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Book Two: The Earth Under The Martians | H. G. [Herbert George] Wells | |
The Man On Putney Hill |
Page 4 of 9 |
I made him no answer. I sat staring before me, trying in vain to devise some countervailing thought. "This isn't a war," said the artilleryman. "It never was a war, any more than there's war between man and ants." Suddenly I recalled the night in the observatory. "After the tenth shot they fired no more--at least, until the first cylinder came." "How do you know?" said the artilleryman. I explained. He thought. "Something wrong with the gun," he said. "But what if there is? They'll get it right again. And even if there's a delay, how can it alter the end? It's just men and ants. There's the ants builds their cities, live their lives, have wars, revolutions, until the men want them out of the way, and then they go out of the way. That's what we are now--just ants. Only----" "Yes," I said. "We're eatable ants." We sat looking at each other. "And what will they do with us?" I said. "That's what I've been thinking," he said; "that's what I've been thinking. After Weybridge I went south--thinking. I saw what was up. Most of the people were hard at it squealing and exciting themselves. But I'm not so fond of squealing. I've been in sight of death once or twice; I'm not an ornamental soldier, and at the best and worst, death-- it's just death. And it's the man that keeps on thinking comes through. I saw everyone tracking away south. Says I, "Food won't last this way," and I turned right back. I went for the Martians like a sparrow goes for man. All round"--he waved a hand to the horizon--"they're starving in heaps, bolting, treading on each other. . . ." |
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The War of the Worlds H. G. [Herbert George] Wells |
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