After the last load had been removed the warriors made lines fast to
the craft and towed her far out into the valley in a southwesterly
direction. A few of them then boarded her and were busily engaged
in what appeared, from my distant position, as the emptying of the
contents of various carboys upon the dead bodies of the sailors and
over the decks and works of the vessel.

This operation concluded, they hastily clambered over her sides,
sliding down the guy ropes to the ground. The last warrior to leave
the deck turned and threw something back upon the vessel, waiting an
instant to note the outcome of his act. As a faint spurt of flame
rose from the point where the missile struck he swung over the side
and was quickly upon the ground. Scarcely had he alighted than
the guy ropes were simultaneous released, and the great warship,
lightened by the removal of the loot, soared majestically into
the air, her decks and upper works a mass of roaring flames.

Slowly she drifted to the southeast, rising higher and higher as the
flames ate away her wooden parts and diminished the weight upon her.
Ascending to the roof of the building I watched her for hours, until
finally she was lost in the dim vistas of the distance. The sight
was awe-inspiring in the extreme as one contemplated this mighty
floating funeral pyre, drifting unguided and unmanned through
the lonely wastes of the Martian heavens; a derelict of death
and destruction, typifying the life story of these strange and
ferocious creatures into whose unfriendly hands fate had carried it.

Much depressed, and, to me, unaccountably so, I slowly descended to
the street. The scene I had witnessed seemed to mark the defeat