TheWaroftheWorlds

byH.G.Wells

‘Butwhoshalldwellintheseworldsiftheybeinhabited?...AreweortheyLordsoftheWorld?...Andhowareallthingsmadeforman?’

KEPLER(quotedinTheAnatomyofMelancholy)

ContentsBOOKONE.—THECOMINGOFTHEMARTIANS

I.THEEVEOFTHEWARII. THEFALLINGSTAR.III. ONHORSELLCOMMON.IV. THECYLINDEROPENS.V.THEHEAT-RAY.VI. THEHEAT-RAYINTHECHOBHAMROAD.VII. HOWIREACHEDHOME.VIII. FRIDAYNIGHT.IX. THEFIGHTINGBEGINS.X.INTHESTORM.XI. ATTHEWINDOW.XII. WHATISAWOFTHEDESTRUCTIONOFWEYBRIDGEANDSHEPPERTON.XIII. HOWIFELLINWITHTHECURATE.XIV. INLONDON.XV. WHATHADHAPPENEDINSURREY.XVI. THEEXODUSFROMLONDON.XVII. THE“THUNDERCHILD”.

BOOKTWO.—THEEARTHUNDERTHEMARTIANS

I.UNDERFOOT.II. WHATWESAWFROMTHERUINEDHOUSE.III. THEDAYSOFIMPRISONMENT.VI. THEDEATHOFTHECURATE.V.THESTILLNESS.VI. THEWORKOFFIFTEENDAYS.

VII. THEMANONPUTNEYHILL.VIII. DEADLONDON.IX. WRECKAGE.X.THEEPILOGUE.

BOOKONE

THECOMINGOFTHEMARTIANS

I.

THEEVEOFTHEWAR.Noonewouldhavebelieved in the last yearsof thenineteenth century that

thisworldwasbeingwatchedkeenly and closelyby intelligencesgreater thanman’sandyetasmortalashisown; thatasmenbusied themselvesabout theirvariousconcernstheywerescrutinisedandstudied,perhapsalmostasnarrowlyasamanwithamicroscopemightscrutinisethetransientcreaturesthatswarmandmultiplyinadropofwater.Withinfinitecomplacencymenwenttoandfrooverthisglobeabouttheirlittleaffairs,sereneintheirassuranceoftheirempireovermatter. It ispossible that the infusoriaunder themicroscopedo thesame.Noonegaveathoughttotheolderworldsofspaceassourcesofhumandanger,or thoughtof themonly todismiss the ideaof lifeuponthemas impossibleorimprobable. It is curious to recall someof thementalhabitsof thosedeparteddays. At most terrestrial men fancied there might be other men upon Mars,perhapsinferiortothemselvesandreadytowelcomeamissionaryenterprise.Yetacrossthegulfofspace,mindsthataretoourmindsasoursaretothoseofthebeaststhatperish,intellectsvastandcoolandunsympathetic,regardedthisearthwithenviouseyes,andslowlyandsurelydrewtheirplansagainstus.Andearlyinthetwentiethcenturycamethegreatdisillusionment.TheplanetMars,Iscarcelyneedremindthereader,revolvesaboutthesunata

meandistanceof140,000,000miles,andthelightandheatitreceivesfromthesun is barely half of that received by this world. It must be, if the nebularhypothesishasanytruth,olderthanourworld;andlongbeforethisearthceasedtobemolten,lifeuponitssurfacemusthavebegunitscourse.Thefactthatitisscarcelyoneseventhofthevolumeoftheearthmusthaveaccelerateditscoolingtothetemperatureatwhichlifecouldbegin.Ithasairandwaterandallthatisnecessaryforthesupportofanimatedexistence.Yetsovainisman,andsoblindedbyhisvanity,thatnowriter,uptothevery

endofthenineteenthcentury,expressedanyideathatintelligentlifemighthavedeveloped there far, or indeed at all, beyond its earthly level. Nor was itgenerally understood that sinceMars is older than our earth, with scarcely aquarterof the superficial areaand remoter from the sun, itnecessarily followsthatitisnotonlymoredistantfromtime’sbeginningbutneareritsend.Thesecularcoolingthatmustsomedayovertakeourplanethasalreadygone

far indeedwithourneighbour. Its physical condition is still largely amystery,but we know now that even in its equatorial region the midday temperaturebarelyapproachesthatofourcoldestwinter.Itsairismuchmoreattenuatedthanours,itsoceanshaveshrunkuntiltheycoverbutathirdofitssurface,andasitsslow seasons change huge snowcaps gather and melt about either pole andperiodicallyinundateitstemperatezones.Thatlaststageofexhaustion,whichtous is still incredibly remote, has become a present-day problem for theinhabitants ofMars. The immediate pressure of necessity has brightened theirintellects,enlargedtheirpowers,andhardenedtheirhearts.Andlookingacrossspacewithinstruments,andintelligencessuchaswehavescarcelydreamedof,they see, at its nearest distance only 35,000,000 ofmiles sunward of them, amorning star ofhope,ourownwarmerplanet, greenwithvegetation andgreywithwater,withacloudyatmosphereeloquentoffertility,withglimpsesthroughitsdriftingcloudwispsofbroadstretchesofpopulouscountryandnarrow,navy-crowdedseas.Andwemen,thecreatureswhoinhabitthisearth,mustbetothematleastas

alien and lowly as are themonkeys and lemurs to us. The intellectual side ofmanalreadyadmitsthatlifeisanincessantstruggleforexistence,anditwouldseemthatthistooisthebeliefofthemindsuponMars.Theirworldisfargoneinitscoolingandthisworldisstillcrowdedwithlife,butcrowdedonlywithwhattheyregardasinferioranimals.Tocarrywarfaresunwardis, indeed,theironlyescapefromthedestructionthat,generationaftergeneration,creepsuponthem.Andbeforewe judge of them too harshlywemust rememberwhat ruthless

andutterdestructionourownspecieshaswrought,notonlyuponanimals,suchasthevanishedbisonandthedodo,butuponitsinferiorraces.TheTasmanians,inspiteoftheirhumanlikeness,wereentirelysweptoutofexistenceinawarofexterminationwagedbyEuropean immigrants, in the spaceof fiftyyears.Arewe such apostles ofmercy as to complain if theMartianswarred in the samespirit?TheMartiansseemtohavecalculated theirdescentwithamazingsubtlety—

their mathematical learning is evidently far in excess of ours—and to havecarried out their preparations with a well-nigh perfect unanimity. Had our

instrumentspermitted it,wemighthave seen thegathering trouble farback inthenineteenthcentury.MenlikeSchiaparelliwatchedtheredplanet—itisodd,by-the-bye,thatforcountlesscenturiesMarshasbeenthestarofwar—butfailedtointerpretthefluctuatingappearancesofthemarkingstheymappedsowell.AllthattimetheMartiansmusthavebeengettingready.Duringtheoppositionof1894agreatlightwasseenontheilluminatedpartof

the disk, first at the LickObservatory, then by Perrotin of Nice, and then byother observers. English readers heard of it first in the issue ofNature datedAugust2.Iaminclinedtothinkthatthisblazemayhavebeenthecastingofthehugegun,inthevastpitsunkintotheirplanet,fromwhichtheirshotswerefiredat us. Peculiar markings, as yet unexplained, were seen near the site of thatoutbreakduringthenexttwooppositions.Thestormburstuponussixyearsagonow.AsMarsapproachedopposition,

LavelleofJavaset thewiresof theastronomicalexchangepalpitatingwith theamazingintelligenceofahugeoutbreakofincandescentgasupontheplanet.Ithadoccurredtowardsmidnightofthetwelfth;andthespectroscope,towhichhehadatonceresorted,indicatedamassofflaminggas,chieflyhydrogen,movingwith an enormous velocity towards this earth. This jet of fire had becomeinvisibleaboutaquarterpasttwelve.Hecomparedittoacolossalpuffofflamesuddenlyandviolentlysquirtedoutoftheplanet,“asflaminggasesrushedoutofagun.”Asingularlyappropriatephraseitproved.Yetthenextdaytherewasnothing

of this in thepapers except a littlenote in theDailyTelegraph, and theworldwentinignoranceofoneofthegravestdangersthateverthreatenedthehumanrace.ImightnothaveheardoftheeruptionatallhadInotmetOgilvy,thewell-knownastronomer,atOttershaw.Hewasimmenselyexcitedatthenews,andintheexcessofhis feelings invitedmeup to takea turnwithhimthatnight inascrutinyoftheredplanet.In spite of all that has happened since, I still remember that vigil very

distinctly: the black and silent observatory, the shadowed lantern throwing afeebleglowuponthefloorinthecorner,thesteadytickingoftheclockworkofthe telescope, the little slit in the roof—anoblongprofunditywith thestarduststreakedacross it.Ogilvymovedabout, invisiblebutaudible.Lookingthroughthetelescope,onesawacircleofdeepblueandthelittleroundplanetswimmingin the field. It seemed such a little thing, so bright and small and still, faintlymarkedwithtransversestripes,andslightlyflattenedfromtheperfectround.Butsolittleitwas,sosilverywarm—apin’sheadoflight!Itwasasif itquivered,butreallythiswasthetelescopevibratingwiththeactivityoftheclockworkthat

kepttheplanetinview.As Iwatched, theplanet seemed togrow larger and smaller and toadvance

andrecede,butthatwassimplythatmyeyewastired.Fortymillionsofmilesitwasfromus—morethanfortymillionsofmilesofvoid.Fewpeoplerealisetheimmensityofvacancyinwhichthedustofthematerialuniverseswims.Near it in the field, I remember, were three faint points of light, three

telescopic stars infinitely remote, and all around it was the unfathomabledarkness of empty space. You know how that blackness looks on a frostystarlight night. In a telescope it seems far profounder. And invisible to mebecause it was so remote and small, flying swiftly and steadily towards meacross that incredible distance, drawing nearer every minute by so manythousandsofmiles,cametheThingtheyweresendingus,theThingthatwastobringsomuchstruggleandcalamityanddeathtotheearth.IneverdreamedofitthenasIwatched;nooneonearthdreamedofthatunerringmissile.Thatnight,too,therewasanotherjettingoutofgasfromthedistantplanet.I

sawit.Areddishflashattheedge,theslightestprojectionoftheoutlinejustasthechronometerstruckmidnight;andatthatItoldOgilvyandhetookmyplace.Thenightwaswarmand Iwas thirsty,and Iwent stretchingmy legsclumsilyand feelingmyway in thedarkness, to the little tablewhere the siphonstood,whileOgilvyexclaimedatthestreamerofgasthatcameouttowardsus.ThatnightanotherinvisiblemissilestartedonitswaytotheearthfromMars,

justasecondorsoundertwenty-fourhoursafterthefirstone.IrememberhowIsat on the table there in the blackness, with patches of green and crimsonswimmingbeforemyeyes.IwishedIhadalighttosmokeby,littlesuspectingthemeaningoftheminutegleamIhadseenandallthatitwouldpresentlybringme. Ogilvy watched till one, and then gave it up; and we lit the lantern andwalked over to his house. Down below in the darkness were Ottershaw andChertseyandalltheirhundredsofpeople,sleepinginpeace.HewasfullofspeculationthatnightabouttheconditionofMars,andscoffed

atthevulgarideaofitshavinginhabitantswhoweresignallingus.Hisideawasthatmeteoritesmightbefallinginaheavyshowerupontheplanet,orthatahugevolcanicexplosionwas inprogress.Hepointedout tomehowunlikely itwasthatorganicevolutionhadtakenthesamedirectioninthetwoadjacentplanets.“ThechancesagainstanythingmanlikeonMarsareamilliontoone,”hesaid.Hundreds of observers saw the flame that night and the night after about

midnight, and again the night after; and so for ten nights, a flame each night.Whytheshotsceasedafterthetenthnooneonearthhasattemptedtoexplain.It

maybethegasesofthefiringcausedtheMartiansinconvenience.Densecloudsof smoke or dust, visible through a powerful telescope on earth as little grey,fluctuatingpatches,spreadthroughtheclearnessoftheplanet’satmosphereandobscureditsmorefamiliarfeatures.Eventhedailypaperswokeupto thedisturbancesat last,andpopularnotes

appearedhere,there,andeverywhereconcerningthevolcanoesuponMars.TheseriocomicperiodicalPunch,Iremember,madeahappyuseofitinthepoliticalcartoon.And,allunsuspected, thosemissiles theMartianshadfiredatusdrewearthward,rushingnowatapaceofmanymilesasecondthroughtheemptygulfofspace,hourbyhouranddaybyday,nearerandnearer. It seems tomenowalmostincrediblywonderfulthat,withthatswiftfatehangingoverus,mencouldgo about their petty concerns as they did. I remember how jubilantMarkhamwasatsecuringanewphotographoftheplanetfortheillustratedpaperheeditedin those days. People in these latter times scarcely realise the abundance andenterprise of our nineteenth-century papers. For my own part, I was muchoccupied in learning to ride the bicycle, and busy upon a series of papersdiscussingtheprobabledevelopmentsofmoralideasascivilisationprogressed.Onenight (the firstmissile then could scarcelyhavebeen10,000,000miles

away)Iwentforawalkwithmywife.ItwasstarlightandIexplainedtheSignsof the Zodiac to her, and pointed out Mars, a bright dot of light creepingzenithward, towards which so many telescopes were pointed. It was a warmnight.Cominghome,apartyofexcursionistsfromChertseyorIsleworthpassedus singing and playingmusic. Therewere lights in the upperwindows of thehousesasthepeoplewenttobed.Fromtherailwaystationinthedistancecamethesoundofshuntingtrains,ringingandrumbling,softenedalmostintomelodybythedistance.Mywifepointedouttomethebrightnessofthered,green,andyellowsignal lightshanging ina frameworkagainst thesky. It seemedsosafeandtranquil.

II.

THEFALLINGSTAR.Thencamethenightofthefirstfallingstar.Itwasseenearlyinthemorning,

rushing over Winchester eastward, a line of flame high in the atmosphere.Hundreds must have seen it, and taken it for an ordinary falling star. Albindescribeditasleavingagreenishstreakbehinditthatglowedforsomeseconds.Denning,ourgreatest authorityonmeteorites, stated that theheightof its firstappearancewasaboutninetyoronehundredmiles.Itseemedtohimthatitfelltoearthaboutonehundredmileseastofhim.Iwasathomeatthathourandwritinginmystudy;andalthoughmyFrench

windowsfacetowardsOttershawandtheblindwasup(forIlovedinthosedaystolookupat thenightsky),Isawnothingofit.Yetthisstrangestofall thingsthat ever came to earth from outer spacemust have fallenwhile Iwas sittingthere,visibletomehadIonlylookedupasitpassed.Someofthosewhosawitsflightsayittravelledwithahissingsound.Imyselfheardnothingofthat.ManypeopleinBerkshire,Surrey,andMiddlesexmusthaveseenthefallofit,and,atmost,havethoughtthatanothermeteoritehaddescended.Nooneseemstohavetroubledtolookforthefallenmassthatnight.ButveryearlyinthemorningpoorOgilvy,whohadseentheshootingstarand

who was persuaded that a meteorite lay somewhere on the common betweenHorsell,Ottershaw,andWoking,roseearlywiththeideaoffindingit.Findithedid,soonafterdawn,andnotfarfromthesand-pits.Anenormousholehadbeenmade by the impact of the projectile, and the sand and gravel had been flungviolently ineverydirectionover theheath, formingheapsvisibleamileandahalfaway.Theheatherwasonfireeastward,andathinbluesmokeroseagainstthedawn.The Thing itself lay almost entirely buried in sand, amidst the scattered

splintersofafirtreeithadshiveredtofragmentsinitsdescent.Theuncoveredparthadtheappearanceofahugecylinder,cakedoveranditsoutlinesoftenedby a thick scaly dun-coloured incrustation. It had a diameter of about thirtyyards.Heapproachedthemass,surprisedat thesizeandmoresoat theshape,sincemostmeteoritesareroundedmoreorlesscompletely.Itwas,however,stillsohot from its flight through theair as to forbidhisnearapproach.Astirringnoisewithinitscylinderheascribedtotheunequalcoolingofitssurface;foratthattimeithadnotoccurredtohimthatitmightbehollow.HeremainedstandingattheedgeofthepitthattheThinghadmadeforitself,

staring at its strange appearance, astonished chiefly at its unusual shape andcolour, anddimlyperceivingeven then someevidenceofdesign in its arrival.Theearlymorningwaswonderfullystill,andthesun,justclearingthepinetreestowardsWeybridge,wasalreadywarm.Hedidnotrememberhearinganybirdsthatmorning, therewascertainlynobreeze stirring, and theonly soundswere

thefaintmovementsfromwithin thecinderycylinder.Hewasallaloneon thecommon.Thensuddenlyhenoticedwithastartthatsomeofthegreyclinker,theashy

incrustation thatcovered themeteorite,was fallingoff thecircularedgeof theend.Itwasdroppingoffinflakesandrainingdownuponthesand.Alargepiecesuddenly came off and fell with a sharp noise that brought his heart into hismouth.Foraminutehescarcelyrealisedwhatthismeant,and,althoughtheheatwas

excessive, he clambered down into the pit close to the bulk to see the Thingmoreclearly.Hefanciedeven then that thecoolingof thebodymightaccountfor this,butwhatdisturbed that ideawas thefact that theashwasfallingonlyfromtheendofthecylinder.Andthenheperceivedthat,veryslowly, thecircular topofthecylinderwas

rotatingonitsbody.Itwassuchagradualmovementthathediscovereditonlythroughnoticingthatablackmarkthathadbeennearhimfiveminutesagowasnow at the other side of the circumference. Even then he scarcely understoodwhat this indicated, until he heard amuffled grating sound and saw the blackmarkjerkforwardaninchorso.Thenthethingcameuponhiminaflash.Thecylinder was artificial—hollow—with an end that screwed out! Somethingwithinthecylinderwasunscrewingthetop!“Goodheavens!”saidOgilvy.“There’samaninit—meninit!Halfroastedto

death!Tryingtoescape!”Atonce,with a quickmental leap, he linked theThingwith the flashupon

Mars.Thethoughtoftheconfinedcreaturewassodreadfultohimthatheforgotthe

heatandwentforwardtothecylindertohelpturn.Butluckilythedullradiationarrestedhimbeforehecouldburnhishandsonthestill-glowingmetal.Atthathestoodirresoluteforamoment,thenturned,scrambledoutofthepit,andsetoffrunningwildlyintoWoking.Thetimethenmusthavebeensomewhereaboutsixo’clock.Hemetawaggonerandtriedtomakehimunderstand,butthetalehetoldandhisappearanceweresowild—hishathadfallenoffinthepit—thatthemansimplydroveon.Hewasequallyunsuccessfulwiththepotmanwhowasjust unlocking the doors of the public-house by Horsell Bridge. The fellowthoughthewasalunaticatlargeandmadeanunsuccessfulattempttoshuthiminto the taproom. That sobered him a little; andwhen he sawHenderson, theLondon journalist, in his garden, he called over the palings andmade himselfunderstood.

“Henderson,”hecalled,“yousawthatshootingstarlastnight?”“Well?”saidHenderson.“It’soutonHorsellCommonnow.”“GoodLord!”saidHenderson.“Fallenmeteorite!That’sgood.”“But it’s something more than a meteorite. It’s a cylinder—an artificial

cylinder,man!Andthere’ssomethinginside.”Hendersonstoodupwithhisspadeinhishand.“What’sthat?”hesaid.Hewasdeafinoneear.Ogilvytoldhimallthathehadseen.Hendersonwasaminuteorsotakingit

in. Then he dropped his spade, snatched up his jacket, and came out into theroad.Thetwomenhurriedbackatoncetothecommon,andfoundthecylinderstilllyinginthesameposition.Butnowthesoundsinsidehadceased,andathincircleofbrightmetalshowedbetweenthetopandthebodyofthecylinder.Airwaseitherenteringorescapingattherimwithathin,sizzlingsound.Theylistened,rappedonthescalyburntmetalwithastick,and,meetingwith

noresponse, theybothconcludedthemanormeninsidemustbe insensibleordead.Ofcoursethetwowerequiteunabletodoanything.Theyshoutedconsolation

andpromises,andwentoffbacktothetownagaintogethelp.Onecanimaginethem,coveredwithsand,excitedanddisordered, runningup the little street inthe bright sunlight just as the shop folkswere taking down their shutters andpeoplewereopeningtheirbedroomwindows.Hendersonwentintotherailwaystationatonce,inordertotelegraphthenewstoLondon.Thenewspaperarticleshadpreparedmen’smindsforthereceptionoftheidea.Byeighto’clockanumberofboysandunemployedmenhadalreadystarted

forthecommontoseethe“deadmenfromMars.”Thatwastheformthestorytook.IheardofitfirstfrommynewspaperboyaboutaquartertoninewhenIwentouttogetmyDailyChronicle.Iwasnaturallystartled,andlostnotimeingoingoutandacrosstheOttershawbridgetothesand-pits.

III.

ONHORSELLCOMMON.Ifoundalittlecrowdofperhapstwentypeoplesurroundingthehugeholein

whichthecylinderlay.Ihavealreadydescribedtheappearanceofthatcolossalbulk,embeddedintheground.Theturfandgravelaboutitseemedcharredasifbyasuddenexplosion.Nodoubtitsimpacthadcausedaflashoffire.HendersonandOgilvywerenotthere.Ithinktheyperceivedthatnothingwastobedoneforthepresent,andhadgoneawaytobreakfastatHenderson’shouse.There were four or five boys sitting on the edge of the Pit, with their feet

dangling,andamusingthemselves—untilIstoppedthem—bythrowingstonesatthe giant mass. After I had spoken to them about it, they began playing at“touch”inandoutofthegroupofbystanders.Among these were a couple of cyclists, a jobbing gardener I employed

sometimes,agirlcarryingababy,Greggthebutcherandhislittleboy,andtwoorthreeloafersandgolfcaddieswhowereaccustomedtohangabouttherailwaystation.Therewasverylittletalking.FewofthecommonpeopleinEnglandhadanythingbut thevaguest astronomical ideas in thosedays.Mostof themwerestaringquietlyatthebigtablelikeendofthecylinder,whichwasstillasOgilvyandHendersonhadleft it.Ifancythepopularexpectationofaheapofcharredcorpseswasdisappointedat this inanimatebulk.Somewentawaywhile Iwasthere,andotherpeoplecame.IclamberedintothepitandfanciedIheardafaintmovementundermyfeet.Thetophadcertainlyceasedtorotate.ItwasonlywhenIgotthusclosetoitthatthestrangenessofthisobjectwasat

all evident to me. At the first glance it was really no more exciting than anoverturnedcarriageoratreeblownacrosstheroad.Notsomuchso,indeed.Itlookedlikearustygasfloat.Itrequiredacertainamountofscientificeducationto perceive that the grey scale of the Thing was no common oxide, that theyellowish-whitemetalthatgleamedinthecrackbetweenthelidandthecylinderhad an unfamiliar hue. “Extra-terrestrial” had no meaning for most of theonlookers.AtthattimeitwasquiteclearinmyownmindthattheThinghadcomefrom

theplanetMars,butIjudgeditimprobablethatitcontainedanylivingcreature.Ithought theunscrewingmightbeautomatic. In spiteofOgilvy, I still believedthat thereweremeninMars.Mymindranfancifullyon thepossibilitiesof itscontainingmanuscript,onthedifficultiesintranslationthatmightarise,whetherweshouldfindcoinsandmodelsinit,andsoforth.Yetitwasalittletoolargeforassuranceonthisidea.Ifeltanimpatiencetoseeitopened.Abouteleven,as

nothingseemedhappening,Iwalkedback,fullofsuchthought,tomyhomeinMaybury.ButIfounditdifficulttogettoworkuponmyabstractinvestigations.In theafternoon theappearanceof thecommonhadalteredverymuch.The

early editions of the evening papers had startled London with enormousheadlines:

“AMESSAGERECEIVEDFROMMARS.”

“REMARKABLESTORYFROMWOKING,”

and so forth. In addition, Ogilvy’s wire to the Astronomical Exchange hadrousedeveryobservatoryinthethreekingdoms.TherewerehalfadozenflysormorefromtheWokingstationstandinginthe

road by the sand-pits, a basket-chaise from Chobham, and a rather lordlycarriage. Besides that, therewas quite a heap of bicycles. In addition, a largenumberofpeoplemusthavewalked,inspiteoftheheatoftheday,fromWokingandChertsey, so that therewas altogetherquite a considerable crowd—oneortwogailydressedladiesamongtheothers.Itwasglaringlyhot,notacloudintheskynorabreathofwind,andtheonly

shadowwasthatof thefewscatteredpinetrees.Theburningheatherhadbeenextinguished, but the level ground towardsOttershawwas blackened as far asonecouldsee,andstillgivingoffverticalstreamersofsmoke.Anenterprisingsweet-stuffdealerintheChobhamRoadhadsentuphissonwithabarrow-loadofgreenapplesandgingerbeer.Going to theedgeof thepit, I found itoccupiedbyagroupofabouthalfa

dozen men—Henderson, Ogilvy, and a tall, fair-haired man that I afterwardslearnedwasStent,theAstronomerRoyal,withseveralworkmenwieldingspadesandpickaxes.Stentwasgivingdirectionsinaclear,high-pitchedvoice.Hewasstandingon the cylinder,whichwas nowevidentlymuch cooler; his facewascrimsonandstreamingwithperspiration,andsomethingseemedtohaveirritatedhim.Alargeportionofthecylinderhadbeenuncovered,thoughitslowerendwas

stillembedded.AssoonasOgilvysawmeamongthestaringcrowdontheedgeof thepithecalled tometocomedown,andaskedmeif IwouldmindgoingovertoseeLordHilton,thelordofthemanor.The growing crowd, he said, was becoming a serious impediment to their

excavations,especiallytheboys.Theywantedalightrailingputup,andhelptokeep the people back. He told me that a faint stirring was occasionally still

audiblewithinthecase,butthattheworkmenhadfailedtounscrewthetop,asitaffordednogriptothem.Thecaseappearedtobeenormouslythick,anditwaspossiblethatthefaintsoundsweheardrepresentedanoisytumultintheinterior.I was very glad to do as he asked, and so become one of the privileged

spectatorswithinthecontemplatedenclosure.IfailedtofindLordHiltonathishouse,butIwastoldhewasexpectedfromLondonbythesixo’clocktrainfromWaterloo;andas itwas thenaboutaquarterpast five, Iwenthome,hadsometea,andwalkeduptothestationtowaylayhim.

IV.

THECYLINDEROPENS.When I returned to the common the sunwas setting.Scatteredgroupswere

hurryingfromthedirectionofWoking,andoneortwopersonswerereturning.The crowdabout thepit had increased, and stoodout black against the lemonyellow of the sky—a couple of hundred people, perhaps. There were raisedvoices,andsomesortofstruggleappearedtobegoingonaboutthepit.Strangeimaginingspassedthroughmymind.AsIdrewnearerIheardStent’svoice:“Keepback!Keepback!”Aboycamerunningtowardsme.“It’sa-movin’,”hesaidtomeashepassed;“a-screwin’anda-screwin’out.I

don’tlikeit.I’ma-goin’’ome,Iam.”Iwentontothecrowd.Therewerereally,Ishouldthink,twoorthreehundred

peopleelbowingandjostlingoneanother, theoneor twoladies therebeingbynomeanstheleastactive.“He’sfalleninthepit!”criedsomeone.“Keepback!”saidseveral.Thecrowdswayedalittle,andIelbowedmywaythrough.Everyoneseemed

greatlyexcited.Iheardapeculiarhummingsoundfromthepit.“Isay!”saidOgilvy;“helpkeepthese idiotsback.Wedon’tknowwhat’s in

theconfoundedthing,youknow!”Isawayoungman,ashopassistantinWokingIbelievehewas,standingon

thecylinderandtryingtoscrambleoutoftheholeagain.Thecrowdhadpushedhimin.Theendofthecylinderwasbeingscrewedoutfromwithin.Nearlytwofeetof

shiningscrewprojected.Somebodyblunderedagainstme,andInarrowlymissedbeingpitchedontothetopofthescrew.Iturned,andasIdidsothescrewmusthave come out, for the lid of the cylinder fell upon the gravelwith a ringingconcussion. I stuckmyelbow into thepersonbehindme, and turnedmyheadtowards the Thing again. For a moment that circular cavity seemed perfectlyblack.Ihadthesunsetinmyeyes.I thinkeveryoneexpected to seeamanemerge—possiblysomethinga little

unlikeusterrestrialmen,butinallessentialsaman.IknowIdid.But,looking,Ipresentlysawsomethingstirringwithintheshadow:greyishbillowymovements,one above another, and then two luminous disks—like eyes. Then somethingresemblingalittlegreysnake,aboutthethicknessofawalkingstick,coiledupout of the writhing middle, and wriggled in the air towards me—and thenanother.Asuddenchillcameoverme.Therewasaloudshriekfromawomanbehind.

I half turned, keepingmyeyes fixedupon the cylinder still, fromwhichothertentacleswerenowprojecting,andbeganpushingmywaybackfromtheedgeofthe pit. I saw astonishment giving place to horror on the faces of the peopleaboutme. I heard inarticulate exclamations on all sides. There was a generalmovementbackwards.Isawtheshopmanstrugglingstillontheedgeofthepit.Ifoundmyselfalone,andsawthepeopleontheothersideofthepitrunningoff,Stent among them. I looked again at the cylinder, and ungovernable terrorgrippedme.Istoodpetrifiedandstaring.Abiggreyishroundedbulk,thesize,perhaps,ofabear,wasrisingslowlyand

painfullyoutof thecylinder.As itbulgedupandcaught the light, itglistenedlikewetleather.Two large dark-coloured eyeswere regardingme steadfastly. Themass that

framedthem,theheadofthething,wasrounded,andhad,onemightsay,aface.There was a mouth under the eyes, the lipless brim of which quivered andpanted, and dropped saliva. The whole creature heaved and pulsatedconvulsively. A lank tentacular appendage gripped the edge of the cylinder,anotherswayedintheair.ThosewhohaveneverseenalivingMartiancanscarcelyimaginethestrange

horrorofitsappearance.ThepeculiarV-shapedmouthwithitspointedupperlip,theabsenceofbrowridges, theabsenceofachinbeneaththewedgelikelower

lip, the incessant quivering of thismouth, theGorgon groups of tentacles, thetumultuousbreathingofthelungsinastrangeatmosphere,theevidentheavinessandpainfulnessofmovementduetothegreatergravitationalenergyoftheearth—aboveall,theextraordinaryintensityoftheimmenseeyes—wereatoncevital,intense,inhuman,crippledandmonstrous.Therewassomethingfungoidintheoilybrownskin,somethingintheclumsydeliberationofthetediousmovementsunspeakably nasty. Even at this first encounter, this first glimpse, I wasovercomewithdisgustanddread.Suddenly themonstervanished. Ithad toppledover thebrimof thecylinder

andfallenintothepit,withathudlikethefallofagreatmassofleather.Iheardit give a peculiar thick cry, and forthwith another of these creatures appeareddarklyinthedeepshadowoftheaperture.I turned and, running madly, made for the first group of trees, perhaps a

hundredyardsaway;butIranslantinglyandstumbling,forIcouldnotavertmyfacefromthesethings.There,amongsomeyoungpinetreesandfurzebushes,Istopped,panting,and

waitedfurtherdevelopments.Thecommonroundthesand-pitswasdottedwithpeople,standinglikemyselfinahalf-fascinatedterror,staringatthesecreatures,orratherattheheapedgravelattheedgeofthepitinwhichtheylay.Andthen,witharenewedhorror,Isawaround,blackobjectbobbingupanddownontheedgeofthepit.Itwastheheadoftheshopmanwhohadfallenin,butshowingasa little blackobject against the hotwestern sun.Nowhe got his shoulder andknee up, and again he seemed to slip back until only his head was visible.Suddenlyhevanished,andIcouldhavefanciedafaintshriekhadreachedme.Ihadamomentaryimpulsetogobackandhelphimthatmyfearsoverruled.Everythingwas thenquite invisible, hiddenby thedeeppit and theheapof

sandthatthefallofthecylinderhadmade.AnyonecomingalongtheroadfromChobham or Woking would have been amazed at the sight—a dwindlingmultitude of perhaps a hundred people or more standing in a great irregularcircle, in ditches, behind bushes, behind gates andhedges, saying little to oneanotherandthatinshort,excitedshouts,andstaring,staringhardatafewheapsof sand. The barrow of ginger beer stood, a queer derelict, black against theburningsky,andinthesand-pitswasarowofdesertedvehicleswiththeirhorsesfeedingoutofnosebagsorpawingtheground.

V.

THEHEAT-RAY.After the glimpse I had had of theMartians emerging from the cylinder in

which they had come to the earth from their planet, a kind of fascinationparalysedmy actions. I remained standingknee-deep in the heather, staring atthemoundthathidthem.Iwasabattlegroundoffearandcuriosity.Ididnotdaretogobacktowardsthepit,butIfeltapassionatelongingtopeer

intoit.Ibeganwalking,therefore,inabigcurve,seekingsomepointofvantageandcontinuallylookingatthesand-heapsthathidthesenew-comerstoourearth.Oncealeashofthinblackwhips,likethearmsofanoctopus,flashedacrossthesunsetandwasimmediatelywithdrawn,andafterwardsathinrodroseup,jointby joint, bearing at its apex a circulardisk that spunwith awobblingmotion.Whatcouldbegoingonthere?Mostofthespectatorshadgatheredinoneortwogroups—onealittlecrowd

towards Woking, the other a knot of people in the direction of Chobham.Evidentlytheysharedmymentalconflict.Therewerefewnearme.OnemanIapproached—hewas, Iperceived,aneighbourofmine, thoughIdidnotknowhisname—andaccosted.Butitwasscarcelyatimeforarticulateconversation.“Whatuglybrutes!”hesaid.“GoodGod!Whatuglybrutes!”Herepeatedthis

overandoveragain.“Didyou see aman in the pit?” I said; but hemadeno answer to that.We

becamesilent, and stoodwatching for a time sideby side,deriving, I fancy, acertaincomfortinoneanother’scompany.ThenIshiftedmypositiontoalittleknoll that gaveme the advantage of a yard ormore of elevation andwhen IlookedforhimpresentlyhewaswalkingtowardsWoking.Thesunsetfadedtotwilightbeforeanythingfurtherhappened.Thecrowdfar

away on the left, towardsWoking, seemed to grow, and I heard now a faintmurmur from it. The little knot of people towards Chobham dispersed. Therewasscarcelyanintimationofmovementfromthepit.Itwasthis,asmuchasanything,thatgavepeoplecourage,andIsupposethe

newarrivalsfromWokingalsohelpedtorestoreconfidence.Atanyrate,asthedusk came on a slow, intermittent movement upon the sand-pits began, amovement thatseemedtogatherforceas thestillnessof theeveningabout thecylinder remained unbroken. Vertical black figures in twos and threes would

advance,stop,watch,andadvanceagain,spreadingoutastheydidsoinathinirregularcrescentthatpromisedtoenclosethepitinitsattenuatedhorns.I,too,onmysidebegantomovetowardsthepit.ThenIsawsomecabmenandothershadwalkedboldlyintothesand-pits,and

heardtheclatterofhoofsandthegrideofwheels.Isawaladtrundlingoffthebarrowof apples.And then,within thirtyyardsof thepit, advancing from thedirectionofHorsell, I noted a little blackknotofmen, the foremostofwhomwaswavingawhiteflag.Thiswas theDeputation.Therehadbeenahastyconsultation,andsince the

Martianswereevidently,inspiteoftheirrepulsiveforms,intelligentcreatures,ithadbeenresolvedtoshowthem,byapproachingthemwithsignals,thatwetoowereintelligent.Flutter,flutter,wenttheflag,firsttotheright,thentotheleft.Itwastoofarfor

me to recognise anyone there, but afterwards I learned thatOgilvy, Stent, andHendersonwerewithothersinthisattemptatcommunication.Thislittlegrouphad in its advancedragged inward, so to speak, the circumferenceof the nowalmostcompletecircleofpeople,andanumberofdimblackfiguresfolloweditatdiscreetdistances.Suddenly there was a flash of light, and a quantity of luminous greenish

smokecameoutofthepitinthreedistinctpuffs,whichdroveup,oneaftertheother,straightintothestillair.Thissmoke(orflame,perhaps,wouldbethebetterwordforit)wassobright

that the deep blue sky overhead and the hazy stretches of brown commontowardsChertsey,setwithblackpinetrees,seemedtodarkenabruptlyasthesepuffs arose, and to remain the darker after their dispersal.At the same time afainthissingsoundbecameaudible.Beyondthepitstoodthelittlewedgeofpeoplewiththewhiteflagatitsapex,

arrestedbythesephenomena,alittleknotofsmallverticalblackshapesupontheblackground.Asthegreensmokearose,theirfacesflashedoutpallidgreen,andfadedagainasitvanished.Thenslowlythehissingpassedintoahumming,intoalong,loud,droningnoise.Slowlyahumpedshaperoseoutofthepit,andtheghostofabeamoflightseemedtoflickeroutfromit.Forthwithflashesofactualflame,abrightglareleapingfromonetoanother,

sprangfromthescatteredgroupofmen.Itwasasifsomeinvisiblejetimpingedupon themand flashed intowhite flame. Itwas as if eachmanwere suddenlyandmomentarilyturnedtofire.Then,bythelightoftheirowndestruction,Isawthemstaggeringandfalling,

andtheirsupportersturningtorun.I stood staring, not asyet realising that thiswasdeath leaping fromman to

maninthatlittledistantcrowd.AllIfeltwasthatitwassomethingverystrange.Analmostnoiselessandblindingflashoflight,andamanfellheadlongandlaystill;andastheunseenshaftofheatpassedoverthem,pinetreesburstintofire,andeverydryfurzebushbecamewithonedullthudamassofflames.Andfaraway towards Knaphill I saw the flashes of trees and hedges and woodenbuildingssuddenlysetalight.Itwassweepingroundswiftlyandsteadily,thisflamingdeath,thisinvisible,

inevitable sword of heat. I perceived it coming towards me by the flashingbushes it touched, and was too astounded and stupefied to stir. I heard thecrackle of fire in the sand-pits and the sudden squeal of a horse that was assuddenlystilled.Thenitwasasifaninvisibleyet intenselyheatedfingerweredrawnthroughtheheatherbetweenmeandtheMartians,andallalongacurvinglinebeyondthesand-pitsthedarkgroundsmokedandcrackled.SomethingfellwithacrashfarawaytotheleftwheretheroadfromWokingstationopensouton the common. Forth-with the hissing and humming ceased, and the black,dome-likeobjectsankslowlyoutofsightintothepit.All this had happened with such swiftness that I had stood motionless,

dumbfoundedanddazzledbytheflashesoflight.Hadthatdeathsweptthroughafull circle, itmust inevitably have slainme inmy surprise. But it passed andsparedme,andleftthenightaboutmesuddenlydarkandunfamiliar.Theundulatingcommonseemednowdarkalmosttoblackness,exceptwhere

itsroadwayslaygreyandpaleunderthedeepblueskyoftheearlynight.Itwasdark,andsuddenlyvoidofmen.Overheadthestarsweremustering,andinthewesttheskywasstillapale,bright,almostgreenishblue.Thetopsofthepinetrees and the roofs of Horsell came out sharp and black against the westernafterglow.TheMartiansandtheirapplianceswerealtogetherinvisible,saveforthat thinmast uponwhich their restlessmirrorwobbled. Patches of bush andisolated trees here and there smoked andglowed still, and thehouses towardsWokingstationweresendingupspiresofflameintothestillnessoftheeveningair.Nothing was changed save for that and a terrible astonishment. The little

groupofblack speckswith the flagofwhitehadbeen sweptoutof existence,andthestillnessoftheevening,soitseemedtome,hadscarcelybeenbroken.Itcametomethat Iwasuponthisdarkcommon,helpless,unprotected,and

alone.Suddenly,likeathingfallinguponmefromwithout,came—fear.

WithaneffortIturnedandbeganastumblingrunthroughtheheather.ThefearIfeltwasnorationalfear,butapanicterrornotonlyoftheMartians,

but of the dusk and stillness all about me. Such an extraordinary effect inunmanningmeithadthatIranweepingsilentlyasachildmightdo.OnceIhadturned,Ididnotdaretolookback.I remember I felt an extraordinarypersuasion that Iwasbeingplayedwith,

thatpresently,whenIwasupontheveryvergeofsafety,thismysteriousdeath—as swift as the passage of light—would leap after me from the pit about thecylinder,andstrikemedown.

VI.

THEHEAT-RAYINTHECHOBHAMROAD.ItisstillamatterofwonderhowtheMartiansareabletoslaymensoswiftly

andsosilently.Manythinkthatinsomewaytheyareabletogenerateanintenseheatinachamberofpracticallyabsolutenon-conductivity.Thisintenseheattheyprojectinaparallelbeamagainstanyobjecttheychoose,bymeansofapolishedparabolic mirror of unknown composition, much as the parabolic mirror of alighthouse projects a beam of light. But no one has absolutely proved thesedetails.Howeveritisdone,itiscertainthatabeamofheatistheessenceofthematter. Heat, and invisible, instead of visible, light. Whatever is combustibleflashes into flameat its touch, lead runs likewater, it softens iron, cracks andmeltsglass,andwhenitfallsuponwater,incontinentlythatexplodesintosteam.Thatnightnearlyfortypeoplelayunderthestarlightaboutthepit,charredand

distorted beyond recognition, and all night long the common fromHorsell toMayburywasdesertedandbrightlyablaze.The news of the massacre probably reached Chobham, Woking, and

Ottershaw about the same time. In Woking the shops had closed when thetragedyhappened,andanumberofpeople,shoppeopleandsoforth,attractedbythestories theyhadheard,werewalkingover theHorsellBridgeandalongthe roadbetween thehedges that runsout at last upon the common.Youmayimagine theyoungpeoplebrushedupafter the laboursof theday,andmakingthisnovelty, as theywouldmakeanynovelty, the excuse forwalking together

andenjoyinga trivial flirtation.Youmay figure toyourself thehumofvoicesalongtheroadinthegloaming....As yet, of course, few people inWoking even knew that the cylinder had

opened, thoughpoorHendersonhadsentamessengeronabicycle to thepostofficewithaspecialwiretoaneveningpaper.As thesefolkscameoutby twosand threesupon theopen, theyfound little

knots of people talking excitedly and peering at the spinningmirror over thesand-pits,andthenewcomerswere,nodoubt,sooninfectedbytheexcitementoftheoccasion.Byhalfpasteight,whentheDeputationwasdestroyed,theremayhavebeena

crowdofthreehundredpeopleormoreatthisplace,besidesthosewhohadlefttheroadtoapproachtheMartiansnearer.Therewerethreepolicementoo,oneofwhomwasmounted,doingtheirbest,underinstructionsfromStent,tokeepthepeople back and deter them from approaching the cylinder. There was somebooing from those more thoughtless and excitable souls to whom a crowd isalwaysanoccasionfornoiseandhorse-play.Stent and Ogilvy, anticipating some possibilities of a collision, had

telegraphed fromHorsell to thebarracksas soonas theMartiansemerged, forthe help of a company of soldiers to protect these strange creatures fromviolence.Afterthattheyreturnedtoleadthatill-fatedadvance.Thedescriptionof their death, as itwas seen by the crowd, tallies very closelywithmy ownimpressions: the three puffs of green smoke, the deep humming note, and theflashesofflame.Butthatcrowdofpeoplehadafarnarrowerescapethanmine.Onlythefact

that a hummock of heathery sand intercepted the lower part of the Heat-Raysavedthem.Hadtheelevationoftheparabolicmirrorbeenafewyardshigher,nonecouldhavelivedtotellthetale.Theysawtheflashesandthemenfallingand an invisible hand, as it were, lit the bushes as it hurried towards themthroughthetwilight.Then,withawhistlingnotethatroseabovethedroningofthe pit, the beam swung close over their heads, lighting the tops of the beechtreesthatlinetheroad,andsplittingthebricks,smashingthewindows,firingthewindowframes,andbringingdownincrumblingruinaportionofthegableofthehousenearestthecorner.In the sudden thud, hiss, and glare of the igniting trees, the panic-stricken

crowdseemstohaveswayedhesitatinglyforsomemoments.Sparksandburningtwigsbegantofallintotheroad,andsingleleaveslikepuffsofflame.Hatsanddressescaughtfire.Thencameacryingfromthecommon.Therewereshrieks

and shouts, and suddenly a mounted policeman came galloping through theconfusionwithhishandsclaspedoverhishead,screaming.“They’recoming!”awomanshrieked,andincontinentlyeveryonewasturning

andpushingatthosebehind,inordertocleartheirwaytoWokingagain.Theymusthaveboltedasblindlyasaflockofsheep.Where theroadgrowsnarrowandblackbetweenthehighbanks thecrowdjammed,andadesperatestruggleoccurred.Allthatcrowddidnotescape;threepersonsatleast,twowomenandalittleboy,werecrushedandtrampledthere,andlefttodieamidtheterrorandthedarkness.

VII.

HOWIREACHEDHOME.For my own part, I remember nothing of my flight except the stress of

blundering against trees and stumbling through the heather. All about megatheredtheinvisibleterrorsoftheMartians;thatpitilessswordofheatseemedwhirlingtoandfro,flourishingoverheadbeforeitdescendedandsmotemeoutoflife.IcameintotheroadbetweenthecrossroadsandHorsell,andranalongthistothecrossroads.AtlastIcouldgonofurther;Iwasexhaustedwiththeviolenceofmyemotion

and ofmy flight, and I staggered and fell by thewayside. Thatwas near thebridgethatcrossesthecanalbythegasworks.Ifellandlaystill.Imusthaveremainedtheresometime.I sat up, strangely perplexed. For a moment, perhaps, I could not clearly

understandhowIcamethere.Myterrorhadfallenfrommelikeagarment.Myhat had gone, andmy collar had burst away from its fastener.A fewminutesbefore, therehadonlybeen three real thingsbeforeme—the immensityof thenight and space and nature, my own feebleness and anguish, and the nearapproachofdeath.Nowitwasasifsomethingturnedover,andthepointofviewalteredabruptly.Therewasnosensibletransitionfromonestateofmindtotheother.Iwasimmediatelytheselfofeverydayagain—adecent,ordinarycitizen.Thesilentcommon,theimpulseofmyflight,thestartingflames,wereasiftheyhadbeeninadream.Iaskedmyselfhadtheselatterthingsindeedhappened?I

couldnotcreditit.Iroseandwalkedunsteadilyupthesteepinclineofthebridge.Mymindwas

blankwonder.Mymusclesandnervesseemeddrainedof theirstrength. Idaresay I staggered drunkenly. A head rose over the arch, and the figure of aworkmancarryingabasketappeared.Besidehimranalittleboy.Hepassedme,wishingmegoodnight.Iwasmindedtospeaktohim,butdidnot.Iansweredhisgreetingwithameaninglessmumbleandwentonoverthebridge.OvertheMayburyarchatrain,abillowingtumultofwhite,firelitsmoke,and

a long caterpillar of lightedwindows,went flying south—clatter, clatter, clap,rap, and it had gone.A dim group of people talked in the gate of one of thehousesintheprettylittlerowofgablesthatwascalledOrientalTerrace.Itwasall so real and so familiar.And thatbehindme! Itwas frantic, fantastic!Suchthings,Itoldmyself,couldnotbe.Perhaps I am a man of exceptional moods. I do not know how far my

experienceiscommon.AttimesIsufferfromthestrangestsenseofdetachmentfrommyself and theworld aboutme; I seem towatch it all from the outside,from somewhere inconceivably remote, out of time, out of space, out of thestressandtragedyofitall.Thisfeelingwasverystronguponmethatnight.Herewasanothersidetomydream.Butthetroublewastheblankincongruityofthisserenityandtheswiftdeath

flying yonder, not two miles away. There was a noise of business from thegasworks,andtheelectriclampswereallalight.Istoppedatthegroupofpeople.“Whatnewsfromthecommon?”saidI.Thereweretwomenandawomanatthegate.“Eh?”saidoneofthemen,turning.“Whatnewsfromthecommon?”Isaid.“Ain’tyerjustbeenthere?”askedthemen.“People seem fair silly about the common,” said thewoman over the gate.

“What’sitallabart?”“Haven’t you heard of the men from Mars?” said I; “the creatures from

Mars?”“Quite enough,” said the woman over the gate. “Thenks”; and all three of

themlaughed.Ifeltfoolishandangry.ItriedandfoundIcouldnottellthemwhatIhadseen.

Theylaughedagainatmybrokensentences.“You’llhearmoreyet,”Isaid,andwentontomyhome.

I startledmywife at the doorway, so haggardwas I. Iwent into the diningroom, sat down, drank some wine, and so soon as I could collect myselfsufficientlyI toldher the thingsIhadseen.Thedinner,whichwasacoldone,hadalreadybeen served, and remainedneglectedon the tablewhile I toldmystory.“Thereisonething,”Isaid,toallaythefearsIhadaroused;“theyarethemost

sluggish things I ever saw crawl. Theymay keep the pit and kill peoplewhocomenearthem,buttheycannotgetoutofit....Butthehorrorofthem!”“Don’t,dear!”saidmywife,knittingherbrowsandputtingherhandonmine.“PoorOgilvy!”Isaid.“Tothinkhemaybelyingdeadthere!”My wife at least did not find my experience incredible. When I saw how

deadlywhiteherfacewas,Iceasedabruptly.“Theymaycomehere,”shesaidagainandagain.Ipressedhertotakewine,andtriedtoreassureher.“Theycanscarcelymove,”Isaid.IbegantocomfortherandmyselfbyrepeatingallthatOgilvyhadtoldmeof

the impossibility of the Martians establishing themselves on the earth. InparticularIlaidstressonthegravitationaldifficulty.OnthesurfaceoftheearththeforceofgravityisthreetimeswhatitisonthesurfaceofMars.AMartian,therefore, would weigh three times more than on Mars, albeit his muscularstrength would be the same. His own body would be a cope of lead to him,therefore.That,indeed,wasthegeneralopinion.BothTheTimesand theDailyTelegraph, for instance, insisted on it the nextmorning, and both overlooked,justasIdid,twoobviousmodifyinginfluences.Theatmosphereoftheearth,wenowknow,containsfarmoreoxygenorfar

lessargon(whicheverwayonelikestoputit)thandoesMars’.TheinvigoratinginfluencesofthisexcessofoxygenupontheMartiansindisputablydidmuchtocounterbalance the increasedweight of their bodies.And, in the secondplace,we all overlooked the fact that such mechanical intelligence as the Martianpossessedwasquiteabletodispensewithmuscularexertionatapinch.ButIdidnotconsiderthesepointsatthetime,andsomyreasoningwasdead

against thechancesoftheinvaders.Withwineandfood, theconfidenceofmyowntable,andthenecessityofreassuringmywife,Igrewbyinsensibledegreescourageousandsecure.“Theyhavedoneafoolish thing,”saidI, fingeringmywineglass.“Theyare

dangerousbecause,nodoubt,theyaremadwithterror.Perhapstheyexpectedto

findnolivingthings—certainlynointelligentlivingthings.”“Ashellinthepit,”saidI,“iftheworstcomestotheworst,willkillthemall.”Theintenseexcitementoftheeventshadnodoubtleftmyperceptivepowers

inastateoferethism.Irememberthatdinnertablewithextraordinaryvividnessevennow.Mydearwife’ssweetanxiousfacepeeringatmefromunderthepinklampshade,thewhiteclothwithitssilverandglasstablefurniture—forinthosedays even philosophical writers had many little luxuries—the crimson-purplewineinmyglass,arephotographicallydistinct.AttheendofitIsat,temperingnuts with a cigarette, regretting Ogilvy’s rashness, and denouncing the short-sightedtimidityoftheMartians.So some respectabledodo in theMauritiusmighthave lorded it inhisnest,

anddiscussedthearrivalofthatshipfulofpitilesssailorsinwantofanimalfood.“Wewillpeckthemtodeathtomorrow,mydear.”Ididnotknowit,but thatwas the lastciviliseddinnerIwas toeat forvery

manystrangeandterribledays.

VIII.

FRIDAYNIGHT.Themost extraordinary thing tomymind, of all the strange andwonderful

thingsthathappeneduponthatFriday,wasthedovetailingofthecommonplacehabits of our social orderwith the first beginningsof the series of events thatwastotopplethatsocialorderheadlong.IfonFridaynightyouhadtakenapairofcompassesanddrawnacirclewitharadiusof fivemilesroundtheWokingsand-pits, Idoubt ifyouwouldhavehadonehumanbeingoutside it,unless itwere some relation of Stent or of the three or four cyclists or London peoplelyingdeadonthecommon,whoseemotionsorhabitswereatallaffectedbythenew-comers.Manypeoplehadheardofthecylinder,ofcourse,andtalkedaboutitintheirleisure,butitcertainlydidnotmakethesensationthatanultimatumtoGermanywouldhavedone.In London that night poor Henderson’s telegram describing the gradual

unscrewingoftheshotwasjudgedtobeacanard,andhiseveningpaper,afterwiringforauthenticationfromhimandreceivingnoreply—themanwaskilled

—decidednottoprintaspecialedition.Evenwithinthefive-milecirclethegreatmajorityofpeoplewereinert.Ihave

alreadydescribed thebehaviourof themenandwomen towhom I spoke.Alloverthedistrictpeoplewerediningandsupping;workingmenweregardeningafterthelaboursoftheday,childrenwerebeingputtobed,youngpeoplewerewanderingthroughthelaneslove-making,studentssatovertheirbooks.Maybetherewasamurmurinthevillagestreets,anovelanddominanttopic

inthepublic-houses,andhereandthereamessenger,orevenaneye-witnessofthelateroccurrences,causedawhirlofexcitement,ashouting,andarunningtoand fro; but for the most part the daily routine of working, eating, drinking,sleeping,wentonasithaddoneforcountlessyears—asthoughnoplanetMarsexistedinthesky.EvenatWokingstationandHorsellandChobhamthatwasthecase.In Woking junction, until a late hour, trains were stopping and going on,

otherswereshuntingonthesidings,passengerswerealightingandwaiting,andeverything was proceeding in the most ordinary way. A boy from the town,trenching onSmith’smonopoly,was selling paperswith the afternoon’s news.Theringingimpactoftrucks,thesharpwhistleoftheenginesfromthejunction,mingled with their shouts of “Men from Mars!” Excited men came into thestation about nine o’clock with incredible tidings, and caused no moredisturbance than drunkards might have done. People rattling Londonwardspeered into the darkness outside the carriage windows, and saw only a rare,flickering, vanishing sparkdanceup from thedirectionofHorsell, a redglowandathinveilofsmokedrivingacrossthestars,andthoughtthatnothingmoreserious than a heath fire was happening. It was only round the edge of thecommon that any disturbancewas perceptible. Therewere half a dozen villasburning on the Woking border. There were lights in all the houses on thecommonsideofthethreevillages,andthepeopletherekeptawaketilldawn.Acuriouscrowdlingeredrestlessly,peoplecomingandgoingbut thecrowd

remaining,bothon theChobhamandHorsellbridges.Oneor twoadventuroussouls,itwasafterwardsfound,wentintothedarknessandcrawledquiteneartheMartians;buttheyneverreturned,fornowandagainalight-ray,likethebeamofa warship’s searchlight swept the common, and the Heat-Ray was ready tofollow.Saveforsuch,thatbigareaofcommonwassilentanddesolate,andthecharredbodies layaboutonitallnightunder thestars,andall thenextday.Anoiseofhammeringfromthepitwasheardbymanypeople.SoyouhavethestateofthingsonFridaynight.Inthecentre,stickingintothe

skin of our old planet Earth like a poisoned dart, was this cylinder. But the

poison was scarcely working yet. Around it was a patch of silent common,smouldering in places, and with a few dark, dimly seen objects lying incontorted attitudes here and there.Here and therewas a burning bush or tree.Beyondwasafringeofexcitement,andfartherthanthatfringetheinflammationhadnotcreptasyet.Intherestoftheworldthestreamoflifestillflowedasithad flowed for immemorial years.The fever ofwar thatwould presently clogveinandartery,deadennerveanddestroybrain,hadstilltodevelop.All night long the Martians were hammering and stirring, sleepless,

indefatigable,atworkuponthemachinestheyweremakingready,andeverandagainapuffofgreenish-whitesmokewhirleduptothestarlitsky.About eleven a company of soldiers came through Horsell, and deployed

along the edge of the common to form a cordon. Later a second companymarchedthroughChobhamtodeployonthenorthsideofthecommon.SeveralofficersfromtheInkermanbarrackshadbeenonthecommonearlierintheday,andone,MajorEden,wasreported tobemissing.Thecolonelof theregimentcametotheChobhambridgeandwasbusyquestioningthecrowdatmidnight.Themilitaryauthoritieswerecertainlyalive to theseriousnessof thebusiness.Abouteleven,thenextmorning’spaperswereabletosay,asquadronofhussars,twoMaxims,andaboutfourhundredmenoftheCardiganregimentstartedfromAldershot.AfewsecondsaftermidnightthecrowdintheChertseyroad,Woking,sawa

star fall from heaven into the pine woods to the northwest. It had a greenishcolour, and caused a silent brightness like summer lightning. This was thesecondcylinder.

IX.

THEFIGHTINGBEGINS.Saturdaylivesinmymemoryasadayofsuspense.Itwasadayoflassitude

too,hotandclose,with,Iamtold,arapidlyfluctuatingbarometer.Ihadsleptbutlittle,thoughmywifehadsucceededinsleeping,andIroseearly.Iwentintomygardenbeforebreakfastandstoodlistening,buttowardsthecommontherewasnothingstirringbutalark.

Themilkmancameasusual.IheardtherattleofhischariotandIwentroundto the side gate to ask the latest news. He told me that during the night theMartianshadbeensurroundedbytroops,andthatgunswereexpected.Then—afamiliar,reassuringnote—IheardatrainrunningtowardsWoking.“Theyaren’ttobekilled,”saidthemilkman,“ifthatcanpossiblybeavoided.”Isawmyneighbourgardening,chattedwithhimforatime,andthenstrolled

in to breakfast. It was a most unexceptional morning. My neighbour was ofopinion that the troops would be able to capture or to destroy the Martiansduringtheday.“It’sapity theymake themselvessounapproachable,”hesaid.“Itwouldbe

curioustoknowhowtheyliveonanotherplanet;wemightlearnathingortwo.”He came up to the fence and extended a handful of strawberries, for his

gardeningwasasgenerousasitwasenthusiastic.AtthesametimehetoldmeoftheburningofthepinewoodsabouttheByfleetGolfLinks.“Theysay,”saidhe,“thatthere’sanotherofthoseblessedthingsfallenthere—

number two. But one’s enough, surely. This lot’ll cost the insurance people aprettypennybeforeeverything’ssettled.”Helaughedwithanairofthegreatestgoodhumourashesaidthis.Thewoods,hesaid,werestillburning,andpointedoutahazeofsmoketome.“Theywillbehotunderfootfordays,onaccountofthethicksoilofpineneedlesandturf,”hesaid,andthengrewseriousover“poorOgilvy.”After breakfast, instead of working, I decided to walk down towards the

common.UndertherailwaybridgeIfoundagroupofsoldiers—sappers,Ithink,men in small roundcaps,dirty red jacketsunbuttoned, and showing theirblueshirts, dark trousers, and boots coming to the calf. They toldme no onewasallowedover the canal, and, looking along the road towards the bridge, I sawoneoftheCardiganmenstandingsentinelthere.Italkedwiththesesoldiersforatime;ItoldthemofmysightoftheMartiansonthepreviousevening.NoneofthemhadseentheMartians,andtheyhadbutthevaguestideasofthem,sothatthey plied me with questions. They said that they did not know who hadauthorisedthemovementsofthetroops;theirideawasthatadisputehadarisenattheHorseGuards.Theordinarysapperisagreatdealbettereducatedthanthecommonsoldier,andtheydiscussedthepeculiarconditionsofthepossiblefightwithsomeacuteness.IdescribedtheHeat-Raytothem,andtheybegantoargueamongthemselves.“Crawlupundercoverandrush’em,sayI,”saidone.“Getaht!” saidanother. “What’scoveragainst this ’ere ’eat?Sticks tocook

yer!Whatwegottodoistogoasnearastheground’llletus,andthendriveatrench.”“Blowyertrenches!Youalwayswanttrenches;yououghttoha’beenborna

rabbitSnippy.”“Ain’t they got any necks, then?” said a third, abruptly—a little,

contemplative,darkman,smokingapipe.Irepeatedmydescription.“Octopuses,” said he, “that’swhat I calls ’em.Talk about fishers ofmen—

fightersoffishitisthistime!”“Itain’tnomurderkillingbeastslikethat,”saidthefirstspeaker.“Whynotshellthedarnedthingsstriteoffandfinish’em?”saidthelittledark

man.“Youcarntellwhattheymightdo.”“Where’syourshells?”saidthefirstspeaker.“Thereain’tnotime.Doitina

rush,that’smytip,anddoitatonce.”So they discussed it. After awhile I left them, andwent on to the railway

stationtogetasmanymorningpapersasIcould.ButIwillnotwearythereaderwithadescriptionofthatlongmorningandof

thelongerafternoon.Ididnotsucceedingettingaglimpseofthecommon,foreven Horsell and Chobham church towers were in the hands of the militaryauthorities. The soldiers I addressed didn’t know anything; the officers weremysteriousaswellasbusy.Ifoundpeopleinthetownquitesecureagaininthepresence of the military, and I heard for the first time from Marshall, thetobacconist,thathissonwasamongthedeadonthecommon.ThesoldiershadmadethepeopleontheoutskirtsofHorselllockupandleavetheirhouses.

I got back to lunch about two, very tired for, as I have said, the day wasextremelyhotanddull;andinordertorefreshmyselfI tookacoldbathintheafternoon.AbouthalfpastfourIwentuptotherailwaystationtogetaneveningpaper, for themorningpapershadcontainedonlyavery inaccuratedescriptionofthekillingofStent,Henderson,Ogilvy,andtheothers.ButtherewaslittleIdidn’t know.TheMartians did not show an inch of themselves. They seemedbusyintheirpit,andtherewasasoundofhammeringandanalmostcontinuousstreamer of smoke. Apparently they were busy getting ready for a struggle.“Fresh attempts have been made to signal, but without success,” was thestereotypedformulaofthepapers.Asappertoldmeitwasdonebyamaninaditch with a flag on a long pole. TheMartians took as much notice of suchadvancesasweshouldofthelowingofacow.I must confess the sight of all this armament, all this preparation, greatly

excitedme.Myimaginationbecamebelligerent,anddefeatedtheinvadersinadozenstrikingways;somethingofmyschoolboydreamsofbattleandheroismcameback. Ithardlyseemeda fair fight tomeat that time.Theyseemedveryhelplessinthatpitoftheirs.Aboutthreeo’clocktherebeganthethudofagunatmeasuredintervalsfrom

ChertseyorAddlestone.Ilearnedthatthesmoulderingpinewoodintowhichthesecond cylinder had fallen was being shelled, in the hope of destroying thatobjectbeforeitopened.Itwasonlyaboutfive,however,thatafieldgunreachedChobhamforuseagainstthefirstbodyofMartians.About six in the evening, as I sat at teawithmywife in the summerhouse

talkingvigorouslyaboutthebattlethatwasloweringuponus,Iheardamuffleddetonation from thecommon, and immediately after agustof firing.Closeontheheelsof thatcameaviolent rattlingcrash,quiteclose tous, thatshooktheground; and, starting out upon the lawn, I saw the tops of the trees about theOrientalCollegeburst intosmokyredflame,and the towerof the littlechurchbesideitslidedownintoruin.Thepinnacleofthemosquehadvanished,andtheroof lineof thecollege itself lookedas ifahundred-tongunhadbeenatworkuponit.Oneofourchimneyscrackedasifashothadhitit,flew,andapieceofitcameclatteringdownthetilesandmadeaheapofbrokenredfragmentsupontheflowerbedbymystudywindow.Iandmywifestoodamazed.Then I realised that thecrestofMayburyHill

mustbewithinrangeoftheMartians’Heat-Raynowthatthecollegewasclearedoutoftheway.At that Igrippedmywife’sarm,andwithoutceremonyranherout into the

road.ThenI fetchedout theservant, tellingherIwouldgoupstairsmyself fortheboxshewasclamouringfor.“Wecan’tpossiblystayhere,”Isaid;andasIspokethefiringreopenedfora

momentuponthecommon.“Butwherearewetogo?”saidmywifeinterror.Ithoughtperplexed.ThenIrememberedhercousinsatLeatherhead.“Leatherhead!”Ishoutedabovethesuddennoise.She looked away fromme downhill. The people were coming out of their

houses,astonished.“HowarewetogettoLeatherhead?”shesaid.Down the hill I saw a bevy of hussars ride under the railway bridge; three

gallopedthroughtheopengatesoftheOrientalCollege;twoothersdismounted,andbeganrunningfromhousetohouse.Thesun,shiningthroughthesmokethatdroveupfromthetopsofthetrees,seemedbloodred,andthrewanunfamiliarluridlightuponeverything.“Stop here,” said I; “you are safe here”; and I started off at once for the

Spotted Dog, for I knew the landlord had a horse and dog cart. I ran, for Iperceivedthatinamomenteveryoneuponthissideofthehillwouldbemoving.Ifoundhiminhisbar,quiteunawareofwhatwasgoingonbehindhishouse.Amanstoodwithhisbacktome,talkingtohim.“Imusthaveapound,”saidthelandlord,“andI’venoonetodriveit.”“I’llgiveyoutwo,”saidI,overthestranger’sshoulder.“Whatfor?”“AndI’llbringitbackbymidnight,”Isaid.“Lord!”saidthelandlord;“what’sthehurry?I’msellingmybitofapig.Two

pounds,andyoubringitback?What’sgoingonnow?”IexplainedhastilythatIhadtoleavemyhome,andsosecuredthedogcart.

Atthetimeitdidnotseemtomenearlysourgentthatthelandlordshouldleavehis.Itookcaretohavethecartthereandthen,droveitoffdowntheroad,and,leavingitinchargeofmywifeandservant,rushedintomyhouseandpackedafew valuables, such plate aswe had, and so forth. The beech trees below thehousewere burningwhile I did this, and the palings up the road glowed red.WhileIwasoccupiedinthisway,oneofthedismountedhussarscamerunningup.Hewasgoingfromhousetohouse,warningpeopletoleave.HewasgoingonasIcameoutofmyfrontdoor,luggingmytreasures,doneupinatablecloth.Ishoutedafterhim:

“Whatnews?”Heturned,stared,bawledsomethingabout“crawlingoutinathinglikeadish

cover,”andranontothegateofthehouseatthecrest.Asuddenwhirlofblacksmokedrivingacross the roadhidhim foramoment. I ran tomyneighbour’sdoorandrappedtosatisfymyselfofwhatIalreadyknew,thathiswifehadgonetoLondonwithhimandhadlockeduptheirhouse.Iwentinagain,accordingtomypromise,togetmyservant’sbox,luggeditout,clappeditbesideheronthetailofthedogcart,andthencaughtthereinsandjumpedupintothedriver’sseatbesidemywife.Inanothermomentwewereclearofthesmokeandnoise,andspankingdowntheoppositeslopeofMayburyHilltowardsOldWoking.Infrontwasaquietsunnylandscape,awheatfieldaheadoneithersideofthe

road,andtheMayburyInnwithitsswingingsign.Isawthedoctor’scartaheadofme.At thebottomof thehill I turnedmyhead to lookat thehillside Iwasleaving. Thick streamers of black smoke shot with threads of red fire weredrivingupintothestillair,andthrowingdarkshadowsuponthegreentreetopseastward. The smoke already extended far away to the east andwest—to theByfleetpinewoodseastward,andtoWokingonthewest.Theroadwasdottedwithpeople running towardsus.Andvery faintnow,butverydistinct throughthehot,quietair,oneheardthewhirrofamachine-gunthatwaspresentlystilled,andanintermittentcrackingofrifles.ApparentlytheMartiansweresettingfiretoeverythingwithinrangeoftheirHeat-Ray.Iamnotanexpertdriver,andIhad immediately to turnmyattention to the

horse.WhenIlookedbackagainthesecondhillhadhiddentheblacksmoke.Islashed the horsewith thewhip, and gave him a loose rein untilWoking andSendlaybetweenusandthatquiveringtumult.IovertookandpassedthedoctorbetweenWokingandSend.

X.

INTHESTORM.LeatherheadisabouttwelvemilesfromMayburyHill.Thescentofhaywas

in theair through the lushmeadowsbeyondPyrford,and thehedgesoneithersideweresweetandgaywithmultitudesofdog-roses.Theheavyfiringthathad

brokenoutwhileweweredrivingdownMayburyHillceasedasabruptlyas itbegan, leaving the evening very peaceful and still. We got to Leatherheadwithoutmisadventureaboutnineo’clock,andthehorsehadanhour’srestwhileItooksupperwithmycousinsandcommendedmywifetotheircare.Mywifewascuriouslysilentthroughoutthedrive,andseemedoppressedwith

forebodingsofevil. I talked toher reassuringly,pointingout that theMartiansweretiedtothepitbysheerheaviness,andattheutmostcouldbutcrawlalittleout of it; but she answered only in monosyllables. Had it not been for mypromise to the innkeeper, she would, I think, have urged me to stay inLeatherheadthatnight.WouldthatIhad!Herface,Iremember,wasverywhiteasweparted.Formyownpart, Ihadbeenfeverishlyexcitedallday.Somethingvery like

thewarfeverthatoccasionallyrunsthroughacivilisedcommunityhadgotintomy blood, and in my heart I was not so very sorry that I had to return toMayburythatnight.Iwasevenafraidthat that lastfusilladeIhadheardmightmeantheexterminationofourinvadersfromMars.IcanbestexpressmystateofmindbysayingthatIwantedtobeinatthedeath.It was nearly eleven when I started to return. The night was unexpectedly

dark;tome,walkingoutofthelightedpassageofmycousins’house,itseemedindeedblack,anditwasashotandcloseastheday.Overheadthecloudsweredrivingfast,albeitnotabreathstirredtheshrubsaboutus.Mycousins’manlitboth lamps.Happily, Iknewthe road intimately.Mywifestood in the lightofthedoorway,andwatchedmeuntilIjumpedupintothedogcart.Thenabruptlysheturnedandwentin,leavingmycousinssidebysidewishingmegoodhap.Iwasalittledepressedatfirstwiththecontagionofmywife’sfears,butvery

soonmythoughtsrevertedtotheMartians.AtthattimeIwasabsolutelyinthedark as to the course of the evening’s fighting. I did not know even thecircumstancesthathadprecipitatedtheconflict.AsIcamethroughOckham(forthatwasthewayIreturned,andnotthroughSendandOldWoking)Isawalongthewesternhorizonablood-redglow,whichas Idrewnearer,creptslowlyupthe sky. The driving clouds of the gathering thunderstormmingled therewithmassesofblackandredsmoke.RipleyStreetwasdeserted,andexceptforalightedwindoworsothevillage

showednotasignoflife;butInarrowlyescapedanaccidentatthecorneroftheroadtoPyrford,whereaknotofpeoplestoodwiththeirbackstome.TheysaidnothingtomeasIpassed.Idonotknowwhattheyknewofthethingshappeningbeyond the hill, nor do I know if the silent houses I passed onmywayweresleepingsecurely,ordesertedandempty,orharassedandwatchingagainst the

terrorofthenight.FromRipleyuntilIcamethroughPyrfordIwasinthevalleyoftheWey,and

theredglarewashiddenfromme.AsIascendedthe littlehillbeyondPyrfordChurchtheglarecameintoviewagain,andthetreesaboutmeshiveredwiththefirst intimationof the storm thatwasuponme.Then Iheardmidnightpealingout fromPyrfordChurchbehindme,and thencame thesilhouetteofMayburyHill,withitstree-topsandroofsblackandsharpagainstthered.EvenasIbeheldthisaluridgreenglarelittheroadaboutmeandshowedthe

distantwoodstowardsAddlestone.Ifeltatugatthereins.Isawthatthedrivingcloudshadbeenpiercedas itwerebya threadofgreenfire,suddenly lightingtheirconfusionandfallingintothefieldtomyleft.Itwasthethirdfallingstar!Closeonitsapparition,andblindinglyvioletbycontrast,dancedoutthefirst

lightningof thegathering storm, and the thunderburst like a rocketoverhead.Thehorsetookthebitbetweenhisteethandbolted.AmoderateinclinerunstowardsthefootofMayburyHill,anddownthiswe

clattered.Once the lightninghadbegun, itwenton inas rapida successionofflashes as I have ever seen. The thunderclaps, treading one on the heels ofanother and with a strange crackling accompaniment, sounded more like theworkingofagiganticelectricmachinethantheusualdetonatingreverberations.Theflickeringlightwasblindingandconfusing,andathinhailsmotegustilyatmyfaceasIdrovedowntheslope.AtfirstIregardedlittlebuttheroadbeforeme,andthenabruptlymyattention

wasarrestedbysomethingthatwasmovingrapidlydowntheoppositeslopeofMaybury Hill. At first I took it for the wet roof of a house, but one flashfollowinganothershowedit tobeinswiftrollingmovement.Itwasanelusivevision—amomentofbewilderingdarkness,andthen,inaflashlikedaylight,theredmassesoftheOrphanagenearthecrestofthehill,thegreentopsofthepinetrees,andthisproblematicalobjectcameoutclearandsharpandbright.AndthisThingIsaw!HowcanIdescribeit?Amonstroustripod,higherthan

manyhouses,stridingovertheyoungpinetrees,andsmashingthemasideinitscareer; a walking engine of glittering metal, striding now across the heather;articulateropesofsteeldanglingfromit,andtheclatteringtumultofitspassageminglingwith the riotof the thunder.A flash,and itcameoutvividly,heelingoveronewaywithtwofeetintheair,tovanishandreappearalmostinstantlyasit seemed, with the next flash, a hundred yards nearer. Can you imagine amilking stool tilted and bowled violently along the ground? That was theimpressionthoseinstantflashesgave.Butinsteadofamilkingstoolimagineita

greatbodyofmachineryonatripodstand.Thensuddenlythetreesinthepinewoodaheadofmewereparted,asbrittle

reeds are parted by aman thrusting through them; theywere snapped off anddriven headlong, and a second huge tripod appeared, rushing, as it seemed,headlongtowardsme.AndIwasgallopinghard tomeet it!At thesightof thesecond monster my nerve went altogether. Not stopping to look again, Iwrenched the horse’s head hard round to the right and in anothermoment thedogcarthadheeledoveruponthehorse; theshaftssmashednoisily,andIwasflungsidewaysandfellheavilyintoashallowpoolofwater.I crawled out almost immediately, and crouched,my feet still in thewater,

under a clump of furze. The horse laymotionless (his neckwas broken, poorbrute!)andbythelightningflashesIsawtheblackbulkof theoverturneddogcartandthesilhouetteofthewheelstillspinningslowly.Inanothermomentthecolossalmechanismwentstridingbyme,andpasseduphilltowardsPyrford.Seennearer, theThingwas incredibly strange, for itwas nomere insensate

machinedrivingon itsway.Machine itwas,witha ringingmetallicpace, andlong, flexible, glittering tentacles (one of which gripped a young pine tree)swingingandrattlingaboutitsstrangebody.Itpickeditsroadasitwentstridingalong, and the brazen hood that surmounted it moved to and fro with theinevitablesuggestionofaheadlookingabout.Behindthemainbodywasahugemassofwhitemetallikeagiganticfisherman’sbasket,andpuffsofgreensmokesquirtedoutfromthejointsofthelimbsasthemonstersweptbyme.Andinaninstantitwasgone.SomuchIsawthen,allvaguelyfortheflickeringofthelightning,inblinding

highlightsanddenseblackshadows.As it passed it set up an exultant deafening howl that drowned the thunder

—“Aloo!Aloo!”—andinanotherminuteitwaswithitscompanion,halfamileaway, stooping over something in the field. I have no doubt thisThing in thefieldwasthethirdofthetencylinderstheyhadfiredatusfromMars.For some minutes I lay there in the rain and darkness watching, by the

intermittentlight,thesemonstrousbeingsofmetalmovingaboutinthedistanceover thehedge tops.A thinhailwasnowbeginning, and as it cameandwenttheir figures grewmisty and then flashed into clearness again. Now and thencameagapinthelightning,andthenightswallowedthemup.Iwassoakedwithhailaboveandpuddlewaterbelow.Itwassometimebefore

myblankastonishmentwouldletmestruggleupthebanktoadrierposition,orthinkatallofmyimminentperil.

Notfarfrommewasa littleone-roomedsquatter’shutofwood,surroundedbyapatchofpotatogarden. I struggled tomy feet at last, and, crouchingandmakinguseofeverychanceofcover,Imadearunfor this.Ihammeredat thedoor,butIcouldnotmakethepeoplehear(iftherewereanypeopleinside),andafteratimeIdesisted,and,availingmyselfofaditchforthegreaterpartoftheway,succeededincrawling,unobservedbythesemonstrousmachines,intothepinewoodstowardsMaybury.Under cover of this I pushed on, wet and shivering now, towardsmy own

house. Iwalked among the trees trying to find the footpath. Itwas very darkindeedinthewood,forthelightningwasnowbecominginfrequent,andthehail,whichwas pouring down in a torrent, fell in columns through the gaps in theheavyfoliage.IfIhadfullyrealisedthemeaningofall thethingsIhadseenIshouldhave

immediatelyworkedmyway round throughByfleet toStreetCobham, and sogoneback to rejoinmywife atLeatherhead.But that night the strangeness ofthingsaboutme,andmyphysicalwretchedness,preventedme,forIwasbruised,weary,wettotheskin,deafenedandblindedbythestorm.Ihadavagueideaofgoingontomyownhouse,andthatwasasmuchmotive

as I had. I staggered through the trees, fell into a ditch and bruisedmykneesagainst a plank, and finally splashed out into the lane that ran down from theCollegeArms.Isaysplashed,forthestormwaterwassweepingthesanddownthehillinamuddytorrent.Thereinthedarknessamanblunderedintomeandsentmereelingback.Hegaveacryofterror,sprangsideways,andrushedonbeforeIcouldgather

mywitssufficientlytospeaktohim.SoheavywasthestressofthestormjustatthisplacethatIhadthehardesttasktowinmywayupthehill.Iwentcloseuptothefenceontheleftandworkedmywayalongitspalings.NearthetopIstumbleduponsomethingsoft,and,byaflashoflightning,saw

betweenmyfeetaheapofblackbroadclothandapairofboots.BeforeIcoulddistinguishclearlyhowthemanlay,theflickeroflighthadpassed.Istoodoverhimwaitingfor thenextflash.Whenitcame,Isawthathewasasturdyman,cheaplybutnotshabbilydressed;hisheadwasbentunderhisbody,andhelaycrumpledupclosetothefence,asthoughhehadbeenflungviolentlyagainstit.Overcoming the repugnancenatural toonewhohadneverbefore touched a

dead body, I stooped and turned him over to feel for his heart. Hewas quitedead. Apparently his neck had been broken. The lightning flashed for a thirdtime,andhisfaceleapeduponme.Isprangtomyfeet.Itwasthelandlordofthe

SpottedDog,whoseconveyanceIhadtaken.Isteppedoverhimgingerlyandpushedonupthehill.Imademywaybythe

police station and the College Arms towards my own house. Nothing wasburningonthehillside,thoughfromthecommontherestillcamearedglareandarollingtumultofruddysmokebeatingupagainstthedrenchinghail.SofarasIcould see by the flashes, the houses aboutmeweremostly uninjured. By theCollegeArmsadarkheaplayintheroad.DowntheroadtowardsMayburyBridgetherewerevoicesandthesoundof

feet,butIhadnotthecouragetoshoutortogotothem.Iletmyselfinwithmylatchkey, closed, locked and bolted the door, staggered to the foot of thestaircase, and sat down. My imagination was full of those striding metallicmonsters,andofthedeadbodysmashedagainstthefence.I crouched at the foot of the staircase withmy back to the wall, shivering

violently.

XI.

ATTHEWINDOW.I have already said that my storms of emotion have a trick of exhausting

themselves.After a time I discovered that Iwas cold andwet, andwith littlepoolsofwateraboutmeonthestaircarpet.Igotupalmostmechanically,wentintothediningroomanddranksomewhisky,andthenIwasmovedtochangemyclothes.After Ihaddone that Iwentupstairs tomystudy,butwhyIdidsoIdonot

know. Thewindow ofmy study looks over the trees and the railway towardsHorsellCommon.Inthehurryofourdeparturethiswindowhadbeenleftopen.The passage was dark, and, by contrast with the picture the window frameenclosed,thesideoftheroomseemedimpenetrablydark.Istoppedshortinthedoorway.Thethunderstormhadpassed.ThetowersoftheOrientalCollegeandthepine

treesaboutithadgone,andveryfaraway,litbyavividredglare,thecommonabout the sand-pitswas visible.Across the light huge black shapes, grotesqueandstrange,movedbusilytoandfro.

Itseemedindeedasifthewholecountryinthatdirectionwasonfire—abroadhillsidesetwithminutetonguesofflame,swayingandwrithingwiththegustsofthedyingstorm,andthrowingaredreflectionuponthecloudscudabove.EverynowandthenahazeofsmokefromsomenearerconflagrationdroveacrossthewindowandhidtheMartianshapes.Icouldnotseewhattheyweredoing,northeclearformofthem,norrecognisetheblackobjects theywerebusiedupon.NeithercouldIseethenearerfire,thoughthereflectionsofitdancedonthewallandceilingofthestudy.Asharp,resinoustangofburningwasintheair.Iclosed thedoornoiselesslyandcrept towards thewindow.AsIdidso, the

viewopenedoutuntil,ontheonehand,itreachedtothehousesaboutWokingstation, and on the other to the charred and blackened pinewoods ofByfleet.Therewasalightdownbelowthehill,ontherailway,nearthearch,andseveralof the houses along the Maybury road and the streets near the station wereglowingruins.Thelightupontherailwaypuzzledmeatfirst;therewereablackheapandavividglare,andtotherightofthatarowofyellowoblongs.ThenIperceivedthiswasawreckedtrain,theforepartsmashedandonfire,thehindercarriagesstillupontherails.Between these three main centres of light—the houses, the train, and the

burningcountytowardsChobham—stretchedirregularpatchesofdarkcountry,brokenhereandtherebyintervalsofdimlyglowingandsmokingground.Itwasthe strangest spectacle, that black expanse setwith fire. It remindedme,morethananythingelse,ofthePotteriesatnight.AtfirstIcoulddistinguishnopeopleatall,thoughIpeeredintentlyforthem.LaterIsawagainstthelightofWokingstationanumberofblackfigureshurryingoneaftertheotheracrosstheline.AndthiswasthelittleworldinwhichIhadbeenlivingsecurelyforyears,this

fierychaos!WhathadhappenedinthelastsevenhoursIstilldidnotknow;nordid I know, though I was beginning to guess, the relation between thesemechanical colossi and the sluggish lumps I had seen disgorged from thecylinder.Withaqueer feelingof impersonal interest I turnedmydeskchair tothewindow, sat down, and stared at theblackenedcountry, andparticularly atthethreegiganticblackthingsthatweregoingtoandfrointheglareaboutthesand-pits.Theyseemedamazinglybusy.Ibegantoaskmyselfwhattheycouldbe.Were

they intelligent mechanisms? Such a thing I felt was impossible. Or did aMartiansitwithineach,ruling,directing,using,muchasaman’sbrainsitsandrules in his body? I began to compare the things to humanmachines, to askmyself for the first time inmy life how an ironclad or a steam enginewouldseemtoanintelligentloweranimal.

Thestormhadlefttheskyclear,andoverthesmokeoftheburninglandthelittlefadingpinpointofMarswasdroppingintothewest,whenasoldiercameintomygarden.Iheardaslightscrapingatthefence,androusingmyselffromthe lethargy that had fallen upon me, I looked down and saw him dimly,clambering over the palings. At the sight of another human being my torporpassed,andIleanedoutofthewindoweagerly.“Hist!”saidI,inawhisper.Hestoppedastrideof the fence indoubt.Thenhecameoverandacross the

lawntothecornerofthehouse.Hebentdownandsteppedsoftly.“Who’s there?” he said, also whispering, standing under the window and

peeringup.“Whereareyougoing?”Iasked.“Godknows.”“Areyoutryingtohide?”“That’sit.”“Comeintothehouse,”Isaid.Iwentdown,unfastenedthedoor,andlethimin,andlockedthedooragain.I

couldnotseehisface.Hewashatless,andhiscoatwasunbuttoned.“MyGod!”hesaid,asIdrewhimin.“Whathashappened?”Iasked.“What hasn’t?” In the obscurity I could see he made a gesture of despair.

“Theywipedusout—simplywipedusout,”herepeatedagainandagain.Hefollowedme,almostmechanically,intothediningroom.“Takesomewhisky,”Isaid,pouringoutastiffdose.Hedrankit.Thenabruptlyhesatdownbeforethetable,puthisheadonhis

arms, and began to sob and weep like a little boy, in a perfect passion ofemotion,while I,withacurious forgetfulnessofmyownrecentdespair, stoodbesidehim,wondering.Itwasalongtimebeforehecouldsteadyhisnervestoanswermyquestions,

andthenheansweredperplexinglyandbrokenly.Hewasadriverintheartillery,and had only come into action about seven.At that time firingwas going onacross the common, and itwas said the first party ofMartianswere crawlingslowlytowardstheirsecondcylinderundercoverofametalshield.Later this shield staggered up on tripod legs and became the first of the

fighting-machines I had seen. The gun he drove had been unlimbered near

Horsell, in order to command the sand-pits, and its arrival it was that hadprecipitatedtheaction.Asthelimbergunnerswenttotherear,hishorsetrodinarabbitholeandcamedown,throwinghimintoadepressionoftheground.Atthesamemomentthegunexplodedbehindhim,theammunitionblewup,therewasfireallabouthim,andhefoundhimselflyingunderaheapofcharreddeadmenanddeadhorses.“Ilaystill,”hesaid,“scaredoutofmywits,withtheforequarterofahorse

atopofme.We’dbeenwipedout.Andthesmell—goodGod!Likeburntmeat!Iwashurtacrossthebackbythefallofthehorse,andthereIhadtolieuntilIfeltbetter.Justlikeparadeithadbeenaminutebefore—thenstumble,bang,swish!”“Wipedout!”hesaid.Hehadhidunderthedeadhorseforalongtime,peepingoutfurtivelyacross

thecommon.TheCardiganmenhadtriedarush,inskirmishingorder,atthepit,simplytobesweptoutofexistence.Thenthemonsterhadrisentoitsfeetandhad begun to walk leisurely to and fro across the common among the fewfugitives,withitsheadlikehoodturningaboutexactlyliketheheadofacowledhumanbeing.Akindof armcarried a complicatedmetallic case, aboutwhichgreen flashes scintillated, andoutof the funnelof this there smoked theHeat-Ray.Inafewminutestherewas,sofarasthesoldiercouldsee,notalivingthing

leftupon thecommon,andeverybushand treeupon it thatwasnotalreadyablackenedskeletonwasburning.Thehussarshadbeenon theroadbeyond thecurvatureoftheground,andhesawnothingofthem.HeheardtheMaximsrattleforatimeandthenbecomestill.ThegiantsavedWokingstationanditsclusterofhousesuntilthelast;theninamomenttheHeat-Raywasbroughttobear,andthetownbecameaheapoffieryruins.ThentheThingshutofftheHeat-Ray,andturning its back upon the artilleryman, began to waddle away towards thesmoulderingpinewoodsthatshelteredthesecondcylinder.AsitdidsoasecondglitteringTitanbuiltitselfupoutofthepit.The secondmonster followed the first, andat that theartillerymanbegan to

crawlverycautiouslyacrossthehotheatherashtowardsHorsell.Hemanagedtogetaliveintotheditchbythesideoftheroad,andsoescapedtoWoking.Therehis storybecameejaculatory.Theplacewas impassable. It seems therewereafewpeoplealive there, franticfor themostpartandmanyburnedandscalded.Hewasturnedasidebythefire,andhidamongsomealmostscorchingheapsofbrokenwallasoneoftheMartiangiantsreturned.Hesawthisonepursueaman,catchhimupinoneofitssteelytentacles,andknockhisheadagainstthetrunkofapinetree.Atlast,afternightfall,theartillerymanmadearushforitandgot

overtherailwayembankment.Since then he had been skulking along towards Maybury, in the hope of

gettingoutofdangerLondonward.Peoplewerehiding in trenchesandcellars,andmanyofthesurvivorshadmadeoff towardsWokingvillageandSend.Hehadbeenconsumedwith thirstuntilhe foundoneof thewatermainsnear therailwayarchsmashed,andthewaterbubblingoutlikeaspringupontheroad.ThatwasthestoryIgotfromhim,bitbybit.Hegrewcalmertellingmeand

trying to make me see the things he had seen. He had eaten no food sincemidday,hetoldmeearlyinhisnarrative,andIfoundsomemuttonandbreadinthepantryandbroughtitintotheroom.WelitnolampforfearofattractingtheMartians,andeverandagainourhandswouldtouchuponbreadormeat.Ashetalked,thingsaboutuscamedarklyoutofthedarkness,andthetrampledbushesand broken rose trees outside thewindow grew distinct. Itwould seem that anumberofmenoranimalshadrushedacrossthelawn.Ibegantoseehisface,blackenedandhaggard,asnodoubtminewasalso.When we had finished eating we went softly upstairs to my study, and I

looked again out of the open window. In one night the valley had become avalleyofashes.Thefireshaddwindlednow.Whereflameshadbeentherewerenowstreamersofsmoke;butthecountlessruinsofshatteredandguttedhousesandblastedandblackenedtrees that thenighthadhiddenstoodoutnowgauntandterribleinthepitilesslightofdawn.Yethereandtheresomeobjecthadhadthelucktoescape—awhiterailwaysignalhere,theendofagreenhousethere,whiteandfreshamidthewreckage.Neverbeforeinthehistoryofwarfarehaddestruction been so indiscriminate and so universal. And shining with thegrowing lightof theeast, threeof themetallicgiants stoodabout thepit, theircowlsrotatingasthoughtheyweresurveyingthedesolationtheyhadmade.It seemed tome that thepithadbeenenlarged, andeverandagainpuffsof

vivid green vapour streamedup and out of it towards the brightening dawn—streamedup,whirled,broke,andvanished.Beyond were the pillars of fire about Chobham. They became pillars of

bloodshotsmokeatthefirsttouchofday.

XII.

WHATISAWOFTHEDESTRUCTIONOFWEYBRIDGEANDSHEPPERTON.

AsthedawngrewbrighterwewithdrewfromthewindowfromwhichwehadwatchedtheMartians,andwentveryquietlydownstairs.Theartillerymanagreedwithme that thehousewasnoplace to stay in.He

proposed,hesaid,tomakehiswayLondonward,andthencerejoinhisbattery—No.12,oftheHorseArtillery.MyplanwastoreturnatoncetoLeatherhead;andsogreatlyhadthestrengthoftheMartiansimpressedmethatIhaddeterminedtotakemywifetoNewhaven,andgowithheroutofthecountryforthwith.ForIalreadyperceivedclearlythatthecountryaboutLondonmustinevitablybethesceneofadisastrousstrugglebeforesuchcreaturesasthesecouldbedestroyed.BetweenusandLeatherhead,however,laythethirdcylinder,withitsguarding

giants. Had I been alone, I think I should have taken my chance and struckacrosscountry.Buttheartillerymandissuadedme:“It’snokindnesstotherightsortofwife,”hesaid,“tomakeherawidow”;andintheendIagreedtogowithhim, under cover of the woods, northward as far as Street Cobham before Iparted with him. Thence I would make a big detour by Epsom to reachLeatherhead.I shouldhave startedatonce,butmycompanionhadbeen inactive service

andheknewbetterthanthat.Hemademeransackthehouseforaflask,whichhe filled with whisky; and we lined every available pocket with packets ofbiscuitsandslicesofmeat.Thenwecreptoutofthehouse,andranasquicklyaswecoulddown the ill-made roadbywhich Ihadcomeovernight.Thehousesseemeddeserted.Intheroadlayagroupofthreecharredbodiesclosetogether,struck dead by theHeat-Ray; and here and therewere things that people haddropped—aclock,aslipper,asilverspoon,andthelikepoorvaluables.Atthecorner turning up towards the post office a little cart, filled with boxes andfurniture, andhorseless, heeledoveron abrokenwheel.A cashboxhadbeenhastilysmashedopenandthrownunderthedebris.ExceptthelodgeattheOrphanage,whichwasstillonfire,noneofthehouses

hadsufferedverygreatlyhere.TheHeat-Rayhadshavedthechimneytopsandpassed.Yet,saveourselves, theredidnotseemtobealivingsoulonMayburyHill.Themajorityoftheinhabitantshadescaped,Isuppose,bywayoftheOldWokingroad—theroadIhad takenwhenIdrove toLeatherhead—ortheyhadhidden.

Wewentdownthelane,bythebodyofthemaninblack,soddennowfromtheovernight hail, and broke into the woods at the foot of the hill. We pushedthroughthesetowardstherailwaywithoutmeetingasoul.Thewoodsacrossthelinewere but the scarred and blackened ruins ofwoods; for themost part thetreeshadfallen,butacertainproportionstillstood,dismalgreystems,withdarkbrownfoliageinsteadofgreen.On our side the fire had done nomore than scorch the nearer trees; it had

failed to secure its footing. In one place the woodmen had been at work onSaturday; trees, felled and freshly trimmed, lay in a clearing, with heaps ofsawdust by the sawing-machine and its engine.Hard bywas a temporary hut,deserted. There was not a breath of wind this morning, and everything wasstrangely still.Even thebirdswerehushed, and aswehurried along I and theartilleryman talked inwhispers and lookednowand again over our shoulders.Onceortwicewestoppedtolisten.Afteratimewedrewneartheroad,andaswedidsoweheardtheclatterof

hoofs and saw through the tree stems three cavalry soldiers riding slowlytowards Woking. We hailed them, and they halted while we hurried towardsthem.Itwasalieutenantandacoupleofprivatesofthe8thHussars,withastandlikeatheodolite,whichtheartillerymantoldmewasaheliograph.“You are the first men I’ve seen coming this way this morning,” said the

lieutenant.“What’sbrewing?”His voice and face were eager. The men behind him stared curiously. The

artillerymanjumpeddownthebankintotheroadandsaluted.“Gundestroyedlastnight,sir.Havebeenhiding.Tryingtorejoinbattery,sir.

You’llcomeinsightoftheMartians,Iexpect,abouthalfamilealongthisroad.”“Whatthedickensaretheylike?”askedthelieutenant.“Giants in armour, sir. Hundred feet high. Three legs and a body like

’luminium,withamightygreatheadinahood,sir.”“Getout!”saidthelieutenant.“Whatconfoundednonsense!”“You’llsee,sir.Theycarryakindofbox,sir,thatshootsfireandstrikesyou

dead.”“Whatd’yemean—agun?”“No, sir,” and the artilleryman began a vivid account of the Heat-Ray.

Halfwaythrough,thelieutenantinterruptedhimandlookedupatme.Iwasstillstandingonthebankbythesideoftheroad.“It’sperfectlytrue,”Isaid.

“Well,” said the lieutenant, “I suppose it’smy business to see it too. Lookhere”—to the artilleryman—“we’re detailed here clearing people out of theirhouses.You’dbettergoalongandreportyourselftoBrigadier-GeneralMarvin,andtellhimallyouknow.He’satWeybridge.Knowtheway?”“Ido,”Isaid;andheturnedhishorsesouthwardagain.“Halfamile,yousay?”saidhe.“Atmost,”Ianswered,andpointedoverthetreetopssouthward.Hethanked

meandrodeon,andwesawthemnomore.Fartheralongwecameuponagroupofthreewomenandtwochildreninthe

road,busyclearingouta labourer’scottage.Theyhadgotholdofa littlehandtruck,andwerepilingitupwithunclean-lookingbundlesandshabbyfurniture.Theywerealltooassiduouslyengagedtotalktousaswepassed.By Byfleet station we emerged from the pine trees, and found the country

calmandpeacefulunderthemorningsunlight.WewerefarbeyondtherangeoftheHeat-Ray there,andhad itnotbeen for thesilentdesertionof someof thehouses, the stirring movement of packing in others, and the knot of soldiersstanding on the bridge over the railway and staring down the line towardsWoking,thedaywouldhaveseemedverylikeanyotherSunday.Several farm waggons and carts were moving creakily along the road to

Addlestone,andsuddenlythroughthegateofafieldwesaw,acrossastretchofflat meadow, six twelve-pounders standing neatly at equal distances pointingtowardsWoking.The gunners stood by the gunswaiting, and the ammunitionwaggons were at a business-like distance. The men stood almost as if underinsp