It was very late in the night, and the moon was shining brightly.
The Martians had taken away the excavating-machine, and, save for a
fighting-machine that stood in the remoter bank of the pit and a
handling-machine that was buried out of my sight in a corner of the
pit immediately beneath my peephole, the place was deserted by them.
Except for the pale glow from the handling-machine and the bars and
patches of white moonlight the pit was in darkness, and, except for
the clinking of the handling-machine, quite still.  That night was a
beautiful serenity; save for one planet, the moon seemed to have the
sky to herself.  I heard a dog howling, and that familiar sound it was
that made me listen.  Then I heard quite distinctly a booming exactly
like the sound of great guns.  Six distinct reports I counted, and
after a long interval six again.  And that was all.