the moon world second only to the effect of our -first glimpse down the shaft. - -It seemed to me at first that the Selenites must be standing on -trestle-supported planks,[2] and then I saw that the planks and -supports and the hatchets were really of the same leaden hue as my -fetters had seemed before white light came to bear on them. A number of -very thick-looking crowbars lay about the floor, and had apparently -assisted to turn the dead mooncalf over on its side. They were perhaps -six feet long, with shaped handles, very tempting-looking weapons. The -whole place was lit by three transverse streams of the blue fluid. - - [2] I do not remember seeing any wooden things on the moon; doors, - tables, everything corresponding to our terrestrial joinery was made - of metal, and I believe for the most part of gold, which as a metal - would, of course, naturally recommend itself—other things being - equal—on account of the ease in working it, and its toughness and - durability. - - -We lay for a long time noting all these things in silence. “Well?” said -Cavor at last. - -I crouched over and turned to him. I had come upon a brilliant idea. -“Unless they lowered those bodies by a crane,” I said, “we must be -nearer the surface than I thought.” - -“Why?” - -“The mooncalf doesn’t hop, and it hasn’t got wings.” - -He peered over the edge of the hollow again. “I wonder now—” he began. -“After all, we have never gone far from the surface—” - -I stopped him by a grip on his arm. I had heard a noise from the cleft -below us! - -We twisted ourselves about, and lay as still as death, with every sense -alert. In a little while I did not doubt that something was quietly -ascending the cleft. Very slowly and quite noiselessly I assured myself -of a good grip on my chain, and waited for that something to appear. - -“Just look at those chaps with the hatchets again,” I said. - -“They’re all right,” said Cavor. - -I took a sort of provisional aim at the gap in the grating. I could -hear now quite distinctly the soft twittering of the ascending -Selenites, the dab of their hands against the rock, and the falling of -dust from their grips as they clambered. - -Then I could see that there was something moving dimly in the blackness -below the grating, but what it might be I could not distinguish. The -whole thing seemed to hang fire just for a moment—then smash! I had -sprung to my feet, struck savagely at something that had flashed out at -me. It was the keen point of a spear. I have thought since that its -length in the narrowness of the cleft must have prevented its being -sloped to reach me. Anyhow, it shot out from the grating like the -tongue of a snake, and missed and flew back and flashed again. But the -second time I snatched and caught it, and wrenched it away, but not -before another had darted ineffectually at me. - -I shouted with triumph as I felt the hold of the Selenite resist my -pull for a moment and give, and then I was jabbing down through the -bars, amidst squeals from the darkness, and Cavor had snapped off the -other spear, and was leaping and flourishing it beside me, and making -inefficient jabs. Clang, clang, came up through the grating, and then -an axe hurtled through the air and whacked against the rocks beyond, to -remind me of the fleshers at the carcasses up the cavern. - -I turned, and they were all coming towards us in open order waving -their axes. They were short, thick, little beggars, with long arms, -strikingly different from the ones we had seen before. If they had not -heard of us before, they must have realised the situation with -incredible swiftness. I stared at them for a moment, spear in hand. -“Guard that grating, Cavor,” I cried, howled to intimidate them, and -rushed to meet them. Two of them missed with their hatchets, and the -rest fled incontinently. Then the two also were sprinting away up the -cavern, with hands clenched and heads down. I never saw men run like -them! - -I knew the spear I had was no good for me. It was thin and flimsy, only -effectual for a thrust, and too long for a quick recover. So I only -chased the Selenites as far as the first carcass, and stopped there and -picked up one of the crowbars that were lying about. It felt -comfortingly heavy, and equal to smashing any number of Selenites. I -threw away my spear, and picked up a second crowbar for the other hand. -I felt five times better than I had with the spear. I shook the two -threateningly at the Selenites, who had come to a halt in a little -crowd far away up the cavern, and then turned about to look at Cavor. - -He was leaping from side to side of the grating, making threatening -jabs with his broken spear. That was all right. It would keep the -Selenites down—for a time at any rate. I looked up the cavern again. -What on earth were we going to do now? - -We were cornered in a sort of way already. But these butchers up the -cavern had been surprised, they were probably scared, and they had no -special weapons, only those little hatchets of theirs. And that way lay -escape. Their sturdy little forms—ever so much shorter and thicker than -the mooncalf herds—were scattered up the slope in a way that was -eloquent of indecision. I had the moral advantage of a mad bull in a -street. But for all that, there seemed a tremendous crowd of them. Very -probably there was. Those Selenites down the cleft had certainly some -infernally long spears. It might be they had other surprises for us.... -But, confound it! if we charged up the cave we should let them up -behind us, and if we didn’t those little brutes up the cave would -probably get reinforced. Heaven alone knew what tremendous engines of -warfare—guns, bombs, terrestrial torpedoes—this unknown world below our -feet, this vaster world of which we had only pricked the outer cuticle, -might not presently send up to our destruction. It became clear the -only thing to do was to charge! It became clearer as the legs of a -number of fresh Selenites appeared running down the cavern towards us. - -“Bedford!” cried Cavor, and behold! he was halfway between me and the -grating. - -“Go back!” I cried. “What are you doing—” - -“They’ve got—it’s like a gun!” - -And struggling in the grating between those defensive spears appeared -the head and shoulders of a singularly lean and angular Selenite, -bearing some complicated apparatus. - -I realised Cavor’s utter incapacity for the fight we had in hand. For a -moment I hesitated. Then I rushed past him whirling my crowbars, and -shouting to confound the aim of the Selenite. He was aiming in the -queerest way with the thing against his stomach. “_Chuzz!_” The thing -wasn’t a gun; it went off like a cross-bow more, and dropped me in the -middle of a leap. - -I didn’t fall down, I simply came down a little shorter than I should -have done if I hadn’t been hit, and from the feel of my shoulder the -thing might have tapped me and glanced off. Then my left hand hit -against the shaft, and I perceived there was a sort of spear sticking -half through my shoulder. The moment after I got home with the crowbar -in my right hand, and hit the Selenite fair and square. He collapsed—he -crushed and crumpled—his head smashed like an egg. - -I dropped a crowbar, pulled the spear out of my shoulder, and began to -jab it down the grating into the darkness. At each jab came a shriek -and twitter. Finally I hurled the spear down upon them with all my -strength, leapt up, picked up the crowbar again, and started for the -multitude up the cavern. - -“Bedford!” cried Cavor. “Bedford!” as I flew past him. - -I seem to remember his footsteps coming on behind me. - -Step, leap ... whack, step, leap.... Each leap seemed to last ages. -With each, the cave opened out and the number of Selenites visible -increased. At first they seemed all running about like ants in a -disturbed ant-hill, one or two waving hatchets and coming to meet me, -more running away, some bolting sideways into the avenue of carcasses, -then presently others came in sight carrying spears, and then others. I -saw a most extraordinary thing, all hands and feet, bolting for cover. -The cavern grew darker farther up. - -Flick! something flew over my head. Flick! As I soared in mid-stride I -saw a spear hit and quiver in one of the carcasses to my left. Then, as -I came down, one hit the ground before me, and I heard the remote -chuzz! with which their things were fired. Flick, flick! for a moment -it was a shower. They were volleying! - -I stopped dead. - -I don’t think I thought clearly then. I seem to remember a kind of -stereotyped phrase running through my mind: “Zone of fire, seek cover!” -I know I made a dash for the space between two of the carcasses, and -stood there panting and feeling very wicked. - -I looked round for Cavor, and for a moment it seemed as if he had -vanished from the world. Then he came out of the darkness between the -row of the carcasses and the rocky wall of the cavern. I saw his little -face, dark and blue, and shining with perspiration and emotion. - -He was saying something, but what it was I did not heed. I had realised -that we might work from mooncalf to mooncalf up the cave until we were -near enough to charge home. It was charge or nothing. “Come on!” I -said, and led the way. - -“Bedford!” he cried unavailingly. - -My mind was busy as we went up that narrow alley between the dead -bodies and the wall of the cavern. The rocks curved about—they could -not enfilade us. Though in that narrow space we could not leap, yet -with our earth-born strength we were still able to go very much faster -than the Selenites. I reckoned we should presently come right among -them. Once we were on them, they would be nearly as formidable as black -beetles. Only there would first of all be a volley. I thought of a -stratagem. I whipped off my flannel jacket as I ran. - -“Bedford!” panted Cavor behind me. - -I glanced back. “What?” said I. - -He was pointing upward over the carcasses. “White light!” he said. -“White light again!” - -I looked, and it was even so; a faint white ghost of light in the -remoter cavern roof. That seemed to give me double strength. - -“Keep close,” I said. A flat, long Selenite dashed out of the darkness, -and squealed and fled. I halted, and stopped Cavor with my hand. I hung -my jacket over my crowbar, ducked round the next carcass, dropped -jacket and crowbar, showed myself, and darted back. - -“Chuzz-flick,” just one arrow came. We were close on the Selenites, and -they were standing in a crowd, broad, short, and tall together, with a -little battery of their shooting implements pointing down the cave. -Three or four other arrows followed the first, then their fire ceased. - -I stuck out my head, and escaped by a hair’s-breadth. This time I drew -a dozen shots or more, and heard the Selenites shouting and twittering -as if with excitement as they shot. I picked up jacket and crowbar -again. - -“_Now!_” said I, and thrust out the jacket. - -“Chuzz-zz-zz-zz! Chuzz!” In an instant my jacket had grown a thick -beard of arrows, and they were quivering all over the carcass behind -us. Instantly I slipped the crowbar out of the jacket, dropped the -jacket—for all I know to the contrary it is lying up there in the moon -now—and rushed out upon them. - -For a minute perhaps it was massacre. I was too fierce to discriminate, -and the Selenites were probably too scared to fight. At any rate they -made no sort of fight against me. I saw scarlet, as the saying is. I -remember I seemed to be wading among those leathery, thin things as a -man wades through tall grass, mowing and hitting, first right, then -left; smash. Little drops of moisture flew about. I trod on things that -crushed and piped and went slippery. The crowd seemed to open and close -and flow like water. They seemed to have no combined plan whatever. -There were spears flew about me, I was grazed over the ear by one. I -was stabbed once in the arm and once in the cheek, but I only found -that out afterwards, when the blood had had time to run and cool and -feel wet. - -What Cavor did I do not know. For a space it seemed that this fighting -had lasted for an age, and must needs go on for ever. Then suddenly it -was all over, and there was nothing to be seen but the backs of heads -bobbing up and down as their owners ran in all directions.... I seemed -altogether unhurt. I ran forward some paces, shouting, then turned -about. I was amazed. - -I had come right through them in vast flying strides, they were all -behind me, and running hither and thither to hide. - -I felt an enormous astonishment at the evaporation of the great fight -into which I had hurled myself, and not a little exultation. It did not -seem to me that I had discovered the Selenites were unexpectedly -flimsy, but that I was unexpectedly strong. I laughed stupidly. This -fantastic moon! - -I glanced for a moment at the smashed and writhing bodies that were -scattered over the cavern floor, with a vague idea of further violence, -then hurried on after Cavor. - - - - -XVIII. -In the Sunlight - - -Presently we saw that the cavern before us opened upon a hazy void. In -another moment we had emerged upon a sort of slanting gallery, that -projected into a vast circular space, a huge cylindrical pit running -vertically up and down. Round this pit the slanting gallery ran without -any parapet or protection for a turn and a half, and then plunged high -above into the rock again. Somehow it reminded me then of one of those -spiral turns of the railway through the Saint Gothard. It was all -tremendously huge. I can scarcely hope to convey to you the Titanic -proportion of all that place, the Titanic effect of it. Our eyes -followed up the vast declivity of the pit wall, and overhead and far -above we beheld a round opening set with faint stars, and half of the -lip about it well nigh blinding with the white light of the sun. At -that we cried aloud simultaneously. - -“Come on!” I said, leading the way. - -“But there?” said Cavor, and very carefully stepped nearer the edge of -the gallery. I followed his example, and craned forward and looked -down, but I was dazzled by that gleam of light above, and I could see -only a bottomless darkness with spectral patches of crimson and purple -floating therein. Yet if I could not see, I could hear. Out of this -darkness came a sound, a sound like the angry hum one can hear if one -puts one’s ear outside a hive of bees, a sound out of that enormous -hollow, it may be, four miles beneath our feet... - -For a moment I listened, then tightened my grip on my crowbar, and led -the way up the gallery. - -“This must be the shaft we looked down upon,” said Cavor. “Under that -lid.” - -“And below there, is where we saw the lights.” - -“The lights!” said he. “Yes—the lights of the world that now we shall -never see.” - -“We’ll come back,” I said, for now we had escaped so much I was rashly -sanguine that we should recover the sphere. - -His answer I did not catch. - -“Eh?” I asked. - -“It doesn’t matter,” he answered, and we hurried on in silence. - -I suppose that slanting lateral way was four or five miles long, -allowing for its curvature, and it ascended at a slope that would have -made it almost impossibly steep on earth, but which one strode up -easily under lunar conditions. We saw only two Selenites during all -that portion of our flight, and directly they became aware of us they -ran headlong. It was clear that the knowledge of our strength and -violence had reached them. Our way to the exterior was unexpectedly -plain. The spiral gallery straightened into a steeply ascendent tunnel, -its floor bearing abundant traces of the mooncalves, and so straight -and short in proportion to its vast arch, that no part of it was -absolutely dark. Almost immediately it began to lighten, and then far -off and high up, and quite blindingly brilliant, appeared its opening -on the exterior, a slope of Alpine steepness surmounted by a crest of -bayonet shrub, tall and broken down now, and dry and dead, in spiky -silhouette against the sun. - -And it is strange that we men, to whom this very vegetation had seemed -so weird and horrible a little time ago, should now behold it with the -emotion a home-coming exile might feel at sight of his native land. We -welcomed even the rareness of the air that made us pant as we ran, and -which rendered speaking no longer the easy thing that it had been, but -an effort to make oneself heard. Larger grew the sunlit circle above -us, and larger, and all the nearer tunnel sank into a rim of -indistinguishable black. We saw the dead bayonet shrub no longer with -any touch of green in it, but brown and dry and thick, and the shadow -of its upper branches high out of sight made a densely interlaced -pattern upon the tumbled rocks. And at the immediate mouth of the -tunnel was a wide trampled space where the mooncalves had come and -gone. - -We came out upon this space at last into a light and heat that hit and -pressed upon us. We traversed the exposed area painfully, and clambered -up a slope among the scrub stems, and sat down at last panting in a -high place beneath the shadow of a mass of twisted lava. Even in the -shade the rock felt hot. - -The air was intensely hot, and we were in great physical discomfort, -but for all that we were no longer in a nightmare. We seemed to have -come to our own province again, beneath the stars. All the fear and -stress of our flight through the dim passages and fissures below had -fallen from us. That last fight had filled us with an enormous -confidence in ourselves so far as the Selenites were concerned. We -looked back almost incredulously at the black opening from which we had -just emerged. Down there it was, in a blue glow that now in our -memories seemed the next thing to absolute darkness, we had met with -things like mad mockeries of men, helmet-headed creatures, and had -walked in fear before them, and had submitted to them until we could -submit no longer. And behold, they had smashed like wax and scattered -like chaff, and fled and vanished like the creatures of a dream! - -I rubbed my eyes, doubting whether we had not slept and dreamt these -things by reason of the fungus we had eaten, and suddenly discovered -the blood upon my face, and then that my shirt was sticking painfully -to my shoulder and arm. - -“Confound it!” I said, gauging my injuries with an investigatory hand, -and suddenly that distant tunnel mouth became, as it were, a watching -eye. - -“Cavor!” I said; “what are they going to do now? And what are we going -to do?” - -He shook his head, with his eyes fixed upon the tunnel. “How can one -tell what they will do?” - -“It depends on what they think of us, and I don’t see how we can begin -to guess that. And it depends upon what they have in reserve. It’s as -you say, Cavor, we have touched the merest outside of this world. They -may have all sorts of things inside here. Even with those shooting -things they might make it bad for us.... - -“Yet after all,” I said, “even if we _don’t_ find the sphere at once, -there is a chance for us. We might hold out. Even through the night. We -might go down there again and make a fight for it.” - -I stared about me with speculative eyes. The character of the scenery -had altered altogether by reason of the enormous growth and subsequent -drying of the scrub. The crest on which we sat was high, and commanded -a wide prospect of the crater landscape, and we saw it now all sere and -dry in the late autumn of the lunar afternoon. Rising one behind the -other were long slopes and fields of trampled brown where the -mooncalves had pastured, and far away in the full blaze of the sun a -drove of them basked slumberously, scattered shapes, each with a blot -of shadow against it like sheep on the side of a down. But never a sign -of a Selenite was to be seen. Whether they had fled on our emergence -from the interior passages, or whether they were accustomed to retire -after driving out the mooncalves, I cannot guess. At the time I -believed the former was the case. - -“If we were to set fire to all this stuff,” I said, “we might find the -sphere among the ashes.” - -Cavor did not seem to hear me. He was peering under his hand at the -stars, that still, in spite of the intense sunlight, were abundantly -visible in the sky. “How long do you think we’ve have been here?” he -asked at last. - -“Been where?” - -“On the moon.” - -“Two earthly days, perhaps.” - -“More nearly ten. Do you know, the sun is past its zenith, and sinking -in the west. In four days’ time or less it will be night.” - -“But—we’ve only eaten once!” - -“I know that. And— But there are the stars!” - -“But why should time seem different because we are on a smaller -planet?” - -“I don’t know. There it is!” - -“How does one tell time?” - -“Hunger—fatigue—all those things are different. Everything is -different—everything. To me it seems that since first we came out of -the sphere has been only a question of hours—long hours—at most.” - -“Ten days,” I said; “that leaves—” I looked up at the sun for a moment, -and then saw that it was halfway from the zenith to the western edge of -things. “Four days! ... Cavor, we mustn’t sit here and dream. How do -you think we may begin?” - -I stood up. “We must get a fixed point we can recognise—we might hoist -a flag, or a handkerchief, or something—and quarter the ground, and -work round that.” - -He stood up beside me. - -“Yes,” he said, “there is nothing for it but to hunt the sphere. -Nothing. We may find it—certainly we may find it. And if not—” - -“We must keep on looking.” - -He looked this way and that, glanced up at the sky and down at the -tunnel, and astonished me by a sudden gesture of impatience. “Oh! but -we have done foolishly! To have come to this pass! Think how it might -have been, and the things we might have done!” - -“We might do something yet.” - -“Never the thing we might have done. Here below our feet is a world. -Think of what that world must be! Think of that machine we saw, and the -lid and the shaft! They were just remote outlying things, and those -creatures we have seen and fought with no more than ignorant peasants, -dwellers in the outskirts, yokels and labourers half akin to brutes. -Down below! Caverns beneath caverns, tunnels, structures, ways... It -must open out, and be greater and wider and more populous as one -descends. Assuredly. Right down at the last the central sea that washes -round the core of the moon. Think of its inky waters under the spare -lights—if, indeed, their eyes _need_ lights! Think of the cascading -tributaries pouring down their channels to feed it! Think of the tides -upon its surface, and the rush and swirl of its ebb and flow! Perhaps -they have ships that go upon it, perhaps down there are mighty cities -and swarming ways, and wisdom and order passing the wit of man. And we -may die here upon it, and never see the masters who _must_ be—ruling -over these things! We may freeze and die here, and the air will freeze -and thaw upon us, and then—! Then they will come upon us, come on our -stiff and silent bodies, and find the sphere we cannot find, and they -will understand at last too late all the thought and effort that ended -here in vain!” - -His voice for all that speech sounded like the voice of someone heard -in a telephone, weak and far away. - -“But the darkness,” I said. - -“One might get over that.” - -“How?” - -“I don’t know. How am I to know? One might carry a torch, one might -have a lamp— The others—might understand.” - -He stood for a moment with his hands held down and a rueful face, -staring out over the waste that defied him. Then with a gesture of -renunciation he turned towards me with proposals for the systematic -hunting of the sphere. - -“We can return,” I said. - -He looked about him. “First of all we shall have to get to earth.” - -“We could bring back lamps to carry and climbing irons, and a hundred -necessary things.” - -“Yes,” he said. - -“We can take back an earnest of success in this gold.” - -He looked at my golden crowbars, and said nothing for a space. He stood -with his hands clasped behind his back, staring across the crater. At -last he signed and spoke. “It was _I_ found the way here, but to find a -way isn’t always to be master of a way. If I take my secret back to -earth, what will happen? I do not see how I can keep my secret for a -year, for even a part of a year. Sooner or later it must come out, even -if other men rediscover it. And then ... Governments and powers will -struggle to get hither, they will fight against one another, and -against these moon people; it will only spread warfare and multiply the -occasions of war. In a little while, in a very little while, if I tell -my secret, this planet to its deepest galleries will be strewn with -human dead. Other things are doubtful, but that is certain. It is not -as though man had any use for the moon. What good would the moon be to -men? Even of their own planet what have they made but a battle-ground -and theatre of infinite folly? Small as his world is, and short as his -time, he has still in his little life down there far more than he can -do. No! Science has toiled too long forging weapons for fools to use. -It is time she held her hand. Let him find it out for himself again—in -a thousand years’ time.” - -“There are methods of secrecy,” I said. - -He looked up at me and smiled. “After all,” he said, “why should one -worry? There is little chance of our finding the sphere, and down below -things are brewing. It’s simply the human habit of hoping till we die -that makes us think of return. Our troubles are only beginning. We have -shown these moon folk violence, we have given them a taste of our -quality, and our chances are about as good as a tiger’s that has got -loose and killed a man in Hyde Park. The news of us must be running -down from gallery to gallery, down towards the central parts.... No -sane beings will ever let us take that sphere back to earth after so -much as they have seen of us.” - -“We aren’t improving our chances,” said I, “by sitting here.” - -We stood up side by side. - -“After all,” he said, “we must separate. We must stick up a -handkerchief on these tall spikes here and fasten it firmly, and from -this as a centre we must work over the crater. You must go westward, -moving out in semicircles to and fro towards the setting sun. You must -move first with your shadow on your right until it is at right angles -with the direction of your handkerchief, and then with your shadow on -your left. And I will do the same to the east. We will look into every -gully, examine every skerry of rocks; we will do all we can to find my -sphere. If we see the Selenites we will hide from them as well as we -can. For drink we must take snow, and if we feel the need of food, we -must kill a mooncalf if we can, and eat such flesh as it has—raw—and so -each will go his own way.” - -“And if one of us comes upon the sphere?” - -“He must come back to the white handkerchief, and stand by it and -signal to the other.” - -“And if neither?” - -Cavor glanced up at the sun. “We go on seeking until the night and cold -overtake us.” - -“Suppose the Selenites have found the sphere and hidden it?” - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“Or if presently they come hunting us?” - -He made no answer. - -“You had better take a club,” I said. - -He shook his head, and stared away from me across the waste. - -But for a moment he did not start. He looked round at me shyly, -hesitated. “_Au revoir_,” he said. - -I felt an odd stab of emotion. A sense of how we had galled each other, -and particularly how I must have galled him, came to me. “Confound it,” -thought I, “we might have done better!” I was on the point of asking -him to shake hands—for that, somehow, was how I felt just then—when he -put his feet together and leapt away from me towards the north. He -seemed to drift through the air as a dead leaf would do, fell lightly, -and leapt again. I stood for a moment watching him, then faced westward -reluctantly, pulled myself together, and with something of the feeling -of a man who leaps into icy water, selected a leaping point, and -plunged forward to explore my solitary half of the moon world. I -dropped rather clumsily among rocks, stood up and looked about me, -clambered on to a rocky slab, and leapt again.... - -When presently I looked for Cavor he was hidden from my eyes, but the -handkerchief showed out bravely on its headland, white in the blaze of -the sun. - -I determined not to lose sight of that handkerchief whatever might -betide. - - - - -XIX. -Mr. Bedford Alone - - -In a little while it seemed to me as though I had always been alone on -the moon. I hunted for a time with a certain intentness, but the heat -was still very great, and the thinness of the air felt like a hoop -about one’s chest. I came presently into a hollow basin bristling with -tall, brown, dry fronds about its edge, and I sat down under these to -rest and cool. I intended to rest for only a little while. I put down -my clubs beside me, and sat resting my chin on my hands. I saw with a -sort of colourless interest that the rocks of the basin, where here and -there the crackling dry lichens had shrunk away to show them, were all -veined and splattered with gold, that here and there bosses of rounded -and wrinkled gold projected from among the litter. What did that matter -now? A sort of languor had possession of my limbs and mind, I did not -believe for a moment that we should ever find the sphere in that vast -desiccated wilderness. I seemed to lack a motive for effort until the -Selenites should come. Then I supposed I should exert myself, obeying -that unreasonable imperative that urges a man before all things to -preserve and defend his life, albeit he may preserve it only to die -more painfully in a little while. - -Why had we come to the moon? - -The thing presented itself to me as a perplexing problem. What is this -spirit in man that urges him for ever to depart from happiness and -security, to toil, to place himself in danger, to risk even a -reasonable certainty of death? It dawned upon me up there in the moon -as a thing I ought always to have known, that man is not made simply to -go about being safe and comfortable and well fed and amused. Almost any -man, if you put the thing to him, not in words, but in the shape of -opportunities, will show that he knows as much. Against his interest, -against his happiness, he is constantly being driven to do unreasonable -things. Some force not himself impels him, and go he must. But why? -Why? Sitting there in the midst of that useless moon gold, amidst the -things of another world, I took count of all my life. Assuming I was to -die a castaway upon the moon, I failed altogether to see what purpose I -had served. I got no light on that point, but at any rate it was -clearer to me than it had ever been in my life before that I was not -serving my own purpose, that all my life I had in truth never served -the purposes of my private life. Whose purposes, what purposes, was I -serving? ... I ceased to speculate on why we had come to the moon, and -took a wider sweep. Why had I come to the earth? Why had I a private -life at all? ... I lost myself at last in bottomless speculations.... - -My thoughts became vague and cloudy, no longer leading in definite -directions. I had not felt heavy or weary—I cannot imagine one doing so -upon the moon—but I suppose I was greatly fatigued. At any rate I -slept. - -Slumbering there rested me greatly, I think, and the sun was setting -and the violence of the heat abating, through all the time I slumbered. -When at last I was roused from my slumbers by a remote clamour, I felt -active and capable again. I rubbed my eyes and stretched my arms. I -rose to my feet—I was a little stiff—and at once prepared to resume my -search. I shouldered my golden clubs, one on each shoulder, and went on -out of the ravine of the gold-veined rocks. - -The sun was certainly lower, much lower than it had been; the air was -very much cooler. I perceived I must have slept some time. It seemed to -me that a faint touch of misty blueness hung about the western cliff. I -leapt to a little boss of rock and surveyed the crater. I could see no -signs of mooncalves or Selenites, nor could I see Cavor, but I could -see my handkerchief far off, spread out on its thicket of thorns. I -looked about me, and then leapt forward to the next convenient -view-point. - -I beat my way round in a semicircle, and back again in a still remoter -crescent. It was very fatiguing and hopeless. The air was really very -much cooler, and it seemed to me that the shadow under the westward -cliff was growing broad. Ever and again I stopped and reconnoitred, but -there was no sign of Cavor, no sign of Selenites; and it seemed to me -the mooncalves must have been driven into the interior again—I could -see none of them. I became more and more desirous of seeing Cavor. The -winged outline of the sun had sunk now, until it was scarcely the -distance of its diameter from the rim of the sky. I was oppressed by -the idea that the Selenites would presently close their lids and -valves, and shut us out under the inexorable onrush of the lunar night. -It seemed to me high time that he abandoned his search, and that we -took counsel together. I felt how urgent it was that we should decide -soon upon our course. We had failed to find the sphere, we no longer -had time to seek it, and once these valves were closed with us outside, -we were lost men. The great night of space would descend upon us—that -blackness of the void which is the only absolute death. All my being -shrank from that approach. We must get into the moon again, though we -were slain in doing it. I was haunted by a vision of our freezing to -death, of our hammering with our last strength on the valve of the -great pit. - -I took no thought any more of the sphere. I thought only of finding -Cavor again. I was half inclined to go back into the moon without him, -rather than seek him until it was too late. I was already half-way back -towards our handkerchief, when suddenly— - -I saw the sphere! - -I did not find it so much as it found me. It was lying much farther to -the westward than I had gone, and the sloping rays of the sinking sun -reflected from its glass had suddenly proclaimed its presence in a -dazzling beam. For an instant I thought this was some new device of the -Selenites against us, and then I understood. - -I threw up my arms, shouted a ghostly shout, and set off in vast leaps -towards it. I missed one of my leaps and dropped into a deep ravine and -twisted my ankle, and after that I stumbled at almost every leap. I was -in a state of hysterical agitation, trembling violently, and quite -breathless long before I got to it. Three times at least I had to stop -with my hands resting on my side and in spite of the thin dryness of -the air, the perspiration was wet upon my face. - -I thought of nothing but the sphere until I reached it, I forgot even -my trouble of Cavor’s whereabouts. My last leap flung me with my hands -hard against its glass; then I lay against it panting, and trying -vainly to shout, “Cavor! here is the sphere!” When I had recovered a -little I peered through the thick glass, and the things inside seemed -tumbled. I stooped to peer closer. Then I attempted to get in. I had to -hoist it over a little to get my head through the manhole. The screw -stopper was inside, and I could see now that nothing had been touched, -nothing had suffered. It lay there as we had left it when we had -dropped out amidst the snow. For a time I was wholly occupied in making -and remaking this inventory. I found I was trembling violently. It was -good to see that familiar dark interior again! I cannot tell you how -good. Presently I crept inside and sat down among the things. I looked -through the glass at the moon world and shivered. I placed my gold -clubs upon the table, and sought out and took a little food; not so -much because I wanted it, but because it was there. Then it occurred to -me that it was time to go out and signal for Cavor. But I did not go -out and signal for Cavor forthwith. Something held me to the sphere. - -After all, everything was coming right. There would be still time for -us to get more of the magic stone that gives one mastery over men. Away -there, close handy, was gold for the picking up; and the sphere would -travel as well half full of gold as though it were empty. We could go -back now, masters of ourselves and our world, and then— - -I roused myself at last, and with an effort got myself out of the -sphere. I shivered as I emerged, for the evening air was growing very -cold. I stood in the hollow staring about me. I scrutinised the bushes -round me very carefully before I leapt to the rocky shelf hard by, and -took once more what had been my first leap in the moon. But now I made -it with no effort whatever. - -The growth and decay of the vegetation had gone on apace, and the whole -aspect of the rocks had changed, but still it was possible to make out -the slope on which the seeds had germinated, and the rocky mass from -which we had taken our first view of the crater. But the spiky shrub on -the slope stood brown and sere now, and thirty feet high, and cast long -shadows that stretched out of sight, and the little seeds that -clustered in its upper branches were brown and ripe. Its work was done, -and it was brittle and ready to fall and crumple under the freezing -air, so soon as the nightfall came. And the huge cacti, that had -swollen as we watched them, had long since burst and scattered their -spores to the four quarters of the moon. Amazing little corner in the -universe—the landing place of men! - -Some day, thought I, I will have an inscription standing there right in -the midst of the hollow. It came to me, if only this teeming world -within knew of the full import of the moment, how furious its tumult -would become! - -But as yet it could scarcely be dreaming of the significance of our -coming. For if it did, the crater would surely be an uproar of pursuit, -instead of as still as death! I looked about for some place from which -I might signal Cavor, and saw that same patch of rock to which he had -leapt from my present standpoint, still bare and barren in the sun. For -a moment I hesitated at going so far from the sphere. Then with a pang -of shame at that hesitation, I leapt.... - -From this vantage point I surveyed the crater again. Far away at the -top of the enormous shadow I cast was the little white handkerchief -fluttering on the bushes. It was very little and very far, and Cavor -was not in sight. It seemed to me that by this time he ought to be -looking for me. That was the agreement. But he was nowhere to be seen. - -I stood waiting and watching, hands shading my eyes, expecting every -moment to distinguish him. Very probably I stood there for quite a long -time. I tried to shout, and was reminded of the thinness of the air. I -made an undecided step back towards the sphere. But a lurking dread of -the Selenites made me hesitate to signal my whereabouts by hoisting one -of our sleeping-blankets on to the adjacent scrub. I searched the -crater again. - -It had an effect of emptiness that chilled me. And it was still. Any -sound from the Selenites in the world beneath had died away. It was as -still as death. Save for the faint stir of the shrub about me in the -little breeze that was rising, there was no sound nor shadow of a -sound. And the breeze blew chill. - -Confound Cavor! - -I took a deep breath. I put my hands to the sides of my mouth. “Cavor!” -I bawled, and the sound was like some manikin shouting far away. - -I looked at the handkerchief, I looked behind me at the broadening -shadow of the westward cliff, I looked under my hand at the sun. It -seemed to me that almost visibly it was creeping down the sky. - -I felt I must act instantly if I was to save Cavor. I whipped off my -vest and flung it as a mark on the sere bayonets of the shrubs behind -me, and then set off in a straight line towards the handkerchief. -Perhaps it was a couple of miles away—a matter of a few hundred leaps -and strides. I have already told how one seemed to hang through those -lunar leaps. In each suspense I sought Cavor, and marvelled why he -should be hidden. In each leap I could feel the sun setting behind me. -Each time I touched the ground I was tempted to go back. - -A last leap and I was in the depression below our handkerchief, a -stride, and I stood on our former vantage point within arms’ reach of -it. I stood up straight and scanned the world about me, between its -lengthening bars of shadow. Far away, down a long declivity, was the -opening of the tunnel up which we had fled, and my shadow reached -towards it, stretched towards it, and touched it, like a finger of the -night. - -Not a sign of Cavor, not a sound in all the stillness, only the stir -and waving of the scrub and of the shadows increased. And suddenly and -violently I shivered. “Cav—” I began, and realised once more the -uselessness of the human voice in that thin air. Silence. The silence -of death. - -Then it was my eye caught something—a little thing lying, perhaps fifty -yards away down the slope, amidst a litter of bent and broken branches. -What was it? I knew, and yet for some reason I would not know. I went -nearer to it. It was the little cricket-cap Cavor had worn. I did not -touch it, I stood looking at it. - -I saw then that the scattered branches about it had been forcibly -smashed and trampled. I hesitated, stepped forward, and picked it up. - -I stood with Cavor’s cap in my hand, staring at the trampled reeds and -thorns about me. On some of them were little smears of something dark, -something that I dared not touch. A dozen yards away, perhaps, the -rising breeze dragged something into view, something small and vividly -white. - -It was a little piece of paper crumpled tightly, as though it had been -clutched tightly. I picked it up, and on it were smears of red. My eye -caught faint pencil marks. I smoothed it out, and saw uneven and broken -writing ending at last in a crooked streak upon the paper. - -I set myself to decipher this. - -“I have been injured about the knee, I think my kneecap is hurt, and I -cannot run or crawl,” it began—pretty distinctly written. - -Then less legibly: “They have been chasing me for some time, and it is -only a question of”—the word “time” seemed to have been written here -and erased in favour of something illegible—“before they get me. They -are beating all about me.” - -Then the writing became convulsive. “I can hear them,” I guessed the -tracing meant, and then it was quite unreadable for a space. Then came -a little string of words that were quite distinct: “a different sort of -Selenite altogether, who appears to be directing the—” The writing -became a mere hasty confusion again. - -“They have larger brain cases—much larger, and slenderer bodies, and -very short legs. They make gentle noises, and move with organized -deliberation... - -“And though I am wounded and helpless here, their appearance still -gives me hope.” That was like Cavor. “They have not shot at me or -attempted... injury. I intend—” - -Then came the sudden streak of the pencil across the paper, and on the -back and edges—blood! - -And as I stood there stupid, and perplexed, with this dumbfounding -relic in my hand, something very soft and light and chill touched my -hand for a moment and ceased to be, and then a thing, a little white -speck, drifted athwart a shadow. It was a tiny snowflake, the first -snowflake, the herald of the night. - -I looked up with a start, and the sky had darkened almost to blackness, -and was thick with a gathering multitude of coldly watchful stars. I -looked eastward, and the light of that shrivelled world was touched -with sombre bronze; westward, and the sun robbed now by a thickening -white mist of half its heat and splendour, was touching the crater rim, -was sinking out of sight, and all the shrubs and jagged and tumbled -rocks stood out against it in a bristling disorder of black shapes. -Into the great lake of darkness westward, a vast wreath of mist was -sinking. A cold wind set all the crater shivering. Suddenly, for a -moment, I was in a puff of falling snow, and all the world about me -grey and dim. - -And then it was I heard, not loud and penetrating as at first, but -faint and dim like a dying voice, that tolling, that same tolling that -had welcomed the coming of the day: Boom!... Boom!... Boom!... - -It echoed about the crater, it seemed to throb with the throbbing of -the greater stars, the blood-red crescent of the sun’s disc sank as it -tolled out: Boom!... Boom!... Boom!... - -What had happened to Cavor? All through that tolling I stood there -stupidly, and at last the tolling ceased. - -And suddenly the open mouth of the tunnel down below there, shut like -an eye and vanished out of sight. - -Then indeed was I alone. - -Over me, around me, closing in on me, embracing me ever nearer, was the -Eternal; that which was before the beginning, and that which triumphs -over the end; that enormous void in which all light and life and being -is but the thin and vanishing splendour of a falling star, the cold, -the stillness, the silence—the infinite and final Night of space. - -The sense of solitude and desolation became the sense of an -overwhelming presence that stooped towards me, that almost touched me. - -“No,” I cried. “_No!_ Not yet! not yet! Wait! Wait! Oh, wait!” My voice -went up to a shriek. I flung the crumpled paper from me, scrambled back -to the crest to take my bearings, and then, with all the will that was -in me, leapt out towards the mark I had left, dim and distant now in -the very margin of the shadow. - -Leap, leap, leap, and each leap was seven ages. - -Before me the pale serpent-girdled section of the sun sank and sank, -and the advancing shadow swept to seize the sphere before I could reach -it. I was two miles away, a hundred leaps or more, and the air about me -was thinning out as it thins under an air-pump, and the cold was -gripping at my joints. But had I died, I should have died leaping. -Once, and then again my foot slipped on the gathering snow as I leapt -and shortened my leap; once I fell short into bushes that crashed and -smashed into dusty chips and nothingness, and once I stumbled as I -dropped and rolled head over heels into a gully, and rose bruised and -bleeding and confused as to my direction. - -But such incidents were as nothing to the intervals, those awful pauses -when one drifted through the air towards that pouring tide of night. My -breathing made a piping noise, and it was as though knives were -whirling in my lungs. My heart seemed to beat against the top of my -brain. “Shall I reach it? O Heaven! Shall I reach it?” - -My whole being became anguish. - -“Lie down!” screamed my pain and despair; “lie down!” - -The nearer I struggled, the more awfully remote it seemed. I was numb, -I stumbled, I bruised and cut myself and did not bleed. - -It was in sight. - -I fell on all fours, and my lungs whooped. - -I crawled. The frost gathered on my lips, icicles hung from my -moustache, I was white with the freezing atmosphere. - -I was a dozen yards from it. My eyes had become dim. “Lie down!” -screamed despair; “lie down!” - -I touched it, and halted. “Too late!” screamed despair; “lie down!” - -I fought stiffly with it. I was on the manhole lip, a stupefied, -half-dead being. The snow was all about me. I pulled myself in. There -lurked within a little warmer air. - -The snowflakes—the airflakes—danced in about me, as I tried with -chilling hands to thrust the valve in and spun it tight and hard. I -sobbed. “I will,” I chattered in my teeth. And then, with fingers that -quivered and felt brittle, I turned to the shutter studs. - -As I fumbled with the switches—for I had never controlled them before—I -could see dimly through the steaming glass the blazing red streamers of -the sinking sun, dancing and flickering through the snowstorm, and the -black forms of the scrub thickening and bending and breaking beneath -the accumulating snow. Thicker whirled the snow and thicker, black -against the light. What if even now the switches overcame me? Then -something clicked under my hands, and in an instant that last vision of -the moon world was hidden from my eyes. I was in the silence and -darkness of the inter-planetary sphere. - - - - -XX. -Mr. Bedford in Infinite Space - - -It was almost as though I had been killed. Indeed, I could imagine a -man suddenly and violently killed would feel very much as I did. One -moment, a passion of agonising existence and fear; the next, darkness -and stillness, neither light nor life nor sun, moon nor stars, the -blank infinite. Although the thing was done by my own act, although I -had already tasted this very of effect in Cavor’s company, I felt -astonished, dumbfounded, and overwhelmed. I seemed to be borne upward -into an enormous darkness. My fingers floated off the studs, I hung as -if I were annihilated, and at last very softly and gently I came -against the bale and the golden chain, and the crowbars that had -drifted to the middle of the sphere. - -I do not know how long that drifting took. In the sphere of course, -even more than on the moon, one’s earthly time sense was ineffectual. -At the touch of the bale it was as if I had awakened from a dreamless -sleep. I immediately perceived that if I wanted to keep awake and alive -I must get a light or open a window, so as to get a grip of something -with my eyes. And besides, I was cold. I kicked off from the bale, -therefore, clawed on to the thin cords within the glass, crawled along -until I got to the manhole rim, and so got my bearings for the light -and blind studs, took a shove off, and flying once round the bale, and -getting a scare from something big and flimsy that was drifting loose, -I got my hand on the cord quite close to the studs, and reached them. I -lit the little lamp first of all to see what it was I had collided -with, and discovered that old copy of _Lloyd’s News_ had slipped its -moorings, and was adrift in the void. That brought me out of the -infinite to my own proper dimensions again. It made me laugh and pant -for a time, and suggested the idea of a little oxygen from one of the -cylinders. After that I lit the heater until I felt warm, and then I -took food. Then I set to work in a very gingerly fashion on the -Cavorite blinds, to see if I could guess by any means how the sphere -was travelling. - -The first blind I opened I shut at once, and hung for a time flattened -and blinded by the sunlight that had hit me. After thinking a little I -started upon the windows at right angles to this one, and got the huge -crescent moon and the little crescent earth behind it, the second time. -I was amazed to find how far I was from the moon. I had reckoned that -not only should I have little or none of the “kick-off” that the -earth’s atmosphere had given us at our start, but that the tangential -“fly off” of the moon’s spin would be at least twenty-eight times less -than the earth’s. I had expected to discover myself hanging over our -crater, and on the edge of the night, but all that was now only a part -of the outline of the white crescent that filled the sky. And Cavor—? - -He was already infinitesimal. - -I tried to imagine what could have happened to him. But at that time I -could think of nothing but death. I seemed to see him, bent and smashed -at the foot of some interminably high cascade of blue. And all about -him the stupid insects stared... - -Under the inspiring touch of the drifting newspaper I became practical -again for a while. It was quite clear to me that what I had to do was -to get back to earth, but as far as I could see I was drifting away -from it. Whatever had happened to Cavor, even if he was still alive, -which seemed to me incredible after that blood-stained scrap, I was -powerless to help him. There he was, living or dead behind the mantle -of that rayless night, and there he must remain at least until I could -summon our fellow men to his assistance. Should I do that? Something of -the sort I had in my mind; to come back to earth if it were possible, -and then as maturer consideration might determine, either to show and -explain the sphere to a few discreet persons, and act with them, or -else to keep my secret, sell my gold, obtain weapons, provisions, and -an assistant, and return with these advantages to deal on equal terms -with the flimsy people of the moon, to rescue Cavor, if that were still -possible, and at any rate to procure a sufficient supply of gold to -place my subsequent proceedings on a firmer basis. But that was hoping -far; I had first to get back. - -I set myself to decide just exactly how the return to earth could be -contrived. As I struggled with that problem I ceased to worry about -what I should do when I got there. At last my only care was to get -back. - -I puzzled out at last that my best chance would be to drop back towards -the moon as near as I dared in order to gather velocity, then to shut -my windows, and fly behind it, and when I was past to open my earthward -windows, and so get off at a good pace homeward. But whether I should -ever reach the earth by that device, or whether I might not simply find -myself spinning about it in some hyperbolic or parabolic curve or -other, I could not tell. Later I had a happy inspiration, and by -opening certain windows to the moon, which had appeared in the sky in -front of the earth, I turned my course aside so as to head off the -earth, which it had become evident to me I must pass behind without -some such expedient. I did a very great deal of complicated thinking -over these problems—for I am no mathematician—and in the end I am -certain it was much more my good luck than my reasoning that enabled me -to hit the earth. Had I known then, as I know now, the mathematical -chances there were against me, I doubt if I should have troubled even -to touch the studs to make any attempt. And having puzzled out what I -considered to be the thing to do, I opened all my moonward windows, and -squatted down—the effort lifted me for a time some feet or so into the -air, and I hung there in the oddest way—and waited for the crescent to -get bigger and bigger until I felt I was near enough for safety. Then I -would shut the windows, fly past the moon with the velocity I had got -from it—if I did not smash upon it—and so go on towards the earth. - -And that is what I did. - -At last I felt my moonward start was sufficient. I shut out the sight -of the moon from my eyes, and in a state of mind that was, I now -recall, incredibly free from anxiety or any distressful quality, I sat -down to begin a vigil in that little speck of matter in infinite space -that would last until I should strike the earth. The heater had made -the sphere tolerably warm, the air had been refreshed by the oxygen, -and except for that faint congestion of the head that was always with -me while I was away from earth, I felt entire physical comfort. I had -extinguished the light again, lest it should fail me in the end; I was -in darkness, save for the earthshine and the glitter of the stars below -me. Everything was so absolutely silent and still that I might indeed -have been the only being in the universe, and yet, strangely enough, I -had no more feeling of loneliness or fear than if I had been lying in -bed on earth. Now, this seems all the stranger to me, since during my -last hours in that crater of the moon, the sense of my utter loneliness -had been an agony.... - -Incredible as it will seem, this interval of time that I spent in space -has no sort of proportion to any other interval of time in my life. -Sometimes it seemed as though I sat through immeasurable eternities -like some god upon a lotus leaf, and again as though there was a -momentary pause as I leapt from moon to earth. In truth, it was -altogether some weeks of earthly time. But I had done with care and -anxiety, hunger or fear, for that space. I floated, thinking with a -strange breadth and freedom of all that we had undergone, and of all my -life and motives, and the secret issues of my being. I seemed to myself -to have grown greater and greater, to have lost all sense of movement; -to be floating amidst the stars, and always the sense of earth’s -littleness and the infinite littleness of my life upon it, was implicit -in my thoughts. - -I can’t profess to explain the things that happened in my mind. No -doubt they could all be traced directly or indirectly to the curious -physical conditions under which I was living. I set them down here just -for what they are worth, and without any comment. The most prominent -quality of it was a pervading doubt of my own identity. I became, if I -may so express it, dissociate from Bedford; I looked down on Bedford as -a trivial, incidental thing with which I chanced to be connected. I saw -Bedford in many relations—as an ass or as a poor beast, where I had -hitherto been inclined to regard him with a quiet pride as a very -spirited or rather forcible person. I saw him not only as an ass, but -as the son of many generations of asses. I reviewed his school-days and -his early manhood, and his first encounter with love, very much as one -might review the proceedings of an ant in the sand. Something of that -period of lucidity I regret still hangs about me, and I doubt if I -shall ever recover the full-bodied self satisfaction of my early days. -But at the time the thing was not in the least painful, because I had -that extraordinary persuasion that, as a matter of fact, I was no more -Bedford than I was any one else, but only a mind floating in the still -serenity of space. Why should I be disturbed about this Bedford’s -shortcomings? I was not responsible for him or them. - -For a time I struggled against this really very grotesque delusion. I -tried to summon the memory of vivid moments, of tender or intense -emotions to my assistance; I felt that if I could recall one genuine -twinge of feeling the growing severance would be stopped. But I could -not do it. I saw Bedford rushing down Chancery Lane, hat on the back of -his head, coat tails flying out, _en route_ for his public examination. -I saw him dodging and bumping against, and even saluting, other similar -little creatures in that swarming gutter of people. Me? I saw Bedford -that same evening in the sitting-room of a certain lady, and his hat -was on the table beside him, and it wanted brushing badly, and he was -in tears. Me? I saw him with that lady in various attitudes and -emotions—I never felt so detached before.... I saw him hurrying off to -Lympne to write a play, and accosting Cavor, and in his shirt sleeves -working at the sphere, and walking out to Canterbury because he was -afraid to come! Me? I did not believe it. - -I still reasoned that all this was hallucination due to my solitude, -and the fact that I had lost all weight and sense of resistance. I -endeavoured to recover that sense by banging myself about the sphere, -by pinching my hands and clasping them together. Among other things, I -lit the light, captured that torn copy of _Lloyd’s_, and read those -convincingly realistic advertisements about the Cutaway bicycle, and -the gentleman of private means, and the lady in distress who was -selling those “forks and spoons.” There was no doubt they existed -surely enough, and, said I, “This is your world, and you are Bedford, -and you are going back to live among things like that for all the rest -of your life.” But the doubts within me could still argue: “It is not -you that is reading, it is Bedford, but you are not Bedford, you know. -That’s just where the mistake comes in.” - -“Confound it!” I cried; “and if I am not Bedford, what am I?” - -But in that direction no light was forthcoming, though the strangest -fancies came drifting into my brain, queer remote suspicions, like -shadows seen from away. Do you know, I had a sort of idea that really I -was something quite outside not only the world, but all worlds, and out -of space and time, and that this poor Bedford was just a peephole -through which I looked at life? ... - -Bedford! However I disavowed him, there I was most certainly bound up -with him, and I knew that wherever or whatever I might be, I must needs -feel the stress of his desires, and sympathise with all his joys and -sorrows until his life should end. And with the dying of Bedford—what -then? ... - -Enough of this remarkable phase of my experiences! I tell it here -simply to show how one’s isolation and departure from this planet -touched not only the functions and feeling of every organ of the body, -but indeed also the very fabric of the mind, with strange and -unanticipated disturbances. All through the major portion of that vast -space journey I hung thinking of such immaterial things as these, hung -dissociated and apathetic, a cloudy megalomaniac, as it were, amidst -the stars and planets in the void of space; and not only the world to -which I was returning, but the blue-lit caverns of the Selenites, their -helmet faces, their gigantic and wonderful machines, and the fate of -Cavor, dragged helpless into that world, seemed infinitely minute and -altogether trivial things to me. - -Until at last I began to feel the pull of the earth upon my being, -drawing me back again to the life that is real for men. And then, -indeed, it grew clearer and clearer to me that I was quite certainly -Bedford after all, and returning after amazing adventures to this world -of ours, and with a life that I was very likely to lose in this return. -I set myself to puzzle out the conditions under which I must fall to -earth. - - - - -XXI. -Mr. Bedford at Littlestone - - -My line of flight was about parallel with the surface as I came into -the upper air. The temperature of the sphere began to rise forthwith. I -knew it behoved me to drop at once. Far below me, in a darkling -twilight, stretched a great expanse of sea. I opened every window I -could, and fell—out of sunshine into evening, and out of evening into -night. Vaster grew the earth and vaster, swallowing up the stars, and -the silvery translucent starlit veil of cloud it wore spread out to -catch me. At last the world seemed no longer a sphere but flat, and -then concave. It was no longer a planet in the sky, but the world of -Man. I shut all but an inch or so of earthward window, and dropped with -a slackening velocity. The broadening water, now so near that I could -see the dark glitter of the waves, rushed up to meet me. The sphere -became very hot. I snapped the last strip of window, and sat scowling -and biting my knuckles, waiting for the impact.... - -The sphere hit the water with a huge splash: it must have sent it -fathoms high. At the splash I flung the Cavorite shutters open. Down I -went, but slower and slower, and then I felt the sphere pressing -against my feet, and so drove up again as a bubble drives. And at the -last I was floating and rocking upon the surface of the sea, and my -journey in space was at an end. - -The night was dark and overcast. Two yellow pinpoints far away showed -the passing of a ship, and nearer was a red glare that came and went. -Had not the electricity of my glow-lamp exhausted itself, I could have -got picked up that night. In spite of the inordinate fatigue I was -beginning to feel, I was excited now, and for a time hopeful, in a -feverish, impatient way, that so my travelling might end. - -But at last I ceased to move about, and sat, wrists on knees, staring -at a distant red light. It swayed up and down, rocking, rocking. My -excitement passed. I realised I had yet to spend another night at least -in the sphere. I perceived myself infinitely heavy and fatigued. And so -I fell asleep. - -A change in my rhythmic motion awakened me. I peered through the -refracting glass, and saw that I had come aground upon a huge shallow -of sand. Far away I seemed to see houses and trees, and seaward a -curved, vague distortion of a ship hung between sea and sky. - -I stood up and staggered. My one desire was to emerge. The manhole was -upward, and I wrestled with the screw. Slowly I opened the manhole. At -last the air was singing in again as once it had sung out. But this -time I did not wait until the pressure was adjusted. In another moment -I had the weight of the window on my hands, and I was open, wide open, -to the old familiar sky of earth. - -The air hit me on the chest so that I gasped. I dropped the glass -screw. I cried out, put my hands to my chest, and sat down. For a time -I was in pain. Then I took deep breaths. At last I could rise and move -about again. - -I tried to thrust my head through the manhole, and the sphere rolled -over. It was as though something had lugged my head down directly it -emerged. I ducked back sharply, or I should have been pinned face under -water. After some wriggling and shoving I managed to crawl out upon -sand, over which the retreating waves still came and went. - -I did not attempt to stand up. It seemed to me that my body must be -suddenly changed to lead. Mother Earth had her grip on me now—no -Cavorite intervening. I sat down heedless of the water that came over -my feet. - -It was dawn, a grey dawn, rather overcast but showing here and there a -long patch of greenish grey. Some way out a ship was lying at anchor, a -pale silhouette of a ship with one yellow light. The water came -rippling in in long shallow waves. Away to the right curved the land, a -shingle bank with little hovels, and at last a lighthouse, a sailing -mark and a point. Inland stretched a space of level sand, broken here -and there by pools of water, and ending a mile away perhaps in a low -shore of scrub. To the north-east some isolated watering-place was -visible, a row of gaunt lodging-houses, the tallest things that I could -see on earth, dull dabs against the brightening sky. What strange men -can have reared these vertical piles in such an amplitude of space I do -not know. There they are, like pieces of Brighton lost in the waste. - -For a long time I sat there, yawning and rubbing my face. At last I -struggled to rise. It made me feel that I was lifting a weight. I stood -up. - -I stared at the distant houses. For the first time since our starvation -in the crater I thought of earthly food. “Bacon,” I whispered, “eggs. -Good toast and good coffee.... And how the devil am I going to get all -this stuff to Lympne?” I wondered where I was. It was an east shore -anyhow, and I had seen Europe before I dropped. - -I heard footsteps crunching in the sand, and a little round-faced, -friendly-looking man in flannels, with a bathing towel wrapped about -his shoulders, and his bathing dress over his arm, appeared up the -beach. I knew instantly that I must be in England. He was staring most -intently at the sphere and me. He advanced staring. I dare say I looked -a ferocious savage enough—dirty, unkempt, to an indescribable degree; -but it did not occur to me at the time. He stopped at a distance of -twenty yards. “Hul-lo, my man!” he said doubtfully. - -“Hullo yourself!” said I. - -He advanced, reassured by that. “What on earth is that thing?” he -asked. - -“Can you tell me where I am?” I asked. - -“That’s Littlestone,” he said, pointing to the houses; “and that’s -Dungeness! Have you just landed? What’s that thing you’ve got? Some -sort of machine?” - -“Yes.” - -“Have you floated ashore? Have you been wrecked or something? What is -it?” - -I meditated swiftly. I made an estimate of the little man’s appearance -as he drew nearer. “By Jove!” he said, “you’ve had a time of it! I -thought you— Well— Where were you cast away? Is that thing a sort of -floating thing for saving life?” - -I decided to take that line for the present. I made a few vague -affirmatives. “I want help,” I said hoarsely. “I want to get some stuff -up the beach—stuff I can’t very well leave about.” I became aware of -three other pleasant-looking young men with towels, blazers, and straw -hats, coming down the sands towards me. Evidently the early bathing -section of this Littlestone. - -“Help!” said the young man: “rather!” He became vaguely active. “What -particularly do you want done?” He turned round and gesticulated. The -three young men accelerated their pace. In a minute they were about me, -plying me with questions I was indisposed to answer. “I’ll tell all -that later,” I said. “I’m dead beat. I’m a rag.” - -“Come up to the hotel,” said the foremost little man. “We’ll look after -that thing there.” - -I hesitated. “I can’t,” I said. “In that sphere there’s two big bars of -gold.” - -They looked incredulously at one another, then at me with a new -inquiry. I went to the sphere, stooped, crept in, and presently they -had the Selenites’ crowbars and the broken chain before them. If I had -not been so horribly fagged I could have laughed at them. It was like -kittens round a beetle. They didn’t know what to do with the stuff. The -fat little man stooped and lifted the end of one of the bars, and then -dropped it with a grunt. Then they all did. - -“It’s lead, or gold!” said one. - -“Oh, it’s _gold!_” said another. - -“Gold, right enough,” said the third. - -Then they all stared at me, and then they all stared at the ship lying -at anchor. - -“I say!” cried the little man. “But where did you get that?” - -I was too tired to keep up a lie. “I got it in the moon.” - -I saw them stare at one another. - -“Look here!” said I, “I’m not going to argue now. Help me carry these -lumps of gold up to the hotel—I guess, with rests, two of you can -manage one, and I’ll trail this chain thing—and I’ll tell you more when -I’ve had some food.” - -“And how about that thing?” - -“It won’t hurt there,” I said. “Anyhow—confound it!—it must stop there -now. If the tide comes up, it will float all right.” - -And in a state of enormous wonderment, these young men most obediently -hoisted my treasures on their shoulders, and with limbs that felt like -lead I headed a sort of procession towards that distant fragment of -“sea-front.” Half-way there we were reinforced by two awe-stricken -little girls with spades, and later a lean little boy, with a -penetrating sniff, appeared. He was, I remember, wheeling a bicycle, -and he accompanied us at a distance of about a hundred yards on our -right flank, and then I suppose, gave us up as uninteresting, mounted -his bicycle and rode off over the level sands in the direction of the -sphere. - -I glanced back after him. - -“_He_ won’t touch it,” said the stout young man reassuringly, and I was -only too willing to be reassured. - -At first something of the grey of the morning was in my mind, but -presently the sun disengaged itself from the level clouds of the -horizon and lit the world, and turned the leaden sea to glittering -waters. My spirits rose. A sense of the vast importance of the things I -had done and had yet to do came with the sunlight into my mind. I -laughed aloud as the foremost man staggered under my gold. When indeed -I took my place in the world, how amazed the world would be! - -If it had not been for my inordinate fatigue, the landlord of the -Littlestone hotel would have been amusing, as he hesitated between my -gold and my respectable company on the one and my filthy appearance on -the other. But at last I found myself in a terrestrial bathroom once -more with warm water to wash myself with, and a change of raiment, -preposterously small indeed, but anyhow clean, that the genial little -man had lent me. He lent me a razor too, but I could not screw up my -resolution to attack even the outposts of the bristling beard that -covered my face. - -I sat down to an English breakfast and ate with a sort of languid -appetite—an appetite many weeks old and very decrepit—and stirred -myself to answer the questions of the four young men. And I told them -the truth. - -“Well,” said I, “as you press me—I got it in the moon.” - -“The moon?” - -“Yes, the moon in the sky.” - -“But how do you mean?” - -“What I say, confound it!” - -“Then you have just come from the moon?” - -“Exactly! through space—in that ball.” And I took a delicious mouthful -of egg. I made a private note that when I went back to the moon I would -take a box of eggs. - -I could see clearly that they did not believe one word of what I told -them, but evidently they considered me the most respectable liar they -had ever met. They glanced at one another, and then concentrated the -fire of their eyes on me. I fancy they expected a clue to me in the way -I helped myself to salt. They seemed to find something significant in -my peppering my egg. These strangely shaped masses of gold they had -staggered under held their minds. There the lumps lay in front of me, -each worth thousands of pounds, and as impossible for any one to steal -as a house or a piece of land. As I looked at their curious faces over -my coffee-cup, I realised something of the enormous wilderness of -explanations into which I should have to wander to render myself -comprehensible again. - -“You don’t _really_ mean—” began the youngest young man, in the tone of -one who speaks to an obstinate child. - -“Just pass me that toast-rack,” I said, and shut him up completely. - -“But look here, I say,” began one of the others. “We’re not going to -believe that, you know.” - -“Ah, well,” said I, and shrugged my shoulders. - -“He doesn’t want to tell us,” said the youngest young man in a stage -aside; and then, with an appearance of great _sang-froid_, “You don’t -mind if I take a cigarette?” - -I waved him a cordial assent, and proceeded with my breakfast. Two of -the others went and looked out of the farther window and talked -inaudibly. I was struck by a thought. “The tide,” I said, “is running -out?” - -There was a pause, a doubt who should answer me. - -“It’s near the ebb,” said the fat little man. - -“Well, anyhow,” I said, “it won’t float far.” - -I decapitated my third egg, and began a little speech. “Look here,” I -said. “Please don’t imagine I’m surly or telling you uncivil lies, or -anything of that sort. I’m forced almost, to be a little short and -mysterious. I can quite understand this is as queer as it can be, and -that your imaginations must be going it. I can assure you, you’re in at -a memorable time. But I can’t make it clear to you now—it’s impossible. -I give you my word of honour I’ve come from the moon, and that’s all I -can tell you.... All the same, I’m tremendously obliged to you, you -know, tremendously. I hope that my manner hasn’t in any way given you -offence.” - -“Oh, not in the least!” said the youngest young man affably. “We can -quite understand,” and staring hard at me all the time, he heeled his -chair back until it very nearly upset, and recovered with some -exertion. “Not a bit of it,” said the fat young man. - -“Don’t you imagine _that!_” and they all got up and dispersed, and -walked about and lit cigarettes, and generally tried to show they were -perfectly amiable and disengaged, and entirely free from the slightest -curiosity about me and the sphere. “I’m going to keep an eye on that -ship out there all the same,” I heard one of them remarking in an -undertone. If only they could have forced themselves to it, they would, -I believe, even have gone out and left me. I went on with my third egg. - -“The weather,” the fat little man remarked presently, “has been -immense, has it not? I don’t know _when_ we have had such a summer.” - -Phoo-whizz! Like a tremendous rocket! - -And somewhere a window was broken.... - -“What’s that?” said I. - -“It isn’t—?” cried the little man, and rushed to the corner window. - -All the others rushed to the window likewise. I sat staring at them. - -Suddenly I leapt up, knocked over my third egg, rushed for the window -also. I had just thought of something. “Nothing to be seen there,” -cried the little man, rushing for the door. - -“It’s that boy!” I cried, bawling in hoarse fury; “it’s that accursed -boy!” and turning about I pushed the waiter aside—he was just bringing -me some more toast—and rushed violently out of the room and down and -out upon the queer little esplanade in front of the hotel. - -The sea, which had been smooth, was rough now with hurrying cat’s-paws, -and all about where the sphere had been was tumbled water like the wake -of a ship. Above, a little puff of cloud whirled like dispersing smoke, -and the three or four people on the beach were staring up with -interrogative faces towards the point of that unexpected report. And -that was all! Boots and waiter and the four young men in blazers came -rushing out behind me. Shouts came from windows and doors, and all -sorts of worrying people came into sight—agape. - -For a time I stood there, too overwhelmed by this new development to -think of the people. - -At first I was too stunned to see the thing as any definite disaster—I -was just stunned, as a man is by some accidental violent blow. It is -only afterwards he begins to appreciate his specific injury. - -“Good Lord!” - -I felt as though somebody was pouring funk out of a can down the back -of my neck. My legs became feeble. I had got the first intimation of -what the disaster meant for me. There was that confounded boy—sky high! -I was utterly left. There was the gold in the coffee-room—my only -possession on earth. How would it all work out? The general effect was -of a gigantic unmanageable confusion. - -“I say,” said the voice of the little man behind. “I _say_, you know.” - -I wheeled about, and there were twenty or thirty people, a sort of -irregular investment of people, all bombarding me with dumb -interrogation, with infinite doubt and suspicion. I felt the compulsion -of their eyes intolerably. I groaned aloud. - -“I _can’t_,” I shouted. “I tell you I can’t! I’m not equal to it! You -must puzzle and—and be damned to you!” - -I gesticulated convulsively. He receded a step as though I had -threatened him. I made a bolt through them into the hotel. I charged -back into the coffee-room, rang the bell furiously. I gripped the -waiter as he entered. “D’ye hear?” I shouted. “Get help and carry these -bars up to my room right away.” - -He failed to understand me, and I shouted and raved at him. A -scared-looking little old man in a green apron appeared, and further -two of the young men in flannels. I made a dash at them and -commandeered their services. As soon as the gold was in my room I felt -free to quarrel. “Now get out,” I shouted; “all of you get out if you -don’t want to see a man go mad before your eyes!” And I helped the -waiter by the shoulder as he hesitated in the doorway. And then, as -soon as I had the door locked on them all, I tore off the little man’s -clothes again, shied them right and left, and got into bed forthwith. -And there I lay swearing and panting and cooling for a very long time. - -At last I was calm enough to get out of bed and ring up the round-eyed -waiter for a flannel nightshirt, a soda and whisky, and some good -cigars. And these things being procured me, after an exasperating delay -that drove me several times to the bell, I locked the door again and -proceeded very deliberately to look the entire situation in the face. - -The net result of the great experiment presented itself as an absolute -failure. It was a rout, and I was the sole survivor. It was an absolute -collapse, and this was the final disaster. There was nothing for it but -to save myself, and as much as I could in the way of prospects from our -_débâcle_. At one fatal crowning blow all my vague resolutions of -return and recovery had vanished. My intention of going back to the -moon, of getting a sphereful of gold, and afterwards of having a -fragment of Cavorite analysed and so recovering the great -secret—perhaps, finally, even of recovering Cavor’s body—all these -ideas vanished altogether. - -I was the sole survivor, and that was all. - -I think that going to bed was one of the luckiest ideas I have ever had -in an emergency. I really believe I should either have got loose-headed -or done some indiscreet thing. But there, locked in and secure from all -interruptions, I could think out the position in all its bearings and -make my arrangements at leisure. - -Of course, it was quite clear to me what had happened to the boy. He -had crawled into the sphere, meddled with the studs, shut the Cavorite -windows, and gone up. It was highly improbable he had screwed the -manhole stopper, and, even if he had, the chances were a thousand to -one against his getting back. It was fairly evident that he would -gravitate with my bales to somewhere near the middle of the sphere and -remain there, and so cease to be a legitimate terrestrial interest, -however remarkable he might seem to the inhabitants of some remote -quarter of space. I very speedily convinced myself on that point. And -as for any responsibility I might have in the matter, the more I -reflected upon that, the clearer it became that if only I kept quiet -about things, I need not trouble myself about that. If I was faced by -sorrowing parents demanding their lost boy, I had merely to demand my -lost sphere—or ask them what they meant. At first I had had a vision of -weeping parents and guardians, and all sorts of complications; but now -I saw that I simply had to keep my mouth shut, and nothing in that way -could arise. And, indeed, the more I lay and smoked and thought, the -more evident became the wisdom of impenetrability. - -It is within the right of every British citizen, provided he does not -commit damage nor indecorum, to appear suddenly wherever he pleases, -and as ragged and filthy as he pleases, and with whatever amount of -virgin gold he sees fit to encumber himself, and no one has any right -at all to hinder and detain him in this procedure. I formulated that at -last to myself, and repeated it over as a sort of private Magna Charta -of my liberty. - -Once I had put that issue on one side, I could take up and consider in -an equable manner certain considerations I had scarcely dared to think -of before, namely, those arising out of the circumstances of my -bankruptcy. But now, looking at this matter calmly and at leisure, I -could see that if only I suppressed my identity by a temporary -assumption of some less well-known name, and if I retained the two -months’ beard that had grown upon me, the risks of any annoyance from -the spiteful creditor to whom I have already alluded became very small -indeed. From that to a definite course of rational worldly action was -plain sailing. It was all amazingly petty, no doubt, but what was there -remaining for me to do? - -Whatever I did I was resolved that I would keep myself level and right -side up. - -I ordered up writing materials, and addressed a letter to the New -Romney Bank—the nearest, the waiter informed me—telling the manager I -wished to open an account with him, and requesting him to send two -trustworthy persons properly authenticated in a cab with a good horse -to fetch some hundredweight of gold with which I happened to be -encumbered. I signed the letter “Blake,” which seemed to me to be a -thoroughly respectable sort of name. This done, I got a Folkstone Blue -Book, picked out an outfitter, and asked him to send a cutter to -measure me for a dark tweed suit, ordering at the same time a valise, -dressing bag, brown boots, shirts, hat (to fit), and so forth; and from -a watchmaker I also ordered a watch. And these letters being -despatched, I had up as good a lunch as the hotel could give, and then -lay smoking a cigar, as calm and ordinary as possible, until in -accordance with my instructions two duly authenticated clerks came from -the bank and weighed and took away my gold. After which I pulled the -clothes over my ears in order to drown any knocking, and went very -comfortably to sleep. - -I went to sleep. No doubt it was a prosaic thing for the first man back -from the moon to do, and I can imagine that the young and imaginative -reader will find my behaviour disappointing. But I was horribly -fatigued and bothered, and, confound it! what else was there to do? -There certainly was not the remotest chance of my being believed, if I -had told my story then, and it would certainly have subjected me to -intolerable annoyances. I went to sleep. When at last I woke up again I -was ready to face the world as I have always been accustomed to face it -since I came to years of discretion. And so I got away to Italy, and -there it is I am writing this story. If the world will not have it as -fact, then the world may take it as fiction. It is no concern of mine. - -And now that the account is finished, I am amazed to think how -completely this adventure is gone and done with. Everybody believes -that Cavor was a not very brilliant scientific experimenter who blew up -his house and himself at Lympne, and they explain the bang that -followed my arrival at Littlestone by a reference to the experiments -with explosives that are going on continually at the government -establishment of Lydd, two miles away. I must confess that hitherto I -have not acknowledged my share in the disappearance of Master Tommy -Simmons, which was that little boy’s name. That, perhaps, may prove a -difficult item of corroboration to explain away. They account for my -appearance in rags with two bars of indisputable gold upon the -Littlestone beach in various ingenious ways—it doesn’t worry me what -they think of me. They say I have strung all these things together to -avoid being questioned too closely as to the source of my wealth. I -would like to see the man who could invent a story that would hold -together like this one. Well, they must take it as fiction—there it is. - -I have told my story—and now, I suppose, I have to take up the worries -of this terrestrial life again. Even if one has been to the moon, one -has still to earn a living. So I am working here at Amalfi, on the -scenario of that play I sketched before Cavor came walking into my -world, and I am trying to piece my life together as it was before ever -I saw him. I must confess that I find it hard to keep my mind on the -play when the moonshine comes into my room. It is full moon here, and -last night I was out on the pergola for hours, staring away at the -shining blankness that hides so much. Imagine it! tables and chairs, -and trestles and bars of gold! Confound it!—if only one could hit on -that Cavorite again! But a thing like that doesn’t come twice in a -life. Here I am, a little better off than I was at Lympne, and that is -all. And Cavor has committed suicide in a more elaborate way than any -human being ever did before. So the story closes as finally and -completely as a dream. It fits in so little with all the other things -of life, so much of it is so utterly remote from all human experience, -the leaping, the eating, the breathing, and these weightless times, -that indeed there are moments when, in spite of my moon gold, I do more -than half believe myself that the whole thing was a dream.... - - - - -XXII. -The Astonishing Communication of Mr. Julius Wendigee - - -When I had finished my account of my return to the earth at -Littlestone, I wrote, “The End,” made a flourish, and threw my pen -aside, fully believing that the whole story of the First Men in the -Moon was done. Not only had I done this, but I had placed my manuscript -in the hands of a literary agent, had permitted it to be sold, had seen -the greater portion of it appear in the _Strand Magazine_, and was -setting to work again upon the scenario of the play I had commenced at -Lympne before I realised that the end was not yet. And then, following -me from Amalfi to Algiers, there reached me (it is now about six months -ago) one of the most astounding communications I have ever been fated -to receive. Briefly, it informed me that Mr. Julius Wendigee, a Dutch -electrician, who has been experimenting with certain apparatus akin to -the apparatus used by Mr. Tesla in America, in the hope of discovering -some method of communication with Mars, was receiving day by day a -curiously fragmentary message in English, which was indisputably -emanating from Mr. Cavor in the moon. - -At first I thought the thing was an elaborate practical joke by some -one who had seen the manuscript of my narrative. I answered Mr. -Wendigee jestingly, but he replied in a manner that put such suspicion -altogether aside, and in a state of inconceivable excitement I hurried -from Algiers to the little observatory upon the Monte Rosa in which he -was working. In the presence of his record and his appliances—and above -all of the messages from Cavor that were coming to hand—my lingering -doubts vanished. I decided at once to accept a proposal he made to me -to remain with him, assisting him to take down the record from day to -day, and endeavouring with him to send a message back to the moon. -Cavor, we learnt, was not only alive, but free, in the midst of an -almost inconceivable community of these ant-like beings, these ant-men, -in the blue darkness of the lunar caves. He was lamed, it seemed, but -otherwise in quite good health—in better health, he distinctly said, -than he usually enjoyed on earth. He had had a fever, but it had left -no bad effects. But curiously enough he seemed to be labouring under a -conviction that I was either dead in the moon crater or lost in the -deep of space. - -His message began to be received by Mr. Wendigee when that gentleman -was engaged in quite a different investigation. The reader will no -doubt recall the little excitement that began the century, arising out -of an announcement by Mr. Nikola Tesla, the American electrical -celebrity, that he had received a message from Mars. His announcement -renewed attention to a fact that had long been familiar to scientific -people, namely: that from some unknown source in space, waves of -electromagnetic disturbance, entirely similar to those used by Signor -Marconi for his wireless telegraphy, are constantly reaching the earth. -Besides Tesla quite a number of other observers have been engaged in -perfecting apparatus for receiving and recording these vibrations, -though few would go so far as to consider them actual messages from -some extraterrestrial sender. Among that few, however, we must -certainly count Mr. Wendigee. Ever since 1898 he had devoted himself -almost entirely to this subject, and being a man of ample means he had -erected an observatory on the flanks of Monte Rosa, in a position -singularly adapted in every way for such observations. - -My scientific attainments, I must admit, are not great, but so far as -they enable me to judge, Mr. Wendigee’s contrivances for detecting and -recording any disturbances in the electromagnetic conditions of space -are singularly original and ingenious. And by a happy combination of -circumstances they were set up and in operation about two months before -Cavor made his first attempt to call up the earth. Consequently we have -fragments of his communication even from the beginning. Unhappily, they -are only fragments, and the most momentous of all the things that he -had to tell humanity—the instructions, that is, for the making of -Cavorite, if, indeed, he ever transmitted them—have throbbed themselves -away unrecorded into space. We never succeeded in getting a response -back to Cavor. He was unable to tell, therefore, what we had received -or what we had missed; nor, indeed, did he certainly know that any one -on earth was really aware of his efforts to reach us. And the -persistence he displayed in sending eighteen long descriptions of lunar -affairs—as they would be if we had them complete—shows how much his -mind must have turned back towards his native planet since he left it -two years ago. - -You can imagine how amazed Mr. Wendigee must have been when he -discovered his record of electromagnetic disturbances interlaced by -Cavor’s straightforward English. Mr. Wendigee knew nothing of our wild -journey moonward, and suddenly—this English out of the void! - -It is well the reader should understand the conditions under which it -would seem these messages were sent. Somewhere within the moon Cavor -certainly had access for a time to a considerable amount of electrical -apparatus, and it would seem he rigged up—perhaps furtively—a -transmitting arrangement of the Marconi type. This he was able to -operate at irregular intervals: sometimes for only half an hour or so, -sometimes for three or four hours at a stretch. At these times he -transmitted his earthward message, regardless of the fact that the -relative position of the moon and points upon the earth’s surface is -constantly altering. As a consequence of this and of the necessary -imperfections of our recording instruments his communication comes and -goes in our records in an extremely fitful manner; it becomes blurred; -it “fades out” in a mysterious and altogether exasperating way. And -added to this is the fact that he was not an expert operator; he had -partly forgotten, or never completely mastered, the code in general -use, and as he became fatigued he dropped words and misspelt in a -curious manner. - -Altogether we have probably lost quite half of the communications he -made, and much we have is damaged, broken, and partly effaced. In the -abstract that follows the reader must be prepared therefore for a -considerable amount of break, hiatus, and change of topic. Mr. Wendigee -and I are collaborating in a complete and annotated edition of the -Cavor record, which we hope to publish, together with a detailed -account of the instruments employed, beginning with the first volume in -January next. That will be the full and scientific report, of which -this is only the popular transcript. But here we give at least -sufficient to complete the story I have told, and to give the broad -outlines of the state of that other world so near, so akin, and yet so -dissimilar to our own. - - - - -XXIII. -An Abstract of the Six Messages First Received from Mr. Cavor - - -The two earlier messages of Mr. Cavor may very well be reserved for -that larger volume. They simply tell, with greater brevity and with a -difference in several details that is interesting, but not of any vital -importance, the bare facts of the making of the sphere and our -departure from the world. Throughout, Cavor speaks of me as a man who -is dead, but with a curious change of temper as he approaches our -landing on the moon. “Poor Bedford,” he says of me, and “this poor -young man,” and he blames himself for inducing a young man, “by no -means well equipped for such adventures,” to leave a planet “on which -he was indisputably fitted to succeed” on so precarious a mission. I -think he underrates the part my energy and practical capacity played in -bringing about the realisation of his theoretical sphere. “We arrived,” -he says, with no more account of our passage through space than if we -had made a journey of common occurrence in a railway train. - -And then he becomes increasingly unfair to me. Unfair, indeed, to an -extent I should not have expected in a man trained in the search for -truth. Looking back over my previously written account of these things, -I must insist that I have been altogether juster to Cavor than he has -been to me. I have extenuated little and suppressed nothing. But his -account is:— - -“It speedily became apparent that the entire strangeness of our -circumstances and surroundings—great loss of weight, attenuated but -highly oxygenated air, consequent exaggeration of the results of -muscular effort, rapid development of weird plants from obscure spores, -lurid sky—was exciting my companion unduly. On the moon his character -seemed to deteriorate. He became impulsive, rash, and quarrelsome. In a -little while his folly in devouring some gigantic vesicles and his -consequent intoxication led to our capture by the Selenites—before we -had had the slightest opportunity of properly observing their ways....” - -(He says, you observe, nothing of his own concession to these same -“vesicles.”) - -And he goes on from that point to say that “We came to a difficult -passage with them, and Bedford mistaking certain gestures of -theirs”—pretty gestures they were!—“gave way to a panic violence. He -ran amuck, killed three, and perforce I had to flee with him after the -outrage. Subsequently we fought with a number who endeavoured to bar -our way, and slew seven or eight more. It says much for the tolerance -of these beings that on my recapture I was not instantly slain. We made -our way to the exterior and separated in the crater of our arrival, to -increase our chances of recovering our sphere. But presently I came -upon a body of Selenites, led by two who were curiously different, even -in form, from any of these we had seen hitherto, with larger heads and -smaller bodies, and much more elaborately wrapped about. And after -evading them for some time I fell into a crevasse, cut my head rather -badly, and displaced my patella, and, finding crawling very painful, -decided to surrender—if they would still permit me to do so. This they -did, and, perceiving my helpless condition, carried me with them again -into the moon. And of Bedford I have heard or seen nothing more, nor, -so far as I can gather, has any Selenite. Either the night overtook him -in the crater, or else, which is more probable, he found the sphere, -and, desiring to steal a march upon me, made off with it—only, I fear, -to find it uncontrollable, and to meet a more lingering fate in outer -space.” - -And with that Cavor dismisses me and goes on to more interesting -topics. I dislike the idea of seeming to use my position as his editor -to deflect his story in my own interest, but I am obliged to protest -here against the turn he gives these occurrences. He said nothing about -that gasping message on the blood-stained paper in which he told, or -attempted to tell, a very different story. The dignified self-surrender -is an altogether new view of the affair that has come to him, I must -insist, since he began to feel secure among the lunar people; and as -for the “stealing a march” conception, I am quite willing to let the -reader decide between us on what he has before him. I know I am not a -model man—I have made no pretence to be. But am I _that?_ - -However, that is the sum of my wrongs. From this point I can edit Cavor -with an untroubled mind, for he mentions me no more. - -It would seem the Selenites who had come upon him carried him to some -point in the interior down “a great shaft” by means of what he -describes as “a sort of balloon.” We gather from the rather confused -passage in which he describes this, and from a number of chance -allusions and hints in other and subsequent messages, that this “great -shaft” is one of an enormous system of artificial shafts that run, each -from what is called a lunar “crater,” downwards for very nearly a -hundred miles towards the central portion of our satellite. These -shafts communicate by transverse tunnels, they throw out abysmal -caverns and expand into great globular places; the whole of the moon’s -substance for a hundred miles inward, indeed, is a mere sponge of rock. -“Partly,” says Cavor, “this sponginess is natural, but very largely it -is due to the enormous industry of the Selenites in the past. The -enormous circular mounds of the excavated rock and earth it is that -form these great circles about the tunnels known to earthly astronomers -(misled by a false analogy) as volcanoes.” - -It was down this shaft they took him, in this “sort of balloon” he -speaks of, at first into an inky blackness and then into a region of -continually increasing phosphorescence. Cavor’s despatches show him to -be curiously regardless of detail for a scientific man, but we gather -that this light was due to the streams and cascades of water—“no doubt -containing some phosphorescent organism”—that flowed ever more -abundantly downward towards the Central Sea. And as he descended, he -says, “The Selenites also became luminous.” And at last far below him -he saw, as it were, a lake of heatless fire, the waters of the Central -Sea, glowing and eddying in strange perturbation, “like luminous blue -milk that is just on the boil.” - -“This Lunar Sea,” says Cavor, in a later passage, “is not a stagnant -ocean; a solar tide sends it in a perpetual flow around the lunar axis, -and strange storms and boilings and rushings of its waters occur, and -at times cold winds and thunderings that ascend out of it into the busy -ways of the great ant-hill above. It is only when the water is in -motion that it gives out light; in its rare seasons of calm it is -black. Commonly, when one sees it, its waters rise and fall in an oily -swell, and flakes and big rafts of shining, bubbly foam drift with the -sluggish, faintly glowing current. The Selenites navigate its cavernous -straits and lagoons in little shallow boats of a canoe-like shape; and -even before my journey to the galleries about the Grand Lunar, who is -Master of the Moon, I was permitted to make a brief excursion on its -waters. - -“The caverns and passages are naturally very tortuous. A large -proportion of these ways are known only to expert pilots among the -fishermen, and not infrequently Selenites are lost for ever in their -labyrinths. In their remoter recesses, I am told, strange creatures -lurk, some of them terrible and dangerous creatures that all the -science of the moon has been unable to exterminate. There is -particularly the Rapha, an inextricable mass of clutching tentacles -that one hacks to pieces only to multiply; and the Tzee, a darting -creature that is never seen, so subtly and suddenly does it slay...” - -He gives us a gleam of description. - -“I was reminded on this excursion of what I have read of the Mammoth -Caves; if only I had had a yellow flambeau instead of the pervading -blue light, and a solid-looking boatman with an oar instead of a -scuttle-faced Selenite working an engine at the back of the canoe, I -could have imagined I had suddenly got back to earth. The rocks about -us were very various, sometimes black, sometimes pale blue and veined, -and once they flashed and glittered as though we had come into a mine -of sapphires. And below one saw the ghostly phosphorescent fishes flash -and vanish in the hardly less phosphorescent deep. Then, presently, a -long ultra-marine vista down the turgid stream of one of the channels -of traffic, and a landing stage, and then, perhaps, a glimpse up the -enormous crowded shaft of one of the vertical ways. - -“In one great place heavy with glistening stalactites a number of boats -were fishing. We went alongside one of these and watched the long-armed -Selenites winding in a net. They were little, hunchbacked insects, with -very strong arms, short, bandy legs, and crinkled face-masks. As they -pulled at it that net seemed the heaviest thing I had come upon in the -moon; it was loaded with weights—no doubt of gold—and it took a long -time to draw, for in those waters the larger and more edible fish lurk -deep. The fish in the net came up like a blue moonrise—a blaze of -darting, tossing blue. - -“Among their catch was a many-tentaculate, evil-eyed black thing, -ferociously active, whose appearance they greeted with shrieks and -twitters, and which with quick, nervous movements they hacked to pieces -by means of little hatchets. All its dissevered limbs continued to lash -and writhe in a vicious manner. Afterwards, when fever had hold of me, -I dreamt again and again of that bitter, furious creature rising so -vigorous and active out of the unknown sea. It was the most active and -malignant thing of all the living creatures I have yet seen in this -world inside the moon.... - -“The surface of this sea must be very nearly two hundred miles (if not -more) below the level of the moon’s exterior; all the cities of the -moon lie, I learnt, immediately above this Central Sea, in such -cavernous spaces and artificial galleries as I have described, and they -communicate with the exterior by enormous vertical shafts which open -invariably in what are called by earthly astronomers the ‘craters’ of -the moon. The lid covering one such aperture I had already seen during -the wanderings that had preceded my capture. - -“Upon the condition of the less central portion of the moon I have not -yet arrived at very precise knowledge. There is an enormous system of -caverns in which the mooncalves shelter during the night; and there are -abattoirs and the like—in one of these it was that I and Bedford fought -with the Selenite butchers—and I have since seen balloons laden with -meat descending out of the upper dark. I have as yet scarcely learnt as -much of these things as a Zulu in London would learn about the British -corn supplies in the same time. It is clear, however, that these -vertical shafts and the vegetation of the surface must play an -essential role in ventilating and keeping fresh the atmosphere of the -moon. At one time, and particularly on my first emergence from my -prison, there was certainly a cold wind blowing _down_ the shaft, and -later there was a kind of sirocco upward that corresponded with my -fever. For at the end of about three weeks I fell ill of an indefinable -sort of fever, and in spite of sleep and the quinine tabloids that very -fortunately I had brought in my pocket, I remained ill and fretting -miserably, almost to the time when I was taken into the presence of the -Grand Lunar, who is Master of the Moon. - -“I will not dilate on the wretchedness of my condition,” he remarks, -“during those days of ill-health.” And he goes on with great amplitude -with details I omit here. “My temperature,” he concludes, “kept -abnormally high for a long time, and I lost all desire for food. I had -stagnant waking intervals, and sleep tormented by dreams, and at one -phase I was, I remember, so weak as to be earth-sick and almost -hysterical. I longed almost intolerably for colour to break the -everlasting blue...” - -He reverts again presently to the topic of this sponge-caught lunar -atmosphere. I am told by astronomers and physicists that all he tells -is in absolute accordance with what was already known of the moon’s -condition. Had earthly astronomers had the courage and imagination to -push home a bold induction, says Mr. Wendigee, they might have foretold -almost everything that Cavor has to say of the general structure of the -moon. They know now pretty certainly that moon and earth are not so -much satellite and primary as smaller and greater sisters, made out of -one mass, and consequently made of the same material. And since the -density of the moon is only three-fifths that of the earth, there can -be nothing for it but that she is hollowed out by a great system of -caverns. There was no necessity, said Sir Jabez Flap, F.R.S., that most -entertaining exponent of the facetious side of the stars, that we -should ever have gone to the moon to find out such easy inferences, and -points the pun with an allusion to Gruyère, but he certainly might have -announced his knowledge of the hollowness of the moon before. And if -the moon is hollow, then the apparent absence of air and water is, of -course, quite easily explained. The sea lies within at the bottom of -the caverns, and the air travels through the great sponge of galleries, -in accordance with simple physical laws. The caverns of the moon, on -the whole, are very windy places. As the sunlight comes round the moon -the air in the outer galleries on that side is heated, its pressure -increases, some flows out on the exterior and mingles with the -evaporating air of the craters (where the plants remove its carbonic -acid), while the greater portion flows round through the galleries to -replace the shrinking air of the cooling side that the sunlight has -left. There is, therefore, a constant eastward breeze in the air of the -outer galleries, and an upflow during the lunar day up the shafts, -complicated, of course, very greatly by the varying shape of the -galleries, and the ingenious contrivances of the Selenite mind.... - - - - -XXIV. -The Natural History of the Selenites - - -The messages of Cavor from the sixth up to the sixteenth are for the -most part so much broken, and they abound so in repetitions, that they -scarcely form a consecutive narrative. They will be given in full, of -course, in the scientific report, but here it will be far more -convenient to continue simply to abstract and quote as in the former -chapter. We have subjected every word to a keen critical scrutiny, and -my own brief memories and impressions of lunar things have been of -inestimable help in interpreting what would otherwise have been -impenetrably dark. And, naturally, as living beings, our interest -centres far more upon the strange community of lunar insects in which -he was living, it would seem, as an honoured guest than upon the mere -physical condition of their world. - -I have already made it clear, I think, that the Selenites I saw -resembled man in maintaining the erect attitude, and in having four -limbs, and I have compared the general appearance of their heads and -the jointing of their limbs to that of insects. I have mentioned, too, -the peculiar consequence of the smaller gravitation of the moon on -their fragile slightness. Cavor confirms me upon all these points. He -calls them “animals,” though of course they fall under no division of -the classification of earthly creatures, and he points out “the insect -type of anatomy had, fortunately for men, never exceeded a relatively -very small size on earth.” The largest terrestrial insects, living or -extinct, do not, as a matter of fact, measure six inches in length; -“but here, against the lesser gravitation of the moon, a creature -certainly as much an insect as vertebrate seems to have been able to -attain to human and ultra-human dimensions.” - -He does not mention the ant, but throughout his allusions the ant is -continually being brought before my mind, in its sleepless activity, in -its intelligence and social organisation, in its structure, and more -particularly in the fact that it displays, in addition to the two -forms, the male and the female form, that almost all other animals -possess, a number of other sexless creatures, workers, soldiers, and -the like, differing from one another in structure, character, power, -and use, and yet all members of the same species. For these Selenites, -also, have a great variety of forms. Of course, they are not only -colossally greater in size than ants, but also, in Cavor’s opinion at -least, in intelligence, morality, and social wisdom are they colossally -greater than men. And instead of the four or five different forms of -ant that are found, there are almost innumerably different forms of -Selenite. I had endeavoured to indicate the very considerable -difference observable in such Selenites of the outer crust as I -happened to encounter; the differences in size and proportions were -certainly as wide as the differences between the most widely separated -races of men. But such differences as I saw fade absolutely to nothing -in comparison with the huge distinctions of which Cavor tells. It would -seem the exterior Selenites I saw were, indeed, mostly engaged in -kindred occupations—mooncalf herds, butchers, fleshers, and the like. -But within the moon, practically unsuspected by me, there are, it -seems, a number of other sorts of Selenite, differing in size, -differing in the relative size of part to part, differing in power and -appearance, and yet not different species of creatures, but only -different forms of one species, and retaining through all their -variations a certain common likeness that marks their specific unity. -The moon is, indeed, a sort of vast ant-hill, only, instead of there -being only four or five sorts of ant, there are many hundred different -sorts of Selenite, and almost every gradation between one sort and -another. - -It would seem the discovery came upon Cavor very speedily. I infer -rather than learn from his narrative that he was captured by the -mooncalf herds under the direction of these other Selenites who “have -larger brain cases (heads?) and very much shorter legs.” Finding he -would not walk even under the goad, they carried him into darkness, -crossed a narrow, plank-like bridge that may have been the identical -bridge I had refused, and put him down in something that must have -seemed at first to be some sort of lift. This was the balloon—it had -certainly been absolutely invisible to us in the darkness—and what had -seemed to me a mere plank-walking into the void was really, no doubt, -the passage of the gangway. In this he descended towards constantly -more luminous caverns of the moon. At first they descended in -silence—save for the twitterings of the Selenites—and then into a stir -of windy movement. In a little while the profound blackness had made -his eyes so sensitive that he began to see more and more of the things -about him, and at last the vague took shape. - -“Conceive an enormous cylindrical space,” says Cavor, in his seventh -message, “a quarter of a mile across, perhaps; very dimly lit at first -and then brighter, with big platforms twisting down its sides in a -spiral that vanishes at last below in a blue profundity; and lit even -more brightly—one could not tell how or why. Think of the well of the -very largest spiral staircase or lift-shaft that you have ever looked -down, and magnify that by a hundred. Imagine it at twilight seen -through blue glass. Imagine yourself looking down that; only imagine -also that you feel extraordinarily light, and have got rid of any giddy -feeling you might have on earth, and you will have the first conditions -of my impression. Round this enormous shaft imagine a broad gallery -running in a much steeper spiral than would be credible on earth, and -forming a steep road protected from the gulf only by a little parapet -that vanishes at last in perspective a couple of miles below. - -“Looking up, I saw the very fellow of the downward vision; it had, of -course, the effect of looking into a very steep cone. A wind was -blowing down the shaft, and far above I fancy I heard, growing fainter -and fainter, the bellowing of the mooncalves that were being driven -down again from their evening pasturage on the exterior. And up and -down the spiral galleries were scattered numerous moon people, pallid, -faintly luminous beings, regarding our appearance or busied on unknown -errands. - -“Either I fancied it or a flake of snow came drifting down on the icy -breeze. And then, falling like a snowflake, a little figure, a little -man-insect, clinging to a parachute, drove down very swiftly towards -the central places of the moon. - -“The big-headed Selenite sitting beside me, seeing me move my head with -the gesture of one who saw, pointed with his trunk-like ‘hand’ and -indicated a sort of jetty coming into sight very far below: a little -landing-stage, as it were, hanging into the void. As it swept up -towards us our pace diminished very rapidly, and in a few moments, as -it seemed, we were abreast of it, and at rest. A mooring-rope was flung -and grasped, and I found myself pulled down to a level with a great -crowd of Selenites, who jostled to see me. - -“It was an incredible crowd. Suddenly and violently there was forced -upon my attention the vast amount of difference there is amongst these -beings of the moon. - -“Indeed, there seemed not two alike in all that jostling multitude. -They differed in shape, they differed in size, they rang all the -horrible changes on the theme of Selenite form! Some bulged and -overhung, some ran about among the feet of their fellows. All of them -had a grotesque and disquieting suggestion of an insect that has -somehow contrived to mock humanity; but all seemed to present an -incredible exaggeration of some particular feature: one had a vast -right fore-limb, an enormous antennal arm, as it were; one seemed all -leg, poised, as it were, on stilts; another protruded the edge of his -face mask into a nose-like organ that made him startlingly human until -one saw his expressionless gaping mouth. The strange and (except for -the want of mandibles and palps) most insect-like head of the -mooncalf-minders underwent, indeed, the most incredible -transformations: here it was broad and low, here high and narrow; here -its leathery brow was drawn out into horns and strange features; here -it was whiskered and divided, and there with a grotesquely human -profile. One distortion was particularly conspicuous. There were -several brain cases distended like bladders to a huge size, with the -face mask reduced to quite small proportions. There were several -amazing forms, with heads reduced to microscopic proportions and blobby -bodies; and fantastic, flimsy things that existed, it would seem, only -as a basis for vast, trumpet-like protrusions of the lower part of the -mask. And oddest of all, as it seemed to me for the moment, two or -three of these weird inhabitants of a subterranean world, a world -sheltered by innumerable miles of rock from sun or rain, _carried -umbrellas_ in their tentaculate hands—real terrestrial looking -umbrellas! And then I thought of the parachutist I had watched descend. - -“These moon people behaved exactly as a human crowd might have done in -similar circumstances: they jostled and thrust one another, they shoved -one another aside, they even clambered upon one another to get a -glimpse of me. Every moment they increased in numbers, and pressed more -urgently upon the discs of my ushers”—Cavor does not explain what he -means by this—“every moment fresh shapes emerged from the shadows and -forced themselves upon my astounded attention. And presently I was -signed and helped into a sort of litter, and lifted up on the shoulders -of strong-armed bearers, and so borne through the twilight over this -seething multitude towards the apartments that were provided for me in -the moon. All about me were eyes, faces, masks, a leathery noise like -the rustling of beetle wings, and a great bleating and cricket-like -twittering of Selenite voices.” - -We gather he was taken to a “hexagonal apartment,” and there for a -space he was confined. Afterwards he was given a much more considerable -liberty; indeed, almost as much freedom as one has in a civilised town -on earth. And it would appear that the mysterious being who is the -ruler and master of the moon appointed two Selenites “with large heads” -to guard and study him, and to establish whatever mental communications -were possible with him. And, amazing and incredible as it may seem, -these two creatures, these fantastic men insects, these beings of other -world, were presently communicating with Cavor by means of terrestrial -speech. - -Cavor speaks of them as Phi-oo and Tsi-puff. Phi-oo, he says, was about -5 feet high; he had small slender legs about 18 inches long, and slight -feet of the common lunar pattern. On these balanced a little body, -throbbing with the pulsations of his heart. He had long, soft, -many-jointed arms ending in a tentacled grip, and his neck was -many-jointed in the usual way, but exceptionally short and thick. His -head, says Cavor—apparently alluding to some previous description that -has gone astray in space—“is of the common lunar type, but strangely -modified. The mouth has the usual expressionless gape, but it is -unusually small and pointing downward, and the mask is reduced to the -size of a large flat nose-flap. On either side are the little eyes. - -“The rest of the head is distended into a huge globe and the chitinous -leathery cuticle of the mooncalf herds thins out to a mere membrane, -through which the pulsating brain movements are distinctly visible. He -is a creature, indeed, with a tremendously hypertrophied brain, and -with the rest of his organism both relatively and absolutely dwarfed.” - -In another passage Cavor compares the back view of him to Atlas -supporting the world. Tsi-puff it seems was a very similar insect, but -his “face” was drawn out to a considerable length, and the brain -hypertrophy being in different regions, his head was not round but -pear-shaped, with the stalk downward. There were also litter-carriers, -lopsided beings, with enormous shoulders, very spidery ushers, and a -squat foot attendant in Cavor’s retinue. - -The manner in which Phi-oo and Tsi-puff attacked the problem of speech -was fairly obvious. They came into this “hexagonal cell” in which Cavor -was confined, and began imitating every sound he made, beginning with a -cough. He seems to have grasped their intention with great quickness, -and to have begun repeating words to them and pointing to indicate the -application. The procedure was probably always the same. Phi-oo would -attend to Cavor for a space, then point also and say the word he had -heard. - -The first word he mastered was “man,” and the second “Mooney”—which -Cavor on the spur of the moment seems to have used instead of -“Selenite” for the moon race. As soon as Phi-oo was assured of the -meaning of a word he repeated it to Tsi-puff, who remembered it -infallibly. They mastered over one hundred English nouns at their first -session. - -Subsequently it seems they brought an artist with them to assist the -work of explanation with sketches and diagrams—Cavor’s drawings being -rather crude. “He was,” says Cavor, “a being with an active arm and an -arresting eye,” and he seemed to draw with incredible swiftness. - -The eleventh message is undoubtedly only a fragment of a longer -communication. After some broken sentences, the record of which is -unintelligible, it goes on:— - -“But it will interest only linguists, and delay me too long, to give -the details of the series of intent parleys of which these were the -beginning, and, indeed, I very much doubt if I could give in anything -like the proper order all the twistings and turnings that we made in -our pursuit of mutual comprehension. Verbs were soon plain sailing—at -least, such active verbs as I could express by drawings; some -adjectives were easy, but when it came to abstract nouns, to -prepositions, and the sort of hackneyed figures of speech, by means of -which so much is expressed on earth, it was like diving in -cork-jackets. Indeed, these difficulties were insurmountable until to -the sixth lesson came a fourth assistant, a being with a huge -football-shaped head, whose _forte_ was clearly the pursuit of -intricate analogy. He entered in a preoccupied manner, stumbling -against a stool, and the difficulties that arose had to be presented to -him with a certain amount of clamour and hitting and pricking before -they reached his apprehension. But once he was involved his penetration -was amazing. Whenever there came a need of thinking beyond Phi-oo’s by -no means limited scope, this prolate-headed person was in request, but -he invariably told the conclusion to Tsi-puff, in order that it might -be remembered; Tsi-puff was ever the arsenal for facts. And so we -advanced again. - -“It seemed long and yet brief—a matter of days—before I was positively -talking with these insects of the moon. Of course, at first it was an -intercourse infinitely tedious and exasperating, but imperceptibly it -has grown to comprehension. And my patience has grown to meet its -limitations, Phi-oo it is who does all the talking. He does it with a -vast amount of meditative provisional ‘M’m—M’m’ and has caught up one -or two phrases, If I may say,’ ‘If you understand,’ and beads all his -speech with them. - -“Thus he would discourse. Imagine him explaining his artist. - -“‘M’m—M’m—he—if I may say—draw. Eat little—drink little—draw. Love -draw. No other thing. Hate all who not draw like him. Angry. Hate all -who draw like him better. Hate most people. Hate all who not think all -world for to draw. Angry. M’m. All things mean nothing to him—only -draw. He like you ... if you understand.... New thing to draw. -Ugly—striking. Eh? - -“‘He’—turning to Tsi-puff—‘love remember words. Remember wonderful more -than any. Think no, draw no—remember. Say’—here he referred to his -gifted assistant for a word—‘histories—all things. He hear once—say -ever.’ - -“It is more wonderful to me than I dreamt that anything ever could be -again, to hear, in this perpetual obscurity, these extraordinary -creatures—for even familiarity fails to weaken the inhuman effect of -their appearance—continually piping a nearer approach to coherent -earthly speech—asking questions, giving answers. I feel that I am -casting back to the fable-hearing period of childhood again, when the -ant and the grasshopper talked together and the bee judged between -them...” - -And while these linguistic exercises were going on Cavor seems to have -experienced a considerable relaxation of his confinement. “The first -dread and distrust our unfortunate conflict aroused is being,” he said, -“continually effaced by the deliberate rationality of all I do.... I am -now able to come and go as I please, or I am restricted only for my own -good. So it is I have been able to get at this apparatus, and, assisted -by a happy find among the material that is littered in this enormous -store-cave, I have contrived to despatch these messages. So far not the -slightest attempt has been made to interfere with me in this, though I -have made it quite clear to Phi-oo that I am signalling to the earth. - -“‘You talk to other?’ he asked, watching me. - -“‘Others,’ said I. - -“‘Others,’ he said. ‘Oh yes, Men?’ - -“And I went on transmitting.” - -Cavor was continually making corrections in his previous accounts of -the Selenites as fresh facts flowed upon him to modify his conclusions, -and accordingly one gives the quotations that follow with a certain -amount of reservation. They are quoted from the ninth, thirteenth, and -sixteenth messages, and, altogether vague and fragmentary as they are, -they probably give as complete a picture of the social life of this -strange community as mankind can now hope to have for many generations. - -“In the moon,” says Cavor, “every citizen knows his place. He is born -to that place, and the elaborate discipline of training and education -and surgery he undergoes fits him at last so completely to it that he -has neither ideas nor organs for any purpose beyond it. ‘Why should -he?’ Phi-oo would ask. If, for example, a Selenite is destined to be a -mathematician, his teachers and trainers set out at once to that end. -They check any incipient disposition to other pursuits, they encourage -his mathematical bias with a perfect psychological skill. His brain -grows, or at least the mathematical faculties of his brain grow, and -the rest of him only so much as is necessary to sustain this essential -part of him. At last, save for rest and food, his one delight lies in -the exercise and display of his faculty, his one interest in its -application, his sole society with other specialists in his own line. -His brain grows continually larger, at least so far as the portions -engaging in mathematics are concerned; they bulge ever larger and seem -to suck all life and vigour from the rest of his frame. His limbs -shrivel, his heart and digestive organs diminish, his insect face is -hidden under its bulging contours. His voice becomes a mere -stridulation for the stating of formulæ; he seems deaf to all but -properly enunciated problems. The faculty of laughter, save for the -sudden discovery of some paradox, is lost to him; his deepest emotion -is the evolution of a novel computation. And so he attains his end. - -“Or, again, a Selenite appointed to be a minder of mooncalves is from -his earliest years induced to think and live mooncalf, to find his -pleasure in mooncalf lore, his exercise in their tending and pursuit. -He is trained to become wiry and active, his eye is indurated to the -tight wrappings, the angular contours that constitute a ‘smart -mooncalfishness.’ He takes at last no interest in the deeper part of -the moon; he regards all Selenites not equally versed in mooncalves -with indifference, derision, or hostility. His thoughts are of mooncalf -pastures, and his dialect an accomplished mooncalf technique. So also -he loves his work, and discharges in perfect happiness the duty that -justifies his being. And so it is with all sorts and conditions of -Selenites—each is a perfect unit in a world machine.... - -“These beings with big heads, on whom the intellectual labours fall, -form a sort of aristocracy in this strange society, and at the head of -them, quintessential of the moon, is that marvellous gigantic ganglion -the Grand Lunar, into whose presence I am finally to come. The -unlimited development of the minds of the intellectual class is -rendered possible by the absence of any bony skull in the lunar -anatomy, that strange box of bone that clamps about the developing -brain of man, imperiously insisting ‘thus far and no farther’ to all -his possibilities. They fall into three main classes differing greatly -in influence and respect. There are administrators, of whom Phi-oo is -one, Selenites of considerable initiative and versatility, responsible -each for a certain cubic content of the moon’s bulk; the experts like -the football-headed thinker, who are trained to perform certain special -operations; and the erudite, who are the repositories of all knowledge. -To the latter class belongs Tsi-puff, the first lunar professor of -terrestrial languages. With regard to these latter, it is a curious -little thing to note that the unlimited growth of the lunar brain has -rendered unnecessary the invention of all those mechanical aids to -brain work which have distinguished the career of man. There are no -books, no records of any sort, no libraries or inscriptions. All -knowledge is stored in distended brains much as the honey-ants of Texas -store honey in their distended abdomens. The lunar Somerset House and -the lunar British Museum Library are collections of living brains... - -“The less specialised administrators, I note, do for the most part take -a very lively interest in me whenever they encounter me. They will come -out of the way and stare at me and ask questions to which Phi-oo will -reply. I see them going hither and thither with a retinue of bearers, -attendants, shouters, parachute-carriers, and so forth—queer groups to -see. The experts for the most part ignore me completely, even as they -ignore each other, or notice me only to begin a clamorous exhibition of -their distinctive skill. The erudite for the most part are rapt in an -impervious and apoplectic complacency, from which only a denial of -their erudition can rouse them. Usually they are led about by little -watchers and attendants, and often there are small and active-looking -creatures, small females usually, that I am inclined to think are a -sort of wife to them; but some of the profounder scholars are -altogether too great for locomotion, and are carried from place to -place in a sort of sedan tub, wabbling jellies of knowledge that enlist -my respectful astonishment. I have just passed one in coming to this -place where I am permitted to amuse myself with these electrical toys, -a vast, shaven, shaky head, bald and thin-skinned, carried on his -grotesque stretcher. In front and behind came his bearers, and curious, -almost trumpet-faced, news disseminators shrieked his fame. - -“I have already mentioned the retinues that accompany most of the -intellectuals: ushers, bearers, valets, extraneous tentacles and -muscles, as it were, to replace the abortive physical powers of these -hypertrophied minds. Porters almost invariably accompany them. There -are also extremely swift messengers with spider-like legs and ‘hands’ -for grasping parachutes, and attendants with vocal organs that could -well nigh wake the dead. Apart from their controlling intelligence -these subordinates are as inert and helpless as umbrellas in a stand. -They exist only in relation to the orders they have to obey, the duties -they have to perform. - -“The bulk of these insects, however, who go to and fro upon the spiral -ways, who fill the ascending balloons and drop past me clinging to -flimsy parachutes are, I gather, of the operative class. ‘Machine -hands,’ indeed, some of these are in actual nature—it is no figure of -speech, the single tentacle of the mooncalf herd is profoundly modified -for clawing, lifting, guiding, the rest of them no more than necessary -subordinate appendages to these important parts. Some, who I suppose -deal with bell-striking mechanisms, have enormously developed auditory -organs; some whose work lies in delicate chemical operations project a -vast olfactory organ; others again have flat feet for treadles with -anchylosed joints; and others—who I have been told are -glassblowers—seem mere lung-bellows. But every one of these common -Selenites I have seen at work is exquisitely adapted to the social need -it meets. Fine work is done by fined-down workers, amazingly dwarfed -and neat. Some I could hold on the palm of my hand. There is even a -sort of turnspit Selenite, very common, whose duty and only delight it -is to apply the motive power for various small appliances. And to rule -over these things and order any erring tendency there might be in some -aberrant natures are the most muscular beings I have seen in the moon, -a sort of lunar police, who must have been trained from their earliest -years to give a perfect respect and obedience to the swollen heads. - -“The making of these various sorts of operative must be a very curious -and interesting process. I am very much in the dark about it, but quite -recently I came upon a number of young Selenites confined in jars from -which only the fore-limbs protruded, who were being compressed to -become machine-minders of a special sort. The extended ‘hand’ in this -highly developed system of technical education is stimulated by -irritants and nourished by injection, while the rest of the body is -starved. Phi-oo, unless I misunderstood him, explained that in the -earlier stages these queer little creatures are apt to display signs of -suffering in their various cramped situations, but they easily become -indurated to their lot; and he took me on to where a number of -flexible-minded messengers were being drawn out and broken in. It is -quite unreasonable, I know, but such glimpses of the educational -methods of these beings affect me disagreeably. I hope, however, that -may pass off, and I may be able to see more of this aspect of their -wonderful social order. That wretched-looking hand-tentacle sticking -out of its jar seemed to have a sort of limp appeal for lost -possibilities; it haunts me still, although, of course it is really in -the end a far more humane proceeding than our earthly method of leaving -children to grow into human beings, and then making machines of them. - -“Quite recently, too—I think it was on the eleventh or twelfth visit I -made to this apparatus—I had a curious light upon the lives of these -operatives. I was being guided through a short cut hither, instead of -going down the spiral, and by the quays to the Central Sea. From the -devious windings of a long, dark gallery, we emerged into a vast, low -cavern, pervaded by an earthy smell, and as things go in this darkness, -rather brightly lit. The light came from a tumultuous growth of livid -fungoid shapes—some indeed singularly like our terrestrial mushrooms, -but standing as high or higher than a man. - -“‘Mooneys eat these?’ said I to Phi-oo. - -“‘Yes, food.’ - -“‘Goodness me!’ I cried; ‘what’s that?’ - -“My eye had just caught the figure of an exceptionally big and ungainly -Selenite lying motionless among the stems, face downward. We stopped. - -“‘Dead?’ I asked. (For as yet I have seen no dead in the moon, and I -have grown curious.) - -“‘_No!_’ exclaimed Phi-oo. ‘Him—worker—no work to do. Get little drink -then—make sleep—till we him want. What good him wake, eh? No want him -walking about.’ - -“‘There’s another!’ cried I. - -“And indeed all that huge extent of mushroom ground was, I found, -peppered with these prostrate figures sleeping under an opiate until -the moon had need of them. There were scores of them of all sorts, and -we were able to turn over some of them, and examine them more precisely -than I had been able to do previously. They breathed noisily at my -doing so, but did not wake. One, I remember very distinctly: he left a -strong impression, I think, because some trick of the light and of his -attitude was strongly suggestive of a drawn-up human figure. His -fore-limbs were long, delicate tentacles—he was some kind of refined -manipulator—and the pose of his slumber suggested a submissive -suffering. No doubt it was a mistake for me to interpret his expression -in that way, but I did. And as Phi-oo rolled him over into the darkness -among the livid fleshiness again I felt a distinctly unpleasant -sensation, although as he rolled the insect in him was confessed. - -“It simply illustrates the unthinking way in which one acquires habits -of feeling. To drug the worker one does not want and toss him aside is -surely far better than to expel him from his factory to wander starving -in the streets. In every complicated social community there is -necessarily a certain intermittency of employment for all specialised -labour, and in this way the trouble of an ‘unemployed’ problem is -altogether anticipated. And yet, so unreasonable are even -scientifically trained minds, I still do not like the memory of those -prostrate forms amidst those quiet, luminous arcades of fleshy growth, -and I avoid that short cut in spite of the inconveniences of the -longer, more noisy, and more crowded alternative. - -“My alternative route takes me round by a huge, shadowy cavern, very -crowded and clamorous, and here it is I see peering out of the -hexagonal openings of a sort of honeycomb wall, or parading a large -open space behind, or selecting the toys and amulets made to please -them by the dainty-tentacled jewellers who work in kennels below, the -mothers of the moon world—the queen bees, as it were, of the hive. They -are noble-looking beings, fantastically and sometimes quite beautifully -adorned, with a proud carriage, and, save for their mouths, almost -microscopic heads. - -“Of the condition of the moon sexes, marrying and giving in marriage, -and of birth and so forth among the Selenites, I have as yet been able -to learn very little. With the steady progress of Phi-oo in English, -however, my ignorance will no doubt as steadily disappear. I am of -opinion that, as with the ants and bees, there is a large majority of -the members in this community of the neuter sex. Of course on earth in -our cities there are now many who never live that life of parentage -which is the natural life of man. Here, as with the ants, this thing -has become a normal condition of the race, and the whole of such -replacement as is necessary falls upon this special and by no means -numerous class of matrons, the mothers of the moon-world, large and -stately beings beautifully fitted to bear the larval Selenite. Unless I -misunderstand an explanation of Phi-oo’s, they are absolutely incapable -of cherishing the young they bring into the moon; periods of foolish -indulgence alternate with moods of aggressive violence, and as soon as -possible the little creatures, who are quite soft and flabby and pale -coloured, are transferred to the charge of celibate females, women -‘workers’ as it were, who in some cases possess brains of almost -masculine dimensions.” - -Just at this point, unhappily, this message broke off. Fragmentary and -tantalising as the matter constituting this chapter is, it does -nevertheless give a vague, broad impression of an altogether strange -and wonderful world—a world with which our own may have to reckon we -know not how speedily. This intermittent trickle of messages, this -whispering of a record needle in the stillness of the mountain slopes, -is the first warning of such a change in human conditions as mankind -has scarcely imagined heretofore. In that satellite of ours there are -new elements, new appliances, traditions, an overwhelming avalanche of -new ideas, a strange race with whom we must inevitably struggle for -mastery—gold as common as iron or wood... - - - - -XXV. -The Grand Lunar - - -The penultimate message describes, with occasionally elaborate detail, -the encounter between Cavor and the Grand Lunar, who is the ruler or -master of the moon. Cavor seems to have sent most of it without -interference, but to have been interrupted in the concluding portion. -The second came after an interval of a week. - -The first message begins: “At last I am able to resume this—” it then -becomes illegible for a space, and after a time resumed in -mid-sentence. - -The missing words of the following sentence are probably “the crowd.” -There follows quite clearly: “grew ever denser as we drew near the -palace of the Grand Lunar—if I may call a series of excavations a -palace. Everywhere faces stared at me—blank, chitinous gapes and masks, -eyes peering over tremendous olfactory developments, eyes beneath -monstrous forehead plates; and undergrowth of smaller creatures dodged -and yelped, and helmet faces poised on sinuous, long-jointed necks -appeared craning over shoulders and beneath armpits. Keeping a welcome -space about me marched a cordon of stolid, scuttle-headed guards, who -had joined us on our leaving the boat in which we had come along the -channels of the Central Sea. The quick-eyed artist with the little -brain joined us also, and a thick bunch of lean porter-insects swayed -and struggled under the multitude of conveniences that were considered -essential to my state. I was carried in a litter during the final stage -of our journey. This litter was made of some very ductile metal that -looked dark to me, meshed and woven, and with bars of paler metal, and -about me as I advanced there grouped itself a long and complicated -procession. - -“In front, after the manner of heralds, marched four trumpet-faced -creatures making a devastating bray; and then came squat, -resolute-moving ushers before and behind, and on either hand a galaxy -of learned heads, a sort of animated encyclopedia, who were, Phi-oo -explained, to stand about the Grand Lunar for purposes of reference. -(Not a thing in lunar science, not a point of view or method of -thinking, that these wonderful beings did not carry in their heads!) -Followed guards and porters, and then Phi-oo’s shivering brain borne -also on a litter. Then came Tsi-puff in a slightly less important -litter; then myself on a litter of greater elegance than any other, and -surrounded by my food and drink attendants. More trumpeters came next, -splitting the ear with vehement outcries, and then several big brains, -special correspondents one might well call them, or historiographers, -charged with the task of observing and remembering every detail of this -epoch-making interview. A company of attendants, bearing and dragging -banners and masses of scented fungus and curious symbols, vanished in -the darkness behind. The way was lined by ushers and officers in -caparisons that gleamed like steel, and beyond their line, so far as my -eyes could pierce the gloom, the heads of that enormous crowd extended. - -“I will own that I am still by no means indurated to the peculiar -effect of the Selenite appearance, and to find myself, as it were, -adrift on this broad sea of excited entomology was by no means -agreeable. Just for a space I had something very like what I should -imagine people mean when they speak of the ‘horrors.’ It had come to me -before in these lunar caverns, when on occasion I have found myself -weaponless and with an undefended back, amidst a crowd of these -Selenites, but never quite so vividly. It is, of course, as absolutely -irrational a feeling as one could well have, and I hope gradually to -subdue it. But just for a moment, as I swept forward into the welter of -the vast crowd, it was only by gripping my litter tightly and summoning -all my will-power that I succeeded in avoiding an outcry or some such -manifestation. It lasted perhaps three minutes; then I had myself in -hand again. - -“We ascended the spiral of a vertical way for some time, and then -passed through a series of huge halls dome-roofed and elaborately -decorated. The approach to the Grand Lunar was certainly contrived to -give one a vivid impression of his greatness. Each cavern one entered -seemed greater and more boldly arched than its predecessor. This effect -of progressive size was enhanced by a thin haze of faintly -phosphorescent blue incense that thickened as one advanced, and robbed -even the nearer figures of clearness. I seemed to advance continually -to something larger, dimmer, and less material. - -“I must confess that all this multitude made me feel extremely shabby -and unworthy. I was unshaven and unkempt; I had brought no razor; I had -a coarse beard over my mouth. On earth I have always been inclined to -despise any attention to my person beyond a proper care for -cleanliness; but under the exceptional circumstances in which I found -myself, representing, as I did, my planet and my kind, and depending -very largely upon the attractiveness of my appearance for a proper -reception, I could have given much for something a little more artistic -and dignified than the husks I wore. I had been so serene in the belief -that the moon was uninhabited as to overlook such precautions -altogether. As it was I was dressed in a flannel jacket, -knickerbockers, and golfing stockings, stained with every sort of dirt -the moon offered, slippers (of which the left heel was wanting), and a -blanket, through a hole in which I thrust my head. (These clothes, -indeed, I still wear.) Sharp bristles are anything but an improvement -to my cast of features, and there was an unmended tear at the knee of -my knickerbockers that showed conspicuously as I squatted in my litter; -my right stocking, too, persisted in getting about my ankle. I am fully -alive to the injustice my appearance did humanity, and if by any -expedient I could have improvised something a little out of the way and -imposing I would have done so. But I could hit upon nothing. I did what -I could with my blanket—folding it somewhat after the fashion of a -toga, and for the rest I sat as upright as the swaying of my litter -permitted. - -“Imagine the largest hall you have ever been in, imperfectly lit with -blue light and obscured by a grey-blue fog, surging with metallic or -livid-grey creatures of such a mad diversity as I have hinted. Imagine -this hall to end in an open archway beyond which is a still larger -hall, and beyond this yet another and still larger one, and so on. At -the end of the vista, dimly seen, a flight of steps, like the steps of -Ara Coeli at Rome, ascend out of sight. Higher and higher these steps -appear to go as one draws nearer their base. But at last I came under a -huge archway and beheld the summit of these steps, and upon it the -Grand Lunar exalted on his throne. - -“He was seated in what was relatively a blaze of incandescent blue. -This, and the darkness about him gave him an effect of floating in a -blue-black void. He seemed a small, self-luminous cloud at first, -brooding on his sombre throne; his brain case must have measured many -yards in diameter. For some reason that I cannot fathom a number of -blue search-lights radiated from behind the throne on which he sat, and -immediately encircling him was a halo. About him, and little and -indistinct in this glow, a number of body-servants sustained and -supported him, and overshadowed and standing in a huge semicircle -beneath him were his intellectual subordinates, his remembrancers and -computators and searchers and servants, and all the distinguished -insects of the court of the moon. Still lower stood ushers and -messengers, and then all down the countless steps of the throne were -guards, and at the base, enormous, various, indistinct, vanishing at -last into an absolute black, a vast swaying multitude of the minor -dignitaries of the moon. Their feet made a perpetual scraping whisper -on the rocky floor, as their limbs moved with a rustling murmur. - -“As I entered the penultimate hall the music rose and expanded into an -imperial magnificence of sound, and the shrieks of the news-bearers -died away.... - -“I entered the last and greatest hall.... - -“My procession opened out like a fan. My ushers and guards went right -and left, and the three litters bearing myself and Phi-oo and Tsi-puff -marched across a shiny darkness of floor to the foot of the giant -stairs. Then began a vast throbbing hum, that mingled with the music. -The two Selenites dismounted, but I was bidden remain seated—I imagine -as a special honour. The music ceased, but not that humming, and by a -simultaneous movement of ten thousand respectful heads my attention was -directed to the enhaloed supreme intelligence that hovered above me. - -“At first as I peered into the radiating glow this quintessential brain -looked very much like an opaque, featureless bladder with dim, -undulating ghosts of convolutions writhing visibly within. Then beneath -its enormity and just above the edge of the throne one saw with a start -minute elfin eyes peering out of the glow. No face, but eyes, as if -they peered through holes. At first I could see no more than these two -staring little eyes, and then below I distinguished the little dwarfed -body and its insect-jointed limbs shrivelled and white. The eyes stared -down at me with a strange intensity, and the lower part of the swollen -globe was wrinkled. Ineffectual-looking little hand-tentacles steadied -this shape on the throne.... - -“It was great. It was pitiful. One forgot the hall and the crowd. - -“I ascended the staircase by jerks. It seemed to me that this darkly -glowing brain case above us spread over me, and took more and more of -the whole effect into itself as I drew nearer. The tiers of attendants -and helpers grouped about their master seemed to dwindle and fade into -the night. I saw that shadowy attendants were busy spraying that great -brain with a cooling spray, and patting and sustaining it. For my own -part, I sat gripping my swaying litter and staring at the Grand Lunar, -unable to turn my gaze aside. And at last, as I reached a little -landing that was separated only by ten steps or so from the supreme -seat, the woven splendour of the music reached a climax and ceased, and -I was left naked, as it were, in that vastness, beneath the still -scrutiny of the Grand Lunar’s eyes. - -“He was scrutinising the first man he had ever seen.... - -“My eyes dropped at last from his greatness to the ant figures in the -blue mist about him, and then down the steps to the massed Selenites, -still and expectant in their thousands, packed on the floor below. Once -again an unreasonable horror reached out towards me.... And passed. - -“After the pause came the salutation. I was assisted from my litter, -and stood awkwardly while a number of curious and no doubt deeply -symbolical gestures were vicariously performed for me by two slender -officials. The encyclopaedic galaxy of the learned that had accompanied -me to the entrance of the last hall appeared two steps above me and -left and right of me, in readiness for the Grand Lunar’s need, and -Phi-oo’s pale brain placed itself about half-way up to the throne in -such a position as to communicate easily between us without turning his -back on either the Grand Lunar or myself. Tsi-puff took up a position -behind him. Dexterous ushers sidled sideways towards me, keeping a full -face to the Presence. I seated myself Turkish fashion, and Phi-oo and -Tsi-puff also knelt down above me. There came a pause. The eyes of the -nearer court went from me to the Grand Lunar and came back to me, and a -hissing and piping of expectation passed across the hidden multitudes -below and ceased. - -“That humming ceased. - -“For the first and last time in my experience the moon was silent. - -“I became aware of a faint wheezy noise. The Grand Lunar was addressing -me. It was like the rubbing of a finger upon a pane of glass. - -“I watched him attentively for a time, and then glanced at the alert -Phi-oo. I felt amidst these slender beings ridiculously thick and -fleshy and solid; my head all jaw and black hair. My eyes went back to -the Grand Lunar. He had ceased; his attendants were busy, and his -shining superficies was glistening and running with cooling spray. - -“Phi-oo meditated through an interval. He consulted Tsi-puff. Then he -began piping his recognisable English—at first a little nervously, so -that he was not very clear. - -“‘M’m—the Grand Lunar—wished to say—wishes to say—he gathers you -are—m’m—men—that you are a man from the planet earth. He wishes to say -that he welcomes you—welcomes you—and wishes to learn—learn, if I may -use the word—the state of your world, and the reason why you came to -this.’ - -“He paused. I was about to reply when he resumed. He proceeded to -remarks of which the drift was not very clear, though I am inclined to -think they were intended to be complimentary. He told me that the earth -was to the moon what the sun is to the earth, and that the Selenites -desired very greatly to learn about the earth and men. He then told me -no doubt in compliment also, the relative magnitude and diameter of -earth and moon, and the perpetual wonder and speculation with which the -Selenites had regarded our planet. I meditated with downcast eyes, and -decided to reply that men too had wondered what might lie in the moon, -and had judged it dead, little recking of such magnificence as I had -seen that day. The Grand Lunar, in token of recognition, caused his -long blue rays to rotate in a very confusing manner, and all about the -great hall ran the pipings and whisperings and rustlings of the report -of what I had said. He then proceeded to put to Phi-oo a number of -inquiries which were easier to answer. - -“He understood, he explained, that we lived on the surface of the -earth, that our air and sea were outside the globe; the latter part, -indeed, he already knew from his astronomical specialists. He was very -anxious to have more detailed information of what he called this -extraordinary state of affairs, for from the solidity of the earth -there had always been a disposition to regard it as uninhabitable. He -endeavoured first to ascertain the extremes of temperature to which we -earth beings were exposed, and he was deeply interested by my -descriptive treatment of clouds and rain. His imagination was assisted -by the fact that the lunar atmosphere in the outer galleries of the -night side is not infrequently very foggy. He seemed inclined to marvel -that we did not find the sunlight too intense for our eyes, and was -interested in my attempt to explain that the sky was tempered to a -bluish colour through the refraction of the air, though I doubt if he -clearly understood that. I explained how the iris of the human eyes can -contract the pupil and save the delicate internal structure from the -excess of sunlight, and was allowed to approach within a few feet of -the Presence in order that this structure might be seen. This led to a -comparison of the lunar and terrestrial eyes. The former is not only -excessively sensitive to such light as men can see, but it can also -_see_ heat, and every difference in temperature within the moon renders -objects visible to it. - -“The iris was quite a new organ to the Grand Lunar. For a time he -amused himself by flashing his rays into my face and watching my pupils -contract. As a consequence, I was dazzled and blinded for some little -time.... - -“But in spite of that discomfort I found something reassuring by -insensible degrees in the rationality of this business of question and -answer. I could shut my eyes, think of my answer, and almost forget -that the the Grand Lunar has no face.... - -“When I had descended again to my proper place the Grand Lunar asked -how we sheltered ourselves from heat and storms, and I expounded to him -the arts of building and furnishing. Here we wandered into -misunderstandings and cross-purposes, due largely, I must admit, to the -looseness of my expressions. For a long time I had great difficulty in -making him understand the nature of a house. To him and his attendant -Selenites it seemed, no doubt, the most whimsical thing in the world -that men should build houses when they might descend into excavations, -and an additional complication was introduced by the attempt I made to -explain that men had originally begun their homes in caves, and that -they were now taking their railways and many establishments beneath the -surface. Here I think a desire for intellectual completeness betrayed -me. There was also a considerable tangle due to an equally unwise -attempt on my part to explain about mines. Dismissing this topic at -last in an incomplete state, the Grand Lunar inquired what we did with -the interior of our globe. - -“A tide of twittering and piping swept into the remotest corners of -that great assembly when it was at last made clear that we men know -absolutely nothing of the contents of the world upon which the -immemorial generations of our ancestors had been evolved. Three times -had I to repeat that of all the 4000 miles of distance between the -earth and its centre men knew only to the depth of a mile, and that -very vaguely. I understood the Grand Lunar to ask why had I come to the -moon seeing we had scarcely touched our own planet yet, but he did not -trouble me at that time to proceed to an explanation, being too anxious -to pursue the details of this mad inversion of all his ideas. - -“He reverted to the question of weather, and I tried to describe the -perpetually changing sky, and snow, and frost and hurricanes. ‘But when -the night comes,’ he asked, ‘is it not cold?’ - -“I told him it was colder than by day. - -“‘And does not your atmosphere freeze?’ - -“I told him not; that it was never cold enough for that, because our -nights were so short. - -“‘Not even liquefy?’ - -“I was about to say ‘No,’ but then it occurred to me that one part at -least of our atmosphere, the water vapour of it, does sometimes liquefy -and form dew, and sometimes freeze and form frost—a process perfectly -analogous to the freezing of all the external atmosphere of the moon -during its longer night. I made myself clear on this point, and from -that the Grand Lunar went on to speak with me of sleep. For the need of -sleep that comes so regularly every twenty-four hours to all things is -part also of our earthly inheritance. On the moon they rest only at -rare intervals, and after exceptional exertions. Then I tried to -describe to him the soft splendours of a summer night, and from that I -passed to a description of those animals that prowl by night and sleep -by day. I told him of lions and tigers, and here it seemed as though we -had come to a deadlock. For, save in their waters, there are no -creatures in the moon not absolutely domestic and subject to his will, -and so it has been for immemorial years. They have monstrous water -creatures, but no evil beasts, and the idea of anything strong and -large existing ‘outside’ in the night is very difficult for them....” - -[The record is here too broken to transcribe for the space of perhaps -twenty words or more.] - -“He talked with his attendants, as I suppose, upon the strange -superficiality and unreasonableness of (man) who lives on the mere -surface of a world, a creature of waves and winds, and all the chances -of space, who cannot even unite to overcome the beasts that prey upon -his kind, and yet who dares to invade another planet. During this aside -I sat thinking, and then at his desire I told him of the different -sorts of men. He searched me with questions. ‘And for all sorts of work -you have the same sort of men. But who thinks? Who governs?’ - -“I gave him an outline of the democratic method. - -“When I had done he ordered cooling sprays upon his brow, and then -requested me to repeat my explanation conceiving something had -miscarried. - -“‘Do they not do different things, then?’ said Phi-oo. - -“Some, I admitted, were thinkers and some officials; some hunted, some -were mechanics, some artists, some toilers. ‘But _all_ rule,’ I said. - -“‘And have they not different shapes to fit them to their different -duties?’ - -“‘None that you can see,’ I said, ‘except perhaps, for clothes. Their -minds perhaps differ a little,’ I reflected. - -“‘Their minds must differ a great deal,’ said the Grand Lunar, ‘or they -would all want to do the same things.’ - -“In order to bring myself into a closer harmony with his -preconceptions, I said that his surmise was right. ‘It was all hidden -in the brain,’ I said; but the difference was there. Perhaps if one -could see the minds and souls of men they would be as varied and -unequal as the Selenites. There were great men and small men, men who -could reach out far and wide, men who could go swiftly; noisy, -trumpet-minded men, and men who could remember without thinking....’” -[The record is indistinct for three words.] - -“He interrupted me to recall me to my previous statements. ‘But you -said all men rule?’ he pressed. - -“‘To a certain extent,’ I said, and made, I fear, a denser fog with my -explanation. - -“He reached out to a salient fact. ‘Do you mean,’ asked, ‘that there is -no Grand Earthly?’ - -“I thought of several people, but assured him finally there was none. I -explained that such autocrats and emperors as we had tried upon earth -had usually ended in drink, or vice, or violence, and that the large -and influential section of the people of the earth to which I belonged, -the Anglo-Saxons, did not mean to try that sort of thing again. At -which the Grand Lunar was even more amazed. - -“‘But how do you keep even such wisdom as you have?’ he asked; and I -explained to him the way we helped our limited [A word omitted here, -probably “brains.”] with libraries of books. I explained to him how our -science was growing by the united labours of innumerable little men, -and on that he made no comment save that it was evident we had mastered -much in spite of our social savagery, or we could not have come to the -moon. Yet the contrast was very marked. With knowledge the Selenites -grew and changed; mankind stored their knowledge about them and -remained brutes—equipped. He said this...” [Here there is a short piece -of the record indistinct.] - -“He then caused me to describe how we went about this earth of ours, -and I described to him our railways and ships. For a time he could not -understand that we had had the use of steam only one hundred years, but -when he did he was clearly amazed. (I may mention as a singular thing, -that the Selenites use years to count by, just as we do on earth, -though I can make nothing of their numeral system. That, however, does -not matter, because Phi-oo understands ours.) From that I went on to -tell him that mankind had dwelt in cities only for nine or ten thousand -years, and that we were still not united in one brotherhood, but under -many different forms of government. This astonished the Grand Lunar -very much, when it was made clear to him. At first he thought we -referred merely to administrative areas. - -“‘Our States and Empires are still the rawest sketches of what order -will some day be,’ I said, and so I came to tell him....” [At this -point a length of record that probably represents thirty or forty words -is totally illegible.] - -“The Grand Lunar was greatly impressed by the folly of men in clinging -to the inconvenience of diverse tongues. ‘They want to communicate, and -yet not to communicate,’ he said, and then for a long time he -questioned me closely concerning war. - -“He was at first perplexed and incredulous. ‘You mean to say,’ he -asked, seeking confirmation, ‘that you run about over the surface of -your world—this world, whose riches you have scarcely begun to -scrape—killing one another for beasts to eat?’ - -“I told him that was perfectly correct. - -“He asked for particulars to assist his imagination. - -“‘But do not ships and your poor little cities get injured?’ he asked, -and I found the waste of property and conveniences seemed to impress -him almost as much as the killing. ‘Tell me more,’ said the Grand -Lunar; ‘make me see pictures. I cannot conceive these things.’ - -“And so, for a space, though something loath, I told him the story of -earthly War. - -“I told him of the first orders and ceremonies of war, of warnings and -ultimatums, and the marshalling and marching of troops. I gave him an -idea of manoeuvres and positions and battle joined. I told him of -sieges and assaults, of starvation and hardship in trenches, and of -sentinels freezing in the snow. I told him of routs and surprises, and -desperate last stands and faint hopes, and the pitiless pursuit of -fugitives and the dead upon the field. I told, too, of the past, of -invasions and massacres, of the Huns and Tartars, and the wars of -Mahomet and the Caliphs, and of the Crusades. And as I went on, and -Phi-oo translated, the Selenites cooed and murmured in a steadily -intensified emotion. - -“I told them an ironclad could fire a shot of a ton twelve miles, and -go through 20 feet of iron—and how we could steer torpedoes under -water. I went on to describe a Maxim gun in action, and what I could -imagine of the Battle of Colenso. The Grand Lunar was so incredulous -that he interrupted the translation of what I had said in order to have -my verification of my account. They particularly doubted my description -of the men cheering and rejoicing as they went into battle. - -“‘But surely they do not like it!’ translated Phi-oo. - -“I assured them men of my race considered battle the most glorious -experience of life, at which the whole assembly was stricken with -amazement. - -“‘But what good is this war?’ asked the Grand Lunar, sticking to his -theme. - -“‘Oh! as for _good_!’ said I; ‘it thins the population!’ - -“‘But why should there be a need—?’ - -“There came a pause, the cooling sprays impinged upon his brow, and -then he spoke again.” - -At this point a series of undulations that have been apparent as a -perplexing complication as far back as Cavor’s description of the -silence that fell before the first speaking of the Grand Lunar become -confusingly predominant in the record. These undulations are evidently -the result of radiations proceeding from a lunar source, and their -persistent approximation to the alternating signals of Cavor is -curiously suggestive of some operator deliberately seeking to mix them -in with his message and render it illegible. At first they are small -and regular, so that with a little care and the loss of very few words -we have been able to disentangle Cavor’s message; then they become -broad and larger, then suddenly they are irregular, with an -irregularity that gives the effect at last of some one scribbling -through a line of writing. For a long time nothing can be made of this -madly zigzagging trace; then quite abruptly the interruption ceases, -leaves a few words clear, and then resumes and continues for the rest -of the message, completely obliterating whatever Cavor was attempting -to transmit. Why, if this is indeed a deliberate intervention, the -Selenites should have preferred to let Cavor go on transmitting his -message in happy ignorance of their obliteration of its record, when it -was clearly quite in their power and much more easy and convenient for -them to stop his proceedings at any time, is a problem to which I can -contribute nothing. The thing seems to have happened so, and that is -all I can say. This last rag of his description of the Grand Lunar -begins in mid-sentence. - - -“...interrogated me very closely upon my secret. I was able in a little -while to get to an understanding with them, and at last to elucidate -what has been a puzzle to me ever since I realised the vastness of -their science, namely, how it is they themselves have never discovered -Cavorite.’ I find they know of it as a theoretical substance, but they -have always regarded it as a practical impossibility, because for some -reason there is no helium in the moon, and helium...” - -Across the last letters of helium slashes the resumption of that -obliterating trace. Note that word “secret,” for on that, and that -alone, I base my interpretation of the message that follows, the last -message, as both Mr. Wendigee and myself now believe it to be, that he -is ever likely to send us. - - - - -XXVI. -The Last Message Cavor sent to the Earth - - -On this unsatisfactory manner the penultimate message of Cavor dies -out. One seems to see him away there in the blue obscurity amidst his -apparatus intently signalling us to the last, all unaware of the -curtain of confusion that drops between us; all unaware, too, of the -final dangers that even then must have been creeping upon him. His -disastrous want of vulgar common sense had utterly betrayed him. He had -talked of war, he had talked of all the strength and irrational -violence of men, of their insatiable aggressions, their tireless -futility of conflict. He had filled the whole moon world with this -impression of our race, and then I think it is plain that he made the -most fatal admission that upon himself alone hung the possibility—at -least for a long time—of any further men reaching the moon. The line -the cold, inhuman reason of the moon would take seems plain enough to -me, and a suspicion of it, and then perhaps some sudden sharp -realisation of it, must have come to him. One imagines him about the -moon with the remorse of this fatal indiscretion growing in his mind. -During a certain time I am inclined to guess the Grand Lunar was -deliberating the new situation, and for all that time Cavor may have -gone as free as ever he had gone. But obstacles of some sort prevented -his getting to his electromagnetic apparatus again after that message I -have just given. For some days we received nothing. Perhaps he was -having fresh audiences, and trying to evade his previous admissions. -Who can hope to guess? - -And then suddenly, like a cry in the night, like a cry that is followed -by a stillness, came the last message. It is the briefest fragment, the -broken beginnings of two sentences. - -The first was: “I was mad to let the Grand Lunar know—” - -There was an interval of perhaps a minute. One imagines some -interruption from without. A departure from the instrument—a dreadful -hesitation among the looming masses of apparatus in that dim, blue-lit -cavern—a sudden rush back to it, full of a resolve that came too late. -Then, as if it were hastily transmitted came: “Cavorite made as -follows: take—” - -There followed one word, a quite unmeaning word as it stands: “uless.” - -And that is all. - -It may be he made a hasty attempt to spell “useless” when his fate was -close upon him. Whatever it was that was happening about that apparatus -we cannot tell. Whatever it was we shall never, I know, receive another -message from the moon. For my own part a vivid dream has come to my -help, and I see, almost as plainly as though I had seen it in actual -fact, a blue-lit shadowy dishevelled Cavor struggling in the grip of -these insect Selenites, struggling ever more desperately and hopelessly -as they press upon him, shouting, expostulating, perhaps even at last -fighting, and being forced backwards step by step out of all speech or -sign of his fellows, for evermore into the Unknown—into the dark, into -that silence that has no end.... - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 1013 *** |