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The Man On Putney Hill
SuddenlyIrecalledthenightintheobservatory.
"Afterthetenthshottheyfirednomore—atleast,untilthefirstcylindercame."
"Howdoyouknow?"saidtheartilleryman. Iexplained.Hethought. "Somethingwrongwiththegun,"hesaid. "Butwhatifthereis? They’llgetitrightagain. Andevenifthere’sadelay,howcanitaltertheend? It’sjustmenandants. There’stheantsbuildstheircities,livetheirlives,havewars,revolutions,untilthemenwantthemoutoftheway,andthentheygooutoftheway. That’swhatwearenow—justants. Only——"
"Yes,"Isaid.
"We’reeatableants."
Wesatlookingateachother.
"Andwhatwilltheydowithus?"Isaid.
"That’swhatI’vebeenthinking,"hesaid;"that’swhatI’vebeenthinking. AfterWeybridgeIwentsouth—thinking. Isawwhatwasup. Mostofthepeoplewerehardatitsquealingandexcitingthemselves. ButI’mnotsofondofsquealing. I’vebeeninsightofdeathonceortwice; I’mnotanornamentalsoldier,andatthebestandworst,death—it’sjustdeath. Andit’sthemanthatkeepsonthinkingcomesthrough. Isaweveryonetrackingawaysouth. SaysI,"Foodwon’tlastthisway,"andIturnedrightback. IwentfortheMartianslikeasparrowgoesforman. Allround"—hewavedahandtothehorizon—"they’restarvinginheaps,bolting,treadingoneachother...."
