Chapter 16

Points of View

11 min

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.

The light grew stronger as we moved forward. Soon it was nearly as bright as the glow on Cavor’s legs. Our tunnel was opening into a cavern, and the new light came from the far end. I saw something that sent my hopes soaring.

“Cavor,” I said, “it comes from above! I am certain it comes from above!”

“Cavor,” I said, “it comes from above! I'm sure it comes from above!”

He made no answer, but hurried on.

He didn't answer, but hurried on.

Indisputably it was a grey light, a silvery light.

It was definitely a gray 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.

A moment later, we were beneath it. It filtered down through a crack in the cavern wall. As I stared up, a drop of water fell on my face. I jumped and stepped aside. Another drop fell with an audible drip on the rocky floor.

“Cavor,” I said, “if one of us lifts the other, he can reach that crack!”

“Cavor,” I said, “if one of us lifts the other, the one being lifted can reach that crack!”

“I’ll lift you,” he said, and incontinently hoisted me as though I was a baby.

“I’ll lift you,” he said, and immediately lifted me as though I were 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 thrust an arm into the crack and found a small ledge just within reach of my fingertips. I could see that the white light was much brighter now. I pulled myself up with two fingers, hardly needing any effort, though on Earth I weigh twelve stone. I reached for a higher corner of rock and got my feet onto the narrow ledge. I stood up and felt my way up the rocks with my fingers. The crack grew wider farther up. “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.

I wedged myself between the sides of the crack, rested my knee and foot on the ledge, and reached out a hand. I couldn't see Cavor, but I heard him rustling as he crouched to jump. Then, whack! He was hanging from my arm, and he was no heavier than a kitten! I pulled him up until he could put a hand on my ledge and let go of 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—

“Damn it!” I said, “anyone could be a mountaineer on the moon.” So I began climbing in earnest. I climbed steadily for a few minutes, then looked up again. The cleft was steadily widening, 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.

A moment later, I could see what it was. The sight disappointed me so much that I could have beaten my head against the rocks. It was simply an open space with an uneven slope. All across its sloping floor stood a forest of small, club-shaped fungi. Each one shone brilliantly with a pinkish silver light. For a moment I stared at their soft glow. Then I sprang forward and upward among them. I pulled up half a dozen and threw them against the rocks. Then I sat down, laughing bitterly, as Cavor’s red 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.

“It’s phosphorescence again!” I said. “There’s no need to hurry. Sit down and make yourself at home.” As he sputtered about our disappointment, I began tossing more of the 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?”

“Daylight!” I cried. “Sunrise, sunset, clouds, and windy skies! Will 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.

As I spoke, a little picture of our world seemed to appear before me. It was bright, small, and clear, like the background of an old Italian painting. “The changing sky and sea, the hills and 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 west-facing house!” He did not 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 these 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!”

“Here we are, digging through this awful world that isn’t a world. Its inky ocean lies hidden in some horrible darkness below. Outside, there’s the scorching heat of day and the deadly stillness of night. And all these things are chasing us now, horrible men with leathery skin, insect men straight out of a nightmare! After all, they’re right! What right do we have to smash them and disturb their world? For all we know, the whole planet is already up and chasing us. At any moment, we may hear them whimpering and banging their gongs. What are we to do? Where are we to go? We’re about as comfortable here as snakes from Jamrach’s let loose in a Surbiton villa!”

“It was your fault,” said Cavor.

“My fault!” I shouted. “Good Lord!”

“I had an idea!”

“Curse your ideas!”

“Damn your ideas!”

“If we had refused to budge—”

“If we had refused to move...”

“Under those goads?”

“Yes. They would have carried us!”

“Over that bridge?”

“Yes. They must have carried us from outside.”

“Yes. They must have carried us in from outside.”

“I’d rather be carried by a fly across a ceiling.”

“I’d rather have a fly carry me across a ceiling.”

“Good Heavens!”

“Good Lord!”

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!”

I went back to destroying the fungi. Then I suddenly noticed something that surprised me, even then. “Cavor,” I said, “these chains are made 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....

He was thinking hard, gripping his cheeks with his hands. He slowly turned his head and stared at me. When I repeated what I had said, he looked at the twisted chain around his right hand. “So they are,” he said, “so they are.” Even as he looked, the brief interest faded from his face. He hesitated for a moment, then returned to his thoughts. For a while, I puzzled over why I had only just noticed this. Then I remembered the blue light we had been in. It had taken all the color out of the metal. That discovery also set me thinking, and my thoughts carried me far and wide. I forgot that I had just been asking what business we had on the moon. Gold....

It was Cavor who spoke first. “It seems to me that there are two courses open to us.”

Cavor spoke first. “I think we have two options.”

“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—”

“Either we can try to get back outside, fighting our way out if necessary. Then we can search for our sphere until we find it or the cold of night kills 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.”

“We might try again to reach some kind of understanding with the minds of the people on the moon.”

“So far as I’m concerned—it’s the first.”

“As far as I’m concerned, it’s the first.”

“I doubt.”

“I’m not sure.”

“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—”

“You see,” said Cavor, “I don't think we can judge the Selenites by what we have seen of them. Their central world, their civilized world, must be far below us, in the deeper caverns around their sea. The part of the crust we are in is an outlying district, a rural region. At least, that is how I see it. The Selenites we have seen may be no more than the equivalent of cowboys and engine operators. They use goads, probably for mooncalves. They lack the imagination to see that we might not be able to do everything they can. And they are undeniably brutal. All of this seems to suggest that they are something like cowboys and engine operators. But if we endured...”

“Neither of us could endure a six-inch plank across the bottomless pit for very long.”

“Neither of us could stand being on a six-inch plank over a bottomless pit for very long.”

“No,” said Cavor; “but then—”

“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—”

He saw a new possibility. “Well, suppose we found a corner where we could defend ourselves against these hinds and laborers. If, for example, we could hold out for a week or so, news of our arrival would probably spread. It could reach the more intelligent and populous parts.”

“If they exist.”

“They must exist, or whence came those tremendous machines?”

“They must exist, or where did those enormous machines come from?”

“That’s possible, but it’s the worst of the two chances.”

“That’s possible, but it’s the worse of the two possibilities.”

“We might write up inscriptions on walls—”

“We might write messages on walls...”

“How do we know their eyes would see the sort of marks we made?”

“How do we know their eyes could see the kinds of marks we made?”

“If we cut them—”

“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 think these Selenites so infinitely wiser than men.”

I turned to a new thought. “After all,” I said, “I suppose you don't think these Selenites are infinitely wiser than men.”

“They must know a lot more—or at least a lot of different things.”

“They must know a lot more, or at least a lot of different things.”

“Yes, but—” I hesitated.

“Yes, but...” I hesitated.

“I think you’ll quite admit, Cavor, that you’re rather an exceptional man.”

“I think you’d agree, Cavor, that you’re a rather exceptional man.”

“How?”

“Well, you—you’re a rather lonely man—have been, that is. You haven’t married.”

“Well, you, you’re a rather lonely man. Or you have been, I mean. You haven’t married.”

“Never wanted to. But why—”

“Never wanted to. But why...”

“And you never grew richer than you happened to be?”

“And you never got any richer than you already were?”

“Never wanted that either.”

“You’ve just rooted after knowledge?”

“You’ve just been searching for knowledge?”

“Well, a certain curiosity is natural—”

“Well, some curiosity is natural.”

“You think so. That’s just it. You think every other mind wants to know. I remember once, when I asked you why you conducted all these researches, you said you wanted your F.R.S., and to have the stuff called Cavorite, and things like that. You know perfectly well you didn’t do it for that; but at the time my question took you by surprise, and you felt you ought to have something to look like a motive. Really you conducted researches because you had to. It’s your twist.”

“You think so. That’s just it. You think every other mind wants to know. I remember asking you once why you did all this research. You said you wanted your F.R.S. and wanted the stuff to be called Cavorite, and things like that. You know perfectly well you didn’t do it for those reasons. But my question took you by surprise, and you felt you should have something that looked like a motive. Really, you did research because you had to. It’s your quirk.”

“Perhaps it is—”

“Perhaps it is...”

“It isn’t one man in a million has that twist. Most men want—well, various things, but very few want knowledge for its own sake. I don’t, I know perfectly well. Now, these Selenites seem to be a driving, busy sort of being, but how do you know that even the most intelligent will take an interest in us or our world? I don’t believe they’ll even know we have a world. They never come out at night—they’d freeze if they did. They’ve probably never seen any heavenly body at all except the blazing sun. How are they to know there is another world? What does it matter to them if they do? Well, even if they have had a glimpse of a few stars, or even of the earth crescent, what of that? Why should people living inside a planet trouble to observe that sort of thing? Men wouldn’t have done it except for the seasons and sailing; why should the moon people?...

“Not one man in a million has that inclination. Most men want, well, various things, but very few want knowledge for its own sake. I don’t, I know that perfectly well. Now, these Selenites seem to be driven, busy beings. But how do you know that even the most intelligent of them will be interested in us or our world? I don’t believe they’ll even know we have a world. They never come out at night. They’d freeze if they did. They’ve probably never seen any heavenly body except the blazing sun. How are they supposed to know there is another world? What does it matter to them if they do? Well, even if they have caught a glimpse of a few stars, or even the crescent earth, what of it? Why should people living inside a planet bother to observe that sort of thing? Men wouldn’t have done it except for the seasons and sailing. So why should the moon people?...

“Well, suppose there are a few philosophers like yourself. They are just the very Selenites who’ll never have heard of our existence. Suppose a Selenite had dropped on the earth when you were at Lympne, you’d have been the last man in the world to hear he had come. You never read a newspaper! You see the chances against you. Well, it’s for these chances we’re sitting here doing nothing while precious time is flying. I tell you we’ve got into a fix. We’ve come unarmed, we’ve lost our sphere, we’ve got no food, we’ve shown ourselves to the Selenites, and made them think we’re strange, strong, dangerous animals; and unless these Selenites are perfect fools, they’ll set about now and hunt us till they find us, and when they find us they’ll try to take us if they can, and kill us if they can’t, and that’s the end of the matter. If they take us, they’ll probably kill us, through some misunderstanding. After we’re done for, they may discuss us perhaps, but we shan’t get much fun out of that.”

“Well, suppose there are a few philosophers like you. They’re the very Selenites who’ll never have heard of us. Suppose a Selenite had landed on Earth when you were at Lympne. You’d have been the last person in the world to hear about it. You never read a newspaper! You can see how unlikely it is. Yet we’re sitting here doing nothing for the sake of those chances, while precious time is flying. I tell you, we’re in a fix. We’ve come without weapons, lost our sphere, and have no food. We’ve shown ourselves to the Selenites and made them think we’re strange, strong, dangerous animals. Unless they’re complete fools, they’ll start hunting us now and keep at it until they find us. Then they’ll try to capture us if they can, and kill us if they can’t. That’s the end of it. If they capture us, they’ll probably kill us because of some misunderstanding. Once we’re dead, perhaps they’ll discuss us, but we won’t get much fun out of that.”

“Go on.”

“On the other hand, here’s gold knocking about like cast iron at home. If only we can get some of it back, if only we can find our sphere again before they do, and get back, then—”

“On the other hand, gold is lying around here like cast iron back home. If only we can take some back, if only we can find our sphere before they do and get back, then...”

“Yes?”

“We might put the thing on a sounder footing. Come back in a bigger sphere with guns.”

“We could put things on a firmer footing. Come back in a bigger sphere with guns.”

“Good Lord!” cried Cavor, as though that was horrible.

“Good Lord!” cried Cavor, as if that were horrible.

I shied another luminous fungus down the cleft.

I threw another glowing fungus down the crack.

“Look here, Cavor,” I said, “I’ve half the voting power anyhow in this affair, and this is a case for a practical man. I’m a practical man, and you are not. I’m not going to trust to Selenites and geometrical diagrams if I can help it. That’s all. Get back. Drop all this secrecy—or most of it. And come again.”

“Look here, Cavor,” I said, “I have half the voting power in this affair anyway, and this is a job for a practical man. I’m a practical man, and you’re not. I’m not going to rely on Selenites and geometric diagrams if I can help it. That’s all. Go back. Give up all this secrecy, or most of it. And come back.”

He reflected. “When I came to the moon,” he said, “I ought to have come alone.”

He thought for a moment. “When I came to the moon,” he said, “I should have come alone.”

“The question before the meeting,” I said, “is how to get back to the sphere.”

“The question we need to discuss,” I said, “is how to get back to the sphere.”

For a time we nursed our knees in silence. Then he seemed to decide for my reasons.

For a while, we sat in silence, holding our knees. Then he seemed to agree with my reasons.

“I think,” he said, “one can get data. It is clear that while the sun is on this side of the moon the air will be blowing through this planet sponge from the dark side hither. On this side, at any rate, the air will be expanding and flowing out of the moon caverns into the craters.... Very well, there’s a draught here.”

“I think,” he said, “we can get data. Clearly, while the sun is on this side of the moon, air blows here from the dark side. It passes through the moon like a sponge. On this side, at least, the air expands and flows out of the moon’s caverns into the craters.... Very well, there’s a draft here.”

“So there is.”

“And that means that this is not a dead end; somewhere behind us this cleft goes on and up. The draught is blowing up, and that is the way we have to go. If we try to get up any sort of chimney or gully there is, we shall not only get out of these passages where they are hunting for us—”

“And that means this is not a dead end. Somewhere behind us, this cleft continues upward. The air is blowing upward, and that is the way we have to go. If we try to climb any chimney or gully we find, we will not only escape these passages where they are hunting for us...”

“But suppose the gully is too narrow?”

“But what if the gully is too narrow?”

“We’ll come down again.”

“Ssh!” I said suddenly; “what’s that?”

“Shh!” I said suddenly. “What’s that?”

We listened. At first it was an indistinct murmur, and then one picked out the clang of a gong. “They must think we are mooncalves,” said I, “to be frightened at that.”

We listened. At first, we heard a faint murmur. Then we could make out the clang of a gong. “They must think we are mooncalves if they expect that to frighten us,” I said.

“They’re coming along that passage,” said Cavor.

“They’re coming down that passage,” said Cavor.

“They must be.”

“They’ll not think of the cleft. They’ll go past.”

“They won’t think of the cleft. They’ll go past it.”

I listened again for a space. “This time,” I whispered, “they’re likely to have some sort of weapon.”

I listened again for a while. “This time,” I whispered, “they’re likely to have some kind of weapon.”

Then suddenly I sprang to my feet. “Good heavens, Cavor!” I cried. “But they will! They’ll see the fungi I have been pitching down. They’ll—”

Then suddenly I jumped to my feet. “Good heavens, Cavor!” I cried. “But they will! They’ll see the fungi I’ve been throwing down. They’ll...”

I didn’t finish my sentence. I turned about and made a leap over the fungus tops towards the upper end of the cavity. I saw that the space turned upward and became a draughty cleft again, ascending to impenetrable darkness. I was about to clamber up into this, and then with a happy inspiration turned back.

I didn’t finish my sentence. I turned and leaped over the fungus tops toward the far end of the cavity. I saw that the space turned upward and became a drafty cleft again. It rose into impenetrable darkness. I was about to climb into the cleft, but then I had a happy inspiration and turned back.

“What are you doing?” asked Cavor.

“Go on!” said I, and went back and got two of the shining fungi, and putting one into the breast pocket of my flannel jacket, so that it stuck out to light our climbing, went back with the other for Cavor. The noise of the Selenites was now so loud that it seemed they must be already beneath the cleft. But it might be they would have difficulty in clambering in to it, or might hesitate to ascend it against our possible resistance. At any rate, we had now the comforting knowledge of the enormous muscular superiority our birth in another planet gave us. In other minute I was clambering with gigantic vigour after Cavor’s blue-lit heels.

“Go on!” I said. I went back and got two of the glowing fungi. I put one in the breast pocket of my flannel jacket, leaving it sticking out to light our climb. Then I took the other back for Cavor. The noise of the Selenites was now so loud that they seemed to be already beneath the cleft. But they might have trouble climbing into it, or hesitate to climb up against any resistance we might offer. At any rate, we now had the comforting knowledge that our birth on another planet gave us enormous muscular superiority. A minute later, I was climbing with gigantic strength after Cavor’s blue-lit heels.