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03 - On Horsell Common - The War of the Worlds - H G Wells · Daily Classic Sci Fi Books

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  Chapter three, on Horsell Common, I found a little crowd of perhaps twenty
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  people surrounding the huge hole in which the cylinder lay. I have already described
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  the appearance of that colossal bulk embedded in the ground. The turf and gravel
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  about it seemed charred, as if by a sudden explosion. No doubt its
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  impact had caused a flash of fire. Henderson and Ogilvy were not there.
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  I think they perceived that nothing was to be done for the present, and
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  had gone away to breakfast at Henderson's house. There were four or five boys
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  sitting on the edge of the pit, with their feet dangling and amusing themselves
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  until I stopped them by throwing stones at the giant mass. After I had
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  spoken to them about it, they began playing at touch in and out of
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  the group of bystanders. Among these were a couple of cyclists, a jobing
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  gardener I employed sometimes times, a girl carrying a baby, Gregg the butcher
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  and his little boy, and two or three loafers and golf caddies who were
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  accustomed to hang about the railway station. There was very little talking. Few
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  of the common people in England had anything but the vaguest astronomical ideas in those
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  days. Most of them were staring quietly at the big table like end of
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  the cylinder, which was still as Ogilvy and Henderson had left it. I
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  fancy the popular expectation of a heap of charred corpses, was disappointed at this
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  inanimate bulk. Some went away while I was there, and other people came.
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  I clambered into the pit and fancied. I heard a faint movement under
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  my feet. The top had certainly ceased to rotate. It was only when
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  I got thus close to it that the strangeness of this object was at all
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  evident to me. At the first glance, it was really no more exciting
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  than an overturned carriage or a tree blown across the road. Not so much
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  so. Indeed, it looked like a rusty gas float. It required a
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  certain amount of scientific education to perceive that the gray scale of the thing was
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  no common oxide, that the yellowish white metal that gleamed in the crack between
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  the lid and the cylinder had an unfamiliar hue. Extra terrestrial had no meaning
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  for most of the onlookers at that time. It was quite clear in my
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  own mind that the thing had come from the planet Mars, but I judged
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  it improbable that it contained any living creature. I thought the unscrewing might be
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  automatic. In spite of Ogilvy, I still believed that there were men in
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  Mars. My mind ran fancifully on the possibilities of its containing manuscript, on
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  the difficulties in translation that might arise, whether we should find coins and models
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  in it, and so forth. Yet it was a little too large for
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  assurance. On this idea. I felt an impatience to see it opened about
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  eleven, as nothing seemed happening. I walked back, full of such thought
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  to my home in Maybury, but I found it difficult to get to work
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  upon my abstract investigations. In the afternoon, the appearance of the common had
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  altered very much. The early editions of the evening papers had startled London with
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  enormous headlines, a message received from Mars, remarkable story from Woking, and
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  so forth. In addition, Ogilvy's wire to the Astronomical Exchange had roused every
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  observatory in the three Kingdoms. There were half a dozen flies or more from
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  the Woking station standing in the road by the sand pits. A basket chaise
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  from Chobham and a rather lordly carriage. Besides that, there was quite a
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  heap of bicycles. In addition, a large number of people must have walked
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  in spite of the heat of the day from Woking and Chertsey, so that
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  there was altogether quite a considerable crowd, one or two gaily dressed ladies among
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  the others. It was glaringly hot, not a cloud in the sky nor
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  a breath of wind, and the only shadow was that of the few scattered
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  pine trees. The burning heather had been extinguished, but the level ground towards
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  Otter Shore was blackened as far as one could see, and still giving off
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  vertical streamers of smoke. An enterprising sweet stuff dealer in the Chobham road had
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  sent up his son with a barrow load of green apples and ginger beer.
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  Going to the edge of the pit, I found it occupied by a group
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  of about half a dozen men, Henderson Ogilvie, and a tall, fair
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  haired man that I offered towards learned was Stent, the astronomer Royal, with
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  several workmen wielding spades and pickaxes. Stent was giving directions in a clear high
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  pitched voice. He was standing on the cylinder, which was now evidently much
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  cooler. His face was crimson and streaming with perspiration, and something seemed to
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  have irritated him. A large portion of the cylinder had been uncovered, though
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  its lower end was still embedded. As soon as Ogilvy saw me among the
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  staring crowd on the edge of the pit, he called to me to come
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  down and asked me if I would mind going over to see Lord Hilton,
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  the Lord of the Manor. The growing crowd, he said, was becoming
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  a serious impediment to their excavations, especially the boys. They wanted a light
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  railing put up and helped to keep the people back. He told me that
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  a faint stirring was occasionally still audible within the case, but that the workmen
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  had failed to unscrew the top as it afforded no grip to them. The
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  case appeared to be enormously thick, and it was possible that the faint sounds
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  we heard represented a noisy tumult in the interior. I was very glad to
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  do as he asked, and so become one of the privileged spectators within the
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  contemplated enclosure. I failed to find Lord Hilton at his house, but I
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  was told he was expected from London by the six o'clock train from Waterloo,
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  and as it was then about a quarter past five, I went home,
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  had some tea and walked up to the station to waylay him. End of
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  Section three.