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

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Book two, The Earth under the Martians, Chapter one Underfoot. In the
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first book, I have wondered so much from my own adventures to tell of
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the experiences of my brother, that all through the last two chapters I and
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the Curate have been lurking in the empty house at Haliford, whither we fled
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to escape the black smoke. There, I will resume. We stopped there
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all Sunday night and all the next day, the day of the panic,
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in a little island of daylight, cut off by the black smoke from the
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rest of the world, we could do nothing but wait in aching inactivity.
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During those two weary days, my mind was occupied by anxiety for my wife.
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I figured her at Leatherhead, terrified in danger, mourning me already as
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a dead man. I paced the rooms and cried aloud when I thought of
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how I was cut off from her, of all that might happen to her
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in my absence. My cousin, I knew, was brave enough for any
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emergency, but he was not the sort of man to realize danger quickly,
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to rise promptly. What was needed now was not bravery, but circumspection.
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My only consolation was to believe that the Martians were moving londonward and away from
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her. Such vague anxieties keep the mind sensitive and painful. I grew very
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weary and irritable with the curate's perpetual ejaculations. I tired of the sight of
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his selfish despair. After some ineffectual remonstrance, I kept away from him,
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staying in a room, evidently a children's schoolroom, containing globes, forms and
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copy books. When he followed me thither, I went to a box room
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at the top of the house, and, in order to be alone with
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my aching miseries, locked myself in. We were hopelessly hemmed in by the
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black smoke all that day and the morning of the next. There were signs
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of people in the next house on Sunday evening, a face at a window
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and moving lights, and later the slamming of a door, But I do
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not know who these people were, nor what became of them. We saw
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nothing of them next day. The black smoke drifted slowly Riverwood all through Monday
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morning, creeping nearer and nearer to us, driving at last along the roadway
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outside the house that hid us. A Martian came across the fields about mid
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day, laying the stuff with a jet of superheated steam that hissed against the
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walls, smashed all the windows it touched, and scalded the Curate's hands as
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he fled out of the front room. When at last we crept across the
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sodden rooms and looked out again, the country northward was as though a black
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snow storm had passed over it. Looking towards the river, we were astonished
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to see an unaccountable redness mingling with the black of the scorched meadows. For
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a time we did not see how this change affected our position, save that
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we were relieved of our fear of the black smoke. But later I perceived
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that we were no longer hemmed in, that now we might get away.
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So soon as I realized that the way of escape was open, my dream
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of action returned. But the Curate was lethargic, unreasonable. We are safe
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here, he repeated, Safe here. I resolved to leave him, would
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that I had wiser now for the artilleryman's teaching. I sought out food and
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drink. I had found oil and rags for my burns, and I also
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took a hat and a flannel shirt that I found in one of the bedrooms.
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When it was clear to him that I meant to go alone, had
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reconciled myself to going alone, he suddenly roused himself to come, And all
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being quired throughout the afternoon, we started about five o'clock, as I should
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judge, along the blackened road to Sunbury. In Sunbury, and at intervals
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along the road were dead bodies lying in contorted attitudes, horses as well as
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men, overturned carts and luggage, all covered thickly with black dust. That
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pall of cindery powder made me think of what I had read of the destruction
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of POMPEII. We got to Hampton Court without misadventure, our eyes full of
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strange and unfamiliar appearances. And at Hampton Court our eyes were relieved to find
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a patch of green that had escaped the suffocating drift. We went through Bushy
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Park with its deer going to and fro under the chestnuts, and some men
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and women hurrying in the distance towards Hampton, and so we came to Twickenham.
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These were the first people we saw away acrossross the road. The woods
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beyond Ham and Petersham were still afire. Twickenham was uninjured by either heat,
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ray or black smoke. And there were more people about here, though none
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could give us news. For the most part, they were like ourselves,
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taking advantage of a lull to shift their quarters. I have an impression that
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many of the houses here were still occupied by scared inhabitants, too frightened even
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for flight. Here, too, the evidence of a hasty route was abundant
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along the road. I remember most vividly three smashed bicycles in a heap,
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pounded into the road by the wheels of subsequent carts. We crossed Richmond Bridge
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about half past eight. We hurried across the exposed bridge, of course,
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but I noticed floating down the stream a number of red masses, some many
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feet across. I did not know what these were. There was no time
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for scrutiny, and I put a more horrible entel repretation on them than they
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deserved. Here again, on the Surrey side were black dust that had once
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been smoke, and dead bodies a heap near the approach to the station.
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But we had no glimpse of the Martians until we were some way towards Barnes.
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We saw in the blackened distance a group of three people running down a
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side street towards the river, but otherwise it seemed deserted. Up the hill,
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Richmond Town was burning briskly. Outside the town of Richmond, there was
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no trace of the black smoke. Then suddenly, as we approached Kew,
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came a number of people running, and the upper works of a Martian fighting
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machine loomed in sight over the housetops, not a hundred yards away from us.
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We stood aghast at our danger, and had the Martian looked down,
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we must immediately have perished. We were so terrified that we dared not go
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on, but turned aside and hid in a shed in a garden. There
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the Curate crouched, weeping silently and refusing to stir again. But my fixed
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idea of reaching Leatherhead would not let me rest, and in the twilight I
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ventured out again. I went through a shrubbery and along a passage beside a
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big house standing in its own grounds, and so emerged upon the road towards
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Kewe. The Curate I left in the shed, but he came hurrying after
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me. That second start was the most foolhardy thing I ever did, for
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it was manifest the Martians were about us. No sooner had the curate overtaken
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me than we saw either the fighting machine we had seen before, or another
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far away across the meadows in the direction of kew Lodge. Four or five
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little black figures hurried before it across the green gray of the field, and
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in a moment it was evident this martian pursued them in three strides. He
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was among them, and they ran radiating from his in all directions. He
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used no heat ray to destroy them, but picked them up one by one.
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Apparently he tossed them into the great metallic carrier, which projected behind him,
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much as a workman's basket hangs over his shoulder. It was the first
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time I realized that the Martians might have any other purpose than destruction. With
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defeated humanity, we stood for a moment, petrified, then turned and fled
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through a gate behind us into a walled garden, fell into rather than found
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a fortunate ditch, and lay there scarce, daring to whisper to each other
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until the stars were out. I suppose it was nearly eleven o'clock before we
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gathered courage to start again, no longer venturing into the road, but sneaking
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along hedgerows and through plantations, and watching keenly through the darkness, he on
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the right and I on the left for the Martians, who seemed to be
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all about us. In one place, we blundered upon a scorched and blackened
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area, now cooling and ashen, and a number of scattered dead bodies of
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men, burned horribly about the heads and trunks, but with their legs and
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boots mostly intact, and of dead horses fifty feet perhaps behind a line of
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four ripped guns and smashed gun carriages. Sheen, it seemed, had escaped
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destruction, but the place was silent and deserted. Here we happened on no
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dead, though the night was too dark for us to see into the side
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roads of the place. In Sheen, my companion suddenly complained of faintness and
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thirst, and we decided to try one of the houses. The first house
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we entered, after a little difficulty with the window, was a small semi
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detached villa, and I found nothing eatable left in the place, but some
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moldy cheese. There was, however, water to drink, and I took
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a hatchet, which promised to be useful in uns next house. Breaking We
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then crossed to a place where the road turns towards Mortlake. Here there stood
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a white house within a walled garden, And in the pantry of this domicile
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we found a store of food, two loaves of bread in a pan,
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an uncooked steak, and the half of a ham. I give this catalog
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so precisely, because, as it happened, we were destined to subsist upon
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this store for the next fortnight. Bottled beer stood under a shelf, and
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there were two bags of harricot beans and some limp lettuces. This pantry opened
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into a kind of wash up kitchen, and in this was firewood. There
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was also a cupboard, in which we found nearly a dozen of burgundy tinned
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soups and salmon, and two tins of biscuits. We sat in the adjacent
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kitchen in the dark, for we dared not strike a light, and ate
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bread and ham, and drank beer out of the same bottle. The curate,
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who was still timorous and restless, was now oddly enough for pushing on,
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and I was urging him to keep up his strength by eating. When
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the thing happened that was to imprison us. It can't be midnight yet,
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I said, And then came a blinding glare of vivid green light. Everything
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in the kitchen leaped out, clearly visible in green and black, and vanished
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again. And then followed such a concussion as I have never heard before or
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since. So close on the heels of this as to seem instantaneous, came
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a thud behind me, a clash of glass, a crash and rattle of
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falling masonry all about us, and the plaster of the ceiling came down upon
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us, smashing into a multitude of fragments upon our heads. I was knocked
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headlong across the floor against the oven handle and stunned. I was insensible for
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a long time, the Curate told me, And when I came to,
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we were in darkness again, and he, with a face wet as I
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found afterwards, with blood from a cut forehead, was dabbing water over me.
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For some time I could not recollect what had happened. Then things came
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to me slowly. A bruise on my temple asserted itself. Are you better?
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Asked the curate in a whisper. At last I answered him. I
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sat up. Don't move, he said, the floor is covered with smashed
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crockery from the dresser. You can't possibly move without making a noise, and
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I fancy they are outside. We both sat quite silent, so that we
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could scarcely hear each other breathing. Everything seemed deadly still, but once something
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near us, some plaster or broken brickwork, slid down with a rumbling sound.
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Outside, and very near was an intermittent metallic rattle that said the curate
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when presently had happened again, Yes, I said, but what is it?
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A martian, said the curate. I listened again. It was not
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like the heat ray, I said, And for a time I was inclined
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to think one of the great fighting machines had stumbled against the house, as
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I had seen one stumble against the tower of Shepperton Church. Our situation was
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so strange and incomprehensible that for three or four hours, until the dawn came
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in, we scarcely moved. And then the light filtered in, not through
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the window, which remained black, but through a triangular aperture between a beam
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and a heap of broken bricks in the wall behind us. The interior of
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the kitchen we now saw greyly for the first time. The window had been
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burst in by a mass of garden mold, which flowed over the table upon
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which we had been sitting, and lay about our feet outside. The soil
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was banked high against the house. At the top of the window frame we
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could see an uprooted drain pipe. The floor was littered with smashed hardware.
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The end of the kitchen towards the house was broken into, and since the
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daylight shone in there, it was evident the greater part of the house had
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collapsed. Contrasting vividly with this ruin was the neat dresser, stained in the
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fashion pale green and with a number of copper and tin vessels below it,
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the wallpaper imitating blue and white tiles, and a couple of colored supplements fluttering
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from the walls above the kitchen range. As the dawn grew clearer, we
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saw through the gap in the wall the body of a martian standing sentinel,
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I suppose, over the still glowing cylinder. At the sight of that,
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we crawled as circumspectedly as possible out of the twilight of the kitchen into the
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darkness of the Scullerybruptly, the right interpretation dawned upon my mind. The fifth
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cylinder. I whispered, the fifth shot from Mars had struck this house and
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buried us under the ruins. For a time, the curate was silent,
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and then he whispered, God have mercy upon us. I heard him presently
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whimpering to himself. Save for that sound, we lay quite still in the
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scullery. I, for my part, scarce dared breathe, and sat with
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my eyes fixed on the faint light of the kitchen door. I could just
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see the Curate's face a dim oval shape, and his collar and cuffs.
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Outside there began a metallic hammering, then a violent hooting, and then again,
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after a quiet interval, a hissing, like the hissing of an engine.
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These noises, for the most part problematical, continued intermittently and seemed,
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if anything, to increase in number. Time wore on presently, a measured
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thudding and a vibration that made everything about us quiver, and the vessels in
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the pantry. Ring and shift began and continued once the light was eclipsed and
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the ghostly kitchen doorway became absolutely dark. For many hours, we must have
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crouched there, silent and shivering, until our tired attention failed at last,
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I found myself awake and very hungry. I am inclined to believe we must
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have spent the greater portion of a day before that awakening. My hunger was
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at a stride, so insistent that it moved me to action. I told
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the Curate I was going to seek food, and felt my way towards the
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pantry. He made me no answer, But so soon as I began eating,
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the faint noise I made stirred him up, and I heard him crawling
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after me. End of Section eighteen.