The First Men in the Moon by H. G. Wells (rosie project .txt) đź“–
- Author: H. G. Wells
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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.”
“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.
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 those 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 these 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
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