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- Герберт Уеллс
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- Война миров
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For
a
long
while
I
lay
close
to
the
peephole
,
but
not
daring
to
move
aside
the
red
plants
that
obscured
it
.
Once
or
twice
I
heard
a
faint
pitter-patter
like
the
feet
of
the
dog
going
hither
and
thither
on
the
sand
far
below
me
,
and
there
were
more
birdlike
sounds
,
but
that
was
all
.
At
length
,
encouraged
by
the
silence
,
I
looked
out
.
Except
in
the
corner
,
where
a
multitude
of
crows
hopped
and
fought
over
the
skeletons
of
the
dead
the
Martians
had
consumed
,
there
was
not
a
living
thing
in
the
pit
.
I
stared
about
me
,
scarcely
believing
my
eyes
.
All
the
machinery
had
gone
.
Save
for
the
big
mound
of
greyish-blue
powder
in
one
corner
,
certain
bars
of
aluminium
in
another
,
the
black
birds
,
and
the
skeletons
of
the
killed
,
the
place
was
merely
an
empty
circular
pit
in
the
sand
.
Slowly
I
thrust
myself
out
through
the
red
weed
,
and
stood
upon
the
mound
of
rubble
.
I
could
see
in
any
direction
save
behind
me
,
to
the
north
,
and
neither
Martians
nor
sign
of
Martians
were
to
be
seen
.
The
pit
dropped
sheerly
from
my
feet
,
but
a
little
way
along
the
rubbish
afforded
a
practicable
slope
to
the
summit
of
the
ruins
.
My
chance
of
escape
had
come
.
I
began
to
tremble
.
I
hesitated
for
some
time
,
and
then
,
in
a
gust
of
desperate
resolution
,
and
with
a
heart
that
throbbed
violently
,
I
scrambled
to
the
top
of
the
mound
in
which
I
had
been
buried
so
long
.
I
looked
about
again
.
To
the
northward
,
too
,
no
Martian
was
visible
.
When
I
had
last
seen
this
part
of
Sheen
in
the
daylight
it
had
been
a
straggling
street
of
comfortable
white
and
red
houses
,
interspersed
with
abundant
shady
trees
.
Now
I
stood
on
a
mound
of
smashed
brickwork
,
clay
,
and
gravel
,
over
which
spread
a
multitude
of
red
cactus-shaped
plants
,
knee-high
,
without
a
solitary
terrestrial
growth
to
dispute
their
footing
.
The
trees
near
me
were
dead
and
brown
,
but
further
a
network
of
red
thread
scaled
the
still
living
stems
.
The
neighbouring
houses
had
all
been
wrecked
,
but
none
had
been
burned
;
their
walls
stood
,
sometimes
to
the
second
story
,
with
smashed
windows
and
shattered
doors
.
The
red
weed
grew
tumultuously
in
their
roofless
rooms
.
Below
me
was
the
great
pit
,
with
the
crows
struggling
for
its
refuse
.
A
number
of
other
birds
hopped
about
among
the
ruins
.
Far
away
I
saw
a
gaunt
cat
slink
crouchingly
along
a
wall
,
but
traces
of
men
there
were
none
.
The
day
seemed
,
by
contrast
with
my
recent
confinement
,
dazzlingly
bright
,
the
sky
a
glowing
blue
.
A
gentle
breeze
kept
the
red
weed
that
covered
every
scrap
of
unoccupied
ground
gently
swaying
.
And
oh
!
the
sweetness
of
the
air
!
