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book one the coming of the martianschapter fourteen in london my younger brother was in london when themartians fell at woking. he was a medical student working for animminent examination, and he heard nothing of the arrival until saturday morning. the morning papers on saturday contained,in addition to lengthy special articles on the planet mars, on life in the planets,and so forth, a brief and vaguely worded telegram, all the more striking for itsbrevity. the martians, alarmed by the approach of acrowd, had killed a number of people with a quick-firing gun, so the story ran.
the telegram concluded with the words:"formidable as they seem to be, the martians have not moved from the pit intowhich they have fallen, and, indeed, seem incapable of doing so. probably this is due to the relativestrength of the earth's gravitational energy."on that last text their leader-writer expanded very comfortingly. of course all the students in the crammer'sbiology class, to which my brother went that day, were intensely interested, butthere were no signs of any unusual excitement in the streets.
the afternoon papers puffed scraps of newsunder big headlines. they had nothing to tell beyond themovements of troops about the common, and the burning of the pine woods betweenwoking and weybridge, until eight. then the st. james's gazette, in an extra-special edition, announced the bare fact of the interruption of telegraphiccommunication. this was thought to be due to the fallingof burning pine trees across the line. nothing more of the fighting was known thatnight, the night of my drive to leatherhead and back. my brother felt no anxiety about us, as heknew from the description in the papers
that the cylinder was a good two miles frommy house. he made up his mind to run down that nightto me, in order, as he says, to see the things before they were killed. he dispatched a telegram, which neverreached me, about four o'clock, and spent the evening at a music hall. in london, also, on saturday night therewas a thunderstorm, and my brother reached waterloo in a cab. on the platform from which the midnighttrain usually starts he learned, after some waiting, that an accident prevented trainsfrom reaching woking that night.
the nature of the accident he could notascertain; indeed, the railway authorities did not clearly know at that time. there was very little excitement in thestation, as the officials, failing to realise that anything further than abreakdown between byfleet and woking junction had occurred, were running the theatre trains which usually passed throughwoking round by virginia water or guildford. they were busy making the necessaryarrangements to alter the route of the southampton and portsmouth sunday leagueexcursions.
a nocturnal newspaper reporter, mistakingmy brother for the traffic manager, to whom he bears a slight resemblance, waylaid andtried to interview him. few people, excepting the railwayofficials, connected the breakdown with the martians. i have read, in another account of theseevents, that on sunday morning "all london was electrified by the news from woking."as a matter of fact, there was nothing to justify that very extravagant phrase. plenty of londoners did not hear of themartians until the panic of monday morning. those who did took some time to realise allthat the hastily worded telegrams in the
sunday papers conveyed. the majority of people in london do notread sunday papers. the habit of personal security, moreover,is so deeply fixed in the londoner's mind, and startling intelligence so much a matterof course in the papers, that they could read without any personal tremors: "about seven o'clock last night the martians cameout of the cylinder, and, moving about under an armour of metallic shields, havecompletely wrecked woking station with the adjacent houses, and massacred an entirebattalion of the cardigan regiment. no details are known.
maxims have been absolutely useless againsttheir armour; the field guns have been disabled by them.flying hussars have been galloping into chertsey. the martians appear to be moving slowlytowards chertsey or windsor. great anxiety prevails in west surrey, andearthworks are being thrown up to check the advance londonward." that was how the sunday sun put it, and aclever and remarkably prompt "handbook" article in the referee compared the affairto a menagerie suddenly let loose in a village.
no one in london knew positively of thenature of the armoured martians, and there was still a fixed idea that these monstersmust be sluggish: "crawling," "creeping painfully"--such expressions occurred inalmost all the earlier reports. none of the telegrams could have beenwritten by an eyewitness of their advance. the sunday papers printed separate editionsas further news came to hand, some even in default of it. but there was practically nothing more totell people until late in the afternoon, when the authorities gave the pressagencies the news in their possession. it was stated that the people of walton andweybridge, and all the district were
pouring along the roads londonward, andthat was all. my brother went to church at the foundlinghospital in the morning, still in ignorance of what had happened on the previous night.there he heard allusions made to the invasion, and a special prayer for peace. coming out, he bought a referee.he became alarmed at the news in this, and went again to waterloo station to find outif communication were restored. the omnibuses, carriages, cyclists, andinnumerable people walking in their best clothes seemed scarcely affected by thestrange intelligence that the news venders were disseminating.
people were interested, or, if alarmed,alarmed only on account of the local residents. at the station he heard for the first timethat the windsor and chertsey lines were now interrupted. the porters told him that severalremarkable telegrams had been received in the morning from byfleet and chertseystations, but that these had abruptly ceased. my brother could get very little precisedetail out of them. "there's fighting going on about weybridge"was the extent of their information.
the train service was now very muchdisorganised. quite a number of people who had beenexpecting friends from places on the south- western network were standing about thestation. one grey-headed old gentleman came andabused the south-western company bitterly to my brother."it wants showing up," he said. one or two trains came in from richmond,putney, and kingston, containing people who had gone out for a day's boating and foundthe locks closed and a feeling of panic in the air. a man in a blue and white blazer addressedmy brother, full of strange tidings.
"there's hosts of people driving intokingston in traps and carts and things, with boxes of valuables and all that," hesaid. "they come from molesey and weybridge andwalton, and they say there's been guns heard at chertsey, heavy firing, and thatmounted soldiers have told them to get off at once because the martians are coming. we heard guns firing at hampton courtstation, but we thought it was thunder. what the dickens does it all mean?the martians can't get out of their pit, can they?" my brother could not tell him.
afterwards he found that the vague feelingof alarm had spread to the clients of the underground railway, and that the sundayexcursionists began to return from all over the south-western "lung"--barnes, wimbledon, richmond park, kew, and soforth--at unnaturally early hours; but not a soul had anything more than vague hearsayto tell of. everyone connected with the terminus seemedill-tempered. about five o'clock the gathering crowd inthe station was immensely excited by the opening of the line of communication, whichis almost invariably closed, between the south-eastern and the south-western
stations, and the passage of carriagetrucks bearing huge guns and carriages crammed with soldiers. these were the guns that were brought upfrom woolwich and chatham to cover kingston.there was an exchange of pleasantries: "you'll get eaten!" "we're the beast-tamers!" and so forth.a little while after that a squad of police came into the station and began to clearthe public off the platforms, and my brother went out into the street again. the church bells were ringing for evensong,and a squad of salvation army lassies came
singing down waterloo road. on the bridge a number of loafers werewatching a curious brown scum that came drifting down the stream in patches. the sun was just setting, and the clocktower and the houses of parliament rose against one of the most peaceful skies itis possible to imagine, a sky of gold, barred with long transverse stripes ofreddish-purple cloud. there was talk of a floating body. one of the men there, a reservist he saidhe was, told my brother he had seen the heliograph flickering in the west.
in wellington street my brother met acouple of sturdy roughs who had just been rushed out of fleet street with still-wetnewspapers and staring placards. "dreadful catastrophe!" they bawled one tothe other down wellington street. "fighting at weybridge!full description! repulse of the martians! london in danger!"he had to give threepence for a copy of that paper. then it was, and then only, that herealised something of the full power and terror of these monsters.
he learned that they were not merely ahandful of small sluggish creatures, but that they were minds swaying vastmechanical bodies; and that they could move swiftly and smite with such power that even the mightiest guns could not stand againstthem. they were described as "vast spiderlikemachines, nearly a hundred feet high, capable of the speed of an express train,and able to shoot out a beam of intense heat." masked batteries, chiefly of field guns,had been planted in the country about horsell common, and especially between thewoking district and london.
five of the machines had been seen movingtowards the thames, and one, by a happy chance, had been destroyed. in the other cases the shells had missed,and the batteries had been at once annihilated by the heat-rays. heavy losses of soldiers were mentioned,but the tone of the dispatch was optimistic.the martians had been repulsed; they were not invulnerable. they had retreated to their triangle ofcylinders again, in the circle about woking.signallers with heliographs were pushing
forward upon them from all sides. guns were in rapid transit from windsor,portsmouth, aldershot, woolwich--even from the north; among others, long wire-guns ofninety-five tons from woolwich. altogether one hundred and sixteen were inposition or being hastily placed, chiefly covering london. never before in england had there been sucha vast or rapid concentration of military material. any further cylinders that fell, it washoped, could be destroyed at once by high explosives, which were being rapidlymanufactured and distributed.
no doubt, ran the report, the situation wasof the strangest and gravest description, but the public was exhorted to avoid anddiscourage panic. no doubt the martians were strange andterrible in the extreme, but at the outside there could not be more than twenty of themagainst our millions. the authorities had reason to suppose, fromthe size of the cylinders, that at the outside there could not be more than fivein each cylinder--fifteen altogether. and one at least was disposed of--perhapsmore. the public would be fairly warned of theapproach of danger, and elaborate measures were being taken for the protection of thepeople in the threatened southwestern
suburbs. and so, with reiterated assurances of thesafety of london and the ability of the authorities to cope with the difficulty,this quasi-proclamation closed. this was printed in enormous type on paperso fresh that it was still wet, and there had been no time to add a word of comment. it was curious, my brother said, to see howruthlessly the usual contents of the paper had been hacked and taken out to give thisplace. all down wellington street people could beseen fluttering out the pink sheets and reading, and the strand was suddenly noisywith the voices of an army of hawkers
following these pioneers. men came scrambling off buses to securecopies. certainly this news excited peopleintensely, whatever their previous apathy. the shutters of a map shop in the strandwere being taken down, my brother said, and a man in his sunday raiment, lemon-yellowgloves even, was visible inside the window hastily fastening maps of surrey to theglass. going on along the strand to trafalgarsquare, the paper in his hand, my brother saw some of the fugitives from west surrey. there was a man with his wife and two boysand some articles of furniture in a cart
such as greengrocers use. he was driving from the direction ofwestminster bridge; and close behind him came a hay waggon with five or sixrespectable-looking people in it, and some boxes and bundles. the faces of these people were haggard, andtheir entire appearance contrasted conspicuously with the sabbath-bestappearance of the people on the omnibuses. people in fashionable clothing peeped atthem out of cabs. they stopped at the square as if undecidedwhich way to take, and finally turned eastward along the strand.
some way behind these came a man in workdayclothes, riding one of those old-fashioned tricycles with a small front wheel.he was dirty and white in the face. my brother turned down towards victoria,and met a number of such people. he had a vague idea that he might seesomething of me. he noticed an unusual number of policeregulating the traffic. some of the refugees were exchanging newswith the people on the omnibuses. one was professing to have seen themartians. "boilers on stilts, i tell you, stridingalong like men." most of them were excited and animated bytheir strange experience.
beyond victoria the public-houses weredoing a lively trade with these arrivals. at all the street corners groups of peoplewere reading papers, talking excitedly, or staring at these unusual sunday visitors. they seemed to increase as night drew on,until at last the roads, my brother said, were like epsom high street on a derby day. my brother addressed several of thesefugitives and got unsatisfactory answers from most. none of them could tell him any news ofwoking except one man, who assured him that woking had been entirely destroyed on theprevious night.
"i come from byfleet," he said; "man on abicycle came through the place in the early morning, and ran from door to door warningus to come away. then came soldiers. we went out to look, and there were cloudsof smoke to the south--nothing but smoke, and not a soul coming that way.then we heard the guns at chertsey, and folks coming from weybridge. so i've locked up my house and come on." at the time there was a strong feeling inthe streets that the authorities were to blame for their incapacity to dispose ofthe invaders without all this
inconvenience. about eight o'clock a noise of heavy firingwas distinctly audible all over the south of london. my brother could not hear it for thetraffic in the main thoroughfares, but by striking through the quiet back streets tothe river he was able to distinguish it quite plainly. he walked from westminster to hisapartments near regent's park, about two. he was now very anxious on my account, anddisturbed at the evident magnitude of the trouble.
his mind was inclined to run, even as minehad run on saturday, on military details. he thought of all those silent, expectantguns, of the suddenly nomadic countryside; he tried to imagine "boilers on stilts" ahundred feet high. there were one or two cartloads of refugeespassing along oxford street, and several in the marylebone road, but so slowly was thenews spreading that regent street and portland place were full of their usual sunday-night promenaders, albeit theytalked in groups, and along the edge of regent's park there were as many silentcouples "walking out" together under the scattered gas lamps as ever there had been.
the night was warm and still, and a littleoppressive; the sound of guns continued intermittently, and after midnight thereseemed to be sheet lightning in the south. he read and re-read the paper, fearing theworst had happened to me. he was restless, and after supper prowledout again aimlessly. he returned and tried in vain to divert hisattention to his examination notes. he went to bed a little after midnight, andwas awakened from lurid dreams in the small hours of monday by the sound of doorknockers, feet running in the street, distant drumming, and a clamour of bells. red reflections danced on the ceiling.for a moment he lay astonished, wondering
whether day had come or the world gone mad.then he jumped out of bed and ran to the window. his room was an attic and as he thrust hishead out, up and down the street there were a dozen echoes to the noise of his windowsash, and heads in every kind of night disarray appeared. enquiries were being shouted."they are coming!" bawled a policeman, hammering at the door; "the martians arecoming!" and hurried to the next door. the sound of drumming and trumpeting camefrom the albany street barracks, and every church within earshot was hard at workkilling sleep with a vehement disorderly
tocsin. there was a noise of doors opening, andwindow after window in the houses opposite flashed from darkness into yellowillumination. up the street came galloping a closedcarriage, bursting abruptly into noise at the corner, rising to a clattering climaxunder the window, and dying away slowly in the distance. close on the rear of this came a couple ofcabs, the forerunners of a long procession of flying vehicles, going for the most partto chalk farm station, where the north- western special trains were loading up,
instead of coming down the gradient intoeuston. for a long time my brother stared out ofthe window in blank astonishment, watching the policemen hammering at door after door,and delivering their incomprehensible message. then the door behind him opened, and theman who lodged across the landing came in, dressed only in shirt, trousers, andslippers, his braces loose about his waist, his hair disordered from his pillow. "what the devil is it?" he asked."a fire? what a devil of a row!"
they both craned their heads out of thewindow, straining to hear what the policemen were shouting. people were coming out of the side streets,and standing in groups at the corners talking."what the devil is it all about?" said my brother's fellow lodger. my brother answered him vaguely and beganto dress, running with each garment to the window in order to miss nothing of thegrowing excitement. and presently men selling unnaturally earlynewspapers came bawling into the street: "london in danger of suffocation!the kingston and richmond defences forced!
fearful massacres in the thames valley!" and all about him--in the rooms below, inthe houses on each side and across the road, and behind in the park terraces andin the hundred other streets of that part of marylebone, and the westbourne park district and st. pancras, and westward andnorthward in kilburn and st. john's wood and hampstead, and eastward in shoreditchand highbury and haggerston and hoxton, and, indeed, through all the vastness of london from ealing to east ham--people wererubbing their eyes, and opening windows to stare out and ask aimless questions,dressing hastily as the first breath of the
coming storm of fear blew through thestreets. it was the dawn of the great panic. london, which had gone to bed on sundaynight oblivious and inert, was awakened, in the small hours of monday morning, to avivid sense of danger. unable from his window to learn what washappening, my brother went down and out into the street, just as the sky betweenthe parapets of the houses grew pink with the early dawn. the flying people on foot and in vehiclesgrew more numerous every moment. "black smoke!" he heard people crying, andagain "black smoke!"
the contagion of such a unanimous fear wasinevitable. as my brother hesitated on the door-step,he saw another news vender approaching, and got a paper forthwith. the man was running away with the rest, andselling his papers for a shilling each as he ran--a grotesque mingling of profit andpanic. and from this paper my brother read thatcatastrophic dispatch of the commander-in- chief: "the martians are able to dischargeenormous clouds of a black and poisonous vapour by means of rockets.
they have smothered our batteries,destroyed richmond, kingston, and wimbledon, and are advancing slowly towardslondon, destroying everything on the way. it is impossible to stop them. there is no safety from the black smoke butin instant flight." that was all, but it was enough. the whole population of the great six-million city was stirring, slipping, running; presently it would be pouring enmasse northward. "black smoke!" the voices cried. "fire!"the bells of the neighbouring church made a
jangling tumult, a cart carelessly drivensmashed, amid shrieks and curses, against the water trough up the street. sickly yellow lights went to and fro in thehouses, and some of the passing cabs flaunted unextinguished lamps.and overhead the dawn was growing brighter, clear and steady and calm. he heard footsteps running to and fro inthe rooms, and up and down stairs behind him. his landlady came to the door, looselywrapped in dressing gown and shawl; her husband followed ejaculating.
as my brother began to realise the importof all these things, he turned hastily to his own room, put all his available money--some ten pounds altogether--into his pockets, and went out again into thestreets.
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