The Time Machine Chapter 13

Books at Bedtime by Calming Anxiety. The Time Machine. Chapter 13. The Trap of the White Spinks.

About eight or nine in the morning, I came to the seat of the yellow metal, which I had viewed the world upon the evening of my arrival. I thought of my hasty conclusions upon that evening and could not refrain from laughing bitterly at my confidence. Here was the same beautiful scene, the same abundant foliage, the same splendid palaces and magnificent ruins, the same silver running between its fertile banks. The gay robes of the beautiful people moved here therein tiller among the trees.

Some were bathing in exactly the place where I had saved Weiner, and that suddenly gave me a keen stab of pain. And like blots upon the landscape, rose the cupuless above the waves of the underworld. I understood now what all the beauty of the overworld people covered. Very pleasant was their day, as pleasant as the day of the cattle in the field.

Like the cattle, they knew of no enemies and provided against no needs, and their end was the same. I grieved to think how brief the dream of the human intellect had been. It had committed suicide. It had set itself steadfastly towards comfort in ease, a balanced society with security and permanency as its watchword.

It had attained its hopes to come to this at last. Once life and property must have reached almost absolute safety. The rich had been assured of this wealth and comfort, the toiler assured of his life and work. No doubt, in that perfect world there had been no unemployed problem, no social question left unsolved, and a great quiet that followed.

It is a law of nature we overlook that intellectual versatility is the compensation for change, danger and trouble. An animal perfectly in harmony with its environment is a perfect mechanism. It never appeals to intelligence until habit and instinct are useless. There is no intelligence where there is no change and no need of change.

Only those animals partake of intelligence that have to meet a huge variety of needs and dangers. So as I seared, the upper world man had drifted towards his feeble prettiness and the underworld to mere mechanical industry. But that perfect state had lacked one thing even for mechanical perfection, absolute permanency.

Apparently as time went on, the feeding of an underworld, however it was affected, had become disjointed. Mother necessity, who had been staved off for a few thousand years, came back again, and she began below. The underworld, being in contact with machinery, which however perfect still needs some little thought outside habit, had probably retained performance rather than initiative, if less of every human other character than the upper. And when other meat failed them, they turned to what old habit had hitherto forbidden.

So I say, I saw it to my last view of the world of 802,701. It may be as wrong an explanation as mortal wit could invent. It is how the thing shaped itself to me, and as that I give it to you. After the fatigue, excitement and terrors of the past days, and in spite of my grief, this seat of the tranquil view and the warm sunlight were very pleasant.

I was very tired and sleepy, and soon my theorizing passed into dosing. Catching myself at that, I took my own hint and spreading myself out upon the turf, I had a long and refreshing sleep. I awoke, a little before sunsetting. I now felt safe against being caught napping by the moorlocks, and stretching myself.

I came on down the hill towards the white sphinx. I had my crowbar in one hand, and the other hand played with the matches in my pocket. And now, came a most unexpected thing. As I approached the pedestal of the sphinx, I found the bronze valves were open.

They had slid down into grooves. At that, I stopped short before them, hesitating to enter. Within was a small apartment, and on a raised place in the corner of this was the time machine. I had the small levers in my pocket, so here, after all my elaborate preparations for the siege of the white sphinx, was a meek surrender.

I threw my iron bar away, almost sorry not to use it. A sudden thought came into my head as I stooped towards the portal. For once, at least, I grasped the mental operations of the moorlocks. Suppressing a strong inclination to laugh, I stepped through the bronze frame and up to the time machine.

I was surprised to find it had been carefully oiled and cleaned. I have suspected since that the moorlocks had even partially taken its pieces whilst trying in their dim way to grasp its purpose. Now, as I stood and examined it, finding a pleasure in the mere touch of the contrivance, the thing I had expected happened. The bronze panels suddenly slid up and struck the frame with a clang.

I was in the dark, trapped. So the moorlocks thought, at that, I chuckled gleefully. I could already hear their murmuring laughter as they came towards me. Very calmly, I tried to strike the match.

I had only to fix on the levers and depart, then like a ghost. I had overlooked one little thing. The matches were of that abominable kind that light only on the box. You may imagine how all my calm vanished.

The little broods were close upon me, one touched me. I made a sweeping blow in the dark at them with the levers and began to scramble into the saddle of the machine. Then came one hand upon me and then another. Then I had simply to fight against their persistent fingers for my levers and at the same time feel for the studs over which these fitted.

One, indeed, they almost got away from me. As it slipped from my hand, I had to butt in the dark with my head. I could hear the moorlocks sculvering to recover it. It was as near a thing then the fight in the forest.

I think this last scramble. But at last the lever was fixed and pulled over. The clinging hand slipped from me. The darkness presently fell from my eyes.

I found myself in the same grey light and turmalt I have already described.