Chapter Ten
The Epilogue
I CANNOT but regret, now that I am concluding my
story, how little I am able to contribute to the
discussion of the many debatable questions which are
still unsettled. In one respect I shall certainly
provoke criticism. My particular province is
speculative philosophy. My knowledge of comparative
physiology is confined to a book or two, but it
seems to me that Carver’s suggestions as to the
reason of the rapid death of the Martians is so
probable as to be regarded almost as a proven
conclusion. I have assumed that in the body of my
narrative. 1
At any rate, in all the bodies of the Martians that
were examined after the war, no bacteria except
those already known as terrestrial species were
found. That they did not bury any of their dead, and
the reckless slaughter they perpetrated, point also
to an entire ignorance of the putrefactive process.
But probable as this seems, it is by no means a
proven conclusion. 2
Neither is the composition of the Black Smoke known,
which the Martians used with such deadly effect, and
the generator of the Heat-Rays remains a puzzle. The
terrible disasters at the Ealing and South
Kensington laboratories have disinclined analysts
for further investigations upon the latter. Spectrum
analysis of the black powder points unmistakably to
the presence of an unknown element with a brilliant
group of three lines in the green, and it is
possible that it combines with argon to form a
compound which acts at once with deadly effect upon
some constituent in the blood. But such unproven
speculations will scarcely be of interest to the
general reader, to whom this story is addressed.
None of the brown scum that drifted down the Thames
after the destruction of Shepperton was examined at
the time, and now none is forthcoming. 3
The results of an anatomical examination of the
Martians, so far as the prowling dogs had left such
an examination possible, I have already given. But
everyone is familiar with the magnificent and almost
complete specimen in spirits at the Natural History
Museum, and the countless drawings that have been
made from it; and beyond that the interest of their
physiology and structure is purely scientific. 4
A question of graver and universal interest is the
possibility of another attack from the Martians. I
do not think that nearly enough attention is being
given to this aspect of the matter. At present the
planet Mars is in conjunction, but with every return
to opposition I, for one, anticipate a renewal of
their adventure. In any case, we should be prepared.
It seems to me that it should be possible to define
the position of the gun from which the shots are
discharged, to keep a sustained watch upon this part
of the planet, and to anticipate the arrival of the
next attack. 5
In that case the cylinder might be destroyed with
dynamite or artillery before it was sufficiently
cool for the Martians to emerge, or they might be
butchered by means of guns so soon as the screw
opened. It seems to me that they have lost a vast
advantage in the failure of their first surprise.
Possibly they see it in the same light. 6
Lessing has advanced excellent reasons for supposing
that the Martians have actually succeeded in
effecting a landing on the planet Venus. Seven
months ago now, Venus and Mars were in alignment
with the sun; that is to say, Mars was in opposition
from the point of view of an observer on Venus.
Subsequently a peculiar luminous and sinuous marking
appeared on the unillumined half of the inner
planet, and almost simultaneously a faint dark mark
of a similar sinuous character was detected upon a
photograph of the Martian disk. One needs to see the
drawings of these appearances in order to appreciate
fully their remarkable resemblance in character. 7
At any rate, whether we expect another invasion or
not, our views of the human future must be greatly
modified by these events. We have learned now that
we cannot regard this planet as being fenced in and
a secure abiding place for Man; we can never
anticipate the unseen good or evil that may come
upon us suddenly out of space. It may be that in the
larger design of the universe this invasion from
Mars is not without its ultimate benefit for men; it
has robbed us of that serene confidence in the
future which is the most fruitful source of
decadence, the gifts to human science it has brought
are enormous, and it has done much to promote the
conception of the commonweal of mankind. It may be
that across the immensity of space the Martians have
watched the fate of these pioneers of theirs and
learned their lesson, and that on the planet Venus
they have found a securer settlement. Be that as it
may, for many years yet there will certainly be no
relaxation of the eager scrutiny of the Martian
disk, and those fiery darts of the sky, the shooting
stars, will bring with them as they fall an
unavoidable apprehension to all the sons of men. 8
The broadening of men’s views that has resulted can
scarcely be exaggerated. Before the cylinder fell
there was a general persuasion that through all the
deep of space no life existed beyond the petty
surface of our minute sphere. Now we see further. If
the Martians can reach Venus, there is no reason to
suppose that the thing is impossible for men, and
when the slow cooling of the sun makes this earth
uninhabitable, as at last it must do, it may be that
the thread of life that has begun here will have
streamed out and caught our sister planet within its
toils. 9
Dim and wonderful is the vision I have conjured up
in my mind of life spreading slowly from this little
seed bed of the solar system throughout the
inanimate vastness of sidereal space. But that is a
remote dream. It may be, on the other hand, that the
destruction of the Martians is only a reprieve. To
them, and not to us, perhaps, is the future
ordained. 10
I must confess the stress and danger of the time
have left an abiding sense of doubt and insecurity
in my mind. I sit in my study writing by lamplight,
and suddenly I see again the healing valley below
set with writhing flames, and feel the house behind
and about me empty and desolate. I go out into the
Byfleet Road, and vehicles pass me, a butcher boy in
a cart, a cabful of visitors, a workman on a
bicycle, children going to school, and suddenly they
become vague and unreal, and I hurry again with the
artilleryman through the hot, brooding silence. Of a
night I see the black powder darkening the silent
streets, and the contorted bodies shrouded in that
layer; they rise upon me tattered and dog-bitten.
They gibber and grow fiercer, paler, uglier, mad
distortions of humanity at last, and I wake, cold
and wretched, in the darkness of the night. 11
I go to London and see the busy multitudes in Fleet
Street and the Strand, and it comes across my mind
that they are but the ghosts of the past, haunting
the streets that I have seen silent and wretched,
going to and fro, phantasms in a dead city, the
mockery of life in a galvanised body. And strange,
too, it is to stand on Primrose Hill, as I did but a
day before writing this last chapter, to see the
great province of houses, dim and blue through the
haze of the smoke and mist, vanishing at last into
the vague lower sky, to see the people walking to
and fro among the flower beds on the hill, to see
the sight-seers about the Martian machine that
stands there still, to hear the tumult of playing
children, and to recall the time when I saw it all
bright and clear-cut, hard and silent, under the
dawn of that last great day.… 12
And strangest of all is it to hold my wife’s hand
again, and to think that I have counted her, and
that she has counted me, among the dead.
THE END!!! |
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