War of the Worlds

the copper.

"I have been still too long," he said, in a tone that must have
reached the pit, "and now I must bear my witness.  Woe unto this
unfaithful city!  Woe!  Woe!  Woe!  Woe!  Woe! To the inhabitants of
the earth by reason of the other voices of the trumpet----"

"Shut up!" I said, rising to my feet, and in a terror lest the
Martians should hear us.  "For God's sake----"

"Nay," shouted the curate, at the top of his voice, standing
likewise and extending his arms.  "Speak!  The word of the Lord is
upon me!"

In three strides he was at the door leading into the kitchen.

"I must bear my witness!  I go!  It has already been too long
delayed."

I put out my hand and felt the meat chopper hanging to the wall.
In a flash I was after him.  I was fierce with fear.  Before he was
halfway across the kitchen I had overtaken him.  With one last touch
of humanity I turned the blade back and struck him with the butt.  He
went headlong forward and lay stretched on the ground.  I stumbled
over him and stood panting.  He lay still.

Suddenly I heard a noise without, the run and smash of slipping
plaster, and the triangular aperture in the wall was darkened.  I
looked up and saw the lower surface of a handling-machine coming
slowly across the hole.  One of its gripping limbs curled amid the
debris; another limb appeared, feeling its way over the fallen beams.
I stood petrified, staring.  Then I saw through a sort of glass plate
near the edge of the body the face, as we may call it, and the large
dark eyes of a Martian, peering, and then a long metallic snake of
tentacle came feeling slowly through the hole.

I turned by an effort, stumbled over the curate, and stopped at the
scullery door.  The tentacle was now some way, two yards or more, in
the room, and twisting and turning, with queer sudden movements, this
way and that.  For a while I stood fascinated by that slow, fitful
advance.  Then, with a faint, hoarse cry, I forced myself across the
scullery.  I trembled violently; I could scarcely stand upright.  I
opened the door of the coal cellar, and stood there in the darkness
staring at the faintly lit doorway into the kitchen, and listening.
Had the Martian seen me?  What was it doing now?

Something was moving to and fro there, very quietly; every now and
then it tapped against the wall, or started on its movements with a
faint metallic ringing, like the movements of keys on a split-ring.
Then a heavy body--I knew too well what--was dragged across the floor
of the kitchen towards the opening.  Irresistibly attracted, I crept
to the door and peeped into the kitchen.  In the triangle of bright
outer sunlight I saw the Martian, in its Briareus of a handling-machine,
scrutinizing the curate's head.  I thought at once that it would infer
my presence from the mark of the blow I had given him.

I crept back to the coal cellar, shut the door, and began to cover
myself up as much as I could, and as noiselessly as possible in the
darkness, among the firewood and coal therein.  Every now and then I
paused, rigid, to hear if the Martian had thrust its tentacles through
the opening again.

Then the faint metallic jingle returned.  I traced it slowly
feeling over the kitchen.  Presently I heard it nearer--in the
scullery, as I judged.  I thought that its length might be
insufficient to reach me.  I prayed copiously.  It passed, scraping
faintly across the cellar door.  An age of almost intolerable suspense
intervened; then I heard it fumbling at the latch! It had found the
door!  The Martians understood doors!

It worried at the catch for a minute, perhaps, and then the door
opened.

In the darkness I could just see the thing--like an elephant's
trunk more than anything else--waving towards me and touching and
examining the wall, coals, wood and ceiling.  It was like a black worm
swaying its blind head to and fro.

Once, even, it touched the heel of my boot.  I was on the verge of
screaming; I bit my hand.  For a time the tentacle was silent.  I
could have fancied it had been withdrawn.  Presently, with an abrupt
click, it gripped something--I thought it had me!--and seemed to go
out of the cellar again.  For a minute I was not sure.  Apparently it
had taken a lump of coal to examine.

I seized the opportunity of slightly shifting my position, which
had become cramped, and then listened.  I whispered passionate prayers
for safety.

Then I heard the slow, deliberate sound creeping towards me again.
Slowly, slowly it drew near, scratching against the walls and tapping
the furniture.

While I was still doubtful, it rapped smartly against the cellar
door and closed it.  I heard it go into the pantry, and the biscuit-tins
rattled and a bottle smashed, and then came a heavy bump against
the cellar door.  Then silence that passed into an infinity of
suspense.

Had it gone?