What We Saw From the Ruined House

After eating we crept back to the scullery, and there I must have dozed again, for when presently I looked round I was alone. The thudding vibration continued with wearisome persistence. I whispered for the curate several times, and at last felt my way to the door of the kitchen. It was still daylight, and I perceived him across the room, lying against the triangular hole that looked out upon the Martians. His shoulders were hunched, so that his head was hidden from me.

After eating, we crept back to the scullery. I must have dozed off again, because when I looked around, I was alone. The thudding vibration continued without letup. I whispered for the curate several times. At last, I felt my way to the kitchen door. It was still daylight, and I could see him across the room. He was lying against the triangular hole that looked out on the Martians. His shoulders were hunched, hiding his head from me.

I could hear a number of noises almost like those in an engine shed; and the place rocked with that beating thud. Through the aperture in the wall I could see the top of a tree touched with gold and the warm blue of a tranquil evening sky. For a minute or so I remained watching the curate, and then I advanced, crouching and stepping with extreme care amid the broken crockery that littered the floor.

I could hear several noises, almost like those in an engine shed, and the place shook with that pounding thud. Through the opening in the wall, I could see the top of a tree touched with gold. Above it was the warm blue of a peaceful evening sky. I watched the curate for about a minute. Then I moved forward, crouching and stepping very carefully among the broken dishes scattered across the floor.

I touched the curate’s leg, and he started so violently that a mass of plaster went sliding down outside and fell with a loud impact. I gripped his arm, fearing he might cry out, and for a long time we crouched motionless. Then I turned to see how much of our rampart remained. The detachment of the plaster had left a vertical slit open in the debris, and by raising myself cautiously across a beam I was able to see out of this gap into what had been overnight a quiet suburban roadway. Vast, indeed, was the change that we beheld.

I touched the curate’s leg, and he jerked so violently that a mass of plaster slid down outside and hit the ground with a loud crash. I grabbed his arm, afraid he might cry out, and we crouched motionless for a long time. Then I turned to see how much of our barrier remained. The fallen plaster had left a vertical opening in the rubble. I carefully raised myself across a beam and looked through the gap. Outside was a suburban road that had been quiet the night before. What we saw had changed enormously.

The fifth cylinder must have fallen right into the midst of the house we had first visited. The building had vanished, completely smashed, pulverised, and dispersed by the blow. The cylinder lay now far beneath the original foundations—deep in a hole, already vastly larger than the pit I had looked into at Woking. The earth all round it had splashed under that tremendous impact—“splashed” is the only word—and lay in heaped piles that hid the masses of the adjacent houses. It had behaved exactly like mud under the violent blow of a hammer. Our house had collapsed backward; the front portion, even on the ground floor, had been destroyed completely; by a chance the kitchen and scullery had escaped, and stood buried now under soil and ruins, closed in by tons of earth on every side save towards the cylinder. Over that aspect we hung now on the very edge of the great circular pit the Martians were engaged in making. The heavy beating sound was evidently just behind us, and ever and again a bright green vapour drove up like a veil across our peephole.

The fifth cylinder must have fallen right into the middle of the house we had first visited. The blow had completely smashed, pulverized, and scattered the building. It had vanished. The cylinder now lay far beneath the original foundations, deep in a hole. The hole was already much larger than the pit I had looked into at Woking. The earth all around the cylinder had splashed under that tremendous impact. “Splashed” is the only word. The earth lay in heaped piles that hid the bulk of the neighboring houses. It had behaved exactly like mud under the violent blow of a hammer. Our house had collapsed backward. The front part had been completely destroyed, even on the ground floor. By chance, the kitchen and scullery had escaped. They now stood buried under soil and ruins, enclosed by tons of earth on every side except the one facing the cylinder. On that side, we now hung at the very edge of the great circular pit the Martians were making. The heavy beating sound was evidently coming from just behind us. Again and again, a bright green vapor rose like a veil across our peephole.

The cylinder was already opened in the centre of the pit, and on the farther edge of the pit, amid the smashed and gravel-heaped shrubbery, one of the great fighting-machines, deserted by its occupant, stood stiff and tall against the evening sky. At first I scarcely noticed the pit and the cylinder, although it has been convenient to describe them first, on account of the extraordinary glittering mechanism I saw busy in the excavation, and on account of the strange creatures that were crawling slowly and painfully across the heaped mould near it.

The cylinder was already open in the center of the pit. On the far edge stood one of the great fighting-machines, abandoned by its occupant. It stood stiff and tall against the evening sky, among the crushed shrubs and heaps of gravel. At first, I hardly noticed the pit or the cylinder, though it was convenient to describe them first. Instead, my attention was drawn to an extraordinary glittering machine at work in the pit. I also saw strange creatures crawling slowly and painfully across the piled-up earth nearby.

The mechanism it certainly was that held my attention first. It was one of those complicated fabrics that have since been called handling-machines, and the study of which has already given such an enormous impetus to terrestrial invention. As it dawned upon me first, it presented a sort of metallic spider with five jointed, agile legs, and with an extraordinary number of jointed levers, bars, and reaching and clutching tentacles about its body. Most of its arms were retracted, but with three long tentacles it was fishing out a number of rods, plates, and bars which lined the covering and apparently strengthened the walls of the cylinder. These, as it extracted them, were lifted out and deposited upon a level surface of earth behind it.

The machine was certainly what first caught my attention. It was one of those complicated devices later called handling-machines. The study of these machines has already given an enormous boost to invention on Earth. When I first became aware of it, it looked like a metallic spider with five agile, jointed legs. Around its body were an extraordinary number of jointed levers, bars, and tentacles that reached and grasped. Most of its arms were drawn back, but it was using three long tentacles to pull out rods, plates, and bars. These lined the covering and apparently strengthened the walls of the cylinder. As it removed them, the machine lifted them out and placed them on a level patch of earth behind it.

Its motion was so swift, complex, and perfect that at first I did not see it as a machine, in spite of its metallic glitter. The fighting-machines were coordinated and animated to an extraordinary pitch, but nothing to compare with this. People who have never seen these structures, and have only the ill-imagined efforts of artists or the imperfect descriptions of such eye-witnesses as myself to go upon, scarcely realise that living quality.

Its movements were so swift, complex, and perfect that at first I did not see it as a machine, despite its metallic shine. The fighting-machines were extraordinarily coordinated and lifelike, but they were nothing compared with this. People who have never seen these structures have only artists’ poorly imagined attempts or imperfect descriptions by eyewitnesses like me to rely on. They can hardly grasp how lifelike the structures were.

I recall particularly the illustration of one of the first pamphlets to give a consecutive account of the war. The artist had evidently made a hasty study of one of the fighting-machines, and there his knowledge ended. He presented them as tilted, stiff tripods, without either flexibility or subtlety, and with an altogether misleading monotony of effect. The pamphlet containing these renderings had a considerable vogue, and I mention them here simply to warn the reader against the impression they may have created. They were no more like the Martians I saw in action than a Dutch doll is like a human being. To my mind, the pamphlet would have been much better without them.

I particularly remember the illustrations in one of the first pamphlets to give a continuous account of the war. The artist had clearly made a quick study of one fighting-machine, but that was all he knew. He portrayed the machines as tilted, rigid tripods, with no flexibility or subtlety. They all looked misleadingly alike. The pamphlet containing these drawings became quite popular. I mention them here simply to warn readers against the impression they may have created. They were no more like the Martians I saw in action than a Dutch doll is like a human being. In my opinion, the pamphlet would have been much better without them.

At first, I say, the handling-machine did not impress me as a machine, but as a crablike creature with a glittering integument, the controlling Martian whose delicate tentacles actuated its movements seeming to be simply the equivalent of the crab’s cerebral portion. But then I perceived the resemblance of its grey-brown, shiny, leathery integument to that of the other sprawling bodies beyond, and the true nature of this dexterous workman dawned upon me. With that realisation my interest shifted to those other creatures, the real Martians. Already I had had a transient impression of these, and the first nausea no longer obscured my observation. Moreover, I was concealed and motionless, and under no urgency of action.

At first, as I said, the handling-machine did not strike me as a machine. It seemed like a crablike creature with a glittering outer covering. The Martian controlling it with delicate tentacles seemed to be no more than the equivalent of a crab’s brain. But then I noticed that the machine’s shiny, grey-brown, leathery covering resembled the sprawling bodies beyond it. I began to understand the true nature of this skillful worker. With that realization, my interest shifted to those other creatures, the real Martians. I had already caught a brief glimpse of them, and my first nausea no longer clouded my observation. Besides, I was hidden and motionless, with no urgent need to act.

They were, I now saw, the most unearthly creatures it is possible to conceive. They were huge round bodies—or, rather, heads—about four feet in diameter, each body having in front of it a face. This face had no nostrils—indeed, the Martians do not seem to have had any sense of smell, but it had a pair of very large dark-coloured eyes, and just beneath this a kind of fleshy beak. In the back of this head or body—I scarcely know how to speak of it—was the single tight tympanic surface, since known to be anatomically an ear, though it must have been almost useless in our dense air. In a group round the mouth were sixteen slender, almost whiplike tentacles, arranged in two bunches of eight each. These bunches have since been named rather aptly, by that distinguished anatomist, Professor Howes, the hands. Even as I saw these Martians for the first time they seemed to be endeavouring to raise themselves on these hands, but of course, with the increased weight of terrestrial conditions, this was impossible. There is reason to suppose that on Mars they may have progressed upon them with some facility.

I now saw that they were the most unearthly creatures imaginable. They had huge, round bodies, or rather heads, about four feet across. Each had a face at the front. The face had no nostrils. Indeed, the Martians do not seem to have had any sense of smell. But it had two very large, dark eyes, with a kind of fleshy beak just beneath them. At the back of the head, or body, I scarcely know what to call it, was a single, taut membrane. It is now known to be an ear, though it must have been almost useless in our dense air. Around the mouth were sixteen slender, almost whiplike tentacles, arranged in two groups of eight. The distinguished anatomist Professor Howes has since given these groups the rather fitting name of hands. Even as I first saw the Martians, they seemed to be trying to raise themselves on these hands. But of course, their greater weight under Earth's conditions made this impossible. There is reason to suppose that on Mars they may have moved about on them with some ease.

The internal anatomy, I may remark here, as dissection has since shown, was almost equally simple. The greater part of the structure was the brain, sending enormous nerves to the eyes, ear, and tactile tentacles. Besides this were the bulky lungs, into which the mouth opened, and the heart and its vessels. The pulmonary distress caused by the denser atmosphere and greater gravitational attraction was only too evident in the convulsive movements of the outer skin.

I should mention here that dissection has since shown the internal anatomy to be almost equally simple. Most of the structure was brain, with enormous nerves leading to the eyes, ear, and touch-sensitive tentacles. Besides the brain, there were large lungs, into which the mouth opened, and the heart and its blood vessels. The convulsive movements of the outer skin made the breathing difficulties caused by the denser atmosphere and stronger gravity all too evident.

And this was the sum of the Martian organs. Strange as it may seem to a human being, all the complex apparatus of digestion, which makes up the bulk of our bodies, did not exist in the Martians. They were heads—merely heads. Entrails they had none. They did not eat, much less digest. Instead, they took the fresh, living blood of other creatures, and injected it into their own veins. I have myself seen this being done, as I shall mention in its place. But, squeamish as I may seem, I cannot bring myself to describe what I could not endure even to continue watching. Let it suffice to say, blood obtained from a still living animal, in most cases from a human being, was run directly by means of a little pipette into the recipient canal. . . .

And that was all the organs the Martians had. Strange as it may seem to a human being, Martians had none of the complex digestive organs that make up most of our bodies. They were heads, just heads. They had no intestines. They did not eat, much less digest food. Instead, they took fresh, living blood from other creatures and injected it into their own veins. I have seen them do this myself, as I shall mention later. But though I may seem squeamish, I cannot bring myself to describe what I could not bear to keep watching. It is enough to say that blood from a still living animal, in most cases a human being, was passed directly into the recipient canal through a small pipette. . . .

The bare idea of this is no doubt horribly repulsive to us, but at the same time I think that we should remember how repulsive our carnivorous habits would seem to an intelligent rabbit.

The mere idea of this is no doubt horrifying to us. But I think we should remember how horrifying our habit of eating meat would seem to an intelligent rabbit.

The physiological advantages of the practice of injection are undeniable, if one thinks of the tremendous waste of human time and energy occasioned by eating and the digestive process. Our bodies are half made up of glands and tubes and organs, occupied in turning heterogeneous food into blood. The digestive processes and their reaction upon the nervous system sap our strength and colour our minds. Men go happy or miserable as they have healthy or unhealthy livers, or sound gastric glands. But the Martians were lifted above all these organic fluctuations of mood and emotion.

The physical advantages of injection are undeniable if we consider how much human time and energy eating and digestion waste. Half our bodies are made up of glands, tubes, and organs that turn a variety of foods into blood. Digestion and its effects on the nervous system sap our strength and influence our thoughts. Men are happy or miserable depending on whether their livers and stomach glands are healthy. But the Martians were free from all these shifts in mood and emotion caused by their organs.

Their undeniable preference for men as their source of nourishment is partly explained by the nature of the remains of the victims they had brought with them as provisions from Mars. These creatures, to judge from the shrivelled remains that have fallen into human hands, were bipeds with flimsy, silicious skeletons (almost like those of the silicious sponges) and feeble musculature, standing about six feet high and having round, erect heads, and large eyes in flinty sockets. Two or three of these seem to have been brought in each cylinder, and all were killed before earth was reached. It was just as well for them, for the mere attempt to stand upright upon our planet would have broken every bone in their bodies.

Their clear preference for humans as food is partly explained by the remains of the victims they had brought from Mars as provisions. Judging from the shriveled remains that have fallen into human hands, these creatures walked on two legs. They had fragile skeletons made of silica, almost like those of silica sponges, and weak muscles. They stood about six feet tall and had round heads held upright, with large eyes in hard, stony sockets. Two or three of these creatures seem to have been brought in each cylinder, and all were killed before reaching Earth. That was just as well for them, because merely trying to stand upright on our planet would have broken every bone in their bodies.

And while I am engaged in this description, I may add in this place certain further details which, although they were not all evident to us at the time, will enable the reader who is unacquainted with them to form a clearer picture of these offensive creatures.

As I describe these offensive creatures, I can add a few more details. Not all of these details were clear to us at the time. But they will help readers unfamiliar with the creatures picture them more clearly.

In three other points their physiology differed strangely from ours. Their organisms did not sleep, any more than the heart of man sleeps. Since they had no extensive muscular mechanism to recuperate, that periodical extinction was unknown to them. They had little or no sense of fatigue, it would seem. On earth they could never have moved without effort, yet even to the last they kept in action. In twenty-four hours they did twenty-four hours of work, as even on earth is perhaps the case with the ants.

In three other ways, their bodies were strangely different from ours. They did not sleep, just as the human heart does not sleep. They had no extensive system of muscles to recover, so they had no need for regular periods of unconsciousness. They seemed to feel little or no fatigue. On Earth, they could never have moved without effort, yet they remained active to the very end. They worked twenty-four hours a day, as ants perhaps do even on Earth.

In the next place, wonderful as it seems in a sexual world, the Martians were absolutely without sex, and therefore without any of the tumultuous emotions that arise from that difference among men. A young Martian, there can now be no dispute, was really born upon earth during the war, and it was found attached to its parent, partially budded off, just as young lilybulbs bud off, or like the young animals in the fresh-water polyp.

Next, strange as it may seem in a world divided by sex, the Martians had no sex at all. So they had none of the turbulent emotions that arise from sexual differences among humans. There can now be no doubt that a young Martian was born on Earth during the war. It was found attached to its parent, partially budded off. It budded off just as young lily bulbs do, or like the young of freshwater polyps.

In man, in all the higher terrestrial animals, such a method of increase has disappeared; but even on this earth it was certainly the primitive method. Among the lower animals, up even to those first cousins of the vertebrated animals, the Tunicates, the two processes occur side by side, but finally the sexual method superseded its competitor altogether. On Mars, however, just the reverse has apparently been the case.

In humans and all higher land animals, this method of reproduction has disappeared. But even on Earth, it was certainly the original method. Among lower animals, both methods exist side by side, even among Tunicates, close relatives of vertebrates. Eventually, however, sexual reproduction replaced the other method altogether. On Mars, though, the opposite has apparently happened.

It is worthy of remark that a certain speculative writer of quasi-scientific repute, writing long before the Martian invasion, did forecast for man a final structure not unlike the actual Martian condition. His prophecy, I remember, appeared in November or December, 1893, in a long-defunct publication, the Pall Mall Budget, and I recall a caricature of it in a pre-Martian periodical called Punch. He pointed out—writing in a foolish, facetious tone—that the perfection of mechanical appliances must ultimately supersede limbs; the perfection of chemical devices, digestion; that such organs as hair, external nose, teeth, ears, and chin were no longer essential parts of the human being, and that the tendency of natural selection would lie in the direction of their steady diminution through the coming ages. The brain alone remained a cardinal necessity. Only one other part of the body had a strong case for survival, and that was the hand, “teacher and agent of the brain.” While the rest of the body dwindled, the hands would grow larger.

It is worth noting that a speculative writer with a reputation for something like science predicted humanity's eventual form. Writing long before the Martian invasion, he described a form not unlike the actual Martians. I remember his prediction appeared in November or December 1893, in the long-defunct publication Pall Mall Budget. I also recall a caricature of it in a pre-Martian periodical called Punch. Writing in a foolish, joking tone, he argued that perfect machines would eventually replace limbs, and perfect chemical devices would replace digestion. He argued that hair, the external nose, teeth, ears, and chin were no longer essential parts of the human body. Natural selection would tend to make them steadily smaller over the coming ages. Only the brain remained essential. Just one other body part had a strong case for survival: the hand, “teacher and agent of the brain.” While the rest of the body shrank, the hands would grow larger.

There is many a true word written in jest, and here in the Martians we have beyond dispute the actual accomplishment of such a suppression of the animal side of the organism by the intelligence. To me it is quite credible that the Martians may be descended from beings not unlike ourselves, by a gradual development of brain and hands (the latter giving rise to the two bunches of delicate tentacles at last) at the expense of the rest of the body. Without the body the brain would, of course, become a mere selfish intelligence, without any of the emotional substratum of the human being.

Many true words are written in jest. In the Martians, we have clear proof that intelligence has suppressed the animal side of the organism. I find it quite possible that the Martians descended from beings much like us. Their brains and hands may have gradually developed at the expense of the rest of their bodies. Their hands eventually gave rise to the two clusters of delicate tentacles. Without the body, the brain would, of course, become a purely selfish intelligence, without the emotional foundation of a human being.

The last salient point in which the systems of these creatures differed from ours was in what one might have thought a very trivial particular. Micro-organisms, which cause so much disease and pain on earth, have either never appeared upon Mars or Martian sanitary science eliminated them ages ago. A hundred diseases, all the fevers and contagions of human life, consumption, cancers, tumours and such morbidities, never enter the scheme of their life. And speaking of the differences between the life on Mars and terrestrial life, I may allude here to the curious suggestions of the red weed.

The last notable difference between these creatures and us was in what might seem a very trivial detail. Microorganisms cause so much disease and pain on Earth. Yet they either never appeared on Mars, or Martian sanitary science eliminated them ages ago. A hundred diseases never enter Martian life. These include all the fevers and contagious diseases of human life, as well as tuberculosis, cancers, tumors, and similar illnesses. And speaking of the differences between life on Mars and life on Earth, I may mention the curious suggestions raised by the red weed.

Apparently the vegetable kingdom in Mars, instead of having green for a dominant colour, is of a vivid blood-red tint. At any rate, the seeds which the Martians (intentionally or accidentally) brought with them gave rise in all cases to red-coloured growths. Only that known popularly as the red weed, however, gained any footing in competition with terrestrial forms. The red creeper was quite a transitory growth, and few people have seen it growing. For a time, however, the red weed grew with astonishing vigour and luxuriance. It spread up the sides of the pit by the third or fourth day of our imprisonment, and its cactus-like branches formed a carmine fringe to the edges of our triangular window. And afterwards I found it broadcast throughout the country, and especially wherever there was a stream of water.

Apparently, plants on Mars are mostly vivid blood-red rather than green. In any case, all the seeds the Martians brought with them, intentionally or accidentally, produced red plants. But only the plant commonly known as the red weed gained a foothold against Earth’s plants. The red creeper lasted only a short time, and few people have seen it growing. For a while, though, the red weed grew with astonishing speed and abundance. By the third or fourth day of our imprisonment, it had spread up the sides of the pit. Its cactus-like branches formed a deep red fringe around the edges of our triangular window. Later, I found the red weed spread throughout the country, especially wherever there was a stream.

The Martians had what appears to have been an auditory organ, a single round drum at the back of the head-body, and eyes with a visual range not very different from ours except that, according to Philips, blue and violet were as black to them. It is commonly supposed that they communicated by sounds and tentacular gesticulations; this is asserted, for instance, in the able but hastily compiled pamphlet (written evidently by someone not an eye-witness of Martian actions) to which I have already alluded, and which, so far, has been the chief source of information concerning them. Now no surviving human being saw so much of the Martians in action as I did. I take no credit to myself for an accident, but the fact is so. And I assert that I watched them closely time after time, and that I have seen four, five, and (once) six of them sluggishly performing the most elaborately complicated operations together without either sound or gesture. Their peculiar hooting invariably preceded feeding; it had no modulation, and was, I believe, in no sense a signal, but merely the expiration of air preparatory to the suctional operation. I have a certain claim to at least an elementary knowledge of psychology, and in this matter I am convinced—as firmly as I am convinced of anything—that the Martians interchanged thoughts without any physical intermediation. And I have been convinced of this in spite of strong preconceptions. Before the Martian invasion, as an occasional reader here or there may remember, I had written with some little vehemence against the telepathic theory.

The Martians had what appears to have been a hearing organ: a single round drum at the back of the head-body. Their eyes had a visual range not very different from ours, except that, according to Philips, blue and violet looked black to them. People commonly suppose that Martians communicated through sounds and movements of their tentacles. This claim appears, for instance, in the capable but hastily written pamphlet I mentioned earlier. The pamphlet was clearly written by someone who had not seen Martians in action. So far, it has been the chief source of information about them. Now, no surviving human saw as much of the Martians in action as I did. I take no credit for an accident, but the fact remains. I watched them closely again and again. I saw four, five, and once six of them slowly carry out extremely complicated operations together without sound or gesture. Their peculiar hooting always came before feeding. It had no variation in tone and, I believe, was not a signal at all. It was merely the sound of air being expelled in preparation for feeding by suction. I have some claim to at least a basic knowledge of psychology. In this matter, I am as firmly convinced as I am of anything that Martians exchanged thoughts without any physical means. I came to this conclusion despite strong preconceptions. Before the Martian invasion, as an occasional reader may remember, I had written with some force against the theory of telepathy.

The Martians wore no clothing. Their conceptions of ornament and decorum were necessarily different from ours; and not only were they evidently much less sensible of changes of temperature than we are, but changes of pressure do not seem to have affected their health at all seriously. Yet though they wore no clothing, it was in the other artificial additions to their bodily resources that their great superiority over man lay. We men, with our bicycles and road-skates, our Lilienthal soaring-machines, our guns and sticks and so forth, are just in the beginning of the evolution that the Martians have worked out. They have become practically mere brains, wearing different bodies according to their needs just as men wear suits of clothes and take a bicycle in a hurry or an umbrella in the wet. And of their appliances, perhaps nothing is more wonderful to a man than the curious fact that what is the dominant feature of almost all human devices in mechanism is absent—the wheel is absent; among all the things they brought to earth there is no trace or suggestion of their use of wheels. One would have at least expected it in locomotion. And in this connection it is curious to remark that even on this earth Nature has never hit upon the wheel, or has preferred other expedients to its development. And not only did the Martians either not know of (which is incredible), or abstain from, the wheel, but in their apparatus singularly little use is made of the fixed pivot or relatively fixed pivot, with circular motions thereabout confined to one plane. Almost all the joints of the machinery present a complicated system of sliding parts moving over small but beautifully curved friction bearings. And while upon this matter of detail, it is remarkable that the long leverages of their machines are in most cases actuated by a sort of sham musculature of the disks in an elastic sheath; these disks become polarised and drawn closely and powerfully together when traversed by a current of electricity. In this way the curious parallelism to animal motions, which was so striking and disturbing to the human beholder, was attained. Such quasi-muscles abounded in the crablike handling-machine which, on my first peeping out of the slit, I watched unpacking the cylinder. It seemed infinitely more alive than the actual Martians lying beyond it in the sunset light, panting, stirring ineffectual tentacles, and moving feebly after their vast journey across space.

The Martians wore no clothing. Their ideas of decoration and propriety were necessarily different from ours. They were evidently much less sensitive to changes in temperature than we are. Changes in pressure did not seem to seriously affect their health at all. Yet, though they wore no clothing, their great superiority over humans lay in the other artificial additions to their bodily powers. We humans are just beginning the evolution that the Martians have carried much further. We have our bicycles and road skates, our Lilienthal soaring machines, our guns and sticks, and so on. The Martians have become practically nothing but brains, wearing different bodies according to their needs. In the same way, people wear suits of clothes, take a bicycle when they are in a hurry, or carry an umbrella in the rain. Perhaps the most wonderful thing about their devices, to a human observer, is the absence of something found in almost all human machinery. The wheel is absent. Among all the things the Martians brought to earth, there is no trace or suggestion that they used wheels. One would have expected wheels at least in their means of transportation. It is curious to note that even on this earth, Nature has never hit upon the wheel, or has preferred other solutions to developing it. The Martians either did not know of the wheel, which is incredible, or chose not to use it. Their machinery also made remarkably little use of fixed or relatively fixed pivots, with circular motion around them limited to one plane. Almost all the joints in the machinery had a complex system of sliding parts. These moved over small but beautifully curved friction bearings. While on the subject of such details, it is remarkable how the long levers of their machines were usually moved. They were driven by a kind of artificial muscle made of disks inside an elastic sheath. When an electric current passed through the disks, they became polarized and were drawn closely and powerfully together. In this way, the machines achieved that curious resemblance to animal movement that struck and disturbed human observers. Such artificial muscles were abundant in the crablike handling-machine. I watched it unpacking the cylinder when I first peered out through the slit. It seemed infinitely more alive than the actual Martians lying beyond it in the sunset light. They were panting, stirring their ineffective tentacles, and moving feebly after their vast journey across space.

While I was still watching their sluggish motions in the sunlight, and noting each strange detail of their form, the curate reminded me of his presence by pulling violently at my arm. I turned to a scowling face, and silent, eloquent lips. He wanted the slit, which permitted only one of us to peep through; and so I had to forego watching them for a time while he enjoyed that privilege.

I was still watching their slow movements in the sunlight and studying every strange detail of their bodies. Then the curate reminded me he was there by pulling hard on my arm. I turned and saw him scowling, his silent lips saying everything. He wanted to look through the slit, which was wide enough for only one of us. So I had to stop watching them for a while and let him have his turn.

When I looked again, the busy handling-machine had already put together several of the pieces of apparatus it had taken out of the cylinder into a shape having an unmistakable likeness to its own; and down on the left a busy little digging mechanism had come into view, emitting jets of green vapour and working its way round the pit, excavating and embanking in a methodical and discriminating manner. This it was which had caused the regular beating noise, and the rhythmic shocks that had kept our ruinous refuge quivering. It piped and whistled as it worked. So far as I could see, the thing was without a directing Martian at all.

When I looked again, the busy handling-machine had already assembled several pieces of equipment it had taken from the cylinder. Together, they formed a shape unmistakably like the handling-machine itself. Down on the left, a busy little digging machine had come into view. It emitted jets of green vapor as it worked its way around the pit, digging and building up banks with careful precision. This machine had caused the regular beating noise and the rhythmic shocks that kept our ruined shelter trembling. It piped and whistled as it worked. As far as I could see, no Martian was directing it at all.