Philip Van Doren Stern (ed) (34 page)

"I
was
afraid
to
push
my
way
in
among
all
this
machinery
in
the dark,
and
it
was
only
with
my
last
glimpse
of
light
I
discovered
that
my
store
of
matches
had
run
low.
It
had
never
occurred
to
me
until lhat
moment
that
there
was
any
need
to
economise
them,
and
I
had wasted
almost
half
the
box
in
astonishing
the
Upper-worlders,
to whom
fire
was
a
novelty.
Now,
as
I
say,
I
had
four
left,
and
while I
stood
in
the
dark,
a
hand
touched
mine,
lank
fingers
came
feeling over
my
face,
and
I
was
sensible
of
a
peculiar
unpleasant
odour.
I fancied
I
heard
the
breathing
of
a
crowd
of
those
dreadful
little beings
about
me.
I
felt
the
box
of
matches
in
my
hand
being
gently disengaged,
and
other
hands
behind
me
plucking
at
my
clothing. The
sense
of
these
unseen
creatures
examining
me
was
indescribably
unpleasant.
The
sudden
realisation
of
my
ignorance
of
their
ways
of thinking
and
doing
came
home
to
me
very
vividly
in
the
darkness. I
shouted
at
them
as
loudly
as
I
could.
They
started
away,
and
then
I could
feel
them
approaching
me
again.
They
clutched
at
me
more boldly,
whispering
odd
sounds
to
each
other.
I
shivered
violently, and
shouted
again—rather
discordantly.
This
time
they
were
not
so seriously
alarmed,
and
they
made
a
queer
laughing
noise
as
they came
back
at
me.
I
will
confess
I
was
horribly
frightened.
I
determined
to
strike
another
match
and
escape
under
the
protection
of its
glare.
I
did
so,
and
eking
out
the
flicker
with
a
scrap
of
paper from
my
pocket,
I
made
good
my
retreat
to
the
narrow
tunnel.
But
I had
scarce
entered
this
when
my
light
was
blown
out,
and
in
the blackness
I
could
hear
the
Morlocks
rustling
like
wind
among leaves,
and
pattering
like
the
rain,
as
they
hurried
after
me.

"In
a
moment
I
was
clutched
by
several
hands,
and
there
was
no mistaking
that
they
were
trying
to
haul
me
back.
I
struck
another light,
and
waved
it
in
their
dazzled
faces.
You
can
scarce
imagine how
nauseatingly
inhuman
they
looked—those
pale,
chinless
faces and
great,
lidless,
pinkish-grey
eyes!—as
they
stared
in
their
blindness
and
bewilderment.
But
I
did
not
stay
to
look,
I
promise
you: I
retreated
again,
and
when
my
second
match
had
ended,
I
struck my
third.
It
had
almost
burned
through
when
I
reached
the
opening into
the
shaft.
I
lay
down
on
the
edge,
for
the
throb
of
the
great pump
below
made
me
giddy.
Then
I
felt
sideways
for
the
projecting hooks,
and,
as
I
did
so,
my
feet
were
grasped
from
behind,
and
I was
violently
tugged
backward.
I
lit
my
last
match
.
.
.
and
it
incontinently
went
out.
But
I
had
my
hand
on
the
climbing
bars
now, and,
kicking
violently,
I
disengaged
myself
from
the
clutches
of
the Morlocks
and
was
speedily
clambering
up
the
shaft,
while
they
stayed peering
and
blinking
up
at
me:
all
but
one
little
wretch
who
followed me
for
some
way,
and
well-nigh
secured
my
boot
as
a
trophy.