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

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  Chapter thirteen, how I fell in with the curate. After getting this sudden
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  lesson in the power of terrestrial weapons, the Martians retreated to their original position
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  upon haws or Common, and in their haste, and encumbered with the debris
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  of their smashed companion, they no doubt overlooked many such a stray and negligible
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  victim as myself. Had they left their comrade and pushed on forthwith there was
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  nothing at that time between them and London but batteries of twelve pounder guns,
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  and they would certainly have reached the capital in advance of the tidings of their
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  approach. As sudden, dreadful, and destructive, their advent would have been
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  as the earthquake that destroyed Lisbon a century ago. But they were in no
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  hurry. Cylinder followed Cylinder on its interplanetary flight every twenty four hours brought them
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  reinforcement. And meanwhile, the military and naval authorities, now fully alive to
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  the tremendous power of their antagonists, worked with furious energy. Every minute a
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  fresh gum came into position, until before twilight, every copse every row of
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  suburban villas on the hilly slopes about Kingston and Richmond masked an expectant black muzzle,
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  and through the charred and desolated area perhaps twenty square miles altogether that encircled
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  the Martian encampment on Horsell Common, through charred and ruined villages, among the
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  green trees, through the blackened and smoking arcades that had been but a day
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  ago. Pine spinneys crawled the devoted scouts with the heliographs that were presently to
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  warn the gunners of the Martian approach. But the Martians now understood our command
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  of artillery and the danger of human proximity, and not a man ventured within
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  a mile of either cylinder, save at the price of his life. It
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  would seem that these giants spent the earlier part of the afternoon in going to
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  and fro transferring everything from the second and third cylinders, the second in Addlestone
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  golf Links, and the third at Purford to their original pit on Horsel Common.
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  Over that above, the blackened heather and ruined buildings that stretched far and
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  wide stood one as sentinel, while the rest abandoned their vast fighting machines and
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  descended into the pit. They were hard at work there far into the night,
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  and the towering pillar of dense green smoke that rose therefrom could be seen
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  from the hills about Merrow, and even it is said, from Banstead and
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  Epsom Downs. And while the Martians behind me were thus preparing for their next
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  sally, and in front of me humanity gathered for the battle. I made
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  my way with infinite pains and labor from the fire and smoke of burning Weybridge
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  towards London. I saw an abandoned boat, very small and remote, drifting
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  down stream and throwing off the most of my sodden clothes. I went after
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  it, gained it, and so escaped out of that destruction. There were
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  no oars in the boat, but I contrived to paddle as well as my
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  parboiled hands would allow down the river towards Haliford and Walton, going very tediously
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  and continually looking behind me. As you may well understand, I followed the
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  river because I considered that the water gave me my best chance of escape should
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  these giants return. The hot water from the Martian's overthrow drifted downstream with me,
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  so that for the best part of a mile I could see little of
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  either bank. Once, however, I made out a string of black figures
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  hurrying across the meadows from the direction of Weybridge, Haliford. It seemed was
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  deserted, and several of them. The houses facing the river were on fire.
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  It was strange to see the place quite tranquil, quite desolate, under
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  the hot blue sky, with the smoke and little threads of flame going straight
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  up into the heat of the afternoon. Never before had I seen houses burning
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  without the accompaniment of an obstructive crowd. A little farther on the dry reeds
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  up the bank were smoking and glowing, and a line of fire inland was
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  marching steadily across a late field of hay. For a long time I drifted,
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  So painful and weary was I after the violence I had been through,
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  and so intense the heat upon the water. Then my fears got the better
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  of me again, and I resumed my paddling. The sun scorched my bare
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  back. At last, as the bridge at Walton was coming into sight round
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  the bend, my fever and faintness overcame my fears, and I landed on
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  the Middlesex Bank and lay down deadly sick among the long grass. I suppose
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  the time was then about four or five o'clock. I got up, presently
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  walked perhaps half a mile without meeting a soul, and then lay down again
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  in the shadow of a hedge. I seemed to remember talking wonderingly to myself
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  during that last spurt. I was also very thirsty and bitterly regretful I had
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  drunk no more water. It is a curious thing that I felt angry with
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  my wife. I cannot account for it, but my impotent desire to reach
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  leatherhead worried me excessively. I do not clearly remember the arrival of the curate,
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  so that probably I dozed. I became aware of him as a seated
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  figure in soot smudged shirt sleeves and with his upturned, clean shaven face,
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  staring at a faint flickering that danced over the sky. The sky was what
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  is called a mackerel sky, rows and rows of faint down plumes of claud
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  just tinted with the midsummer sunset. I sat up, and at the rustle
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  of my motion, he looked at me quickly. Have you any water,
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  I asked abruptly. He shook his head. You have been asking for water
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  for the last hour, he said, for a moment we were silent,
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  taking stock of each other. I dare say he found me a strange enough
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  figure, naked, save for my water soaked trousers and socks scalded, and
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  my face and shoulders blackened by the smoke. His face was a fair weakness,
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  his chin retreated, and his hair lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls
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  on his low forehead. His eyes were rather large, pale blue, and
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  blankly staring. He spoke abruptly, looking vacantly away from me. What does
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  it mean? He said? What are these things mean? I stared at
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  him and made no answer. He extended a thin white hand and spoke,
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  in almost a complaining tone. Why are these things permitted? What sins have
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  we done? The morning service was over. I was walking through the roads
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  to clear my brain for the afternoon and then fire, earthquake, death,
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  as if it were sodom and gomorrah, all our work undone, all the
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  work? What are these martians? What are we? I answered, clearing
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  my throat. He gripped his knees and turned to look at me again.
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  For half a minute, perhaps he stared silently. I was walking through the
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  roads to clear my brain, he said, and suddenly fire, earthquake,
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  death. He relapsed into silence, with his chin now sunken almost to his
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  knees. Presently he began waving his hand. All the work, all the
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  Sunday schools? What have we done? What has Weybridge done? Everything gone?
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  Everything destroyed? The church we rebuilt it only three years ago, gone,
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  swept out of existence? Why? Another pause, and he broke out
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  again, like one demented. The smoke of her burning goeth up forever and
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  ever. He shouted. His eyes flamed, and he pointed a lean finger
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  in the direction of Weybridge. By this time I was beginning to take his
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  measure. The tremendous tragedy in which he had been involved. It was evident
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  he was a fugitive from Weybridge had driven him to the very verge of his
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  reason. Are we far from Sunbury? I said, in a matter of
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  fact tone. What are we to do? He asked? Are these creatures
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  everywhere? Has the earth been given over to them? Are we far from
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  Sunbury? Only this morning, I officiated at early celebration. Things have changed,
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  I said quietly. You must keep your head. There is still hope,
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  hope, yes, plentiful hope. For all this destruction. I began
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  to explain my view of our position. He listened at first, but as
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  I went on, the interest dawning in his eyes gave place to their former
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  stare, and his regard wandered from me. This must be the beginning of
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  the end, he said, interrupting me. The end, the great and
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  terrible day of the Lord, when men shall call upon the mountains and the
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  rocks to fall upon them and hide them, hide them from the face of
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  Him that sitteth upon the throne. I began to understand the position. I
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  ceased my labored reasoning, struggled to my feet, and, standing over him,
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  laid my hand on his shoulder. Be a man, said I,
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  you were scared out of your wits. What good is religion if it collapses
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  under calamity. Think of what earthquakes and floods, wars and volcanoes have done
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  before to men. Did you think God had exempted Weybridge, He is not
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  an insurance agent. For a time he sat in blank silence. But how
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  can we escape, he asked. Suddenly they are invulnerable, they are pitiless,
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  neither the one nor perhaps the other, I answered, And the mightier
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  they are the more sane and wary should we be. One of them was
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  killed Yonder not three hours ago. Killed, he said, staring about him.
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  How can God's ministers be killed? I saw it happen. I proceeded
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  to tell him. We have chance to come in for the thick of it,
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  said I. And that is all. What is that flicker in the
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  sky, he asked abruptly. I told him it was the heliograph signal,
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  that it was a sign of human help and effort in the sky. We
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  are in the midst of it, I said, quiet as it is.
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  That flicker in the sky tells of the gathering storm. Yonder, I take
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  it are the Martians and London Wood, where those hills rise about Richmond and
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  Kingston, and the trees give cover. Earthworks are being thrown up and guns
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  are being placed. Presently the Martians were becoming this way again. And even
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  as I spoke, he sprang to his feet and stopped me by a gesture.
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  Listen, he said. From beyond the low hills across the water came
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  the dull resonance of distant guns and a remote weird crying. Then everything was
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  still A cockchafer came droning over the hedge and pasted us. High in the
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  west, the crescent moon hung faint and pale above the smoke of Weybridge and
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  Shepperton, and the hot, still splendor of the sunset. We had better
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  follow this path, I said. Northward end of Section thirteen.