by H. G. Wells
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HOW I FELL IN WITH THE CURATE
After getting this sudden lesson in the power of terrestrialweapons, the Martians retreated to their original position uponHorsell Common; and in their haste, and encumbered with the debris oftheir smashed companion, they no doubt overlooked many such a strayand negligible victim as myself. Had they left their comrade andpushed on forthwith, there was nothing at that time between them andLondon but batteries of twelve-pounder guns, and they would certainlyhave reached the capital in advance of the tidings of their approach;as sudden, dreadful, and destructive their advent would have been asthe earthquake that destroyed Lisbon a century ago.
But they were in no hurry. Cylinder followed cylinder on itsinterplanetary flight; every twenty-four hours brought themreinforcement. And meanwhile the military and naval authorities, nowfully alive to the tremendous power of their antagonists, worked withfurious energy. Every minute a fresh gun came into position until,before twilight, every copse, every row of suburban villas on thehilly slopes about Kingston and Richmond, masked an expectant blackmuzzle. And through the charred and desolated area--perhaps twentysquare miles altogether--that encircled the Martian encampment onHorsell Common, through charred and ruined villages among the greentrees, through the blackened and smoking arcades that had been but aday ago pine spinneys, crawled the devoted scouts with the heliographsthat were presently to warn the gunners of the Martian approach. Butthe Martians now understood our command of artillery and the danger ofhuman proximity, and not a man ventured within a mile of eithercylinder, save at the price of his life.
It would seem that these giants spent the earlier part of theafternoon in going to and fro, transferring everything from the secondand third cylinders--the second in Addlestone Golf Links and the thirdat Pyrford--to their original pit on Horsell Common. Over that, abovethe blackened heather and ruined buildings that stretched far andwide, stood one as sentinel, while the rest abandoned their vastfighting-machines and descended into the pit. They were hard at workthere far into the night, and the towering pillar of dense green smokethat rose therefrom could be seen from the hills about Merrow, andeven, it is said, from Banstead and Epsom Downs.
And while the Martians behind me were thus preparing for their nextsally, and in front of me Humanity gathered for the battle, I made myway with infinite pains and labour from the fire and smoke of burningWeybridge towards London.
I saw an abandoned boat, very small and remote, drifting down-stream;and throwing off the most of my sodden clothes, I went after it,gained it, and so escaped out of that destruction. There were nooars in the boat, but I contrived to paddle, as well as my parboiledhands would allow, down the river towards Halliford and Walton, goingvery tediously and continually looking behind me, as you may wellunderstand. I followed the river, because I considered that the watergave me my best chance of escape should these giants return.
The hot water from the Martian's overthrow drifted downstream withme, so that for the best part of a mile I could see little of eitherbank. Once, however, I made out a string of black figures hurryingacross the meadows from the direction of Weybridge. Halliford, itseemed, was deserted, and several of the houses facing the river wereon fire. It was strange to see the place quite tranquil, quitedesolate under the hot blue sky, with the smoke and little threads offlame going straight up into the heat of the afternoon. Never beforehad I seen houses burning without the accompaniment of an obstructivecrowd. A little farther on the dry reeds up the bank were smoking andglowing, and a line of fire inland was marching steadily across a latefield of hay.
For a long time I drifted, so painful and weary was I after theviolence I had been through, and so intense the heat upon the water.Then my fears got the better of me again, and I resumed my paddling.The sun scorched my bare back. At last, as the bridge at Walton wascoming into sight round the bend, my fever and faintness overcame myfears, and I landed on the Middlesex bank and lay down, deadly sick,amid the long grass. I suppose the time was then about four or fiveo'clock. I got up presently, walked perhaps half a mile withoutmeeting a soul, and then lay down again in the shadow of a hedge. Iseem to remember talking, wanderingly, to myself during that lastspurt. I was also very thirsty, and bitterly regretful I had drunk nomore water. It is a curious thing that I felt angry with my wife; Icannot account for it, but my impotent desire to reach Leatherheadworried me excessively.
I do not clearly remember the arrival of the curate, so that probablyI dozed. I became aware of him as a seated figure in soot-smudgedshirt sleeves, and with his upturned, clean-shaven face staring ata faint flickering that danced over the sky. The sky was what iscalled a mackerel sky--rows and rows of faint down-plumes ofcloud, just tinted with the midsummer sunset.
I sat up, and at the rustle of my motion he looked at me quickly.
"Have you any water?" I asked abruptly.
He shook his head.
"You have been asking for water for the last hour," he said.
For a moment we were silent, taking stock of each other. Idare say he found me a strange enough figure, naked, save for mywater-soaked trousers and socks, scalded, and my face and shouldersblackened by the smoke. His face was a fair weakness, his chinretreated, and his hair lay in crisp, almost flaxen curls on his lowforehead; his eyes were rather large, pale blue, and blankly staring.He spoke abruptly, looking vacantly away from me.
"What does it mean?" he said. "What do these things mean?"
I stared at him and made no answer.
He extended a thin white hand and spoke in almost a complainingtone.
"Why are these things permitted? What sins have we done? Themorning service was over, I was walking through the roads to clear mybrain for the afternoon, and then--fire, earthquake, death! As if itwere Sodom and Gomorrah! All our work undone, all the work---- Whatare these Martians?"
"What are we?" I answered, clearing my throat.
He gripped his knees and turned to look at me again. For half aminute, perhaps, he stared silently.
"I was walking through the roads to clear my brain," he said. "Andsuddenly--fire, earthquake, death!"
He relapsed into silence, with his chin now sunken almost to hisknees.
Presently he began waving his hand.
"All the work--all the Sunday schools--What have we done--what hasWeybridge done? Everything gone--everything destroyed. The church!We rebuilt it only three years ago. Gone! Swept out of existence!Why?"
Another pause, and he broke out again like one demented.
"The smoke of her burning goeth up for ever and ever!" he shouted.
His eyes flamed, and he pointed a lean finger in the direction ofWeybridge.
By this time I was beginning to take his measure. The tremendoustragedy in which he had been involved--it was evident he was afugitive from Weybridge--had driven him to the very verge of hisreason.
"Are we far from Sunbury?" I said, in a matter-of-fact tone.
"What are we to do?" he asked. "Are these creatures everywhere?Has the earth been given over to them?"
"Are we far from Sunbury?"
"Only this morning I officiated at early celebration----"
"Things have changed," I said, quietly. "You must keep your head.There is still hope."
"Hope!"
"Yes. Plentiful hope--for all this destruction!"
I began to explain my view of our position. He listened at first,but as I went on the interest dawning in his eyes gave place to theirformer stare, and his regard wandered from me.
"This must be the beginning of the end," he said, interrupting me."The end! The great and terrible day of the Lord! When men shallcall upon the mountains and the rocks to fall upon them and hidethem--hide them from the face of Him that sitteth upon the throne!"
I began to understand the position. I ceased my labouredreasoning, struggled to my feet, and, standing over him, laid my handon his shoulder.
"Be a man!" said I. "You are sc
ared out of your wits! What goodis religion if it collapses under calamity? Think of what earthquakesand floods, wars and volcanoes, have done before to men! Did youthink God had exempted Weybridge? He is not an insurance agent."
For a time he sat in blank silence.
"But how can we escape?" he asked, suddenly. "They areinvulnerable, they are pitiless."
"Neither the one nor, perhaps, the other," I answered. "And themightier they are the more sane and wary should we be. One of themwas killed yonder not three hours ago."
"Killed!" he said, staring about him. "How can God's ministers bekilled?"
"I saw it happen." I proceeded to tell him. "We have chanced tocome in for the thick of it," said I, "and that is all."
"What is that flicker in the sky?" he asked abruptly.
I told him it was the heliograph signalling--that it was the signof human help and effort in the sky.
"We are in the midst of it," I said, "quiet as it is. That flickerin the sky tells of the gathering storm. Yonder, I take it are theMartians, and Londonward, where those hills rise about Richmond andKingston and the trees give cover, earthworks are being thrown up andguns are being placed. Presently the Martians will be coming this wayagain."
And even as I spoke he sprang to his feet and stopped me by agesture.
"Listen!" he said.
From beyond the low hills across the water came the dull resonanceof distant guns and a remote weird crying. Then everything was still.A cockchafer came droning over the hedge and past us. High in thewest the crescent moon hung faint and pale above the smoke ofWeybridge and Shepperton and the hot, still splendour of the sunset.
"We had better follow this path," I said, "northward."
