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27 - The War of The Worlds - H G Wells · Adventure Books Library

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  Chapter ten, the epilogue. I cannot but regret now that I am concluding
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  my story, how little I am able to contribute to the discussion of the
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  many debatable questions which are still unsettled. In one respect, I shall certainly
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  provoke criticism. My particular province is speculative philosophy. My knowledge of comparative physiology
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  is confined to a book or two. But it seems to me that Carver's
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  suggestions as to the reason of the rapid death of the Martians is so probable
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  as to be regarded almost as a proven conclusion. I have assumed that in
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  the body of my narrative, at any rate, in all the bodies of
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  the Martians that were examined after the war, no bacteria except those already known
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  as terrestrial species were found. That they did not bury any of their dead,
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  and the reckless slaughter they perpetrated point also to an entire ignorance of the
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  putrefactive process. But probable as this seems, it is by no means a
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  proven conclusion. Neither is the composition of the black smoke known which the Martians
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  used with such deadly effect, and the generator of the heat rays remains a
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  puzzle. The terrible disasters at the Ealing and South Kensington Laboratories have disinclined analysts
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  for further investigations upon the latter spectrum. Analysis of the black powder points unmistakably
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  to the presence of an unknown element with a brilliant group of three lines in
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  the green, and it is possible that it combines with argonne to form a
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  compound which acts at once with deadly effect upon some constituent in the blood.
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  But such unproven speculations will scarcely be of interest to the general reader to whom
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  this story is addressed. None of the brown scum that drifted down the Thames
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  after the destruction of Shepperton was examined at the time, and now none is
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  forthcoming the results of an anatomical examination of the Martians, so far as the
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  prowling dogs had left such an examination possible, I have already given. But
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  every one is familiar with the magnificent and almost complete specimen in Spirits at the
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  Natural History Museum, and the countless drawings that have been made from it,
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  And beyond that the interest of their physiology and structure is purely scientific, a
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  question of graver and universal interest is the possibility of another attack from the Martians.
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  I do not think that nearly enough attention is being given to this aspect
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  of the matter. At present, the planet Mars is in conjunction. But
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  with every return to opposition, I for one, anticipate a renewal of their
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  adventure. In any case, we should be prepared. It seems to me
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  that it should be possible to define the position of the gun from which the
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  shots are discharged, to keep a sustained watch upon this part of the planet,
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  and to anticipate the arrival of the next attack. In that case,
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  the cylinder might be destroyed with dynamite or artillery before it was sufficiently cool for
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  the Martians to emerge, or they might be butchered by means of guns so
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  soon as the screw opened. It seems to me that they have lost a
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  vast advantage in the failure of their first surprise. Possibly they see it in
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  the same light. Lessing has advanced excellent reasons for supposing that the Martians have
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  actually succeeded in effecting a landing on the planet Venus seven months ago. Now,
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  Venus and Mars were in alignment with the sun. That is to say,
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  Mars was in opposition from the point of view of an observer on Venus.
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  Subsequently, a peculiar, luminous and sinuous marking appeared on the unillumined half
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  of the inner planet, and almost simultaneously, a faint dark mark of a
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  similar sinuous character was detected upon a photograph of the Martian disc. One needs
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  to see the drawings of these appearances in order to appreciate fully their remarkable resemblance
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  in character. At any rate, whether we expect another invasion or not,
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  our views of the human future must be greatly modified by these events. We
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  have learned now that we cannot regard this planet as being fenced in and a
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  secure, abiding place for man. We can never anticipate the unseen good or
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  evil that may come upon us suddenly out of space. It may be that
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  in the larger design of the universe, this invasion from Mars is not without
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  its ultimate benefit for men. It has robbed us of that serene confidence in
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  the future, which is the most fruitful source of decadence. The gifts to
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  human science it has brought are enormous, and it has done much to promote
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  the conception of the common wheel of mankind. It may be that across the
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  immensity of space, the Martians have watched the fate of these pioneers of theirs
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  and learned their lesson, and that on the planet Venus they have found a
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  securer settlement. Be that as it may, for many years, yet there
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  will certainly be no relaxation of the eager scrutiny of the Martian disk, and
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  those fiery darts of the sky. The shooting stars will bring with them as
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  they fall an unavoidable apprehension to all the sons of men. The broadening of
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  men's views that has resulted can scarcely be exaggerated. Before the cylinder fell,
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  there was a general persuasion that through all the deep of space, no life
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  exists beyond the petty surface of our minute sphere. Now we see further.
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  If the Martians can reach Venus, there is no reason to suppose that the
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  thing is impossible for men. And when the slow cooling of the Sun makes
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  this Earth uninhabitable, as at last it must do, it may be that
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  the thread of life that has begun here will have streamed out and caught our
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  sister planet within its toils. Dim and wonderful is the vision I have conjured
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  up in my mind of life spreading slowly from this little seed bed of the
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  solar system throughout the inanimate vastness of siderial space. But that is a remote
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  dream. It may be, on the other hand, that the destruction of
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  the Martians is only a reprieve to them and not to us. Perhaps is
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  the future ordained? I must confess the stress and danger of the time have
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  left an abiding sense of doubt and insecurity in my mind. I sit in
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  my study, writing by lamp light, and suddenly I see again the healing
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  valley below, set with writhing flames, and feel the house behind and about
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  me empty and desolate. I go out into the byfleet road, and vehicles
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  pass me. A butcher boy in a cart, a cab full of visitors,
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  a workman on a bicycle, children going to school, And suddenly they
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  become vague and unreal, And I hurry again with the artillerymen through the hot,
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  brooding silence of a night. I see the black powder darkening the silent
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  streets, and the contorted bodies shrouded in that lair. They rise upon me,
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  tattered and dog bitten. They gibber and grow fiercer, paler, uglier,
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  mad distortions of humanity at last, and I wake cold and wretched in
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  the darkness of the night. I go to London and see the busy multitudes
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  in Fleet Street and the Strand, and it comes across my mind that they
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  are but the ghosts of the past, haunting the streets. That I have
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  seen, silent and wretched, going to and fro phanfasms in a dead city,
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  the mockery of life in a galvanized body. And strange too it is
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  to stand on Primrose Hill, as I did but a day before writing this
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  last chapter, to see the great province of houses, dim and blue through
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  the haze of the smoke and mist, vanishing at last into the vague lower
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  sky. To see the people walking to and fro among the flower beds on
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  the hill, to see the sight seers about the Martian machine that stands there
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  still, To hear the tumult of playing children, and to recall the time
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  when I saw it all bright and clear cut, ard and silent under the
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  dawn of that last great day. And the strangest of all is it to
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  hold my wife's hand again, and to think that I have counted her and
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  that she has counted me among the dead end of Section twenty seven