Reading Help War of the worlds Book 2
would save myself even the trouble of killing myself. I marched on `
` recklessly towards this Titan, and then, as I drew nearer and the `
` light grew, I saw that a multitude of black birds was circling and `
` clustering about the hood. At that my heart gave a bound, and I began `
` running along the road. `
` `
` I hurried through the red weed that choked St. Edmund's Terrace (I `
` waded breast-high across a torrent of water that was rushing down from `
` the waterworks towards the Albert Road), and emerged upon the grass `
` before the rising of the sun. Great mounds had been heaped about the `
` crest of the hill, making a huge redoubt of it--it was the final and `
` largest place the Martians had made--and from behind these heaps there `
` rose a thin smoke against the sky. Against the sky line an eager dog `
` ran and disappeared. The thought that had flashed into my mind grew `
` real, grew credible. I felt no fear, only a wild, trembling `
` exultation, as I ran up the hill towards the motionless monster. Out `
` of the hood hung lank shreds of brown, at which the hungry birds `
` pecked and tore. `
` `
` In another moment I had scrambled up the earthen rampart and stood `
` upon its crest, and the interior of the redoubt was below me. A `
` mighty space it was, with gigantic machines here and there within it, `
` huge mounds of material and strange shelter places. And scattered `
` about it, some in their overturned war-machines, some in the now rigid `
` handling-machines, and a dozen of them stark and silent and laid in a `
` row, were the Martians--_dead_!--slain by the putrefactive and disease `
` bacteria against which their systems were unprepared; slain as the red `
` weed was being slain; slain, after all man's devices had failed, by `
` the humblest things that God, in his wisdom, has put upon this earth. `
` `
` For so it had come about, as indeed I and many men might have `
` foreseen had not terror and disaster blinded our minds. These `
` germs of disease have taken toll of humanity since the beginning of `
` things--taken toll of our prehuman ancestors since life began here. `
` But by virtue of this natural selection of our kind we have developed `
` resisting power; to no germs do we succumb without a struggle, and to `
` many--those that cause putrefaction in dead matter, for instance--our `
` living frames are altogether immune. But there are no bacteria in `
` Mars, and directly these invaders arrived, directly they drank and `
` fed, our microscopic allies began to work their overthrow. Already `
` when I watched them they were irrevocably doomed, dying and rotting `
` even as they went to and fro. It was inevitable. By the toll of a `
` billion deaths man has bought his birthright of the earth, and it is `
` his against all comers; it would still be his were the Martians ten `
` times as mighty as they are. For neither do men live nor die in vain. `
` `
` Here and there they were scattered, nearly fifty altogether, in `
` that great gulf they had made, overtaken by a death that must have `
` seemed to them as incomprehensible as any death could be. To me also `
` at that time this death was incomprehensible. All I knew was that `
` these things that had been alive and so terrible to men were dead. `
` For a moment I believed that the destruction of Sennacherib had been `
` repeated, that God had repented, that the Angel of Death had slain `
` them in the night. `
` `
` I stood staring into the pit, and my heart lightened gloriously, `
` even as the rising sun struck the world to fire about me with his `
` rays. The pit was still in darkness; the mighty engines, so great and `
` wonderful in their power and complexity, so unearthly in their `
` tortuous forms, rose weird and vague and strange out of the shadows `
` towards the light. A multitude of dogs, I could hear, fought over the `
` bodies that lay darkly in the depth of the pit, far below me. Across `
` the pit on its farther lip, flat and vast and strange, lay the great `
` flying-machine with which they had been experimenting upon our denser `
` atmosphere when decay and death arrested them. Death had come not a `
` day too soon. At the sound of a cawing overhead I looked up at the `
` huge fighting-machine that would fight no more for ever, at the `
` tattered red shreds of flesh that dripped down upon the overturned `
` seats on the summit of Primrose Hill. `
` `
` I turned and looked down the slope of the hill to where, enhaloed `
` now in birds, stood those other two Martians that I had seen `
` overnight, just as death had overtaken them. The one had died, even `
` as it had been crying to its companions; perhaps it was the last to `
` die, and its voice had gone on perpetually until the force of its `
` machinery was exhausted. They glittered now, harmless tripod towers `
` of shining metal, in the brightness of the rising sun. `
` `
` All about the pit, and saved as by a miracle from everlasting `
` destruction, stretched the great Mother of Cities. Those who have only `
` seen London veiled in her sombre robes of smoke can scarcely imagine `
` the naked clearness and beauty of the silent wilderness of houses. `
` `
` Eastward, over the blackened ruins of the Albert Terrace and the `
` splintered spire of the church, the sun blazed dazzling in a clear `
` sky, and here and there some facet in the great wilderness of roofs `
` caught the light and glared with a white intensity. `
` `
` Northward were Kilburn and Hampsted, blue and crowded with houses; `
` westward the great city was dimmed; and southward, beyond the `
` Martians, the green waves of Regent's Park, the Langham Hotel, the `
` dome of the Albert Hall, the Imperial Institute, and the giant `
` mansions of the Brompton Road came out clear and little in the `
` sunrise, the jagged ruins of Westminster rising hazily beyond. Far `
` away and blue were the Surrey hills, and the towers of the Crystal `
` Palace glittered like two silver rods. The dome of St. Paul's was `
` dark against the sunrise, and injured, I saw for the first time, by a `
` huge gaping cavity on its western side. `
` `
` And as I looked at this wide expanse of houses and factories and `
` churches, silent and abandoned; as I thought of the multitudinous `
` hopes and efforts, the innumerable hosts of lives that had gone to `
` build this human reef, and of the swift and ruthless destruction that `
` had hung over it all; when I realised that the shadow had been rolled `
` back, and that men might still live in the streets, and this dear vast `
` dead city of mine be once more alive and powerful, I felt a wave of `
` emotion that was near akin to tears. `
` `
` The torment was over. Even that day the healing would begin. The `
` survivors of the people scattered over the country--leaderless, `
` lawless, foodless, like sheep without a shepherd--the thousands who `
` had fled by sea, would begin to return; the pulse of life, growing `
` stronger and stronger, would beat again in the empty streets and pour `
` across the vacant squares. Whatever destruction was done, the hand of `
` the destroyer was stayed. All the gaunt wrecks, the blackened `
` skeletons of houses that stared so dismally at the sunlit grass of the `
` hill, would presently be echoing with the hammers of the restorers and `
` ringing with the tapping of their trowels. At the thought I extended `
` my hands towards the sky and began thanking God. In a year, thought `
` I--in a year. . . `
` `
` With overwhelming force came the thought of myself, of my wife, and `
` the old life of hope and tender helpfulness that had ceased for ever. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER NINE `
` `
` WRECKAGE `
` `
` `
` And now comes the strangest thing in my story. Yet, perhaps, it is `
` not altogether strange. I remember, clearly and coldly and vividly, `
` all that I did that day until the time that I stood weeping and `
` praising God upon the summit of Primrose Hill. And then I forget. `
` `
` Of the next three days I know nothing. I have learned since that, `
` so far from my being the first discoverer of the Martian overthrow, `
` several such wanderers as myself had already discovered this on the `
` previous night. One man--the first--had gone to St. Martin's-le-Grand, `
` and, while I sheltered in the cabmen's hut, had contrived to `
` telegraph to Paris. Thence the joyful news had flashed all over the `
` world; a thousand cities, chilled by ghastly apprehensions, suddenly `
` flashed into frantic illuminations; they knew of it in Dublin, `
` Edinburgh, Manchester, Birmingham, at the time when I stood upon the `
` verge of the pit. Already men, weeping with joy, as I have heard, `
` shouting and staying their work to shake hands and shout, were making `
` up trains, even as near as Crewe, to descend upon London. The church `
` bells that had ceased a fortnight since suddenly caught the news, `
` until all England was bell-ringing. Men on cycles, lean-faced, `
` unkempt, scorched along every country lane shouting of unhoped `
` deliverance, shouting to gaunt, staring figures of despair. And for `
` the food! Across the Channel, across the Irish Sea, across the `
` Atlantic, corn, bread, and meat were tearing to our relief. All the `
` shipping in the world seemed going Londonward in those days. But of `
` all this I have no memory. I drifted--a demented man. I found myself `
` in a house of kindly people, who had found me on the third day `
` wandering, weeping, and raving through the streets of St. John's Wood. `
` They have told me since that I was singing some insane doggerel about `
` "The Last Man Left Alive! Hurrah! The Last Man Left Alive!" Troubled `
` as they were with their own affairs, these people, whose name, much as `
` I would like to express my gratitude to them, I may not even give `
` here, nevertheless cumbered themselves with me, sheltered me, and `
` protected me from myself. Apparently they had learned something of my `
` story from me during the days of my lapse. `
` `
` Very gently, when my mind was assured again, did they break to me `
` what they had learned of the fate of Leatherhead. Two days after I `
` was imprisoned it had been destroyed, with every soul in it, by a `
` Martian. He had swept it out of existence, as it seemed, without any `
` provocation, as a boy might crush an ant hill, in the mere wantonness `
` of power. `
` `
` I was a lonely man, and they were very kind to me. I was a lonely `
` man and a sad one, and they bore with me. I remained with them four `
` days after my recovery. All that time I felt a vague, a growing `
` craving to look once more on whatever remained of the little life that `
` seemed so happy and bright in my past. It was a mere hopeless desire `
` to feast upon my misery. They dissuaded me. They did all they could `
` to divert me from this morbidity. But at last I could resist the `
` impulse no longer, and, promising faithfully to return to them, and `
` parting, as I will confess, from these four-day friends with tears, I `
` went out again into the streets that had lately been so dark and `
` strange and empty. `
` `
` Already they were busy with returning people; in places even there `
` were shops open, and I saw a drinking fountain running water. `
` `
` I remember how mockingly bright the day seemed as I went back on my `
` melancholy pilgrimage to the little house at Woking, how busy the `
` streets and vivid the moving life about me. So many people were `
` abroad everywhere, busied in a thousand activities, that it seemed `
` incredible that any great proportion of the population could have been `
` slain. But then I noticed how yellow were the skins of the people I `
` met, how shaggy the hair of the men, how large and bright their eyes, `
` and that every other man still wore his dirty rags. Their faces `
` seemed all with one of two expressions--a leaping exultation and `
` energy or a grim resolution. Save for the expression of the faces, `
` London seemed a city of tramps. The vestries were indiscriminately `
` distributing bread sent us by the French government. The ribs of the `
` few horses showed dismally. Haggard special constables with white `
`
` recklessly towards this Titan, and then, as I drew nearer and the `
` light grew, I saw that a multitude of black birds was circling and `
` clustering about the hood. At that my heart gave a bound, and I began `
` running along the road. `
` `
` I hurried through the red weed that choked St. Edmund's Terrace (I `
` waded breast-high across a torrent of water that was rushing down from `
` the waterworks towards the Albert Road), and emerged upon the grass `
` before the rising of the sun. Great mounds had been heaped about the `
` crest of the hill, making a huge redoubt of it--it was the final and `
` largest place the Martians had made--and from behind these heaps there `
` rose a thin smoke against the sky. Against the sky line an eager dog `
` ran and disappeared. The thought that had flashed into my mind grew `
` real, grew credible. I felt no fear, only a wild, trembling `
` exultation, as I ran up the hill towards the motionless monster. Out `
` of the hood hung lank shreds of brown, at which the hungry birds `
` pecked and tore. `
` `
` In another moment I had scrambled up the earthen rampart and stood `
` upon its crest, and the interior of the redoubt was below me. A `
` mighty space it was, with gigantic machines here and there within it, `
` huge mounds of material and strange shelter places. And scattered `
` about it, some in their overturned war-machines, some in the now rigid `
` handling-machines, and a dozen of them stark and silent and laid in a `
` row, were the Martians--_dead_!--slain by the putrefactive and disease `
` bacteria against which their systems were unprepared; slain as the red `
` weed was being slain; slain, after all man's devices had failed, by `
` the humblest things that God, in his wisdom, has put upon this earth. `
` `
` For so it had come about, as indeed I and many men might have `
` foreseen had not terror and disaster blinded our minds. These `
` germs of disease have taken toll of humanity since the beginning of `
` things--taken toll of our prehuman ancestors since life began here. `
` But by virtue of this natural selection of our kind we have developed `
` resisting power; to no germs do we succumb without a struggle, and to `
` many--those that cause putrefaction in dead matter, for instance--our `
` living frames are altogether immune. But there are no bacteria in `
` Mars, and directly these invaders arrived, directly they drank and `
` fed, our microscopic allies began to work their overthrow. Already `
` when I watched them they were irrevocably doomed, dying and rotting `
` even as they went to and fro. It was inevitable. By the toll of a `
` billion deaths man has bought his birthright of the earth, and it is `
` his against all comers; it would still be his were the Martians ten `
` times as mighty as they are. For neither do men live nor die in vain. `
` `
` Here and there they were scattered, nearly fifty altogether, in `
` that great gulf they had made, overtaken by a death that must have `
` seemed to them as incomprehensible as any death could be. To me also `
` at that time this death was incomprehensible. All I knew was that `
` these things that had been alive and so terrible to men were dead. `
` For a moment I believed that the destruction of Sennacherib had been `
` repeated, that God had repented, that the Angel of Death had slain `
` them in the night. `
` `
` I stood staring into the pit, and my heart lightened gloriously, `
` even as the rising sun struck the world to fire about me with his `
` rays. The pit was still in darkness; the mighty engines, so great and `
` wonderful in their power and complexity, so unearthly in their `
` tortuous forms, rose weird and vague and strange out of the shadows `
` towards the light. A multitude of dogs, I could hear, fought over the `
` bodies that lay darkly in the depth of the pit, far below me. Across `
` the pit on its farther lip, flat and vast and strange, lay the great `
` flying-machine with which they had been experimenting upon our denser `
` atmosphere when decay and death arrested them. Death had come not a `
` day too soon. At the sound of a cawing overhead I looked up at the `
` huge fighting-machine that would fight no more for ever, at the `
` tattered red shreds of flesh that dripped down upon the overturned `
` seats on the summit of Primrose Hill. `
` `
` I turned and looked down the slope of the hill to where, enhaloed `
` now in birds, stood those other two Martians that I had seen `
` overnight, just as death had overtaken them. The one had died, even `
` as it had been crying to its companions; perhaps it was the last to `
` die, and its voice had gone on perpetually until the force of its `
` machinery was exhausted. They glittered now, harmless tripod towers `
` of shining metal, in the brightness of the rising sun. `
` `
` All about the pit, and saved as by a miracle from everlasting `
` destruction, stretched the great Mother of Cities. Those who have only `
` seen London veiled in her sombre robes of smoke can scarcely imagine `
` the naked clearness and beauty of the silent wilderness of houses. `
` `
` Eastward, over the blackened ruins of the Albert Terrace and the `
` splintered spire of the church, the sun blazed dazzling in a clear `
` sky, and here and there some facet in the great wilderness of roofs `
` caught the light and glared with a white intensity. `
` `
` Northward were Kilburn and Hampsted, blue and crowded with houses; `
` westward the great city was dimmed; and southward, beyond the `
` Martians, the green waves of Regent's Park, the Langham Hotel, the `
` dome of the Albert Hall, the Imperial Institute, and the giant `
` mansions of the Brompton Road came out clear and little in the `
` sunrise, the jagged ruins of Westminster rising hazily beyond. Far `
` away and blue were the Surrey hills, and the towers of the Crystal `
` Palace glittered like two silver rods. The dome of St. Paul's was `
` dark against the sunrise, and injured, I saw for the first time, by a `
` huge gaping cavity on its western side. `
` `
` And as I looked at this wide expanse of houses and factories and `
` churches, silent and abandoned; as I thought of the multitudinous `
` hopes and efforts, the innumerable hosts of lives that had gone to `
` build this human reef, and of the swift and ruthless destruction that `
` had hung over it all; when I realised that the shadow had been rolled `
` back, and that men might still live in the streets, and this dear vast `
` dead city of mine be once more alive and powerful, I felt a wave of `
` emotion that was near akin to tears. `
` `
` The torment was over. Even that day the healing would begin. The `
` survivors of the people scattered over the country--leaderless, `
` lawless, foodless, like sheep without a shepherd--the thousands who `
` had fled by sea, would begin to return; the pulse of life, growing `
` stronger and stronger, would beat again in the empty streets and pour `
` across the vacant squares. Whatever destruction was done, the hand of `
` the destroyer was stayed. All the gaunt wrecks, the blackened `
` skeletons of houses that stared so dismally at the sunlit grass of the `
` hill, would presently be echoing with the hammers of the restorers and `
` ringing with the tapping of their trowels. At the thought I extended `
` my hands towards the sky and began thanking God. In a year, thought `
` I--in a year. . . `
` `
` With overwhelming force came the thought of myself, of my wife, and `
` the old life of hope and tender helpfulness that had ceased for ever. `
` `
` `
` `
` CHAPTER NINE `
` `
` WRECKAGE `
` `
` `
` And now comes the strangest thing in my story. Yet, perhaps, it is `
` not altogether strange. I remember, clearly and coldly and vividly, `
` all that I did that day until the time that I stood weeping and `
` praising God upon the summit of Primrose Hill. And then I forget. `
` `
` Of the next three days I know nothing. I have learned since that, `
` so far from my being the first discoverer of the Martian overthrow, `
` several such wanderers as myself had already discovered this on the `
` previous night. One man--the first--had gone to St. Martin's-le-Grand, `
` and, while I sheltered in the cabmen's hut, had contrived to `
` telegraph to Paris. Thence the joyful news had flashed all over the `
` world; a thousand cities, chilled by ghastly apprehensions, suddenly `
` flashed into frantic illuminations; they knew of it in Dublin, `
` Edinburgh, Manchester, Birmingham, at the time when I stood upon the `
` verge of the pit. Already men, weeping with joy, as I have heard, `
` shouting and staying their work to shake hands and shout, were making `
` up trains, even as near as Crewe, to descend upon London. The church `
` bells that had ceased a fortnight since suddenly caught the news, `
` until all England was bell-ringing. Men on cycles, lean-faced, `
` unkempt, scorched along every country lane shouting of unhoped `
` deliverance, shouting to gaunt, staring figures of despair. And for `
` the food! Across the Channel, across the Irish Sea, across the `
` Atlantic, corn, bread, and meat were tearing to our relief. All the `
` shipping in the world seemed going Londonward in those days. But of `
` all this I have no memory. I drifted--a demented man. I found myself `
` in a house of kindly people, who had found me on the third day `
` wandering, weeping, and raving through the streets of St. John's Wood. `
` They have told me since that I was singing some insane doggerel about `
` "The Last Man Left Alive! Hurrah! The Last Man Left Alive!" Troubled `
` as they were with their own affairs, these people, whose name, much as `
` I would like to express my gratitude to them, I may not even give `
` here, nevertheless cumbered themselves with me, sheltered me, and `
` protected me from myself. Apparently they had learned something of my `
` story from me during the days of my lapse. `
` `
` Very gently, when my mind was assured again, did they break to me `
` what they had learned of the fate of Leatherhead. Two days after I `
` was imprisoned it had been destroyed, with every soul in it, by a `
` Martian. He had swept it out of existence, as it seemed, without any `
` provocation, as a boy might crush an ant hill, in the mere wantonness `
` of power. `
` `
` I was a lonely man, and they were very kind to me. I was a lonely `
` man and a sad one, and they bore with me. I remained with them four `
` days after my recovery. All that time I felt a vague, a growing `
` craving to look once more on whatever remained of the little life that `
` seemed so happy and bright in my past. It was a mere hopeless desire `
` to feast upon my misery. They dissuaded me. They did all they could `
` to divert me from this morbidity. But at last I could resist the `
` impulse no longer, and, promising faithfully to return to them, and `
` parting, as I will confess, from these four-day friends with tears, I `
` went out again into the streets that had lately been so dark and `
` strange and empty. `
` `
` Already they were busy with returning people; in places even there `
` were shops open, and I saw a drinking fountain running water. `
` `
` I remember how mockingly bright the day seemed as I went back on my `
` melancholy pilgrimage to the little house at Woking, how busy the `
` streets and vivid the moving life about me. So many people were `
` abroad everywhere, busied in a thousand activities, that it seemed `
` incredible that any great proportion of the population could have been `
` slain. But then I noticed how yellow were the skins of the people I `
` met, how shaggy the hair of the men, how large and bright their eyes, `
` and that every other man still wore his dirty rags. Their faces `
` seemed all with one of two expressions--a leaping exultation and `
` energy or a grim resolution. Save for the expression of the faces, `
` London seemed a city of tramps. The vestries were indiscriminately `
` distributing bread sent us by the French government. The ribs of the `
` few horses showed dismally. Haggard special constables with white `
`