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The War of the Worlds
Chapter 28. THE EPILOGUE
Now that I finish my story, I regret how little I can add to the many still-unsettled questions.
In one way, I'll certainly cause criticism.
My special area is speculative philosophy, My knowledge of comparative physiology comes from only a book or two.
But Carver's ideas about the Martians' quick death seem so likely.
They can be seen almost as a proven fact.
I have assumed that in the body of my story.
In all Martian bodies examined after the war, no bacteria except those known as earthly types were found.
That they did not bury their dead and killed carelessly points to a complete lack of knowledge about the rotting process.
But as likely as this seems, it's by no means a proven conclusion.
The make-up of the Black Smoke, which the Martians used with deadly effect, and the machine that made the Heat-Rays remain unknown.
The terrible disasters at the Ealing and South Kensington laboratories have made analysts unwilling to do further research on the latter.
Spectrum analysis of the black powder shows an unknown element.
It has a bright group of three lines in the green.
This element may combine with argon, the compound acts at once with deadly effect on some part of the blood.
But such unproven ideas will hardly be of interest to the general reader, to whom this story is told.
None of the brown scum that floated down the Thames after the destruction of Shepperton was examined at the time, and now none is available.
The results of a body study of the Martians, as far as the wandering dogs had left such a study possible, I have already given.
But everyone knows the wonderful and almost complete example in alcohol at the Natural History Museum, and the countless drawings that have been made from it.
Beyond that, the interest of their body structure is purely scientific.
A question of greater and wider interest is the possibility of another attack from the Martians.
I don't think that nearly enough attention is being given to this part of the matter.
At present, the planet Mars is in conjunction, but with every return to opposition, I, for one, expect a repeat of their adventure.
In any case, we should be prepared.
It seems to me that we should be able to find the gun's position.
We can keep a steady watch on this part of the planet.
Then we can expect the next attack.
The cylinder might be destroyed with dynamite or artillery before it cooled.
Then, the Martians couldn't come out, Alternatively, they might be killed by guns as soon as the screw opened.
It seems to me that they have lost a great advantage by failing in their first surprise.
Possibly they see it the same way.
Lessing has given excellent reasons for thinking that the Martians have actually succeeded in landing on the planet Venus.
Seven months ago now, Venus and Mars were in line with the sun.
That's to say, Mars was in opposition from the point of view of an observer on Venus.
A strange, bright, and wavy mark appeared on the dark half of the inner planet.
Almost at the same time, a faint dark mark of a similar wavy nature was found on a photograph of the Martian disk.
One needs to see the drawings of these appearances to fully understand their remarkable likeness in nature.
At any rate, whether we expect another invasion or not, our views of the human future must be greatly changed by these events.
We have learned now that we can't see this planet as fenced in and a safe home for Man.
We can never expect the unseen good or evil that may come upon us suddenly out of space.
It may be that in the larger plan of the universe, this invasion from Mars isn't without its final benefit for men.
It has taken away that calm confidence in the future which is the most fruitful source of decline.
The gifts to human science it has brought are huge.
And it has done much to promote the idea of the common good of mankind.
It may be that across the huge space the Martians have watched the fate of these pioneers of theirs and learned the lesson.
And that on the planet Venus they have found a safer home.
For many years yet, there will be no lessening of the eager watching of the Martian disk.
Those fiery darts of the sky, the shooting stars, will bring an unavoidable fear to all the sons of men as they fall.
The widening of men's views that has resulted can hardly be overstated.
Before the cylinder fell, people believed that through deep space no life existed beyond the surface of our sphere.
Now we see further, If the Martians can reach Venus, there's no reason to think that the thing is impossible for men.
The sun will slowly cool, this will make Earth unfit to live on.
By then, life may have spread to our sister planet.
I have a dim and wonderful vision of life spreading slowly from this little seed bed of the solar system.
It spreads throughout the lifeless vastness of star space.
But that's a distant dream, it may be, on the other hand, that the destruction of the Martians is only a delay.
To them, and not to us, perhaps, is the future decided.
I must admit the stress and danger of the time have left a lasting sense of doubt and insecurity in my mind.
I sit in my study writing by lamplight and suddenly see again the healing valley below set with twisting flames.
I feel the house behind and around me empty and lonely.
I go out into the Byfleet Road, and vehicles pass me, a butcher boy in a cart and a cab full of visitors.
A workman on a bicycle and children going to school also pass.
And suddenly they become unclear and unreal, and I hurry again with the artilleryman through the hot, silent stillness.
At night, I see the black powder darkening the silent streets, and the twisted bodies covered in that layer.
They rise up on me, torn and bitten by dogs.
They babble and grow fiercer, paler, uglier, mad distortions of humanity at last.
And I wake, cold and miserable, in the darkness of the night.
I go to London and see the busy crowds in Fleet Street and the Strand.
It comes across my mind that they're only the ghosts of the past.
They haunt the streets I have seen silent and miserable.
They're phantoms in a dead city, a mockery of life in a body brought back to life.
Standing on Primrose Hill is strange, I did this just a day before writing this last chapter.
I saw the great province of houses, dim and blue through the haze of smoke and mist.
They vanished at last into the vague lower sky.
I saw people walking among the flower beds on the hill.
I saw sight-seers around the Martian machine that still stands there.
I heard the noise of playing children.
I recalled the time when I saw it all bright and clear, hard and silent, under the dawn of that last great day.
Strangest is holding my wife's hand and knowing I had counted her, and she had counted me, among the dead.