Mars (Planet) -- Fiction; Martians -- Fiction; Science fiction
The forest was so close to the sea, one could not advance without
entering it, and once within its dark arcades every way looked equally
gloomy and hopeless. I struggled through tangles night made more and
more impenetrable each minute, until presently I could go no further,
and where a dense canopy of trees overhead gave out for a minute on the
edge of a swampy hollow, I determined to wait for daylight.
Never was there a more wet or weary traveller, or one more desperately
lonely than he who wrapped himself up in the miserable insufficiency of
his wet rags, and without fire or supper crept amongst the exposed
roots of a tree growing out of a bank, and prepared to hope grimly for
morning.
Round and round meanwhile was drawn the close screen of night, till the
clearing in front was blotted out, and only the tree-tops, black as
rugged hills one behind the other, stood out against the heavy purple
of the circlet of sky above. As the evening deepened the quaintest
noises began on every hand--noises so strange and bewildering that as I
cowered down with my teeth chattering, and stared hard into the
impenetrable, they could be likened to nothing but the crying of all
the souls of dead things since the beginning. Never was there such an
infernal chorus as that which played up the Martian stars. Down there
in front, where hummock grass was growing, some beast squeaked
continuously, till I shouted at him, then he stopped a minute, and
began again in entirely another note. Away on the hills two rival
monsters were calling to each other in tones so hollow they seemed as I
listened to penetrate through me, and echo out of my heart again. Far
overhead, gigantic bats were flitting, the shadow of their wings
dimming a dozen universes at once, and crying to each other in shrill
tones that rent the air like tearing silk.
As I listened to those vampires discussing their infernal loves under
the stars, from a branch right overhead broke such a deathly howl from
the throat of a wandering forest cat that everything else was hushed
for a moment. All about a myriad insects were making night giddy with
their ghostly fires, while underground and from the labyrinths of
matted roots came quaint sounds of rustling snakes and forest pigs, and
all the lesser things that dig and scratch and growl.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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