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17 - The War of The Worlds - H G Wells · Adventure Books Library

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Chapter seventeen, The thunder Child. Had the Martians aimed only at destruction,
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they might on Monday have annihilated the entire population of London as it spread itself
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slowly through the Home Counties, not only along the road through Barnet, but
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also through Edgeware and Waltham Abbey, and along the roads eastward to south End
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and Shuberness, and south of the Thames to Deal and broad Stairs, poured
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the same frantic route. If one could have hung that June morning in a
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balloon in the blazing blue above London, every northward and eastward road running out
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of the tangled maze of streets would have seemed stippled black, with the streaming
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fugitives. Each dot a human agony of terror and physical distress. I have
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set forth at length in the last chapter my brother's account of the Road through
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Chipping Barnet, in order that my readers may realize how that swarming of black
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dots appeared to one of those concerned. Never before in the history of the
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world had such a mass of human beings moved and suffered together. The legendary
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hosts of Goths and Huns. The hugest armies Asia has ever seen would have
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been but a drop in that current. And this was no disciplined march.
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It was a stampede, a stampede gigantic and terrible, without order and without
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a goal, six million people, unarmed and unprovisioned, driving headlong. It
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was the beginning of the route of civilization, of the massacre of mankind.
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Directly below him, the balloonist would have seen the network of streets far and
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wide, houses, churches, squares, crescents, gardens, already derelict,
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spread out like a huge map, and in the southward, blotted over ealing
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Richmond, Wimbledon, it would have seemed as if some monstrous pen had flung
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ink upon the chart. Steadily incessantly. Each black splash grew and spread,
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shooting out ramifications this way and that, now banking itself against rising ground,
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now pouring swiftly over a crest into a new found valley, exactly as a
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gout of ink would spread itself upon blotting paper, and beyond, over the
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blue hills that rise southward of the river. The glittering Martians went to and
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fro calmly and methodically, spreading their poison cloud over this patch of country,
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and then over that, laying it again with their steam jets when it had
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served its purpose, and taking possession of the conquered country. They do not
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seem to have aimed at extermination so much as at complete demoralizedation and the destruction
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of any opposition. They exploded any stores of powder they came upon, cut
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every telegraph, and wrecked the railways. Here and there they were hamstringing mankind.
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They seemed in no hurry to extend the field of their operations, and
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did not come beyond the central part of London all that day. It is
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possible that a very considerable number of people in London stuck to their homes through
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Monday morning. Certain it is that many died at home, suffocated by the
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black smoke. Until about mid day, the pool of London was an astonishing
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scene. Steamboats and shipping of all sorts lay there, tempted by the enormous
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sums of money offered by fugitives, and it is said that many who swam
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out to these vessels were thrust off with boat hooks and drowned. About one
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o'clock in the afternoon, the thinning remnant of a cloud of the black vapor
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appeared between the arches of Blackfriar's Bridge. At that the pool became a scene
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of mad confusion, fighting and collision, and for some time a multitude of
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boats and barges jammed in the northern arch of the tower bridge, and the
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sailors and lightermen had to fight savagely against the people who swarmed upon them from
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the river front. People were actually clambering down the piers of the bridge from
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above, when an hour later a Martian appeared beyond the clock tower and waded
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down the river. Nothing but wreckage floated above Limehouse. Of the falling of
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the fifth cylinder, I have presently to tell the sixth Star fell at Wimbledon.
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My brother, keeping watch beside the women in the chaise in a meadow,
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saw the green flash of it far beyond the hills. On Tuesday,
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the little party, still set upon getting across the sea, made its way
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through the swarming country towards Colchester. The news that the Martians were now in
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possession of the whole of London was confirmed. They had been seen at Highgate,
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and even it was said at Neesden, but they did not come into
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my brother's view until the morrow. That day, the scattered multitudes began to
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realize the urgent need of provisions. As they grew hungry, the rights of
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property ceased to be regarded. Farmers were out to defend their cattle sheds,
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granaries and ripening root crops with arms in their hands. A number of people,
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now like my brother, had their faces eastward, and there were some
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desperate souls even going back towards London to get food. These were chiefly people
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from the northern suburbs whose knowledge of the black smoke came by hearsay. He
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heard that about half the members of the government had gathered at Birmingham, and
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that enormous quantities of high explosives were being prepared to be us used in automatic
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mines across the Midland counties. He was also told that the Midland Railway Company
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had replaced the desertions of the first day's panic, had resumed traffic and was
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running northward trains from Saint Auban's to relieve the congestion of the home counties.
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There was also a placard in shipping Ongar announcing that large stores of flower were
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available in the northern towns and that within twenty four hours bread would be distributed
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among the starving people in the neighborhood. But this intelligence did not deter him
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from the plan of escape he had formed. And the three pressed eastward all
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day and heard no more of the bread distribution than this promise, nor as
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a matter of fact, did any one else hear more of it. That
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night fell the seventh star falling upon Primrose Hill. It fell while Miss Elphinstone
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was watching, for she took that duty alternately with my brother. She saw
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it. On Wednesday, the three fugitives, they had passed the night in
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a field of unripe wheat, reached Chelmsford, and there a body of the
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inhabitants, calling itself the Committee of Public Supply, seized the pony as provisions,
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and would give nothing in exchange for it but the promise of a share
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in it. The next day here there were rumors of martians at Epping,
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and news of the destruction of walter Mabbey powder mills in a vain attempt to
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blow up one of the invaders. People were watching for martians here from the
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church towers. My brother, very luckily for him, as it chanced,
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preferred to push on at once to the coast, rather than wait for food,
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although all three of them were very hungry by midday. They passed through
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Tillingham, which strangely enough, seemed to be quite quiet and deserted, save
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for a few furtive plunderers hunting for food. Near Tillingham, they suddenly came
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in sight of the sea and the most amazing crowd of shipping of all sorts
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that it is possible to imagine. For after the sailors could no longer come
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up the Thames, they came on to the Essex coast, to Harrich and
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Walton and Clacton, and afterwards to foul Nurse and Shubury. To bring off
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the people, they lay in a huge sickle shaped curve that vanished into mist
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at last towards the Naise. Close in shore was a multitude of fishing smacks,
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English, Scotch, French, Dutch and Swedish steam launches from the Thames,
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yachts, electric boats, and beyond were ships of large burden, a
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multitude of filthy colliers, trim merchantmen, cattle ships, passenger boats, petroleum
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tanks, ocean tramps, an old white transport, even neat white and gray
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liners from Southampton and Hamburg, and along the Blue coast. Across the black
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Water, my brother could make out dimly a dense swarm of boats chaffering with
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the people on the beach, a swarm which also extended up the black Water
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almost to Malden. About a couple of miles out lay an iron clad,
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very low in the water, almost to my brother's perception, like a water
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logged ship. This was the Ram thunder Child. It was the only warship
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in sight, but far away to the right, over the smooth surface of
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the sea. For that day there was a dead calm lay a serpent of
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black smoke to mark the next iron clads of the Channel fleet, which hovered
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in an extended line, steam up and ready for action across the Thames Estuary
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during the course of the Martian conquest, vigilant and yet powerless to prevent it.
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At the site of the sea, Missus Elphinstone, in spite of the
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assurances of her sister in law, gave way to panic. She had never
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been out of England before. She would rather die than trust herself friendless in
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a foreign country, and so forth she seemed poor woman to imagine that the
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French and the Martians might prove very similar. She had been growing increasingly hysterical,
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fearful, and depressed during the two days journeyings. Her great idea was
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to return to Stanmore. Things had always been well and safe at Stanmore.
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They would find George at Stanmore. It was with the greatest difficulty that they
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could get her down the beach, where presently my brother succeeded in attracting the
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attention of some men on a paddle steamer from the Thames. They sent a
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boat and drove a bargain for thirty six pounds for the three the steamer was
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going. These men said to ostend. It was about two o'clock when my
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brother, having paid their fares at the gangway, found himself safely aboard the
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steamboat with his charges. There was food aboard, albeit at exorbitant prices,
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and the three of them contrived to eat a meal on one of the seeds
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forward. There were already a couple of score of passengers aboard, some of
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whom had expended their last money in securing a passage. But the captain lay
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off the black water until five in the afternoon, picking up passengers until the
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seated decks were even dangerously crowded. He would probably have remained longer, had
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it not been for the sound of guns that began about that hour in the
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south. As if in answer, the iron clad Seaward fired a small gun
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and hoisted a string of flags. A jet of smoke sprang out of her
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funnels. Some of the passengers were of opinion that this firing came from shuburiness,
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until it was noticed that it was growing louder. At the same time,
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far away in the southeast, the masts and upper works of three iron
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clads rows, one after the other, out of the sea, beneath clouds
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of black smoke. But my brother's attention speedily reverted to the distant firing in
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the south. He fancied he saw a column of smoke rising out of the
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distant gray haze. The little steamer was already flapping her way eastwards of the
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big crescent of shipping, and the low Essex coast was growing blue and hazy,
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when a martian appeared, small and faint in the remote distance, advancing
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along the muddy coast from the direction of foul Nurse. At that the captain
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on the bridge swore at the top of his voice with fear and anger at
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his own delay and the paddles seemed infected with his terror. Every soul aboard
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stood at the bulwarks or on the seats of the steamer and stared at that
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distant shape, higher than the trees or church towers inland, and advancing with
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a leisurely parody of a human stride. It was the first martian my brother
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had seen, and he stood more amazed and terrified watching this titan, advancing
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deliberately towards the shipping, wading farther and farther into the water as the coast
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fell away. Then far away, beyond the crouch came another, striding over
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some stunted trees, and then yet another, still farther off, wading deeply
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through a shiny mud flat that seemed to hang half way up between sea and
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sky. They were all stalking seaward, as if to intercept the escape of
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the multitudinous vessels that were crowded between foul ness and the maize. In spite
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of the throbbing exertions of the engines of the little paddle boat and the pouring
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foam that her wheels flung behind her, she receded with terrifying slowness from this
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ominous advance. Glancing northwestward, my brother saw the large crescent of shipping already
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writhing with the approaching terror, one ship passing behind another, another coming round
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from broadside to end on steamships whistling and giving off volumes of steam, sails
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being let out, launches rushing hither and thither. He was so fascinated by
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this, and by the creeping danger away to the left, that he had
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no eyes for anything seaward. And then a swift movement of the steamboat she
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had suddenly come round to avoid being run down, flung him headlong from the
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seat upon which he was standing. There was a shouting all about him,
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a trampling of feet, and a cheer that seemed to be answered faintly.
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The steamboat lurched and rolled him over upon his hands. He sprang to his
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feet and saw to starboard, and not a hundred yards from their heeling pitching
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boat, a vast iron bulk like the blade of a plow, tearing through
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the water, tossing it on either side in huge waves of foam that leaped
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towards the steamer, flinging her paddles helplessly in the air, and then sucking
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her deck down almost to the waterline. A douche of spray blinded my brother
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for a moment. When his eyes were clear again, he saw the monster
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had passed and was rushing landward. Big iron upper works rose out of this
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headlong structure, and from that twin funnels projected and spat a smoking blast shot
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with fire. It was the torpedo ram thunder Child, steaming headlong, coming
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to the rescue of the threatened shipping, keeping his footing on the heaving deck
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by clutching the bulwarks. My brother looked past this charging leviathan at the Martians
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again, and he saw the three of them, now close together and standing
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so far out to sea that their tripod supports were almost entirely submerged. Thus
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sunken, and seen in remote perspective, they appeared far less formidable than the
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huge iron bulk in whose wake the steamer was pitching So helplessly, it would
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seem they were regarding this new antagonist with astonishment. To their intelligence, it
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may be the giant was even such another as themselves. The thunder Child fired
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no gun, but simply drove full speed towards them. It was probably her
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not firing that enabled her to get so near the enemy as she did.
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They did not know what to make of her one shell, and they would
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have sent her to the bottom forthwith with the heat ray. She was steaming
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at such a pace that in a minute she seemed half way between the steamboat
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and the Martians, a diminishing black bulk against the receding horizontal expanse of the
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Essex coast. Suddenly, the foremost Martian lowered his tube and discharged a canister
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of the black gas at the iron Clad. It hit her larboards and glanced
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off in an inky jet that rolled away to seaward, an unfolding torrent of
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black smoke, from which the iron Clad drove clear. To the watchers from
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their steamer. Low in the water, and with the sun in their eyes,
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it seemed as though she were already among the Martians. They saw the
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gaunt figures separating and rising out of the water as they retreated shoreward, and
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one of them raised the camera like generator of the heat ray. He held
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it pointing obliquely downward, and a bank of steam sprang from the water at
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its touch. It must have driven through the iron of the ship's side like
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a white hot iron rod. Through paper. A flicker of flame went up
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through the rising steam, and then the Martian reeled and staggered. In another
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moment he was cut down, and a great body of water and steam shot
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high in the air. The guns of the thunder Child sounded through the going
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off one after the other, and one shot splashed the water high close by.
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The steamer ricocheted towards the other flying ships to the north and smashed a
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smack to matchwood, but no one heeded that very much. At the sight
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of the Martian's collapse, the captain on the bridge yelled inarticulately, and all
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the crowding passengers on the steamer's stern shouted together, and then they yelled again.
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Four surging out beyond the white tumult drove something long and black, the
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flames streaming from its middle parts, its ventilators and funnels spouting fire. She
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was alive still, the steering gear, it seems, was intact, and
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her engines working. She headed straight for a second Martian and was within a
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hundred yards of him when the heat ray came to bear. Then, with
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a violent thud, a blinding flash, her decks her funnels leaped upward.
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The Martians staggered with the violence of her explosion, and in another moment,
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the flaming wreckage, still driving forward with the impetus of its pace, had
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struck him and crumpled him up like a thing of cardboard. My brother shouted
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involuntarily. A boiling tumult of steam hid everything again, two yelled the captain.
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Everyone was shouting. The whole steamer from end to end, rang with
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frantic cheering that was taken up first by one and then by all in the
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crowding multitude of ships and boats that was driving out to sea. The steam
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hung upon the water for many minutes, hiding the Third Martian and the coast
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altogether. And all this time the boat was paddling steadily out to sea and
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away from the fight. And when at last the confusion cleared, the drifting
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bank of black vapor intervened, and nothing of the thunder Child could be made
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out, nor could the Third Martian be seen. But the iron clads to
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seaward were now quite close and standing in towards shore past the steamboat. The
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little vessel continued to beat its way seaward, and the iron clads receded slowly
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towards the coast, which was hidden still by a marbled bank of vapor,
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part steam, part black gas, eddying and combining in the strangest way.
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The fleet of refugees was scattering to the northeast. Several smacks were sailing between
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the iron clads and the steamboat. After a time, and before they reached
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the sinking cloud bank, the war ships turned northward and then abruptly went about
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and passed into the thickening haze of evening Southward, the coast grew faint and
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at last indistinguishable amid the low banks of clouds that were gathering at the sinking
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sun. Then suddenly, out of the golden haze of the sunset came the
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vibration of guns and a form of black shadows moving. Everyone struggled to the
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rail of the steamer and peered into the blinding furnace of the west, but
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nothing was to be distinguished clearly. A mass of smoke rose, slanting and
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barred the face of the sun. The steamboat throbbed on its way through an
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interminable suspense. The sun sank into gray clouds, the sky flushed and darkened,
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The evening star trembled into sight. It was deep twilight. When the
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captain cried out and pointed my brother strained his eyes. Something rushed up into
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the sky, out of the grayness, rushed slantingly upward and very swiftly into
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the luminous clearness above the clouds in the western sky. Something flat and broad
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and very large that swept round in a vast curve, grew smaller, sank
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slowly, and vanished again into the gray mystery of the night. And as
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it flew it rained down darkness upon the land. End of Section seventeen,
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end of Book one.