Then Cavor switched on the electric light, and told me he proposed to bind all our luggage together with the blankets about it, against the concussion of our descent.  We did this with our windows closed, because in that way our goods arranged themselves naturally at the centre of the sphere.  That too was a strange business; we two men floating loose in that spherical space, and packing and pulling ropes.  Imagine it if you can!  No up nor down, and every effort resulting in unexpected movements.  Now I would be pressed against the glass with the full force of Cavor’s thrust, now I would be kicking helplessly in a void.  Now the star of the electric light would be overhead, now under foot.  Now Cavor’s feet would float up before my eyes, and now we would be crossways to each other.  But at last our goods were safely bound together in a big soft bale, all except two blankets with head holes that we were to wrap about ourselves.

Then for a flash Cavor opened a window moonward, and we saw that we were dropping towards a huge central crater with a number of minor craters grouped in a sort of cross about it.  And then again Cavor flung our little sphere open to the scorching, blinding sun.  I think he was using the sun’s attraction as a brake.  “Cover yourself with a blanket,” he cried, thrusting himself from me, and for a moment I did not understand.

Then I hauled the blanket from beneath my feet and got it about me and over my head and eyes.  Abruptly he closed the shutters again, snapped one open again and closed it, then suddenly began snapping them all open, each safely into its steel roller.  There came a jar, and then we were rolling over and over, bumping against the glass and against the big bale of our luggage, and clutching at each other, and outside some white substance splashed as if we were rolling down a slope of snow....

Over, clutch, bump, clutch, bump, over....

Came a thud, and I was half buried under the bale of our possessions, and for a space everything was still.  Then I could hear Cavor puffing and grunting, and the snapping of a shutter in its sash.  I made an effort, thrust back our blanket-wrapped luggage, and emerged from beneath it.  Our open windows were just visible as a deeper black set with stars.

We were still alive, and we were lying in the darkness of the shadow of the wall of the great crater into which we had fallen.

We sat getting our breath again, and feeling the bruises on our limbs.  I don’t think either of us had had a very clear expectation of such rough handling as we had received.  I struggled painfully to my feet.  “And now,” said I, “to look at the landscape of the moon!  But—!  It’s tremendously dark, Cavor!”

The glass was dewy, and as I spoke I wiped at it with my blanket.  “We’re half an hour or so beyond the day,” he said.  “We must wait.”

It was impossible to distinguish anything.  We might have been in a sphere of steel for all that we could see.  My rubbing with the blanket simply smeared the glass, and as fast as I wiped it, it became opaque again with freshly condensed moisture mixed with an increasing quantity of blanket hairs.  Of course I ought not to have used the blanket.  In my efforts to clear the glass I slipped upon the damp surface, and hurt my shin against one of the oxygen cylinders that protruded from our bale.