Reading Help War of the worlds Book 2
violet-purple fluorescent glow, quivering under the night breeze. For `
` a space I could not understand it, and then I knew that it must be `
` the red weed from which this faint irradiation proceeded. With that `
` realisation my dormant sense of wonder, my sense of the proportion of `
` things, awoke again. I glanced from that to Mars, red and clear, `
` glowing high in the west, and then gazed long and earnestly at the `
` darkness of Hampstead and Highgate. `
` `
` I remained a very long time upon the roof, wondering at the `
` grotesque changes of the day. I recalled my mental states from the `
` midnight prayer to the foolish card-playing. I had a violent `
` revulsion of feeling. I remember I flung away the cigar with a `
` certain wasteful symbolism. My folly came to me with glaring `
` exaggeration. I seemed a traitor to my wife and to my kind; I was `
` filled with remorse. I resolved to leave this strange undisciplined `
` dreamer of great things to his drink and gluttony, and to go on into `
` London. There, it seemed to me, I had the best chance of learning `
` what the Martians and my fellowmen were doing. I was still upon the `
` roof when the late moon rose. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER EIGHT `
` `
` DEAD LONDON `
` `
` `
` After I had parted from the artilleryman, I went down the hill, and `
` by the High Street across the bridge to Fulham. The red weed was `
` tumultuous at that time, and nearly choked the bridge roadway; but its `
` fronds were already whitened in patches by the spreading disease that `
` presently removed it so swiftly. `
` `
` At the corner of the lane that runs to Putney Bridge station I `
` found a man lying. He was as black as a sweep with the black dust, `
` alive, but helplessly and speechlessly drunk. I could get nothing `
` from him but curses and furious lunges at my head. I think I should `
` have stayed by him but for the brutal expression of his face. `
` `
` There was black dust along the roadway from the bridge onwards, and `
` it grew thicker in Fulham. The streets were horribly quiet. I got `
` food--sour, hard, and mouldy, but quite eatable--in a baker's shop `
` here. Some way towards Walham Green the streets became clear of `
` powder, and I passed a white terrace of houses on fire; the noise of `
` the burning was an absolute relief. Going on towards Brompton, the `
` streets were quiet again. `
` `
` Here I came once more upon the black powder in the streets and upon `
` dead bodies. I saw altogether about a dozen in the length of the `
` Fulham Road. They had been dead many days, so that I hurried quickly `
` past them. The black powder covered them over, and softened their `
` outlines. One or two had been disturbed by dogs. `
` `
` Where there was no black powder, it was curiously like a Sunday in `
` the City, with the closed shops, the houses locked up and the blinds `
` drawn, the desertion, and the stillness. In some places plunderers `
` had been at work, but rarely at other than the provision and wine `
` shops. A jeweller's window had been broken open in one place, but `
` apparently the thief had been disturbed, and a number of gold chains `
` and a watch lay scattered on the pavement. I did not trouble to touch `
` them. Farther on was a tattered woman in a heap on a doorstep; the `
` hand that hung over her knee was gashed and bled down her rusty brown `
` dress, and a smashed magnum of champagne formed a pool across the `
` pavement. She seemed asleep, but she was dead. `
` `
` The farther I penetrated into London, the profounder grew the `
` stillness. But it was not so much the stillness of death--it was the `
` stillness of suspense, of expectation. At any time the destruction `
` that had already singed the northwestern borders of the metropolis, `
` and had annihilated Ealing and Kilburn, might strike among these `
` houses and leave them smoking ruins. It was a city condemned and `
` derelict. . . . `
` `
` In South Kensington the streets were clear of dead and of black `
` powder. It was near South Kensington that I first heard the howling. `
` It crept almost imperceptibly upon my senses. It was a sobbing `
` alternation of two notes, "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," keeping on `
` perpetually. When I passed streets that ran northward it grew in `
` volume, and houses and buildings seemed to deaden and cut it off `
` again. It came in a full tide down Exhibition Road. I stopped, `
` staring towards Kensington Gardens, wondering at this strange, remote `
` wailing. It was as if that mighty desert of houses had found a voice `
` for its fear and solitude. `
` `
` "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," wailed that superhuman note--great waves `
` of sound sweeping down the broad, sunlit roadway, between the tall `
` buildings on each side. I turned northwards, marvelling, towards the `
` iron gates of Hyde Park. I had half a mind to break into the Natural `
` History Museum and find my way up to the summits of the towers, in `
` order to see across the park. But I decided to keep to the ground, `
` where quick hiding was possible, and so went on up the Exhibition `
` Road. All the large mansions on each side of the road were empty and `
` still, and my footsteps echoed against the sides of the houses. At `
` the top, near the park gate, I came upon a strange sight--a bus `
` overturned, and the skeleton of a horse picked clean. I puzzled over `
` this for a time, and then went on to the bridge over the Serpentine. `
` The voice grew stronger and stronger, though I could see nothing above `
` the housetops on the north side of the park, save a haze of smoke to `
` the northwest. `
` `
` "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," cried the voice, coming, as it seemed to `
` me, from the district about Regent's Park. The desolating cry worked `
` upon my mind. The mood that had sustained me passed. The wailing `
` took possession of me. I found I was intensely weary, footsore, and `
` now again hungry and thirsty. `
` `
` It was already past noon. Why was I wandering alone in this city `
` of the dead? Why was I alone when all London was lying in state, and `
` in its black shroud? I felt intolerably lonely. My mind ran on old `
` friends that I had forgotten for years. I thought of the poisons in `
` the chemists' shops, of the liquors the wine merchants stored; I `
` recalled the two sodden creatures of despair, who so far as I knew, `
` shared the city with myself. . . . `
` `
` I came into Oxford Street by the Marble Arch, and here again were `
` black powder and several bodies, and an evil, ominous smell from the `
` gratings of the cellars of some of the houses. I grew very thirsty `
` after the heat of my long walk. With infinite trouble I managed to `
` break into a public-house and get food and drink. I was weary after `
` eating, and went into the parlour behind the bar, and slept on a black `
` horsehair sofa I found there. `
` `
` I awoke to find that dismal howling still in my ears, "Ulla, ulla, `
` ulla, ulla." It was now dusk, and after I had routed out some `
` biscuits and a cheese in the bar--there was a meat safe, but it `
` contained nothing but maggots--I wandered on through the silent `
` residential squares to Baker Street--Portman Square is the only one I `
` can name--and so came out at last upon Regent's Park. And as I `
` emerged from the top of Baker Street, I saw far away over the trees in `
` the clearness of the sunset the hood of the Martian giant from which `
` this howling proceeded. I was not terrified. I came upon him as if `
` it were a matter of course. I watched him for some time, but he did `
` not move. He appeared to be standing and yelling, for no reason that `
` I could discover. `
` `
` I tried to formulate a plan of action. That perpetual sound of `
` "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," confused my mind. Perhaps I was too tired `
` to be very fearful. Certainly I was more curious to know the reason `
` of this monotonous crying than afraid. I turned back away from the `
` park and struck into Park Road, intending to skirt the park, went `
` along under the shelter of the terraces, and got a view of this `
` stationary, howling Martian from the direction of St. John's Wood. A `
` couple of hundred yards out of Baker Street I heard a yelping chorus, `
` and saw, first a dog with a piece of putrescent red meat in his jaws `
` coming headlong towards me, and then a pack of starving mongrels in `
` pursuit of him. He made a wide curve to avoid me, as though he feared `
` I might prove a fresh competitor. As the yelping died away down the `
` silent road, the wailing sound of "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," reasserted `
` itself. `
` `
` I came upon the wrecked handling-machine halfway to St. John's Wood `
` station. At first I thought a house had fallen across the road. It `
` was only as I clambered among the ruins that I saw, with a start, this `
` mechanical Samson lying, with its tentacles bent and smashed and `
` twisted, among the ruins it had made. The forepart was shattered. It `
` seemed as if it had driven blindly straight at the house, and had been `
` overwhelmed in its overthrow. It seemed to me then that this might `
` have happened by a handling-machine escaping from the guidance of its `
` Martian. I could not clamber among the ruins to see it, and the `
` twilight was now so far advanced that the blood with which its seat `
` was smeared, and the gnawed gristle of the Martian that the dogs had `
` left, were invisible to me. `
` `
` Wondering still more at all that I had seen, I pushed on towards `
` Primrose Hill. Far away, through a gap in the trees, I saw a second `
` Martian, as motionless as the first, standing in the park towards the `
` Zoological Gardens, and silent. A little beyond the ruins about the `
` smashed handling-machine I came upon the red weed again, and found the `
` Regent's Canal, a spongy mass of dark-red vegetation. `
` `
` As I crossed the bridge, the sound of "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," `
` ceased. It was, as it were, cut off. The silence came like a `
` thunderclap. `
` `
` The dusky houses about me stood faint and tall and dim; the trees `
` towards the park were growing black. All about me the red weed `
` clambered among the ruins, writhing to get above me in the dimness. `
` Night, the mother of fear and mystery, was coming upon me. But while `
` that voice sounded the solitude, the desolation, had been endurable; `
` by virtue of it London had still seemed alive, and the sense of life `
` about me had upheld me. Then suddenly a change, the passing of `
` something--I knew not what--and then a stillness that could be felt. `
` Nothing but this gaunt quiet. `
` `
` London about me gazed at me spectrally. The windows in the white `
` houses were like the eye sockets of skulls. About me my imagination `
` found a thousand noiseless enemies moving. Terror seized me, a horror `
` of my temerity. In front of me the road became pitchy black as though `
` it was tarred, and I saw a contorted shape lying across the pathway. I `
` could not bring myself to go on. I turned down St. John's Wood Road, `
` and ran headlong from this unendurable stillness towards Kilburn. I `
` hid from the night and the silence, until long after midnight, in a `
` cabmen's shelter in Harrow Road. But before the dawn my courage `
` returned, and while the stars were still in the sky I turned once more `
` towards Regent's Park. I missed my way among the streets, and `
` presently saw down a long avenue, in the half-light of the early dawn, `
` the curve of Primrose Hill. On the summit, towering up to the fading `
` stars, was a third Martian, erect and motionless like the others. `
` `
` An insane resolve possessed me. I would die and end it. And I `
` would save myself even the trouble of killing myself. I marched on `
`
` a space I could not understand it, and then I knew that it must be `
` the red weed from which this faint irradiation proceeded. With that `
` realisation my dormant sense of wonder, my sense of the proportion of `
` things, awoke again. I glanced from that to Mars, red and clear, `
` glowing high in the west, and then gazed long and earnestly at the `
` darkness of Hampstead and Highgate. `
` `
` I remained a very long time upon the roof, wondering at the `
` grotesque changes of the day. I recalled my mental states from the `
` midnight prayer to the foolish card-playing. I had a violent `
` revulsion of feeling. I remember I flung away the cigar with a `
` certain wasteful symbolism. My folly came to me with glaring `
` exaggeration. I seemed a traitor to my wife and to my kind; I was `
` filled with remorse. I resolved to leave this strange undisciplined `
` dreamer of great things to his drink and gluttony, and to go on into `
` London. There, it seemed to me, I had the best chance of learning `
` what the Martians and my fellowmen were doing. I was still upon the `
` roof when the late moon rose. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER EIGHT `
` `
` DEAD LONDON `
` `
` `
` After I had parted from the artilleryman, I went down the hill, and `
` by the High Street across the bridge to Fulham. The red weed was `
` tumultuous at that time, and nearly choked the bridge roadway; but its `
` fronds were already whitened in patches by the spreading disease that `
` presently removed it so swiftly. `
` `
` At the corner of the lane that runs to Putney Bridge station I `
` found a man lying. He was as black as a sweep with the black dust, `
` alive, but helplessly and speechlessly drunk. I could get nothing `
` from him but curses and furious lunges at my head. I think I should `
` have stayed by him but for the brutal expression of his face. `
` `
` There was black dust along the roadway from the bridge onwards, and `
` it grew thicker in Fulham. The streets were horribly quiet. I got `
` food--sour, hard, and mouldy, but quite eatable--in a baker's shop `
` here. Some way towards Walham Green the streets became clear of `
` powder, and I passed a white terrace of houses on fire; the noise of `
` the burning was an absolute relief. Going on towards Brompton, the `
` streets were quiet again. `
` `
` Here I came once more upon the black powder in the streets and upon `
` dead bodies. I saw altogether about a dozen in the length of the `
` Fulham Road. They had been dead many days, so that I hurried quickly `
` past them. The black powder covered them over, and softened their `
` outlines. One or two had been disturbed by dogs. `
` `
` Where there was no black powder, it was curiously like a Sunday in `
` the City, with the closed shops, the houses locked up and the blinds `
` drawn, the desertion, and the stillness. In some places plunderers `
` had been at work, but rarely at other than the provision and wine `
` shops. A jeweller's window had been broken open in one place, but `
` apparently the thief had been disturbed, and a number of gold chains `
` and a watch lay scattered on the pavement. I did not trouble to touch `
` them. Farther on was a tattered woman in a heap on a doorstep; the `
` hand that hung over her knee was gashed and bled down her rusty brown `
` dress, and a smashed magnum of champagne formed a pool across the `
` pavement. She seemed asleep, but she was dead. `
` `
` The farther I penetrated into London, the profounder grew the `
` stillness. But it was not so much the stillness of death--it was the `
` stillness of suspense, of expectation. At any time the destruction `
` that had already singed the northwestern borders of the metropolis, `
` and had annihilated Ealing and Kilburn, might strike among these `
` houses and leave them smoking ruins. It was a city condemned and `
` derelict. . . . `
` `
` In South Kensington the streets were clear of dead and of black `
` powder. It was near South Kensington that I first heard the howling. `
` It crept almost imperceptibly upon my senses. It was a sobbing `
` alternation of two notes, "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," keeping on `
` perpetually. When I passed streets that ran northward it grew in `
` volume, and houses and buildings seemed to deaden and cut it off `
` again. It came in a full tide down Exhibition Road. I stopped, `
` staring towards Kensington Gardens, wondering at this strange, remote `
` wailing. It was as if that mighty desert of houses had found a voice `
` for its fear and solitude. `
` `
` "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," wailed that superhuman note--great waves `
` of sound sweeping down the broad, sunlit roadway, between the tall `
` buildings on each side. I turned northwards, marvelling, towards the `
` iron gates of Hyde Park. I had half a mind to break into the Natural `
` History Museum and find my way up to the summits of the towers, in `
` order to see across the park. But I decided to keep to the ground, `
` where quick hiding was possible, and so went on up the Exhibition `
` Road. All the large mansions on each side of the road were empty and `
` still, and my footsteps echoed against the sides of the houses. At `
` the top, near the park gate, I came upon a strange sight--a bus `
` overturned, and the skeleton of a horse picked clean. I puzzled over `
` this for a time, and then went on to the bridge over the Serpentine. `
` The voice grew stronger and stronger, though I could see nothing above `
` the housetops on the north side of the park, save a haze of smoke to `
` the northwest. `
` `
` "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," cried the voice, coming, as it seemed to `
` me, from the district about Regent's Park. The desolating cry worked `
` upon my mind. The mood that had sustained me passed. The wailing `
` took possession of me. I found I was intensely weary, footsore, and `
` now again hungry and thirsty. `
` `
` It was already past noon. Why was I wandering alone in this city `
` of the dead? Why was I alone when all London was lying in state, and `
` in its black shroud? I felt intolerably lonely. My mind ran on old `
` friends that I had forgotten for years. I thought of the poisons in `
` the chemists' shops, of the liquors the wine merchants stored; I `
` recalled the two sodden creatures of despair, who so far as I knew, `
` shared the city with myself. . . . `
` `
` I came into Oxford Street by the Marble Arch, and here again were `
` black powder and several bodies, and an evil, ominous smell from the `
` gratings of the cellars of some of the houses. I grew very thirsty `
` after the heat of my long walk. With infinite trouble I managed to `
` break into a public-house and get food and drink. I was weary after `
` eating, and went into the parlour behind the bar, and slept on a black `
` horsehair sofa I found there. `
` `
` I awoke to find that dismal howling still in my ears, "Ulla, ulla, `
` ulla, ulla." It was now dusk, and after I had routed out some `
` biscuits and a cheese in the bar--there was a meat safe, but it `
` contained nothing but maggots--I wandered on through the silent `
` residential squares to Baker Street--Portman Square is the only one I `
` can name--and so came out at last upon Regent's Park. And as I `
` emerged from the top of Baker Street, I saw far away over the trees in `
` the clearness of the sunset the hood of the Martian giant from which `
` this howling proceeded. I was not terrified. I came upon him as if `
` it were a matter of course. I watched him for some time, but he did `
` not move. He appeared to be standing and yelling, for no reason that `
` I could discover. `
` `
` I tried to formulate a plan of action. That perpetual sound of `
` "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," confused my mind. Perhaps I was too tired `
` to be very fearful. Certainly I was more curious to know the reason `
` of this monotonous crying than afraid. I turned back away from the `
` park and struck into Park Road, intending to skirt the park, went `
` along under the shelter of the terraces, and got a view of this `
` stationary, howling Martian from the direction of St. John's Wood. A `
` couple of hundred yards out of Baker Street I heard a yelping chorus, `
` and saw, first a dog with a piece of putrescent red meat in his jaws `
` coming headlong towards me, and then a pack of starving mongrels in `
` pursuit of him. He made a wide curve to avoid me, as though he feared `
` I might prove a fresh competitor. As the yelping died away down the `
` silent road, the wailing sound of "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," reasserted `
` itself. `
` `
` I came upon the wrecked handling-machine halfway to St. John's Wood `
` station. At first I thought a house had fallen across the road. It `
` was only as I clambered among the ruins that I saw, with a start, this `
` mechanical Samson lying, with its tentacles bent and smashed and `
` twisted, among the ruins it had made. The forepart was shattered. It `
` seemed as if it had driven blindly straight at the house, and had been `
` overwhelmed in its overthrow. It seemed to me then that this might `
` have happened by a handling-machine escaping from the guidance of its `
` Martian. I could not clamber among the ruins to see it, and the `
` twilight was now so far advanced that the blood with which its seat `
` was smeared, and the gnawed gristle of the Martian that the dogs had `
` left, were invisible to me. `
` `
` Wondering still more at all that I had seen, I pushed on towards `
` Primrose Hill. Far away, through a gap in the trees, I saw a second `
` Martian, as motionless as the first, standing in the park towards the `
` Zoological Gardens, and silent. A little beyond the ruins about the `
` smashed handling-machine I came upon the red weed again, and found the `
` Regent's Canal, a spongy mass of dark-red vegetation. `
` `
` As I crossed the bridge, the sound of "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," `
` ceased. It was, as it were, cut off. The silence came like a `
` thunderclap. `
` `
` The dusky houses about me stood faint and tall and dim; the trees `
` towards the park were growing black. All about me the red weed `
` clambered among the ruins, writhing to get above me in the dimness. `
` Night, the mother of fear and mystery, was coming upon me. But while `
` that voice sounded the solitude, the desolation, had been endurable; `
` by virtue of it London had still seemed alive, and the sense of life `
` about me had upheld me. Then suddenly a change, the passing of `
` something--I knew not what--and then a stillness that could be felt. `
` Nothing but this gaunt quiet. `
` `
` London about me gazed at me spectrally. The windows in the white `
` houses were like the eye sockets of skulls. About me my imagination `
` found a thousand noiseless enemies moving. Terror seized me, a horror `
` of my temerity. In front of me the road became pitchy black as though `
` it was tarred, and I saw a contorted shape lying across the pathway. I `
` could not bring myself to go on. I turned down St. John's Wood Road, `
` and ran headlong from this unendurable stillness towards Kilburn. I `
` hid from the night and the silence, until long after midnight, in a `
` cabmen's shelter in Harrow Road. But before the dawn my courage `
` returned, and while the stars were still in the sky I turned once more `
` towards Regent's Park. I missed my way among the streets, and `
` presently saw down a long avenue, in the half-light of the early dawn, `
` the curve of Primrose Hill. On the summit, towering up to the fading `
` stars, was a third Martian, erect and motionless like the others. `
` `
` An insane resolve possessed me. I would die and end it. And I `
` would save myself even the trouble of killing myself. I marched on `
`