We sat in the adjacent kitchen in the dark for we dared not strike a
light and ate bread and ham, and drank beer out of the same bottle. The
curate, who was still timorous and restless, was now, oddly enough, for
pushing on, and I was urging him to keep up his strength by eating when
the thing happened that was to imprison us.
It can t be midnight yet, I said, and then came a blinding glare of
vivid green light. Everything in the kitchen leaped out, clearly
visible in green and black, and vanished again. And then followed such
a concussion as I have never heard before or since. So close on the
heels of this as to seem instantaneous came a thud behind me, a clash
of glass, a crash and rattle of falling masonry all about us, and the
plaster of the ceiling came down upon us, smashing into a multitude of
fragments upon our heads. I was knocked headlong across the floor
against the oven handle and stunned. I was insensible for a long time,
the curate told me, and when I came to we were in darkness again, and
he, with a face wet, as I found afterwards, with blood from a cut
forehead, was dabbing water over me.
For some time I could not recollect what had happened. Then things came
to me slowly. A bruise on my temple asserted itself.
Are you better? asked the curate in a whisper.
At last I answered him. I sat up.
Don t move, he said. The floor is covered with smashed crockery from
the dresser. You can t possibly move without making a noise, and I
fancy _they_ are outside.
We both sat quite silent, so that we could scarcely hear each other
breathing. Everything seemed deadly still, but once something near us,
some plaster or broken brickwork, slid down with a rumbling sound.
Outside and very near was an intermittent, metallic rattle.
That! said the curate, when presently it happened again.
Yes, I said. But what is it?
A Martian! said the curate.
105