Первые люди на Луне/First people on the moon (Герберт Уеллс). Страница 122 из 157

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I

set

myself

to

decipher

this

.

"

I

have

been

injured

about

the

knee

,

I

think

my

kneecap

is

hurt

,

and

I

can

not

run

or

crawl

,

"

it

began

--

pretty

distinctly

written

.

Then

less

legibly

:

"

They

have

been

chasing

me

for

some

time

,

and

it

is

only

a

question

of

"

--

the

word

"

time

"

seemed

to

have

been

written

here

and

erased

in

favour

of

something

illegible

--

"

before

they

get

me

.

They

are

beating

all

about

me

.

"

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Then

the

writing

became

convulsive

.

"

I

can

hear

them

,

"

I

guessed

the

tracing

meant

,

and

then

it

was

quite

unreadable

for

a

space

.

Then

came

a

little

string

of

words

that

were

quite

distinct

:

"

a

different

sort

of

Selenite

altogether

,

who

appears

to

be

directing

the

--

"

The

writing

became

a

mere

hasty

confusion

again

.

"

They

have

larger

brain

cases

--

much

larger

,

and

slenderer

bodies

,

and

very

short

legs

.

They

make

gentle

noises

,

and

move

with

organized

deliberation

...

"

And

though

I

am

wounded

and

helpless

here

,

their

appearance

still

gives

me

hope

.

"

That

was

like

Cavor

.

"

They

have

not

shot

at

me

or

attempted

...

injury

.

I

intend

--

"

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Then

came

the

sudden

streak

of

the

pencil

across

the

paper

,

and

on

the

back

and

edges

--

blood

!

And

as

I

stood

there

stupid

,

and

perplexed

,

with

this

dumbfounding

relic

in

my

hand

,

something

very

soft

and

light

and

chill

touched

my

hand

for

a

moment

and

ceased

to

be

,

and

then

a

thing

,

a

little

white

speck

,

drifted

athwart

a

shadow

.

It

was

a

tiny

snowflake

,

the

first

snowflake

,

the

herald

of

the

night

.

I

looked

up

with

a

start

,

and

the

sky

had

darkened

almost

to

blackness

,

and

was

thick

with

a

gathering

multitude

of

coldly

watchful

stars

.

I

looked

eastward

,

and

the

light

of

that

shrivelled

world

was

touched

with

sombre

bronze

;

westward

,

and

the

sun

robbed

now

by

a

thickening

white

mist

of

half

its

heat

and

splendour

,

was

touching

the

crater

rim

,

was

sinking

out

of

sight

,

and

all

the

shrubs

and

jagged

and

tumbled

rocks

stood

out

against

it

in

a

bristling

disorder

of

black

shapes

.

Into

the

great

lake

of

darkness

westward

,

a

vast

wreath

of

mist

was

sinking

.

A

cold

wind

set

all

the

crater

shivering

.

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