The First Men in the Moon by H. Wells (smart ebook reader TXT) 📗

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 preoccupation.

‘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