and action, and those differences increased because we were living together in this dangerous place. The curate talked endlessly, and this prevented me from forming a plan of action.He had no self-control at all and sometimes cried for hours at a time. He ate more than I did, and did not seem to understand that we had to stay in the house until the Martians had finished their work if we wanted to stay alive. I tried threatening him, and in the end I hit him. That worked for some time.
The curate was watching through the hole when the first men were brought there. I was sitting near him, listening hard. He made a sudden movement backwards and for a moment I shared his panic. Then curiosity gave me courage and I got up, stepped across him and went to the hole.
At first I could see no reason for his behaviour. The night was coming but the Martians had lights on their machines. The whole scene was one of moving lights and shadows, difficult for the eyes. The Martians at the bottom of the pit could no longer be seen, because the earth around it was now so high. A fighting-machine stood in the corner of the pit. Then, through the noise of the machinery, came the taint sound of human voices.
I watched the fighting-machine closely, sure for the first time that it did actually contain a Martian. 1 could see the oily shine of its skin and the brightness of its eyes. And suddenly I heard a shout and saw a long tentacle reaching over the shoulder of the machine to the little cage on its back. Then something -something struggling violently - was lifted high against the sky and brought down again. I saw that it was a man. He was fat, red-faced, middle-aged, well-dressed; perhaps earlier he had been important. He disappeared behind the pile of earth and for a moment there was silence. Then we heard him scream and the sound of long and cheerful calling from the Martians.
I moved away from the hole, put my hands over my ears and ran into the hall. The curate, who had been lying silently with his arms over his head, looked up as I passed, cried out quite loudly and came running after me.
That night, as we hid in the hall, I felt a great need to do something but could think of no plan of escape. 15ut afterwards, during the second day, 1 was able to consider our position clearly. The curate, I found, was quite unable to discuss anything. The death of the man outside had taken away all his powers of thought. He had almost sunk to the level of an animal. I began to think that, although our position was terrible, there was no reason yet to give up hope. The Martians might only stay in this pit for a short time, then move on. Or if they stayed permanently, they might not think it necessary to watch it all the time.
On the third day, if I remember correctly, 1 saw a boy killed. It was the only occasion on which I actually saw the Martians feed. After that I avoided the hole in the wall for most of a day.
The Martians had made such an impression on me that at first I did not think I could escape. I did not think that they could be defeated by human beings. But on the fourth or fifth night I heard a sound like heavy guns.
It was very late and the moon was shining brightly. The Martians had taken away the digging-machine and apart from the fighting-machine on the far side of the pit and a building-machine that was busy out of my sight, the pit was empty. I heard a dog, and that familiar sound made me listen. Then I heard a noise exactly like the sound of big guns. I heard six bangs and then six more. And that was all.
On the sixth day of our imprisonment 1 looked out for the last time, and 1 soon found myself alone. Instead of staying close and trying to move me away from the pit, the curate had gone back into the hall. 1 followed him quickly and quietly and in the darkness I heard him drinking. I put my hand out and my fingers closed around a bottle of wine.
For a few minutes we fought together. The bottle hit the floor and broke, and I stopped fighting and got up. We stood breathing heavily, staring at each other. In the end 1 moved between him and the food and told him that I was going to take control.I divided the food in the cupboard into separate amounts to last us ten days. I would not let him eat any more that day. In the afternoon he tried to get some food. 1 had been asleep but in a moment I was awake. All day and all night we sat face to face. I was tired but would not give up, and he cried and complained about his immediate hunger. The rest of the time he just talked to himself, and I began to realize that he had gone completely mad.
Through the eighth and ninth days his voice grew louder. He threatened me, begged me, and this was mixed with a great deal of talk about his service to God. Then he slept for some time and began again with even more strength, so loudly that I had to try to stop him.
'Be still!' I demanded.
He rose to his knees. 'I have been still too long,' he said, loud enough for the Martians to