In London

My younger brother was in London when the Martians fell at Woking. He was a medical student working for an imminent examination, and he heard nothing of the arrival until Saturday morning. The morning papers on Saturday contained, in addition to lengthy special articles on the planet Mars, on life in the planets, and so forth, a brief and vaguely worded telegram, all the more striking for its brevity.

My younger brother was in London when the Martians fell at Woking. He was a medical student studying for an upcoming exam. He heard nothing about their arrival until Saturday morning. Saturday's morning papers contained long special articles about Mars, life on other planets, and related topics. They also carried a short, vaguely worded telegram. Its brevity made it all the more striking.

The Martians, alarmed by the approach of a crowd, had killed a number of people with a quick-firing gun, so the story ran. The telegram concluded with the words: “Formidable as they seem to be, the Martians have not moved from the pit into which they have fallen, and, indeed, seem incapable of doing so. Probably this is due to the relative strength of the earth’s gravitational energy.” On that last text their leader-writer expanded very comfortingly.

The story went that the Martians had been alarmed by an approaching crowd and killed several people with a rapid-fire gun. The telegram ended with these words: “As formidable as the Martians seem, they have not left the pit into which they fell. In fact, they seem unable to leave it. This is probably because of the relative strength of Earth’s gravity.” The newspaper’s editorial writer expanded on that last point in a very reassuring way.

Of course all the students in the crammer’s biology class, to which my brother went that day, were intensely interested, but there were no signs of any unusual excitement in the streets. The afternoon papers puffed scraps of news under big headlines. They had nothing to tell beyond the movements of troops about the common, and the burning of the pine woods between Woking and Weybridge, until eight. Then the St. James’s Gazette, in an extra-special edition, announced the bare fact of the interruption of telegraphic communication. This was thought to be due to the falling of burning pine trees across the line. Nothing more of the fighting was known that night, the night of my drive to Leatherhead and back.

Of course, all the students in the exam tutor’s biology class were intensely interested. My brother attended the class that day, but there were no signs of unusual excitement in the streets. The afternoon papers made much of scraps of news under large headlines. Until eight, they had nothing to report beyond troop movements around the common and the burning of the pine woods between Woking and Weybridge. Then the St. James’s Gazette, in an extra-special edition, announced only that telegraph communication had been interrupted. People thought burning pine trees had fallen across the line. Nothing more was known about the fighting that night, the night I drove to Leatherhead and back.

My brother felt no anxiety about us, as he knew from the description in the papers that the cylinder was a good two miles from my house. He made up his mind to run down that night to me, in order, as he says, to see the Things before they were killed. He dispatched a telegram, which never reached me, about four o’clock, and spent the evening at a music hall.

My brother wasn't worried about us. From the newspaper descriptions, he knew the cylinder was a good two miles from my house. He decided to come down that night. As he says, he wanted to see the Things before they were killed. Around four o'clock, he sent a telegram, but it never reached me. He spent the evening at a music hall.

In London, also, on Saturday night there was a thunderstorm, and my brother reached Waterloo in a cab. On the platform from which the midnight train usually starts he learned, after some waiting, that an accident prevented trains from reaching Woking that night. The nature of the accident he could not ascertain; indeed, the railway authorities did not clearly know at that time. There was very little excitement in the station, as the officials, failing to realise that anything further than a breakdown between Byfleet and Woking junction had occurred, were running the theatre trains which usually passed through Woking round by Virginia Water or Guildford. They were busy making the necessary arrangements to alter the route of the Southampton and Portsmouth Sunday League excursions. A nocturnal newspaper reporter, mistaking my brother for the traffic manager, to whom he bears a slight resemblance, waylaid and tried to interview him. Few people, excepting the railway officials, connected the breakdown with the Martians.

There was a thunderstorm in London on Saturday night too, and my brother reached Waterloo by cab. He went to the platform where the midnight train usually left. After waiting for a while, he learned that an accident was preventing trains from reaching Woking that night. He could not find out what had happened. In fact, the railway authorities themselves did not yet know. There was very little excitement in the station. The officials thought there had simply been a breakdown between Byfleet and Woking junction. So they were diverting the theatre trains that usually passed through Woking, sending them via Virginia Water or Guildford. They were busy arranging new routes for the Southampton and Portsmouth Sunday League excursions. A night reporter mistook my brother for the traffic manager, whom he slightly resembled. The reporter stopped him and tried to interview him. Few people, apart from the railway officials, connected the breakdown with the Martians.

I have read, in another account of these events, that on Sunday morning “all London was electrified by the news from Woking.” As a matter of fact, there was nothing to justify that very extravagant phrase. Plenty of Londoners did not hear of the Martians until the panic of Monday morning. Those who did took some time to realise all that the hastily worded telegrams in the Sunday papers conveyed. The majority of people in London do not read Sunday papers.

I have read another account of these events that says “all London was electrified by the news from Woking” on Sunday morning. In fact, nothing justified such an exaggerated claim. Plenty of Londoners did not hear about the Martians until the panic on Monday morning. Those who did hear took some time to understand everything conveyed by the hastily written telegrams in the Sunday papers. Most people in London do not read Sunday papers.

The habit of personal security, moreover, is so deeply fixed in the Londoner’s mind, and startling intelligence so much a matter of course in the papers, that they could read without any personal tremors: “About seven o’clock last night the Martians came out of the cylinder, and, moving about under an armour of metallic shields, have completely wrecked Woking station with the adjacent houses, and massacred an entire battalion of the Cardigan Regiment. No details are known. Maxims have been absolutely useless against their armour; the field guns have been disabled by them. Flying hussars have been galloping into Chertsey. The Martians appear to be moving slowly towards Chertsey or Windsor. Great anxiety prevails in West Surrey, and earthworks are being thrown up to check the advance Londonward.” That was how the Sunday Sun put it, and a clever and remarkably prompt “handbook” article in the Referee compared the affair to a menagerie suddenly let loose in a village.

Londoners were so used to feeling safe that the habit was deeply fixed in their minds. They were also so used to startling news in the papers that they could read the following without fearing for themselves: “About seven o’clock last night, the Martians came out of the cylinder. Moving under the protection of metallic shields, they completely destroyed Woking station and the nearby houses. They massacred an entire battalion of the Cardigan Regiment. No details are known. Maxim machine guns have been completely useless against their armour. The Martians have disabled the field guns. Hussars fleeing the scene have been galloping into Chertsey. The Martians appear to be moving slowly towards Chertsey or Windsor. There is great anxiety in West Surrey, and earthworks are being built to stop their advance towards London.” That was how the Sunday Sun reported it. A clever and remarkably prompt “handbook” article in the Referee compared the affair to a menagerie suddenly let loose in a village.

No one in London knew positively of the nature of the armoured Martians, and there was still a fixed idea that these monsters must be sluggish: “crawling,” “creeping painfully”—such expressions occurred in almost all the earlier reports. None of the telegrams could have been written by an eyewitness of their advance. The Sunday papers printed separate editions as further news came to hand, some even in default of it. But there was practically nothing more to tell people until late in the afternoon, when the authorities gave the press agencies the news in their possession. It was stated that the people of Walton and Weybridge, and all the district were pouring along the roads Londonward, and that was all.

No one in London knew exactly what the armoured Martians were like. People still firmly believed that these monsters must be slow. “Crawling” and “creeping painfully” appeared in almost all the early reports. None of the telegrams could have been written by someone who had seen the Martians advance. The Sunday papers printed separate editions as more news came in. Some even printed new editions without further news. But there was practically nothing more to tell people until late in the afternoon. Then the authorities gave the press agencies the news they had. They reported that people from Walton, Weybridge, and the whole district were streaming along the roads toward London. That was all.

My brother went to church at the Foundling Hospital in the morning, still in ignorance of what had happened on the previous night. There he heard allusions made to the invasion, and a special prayer for peace. Coming out, he bought a Referee. He became alarmed at the news in this, and went again to Waterloo station to find out if communication were restored. The omnibuses, carriages, cyclists, and innumerable people walking in their best clothes seemed scarcely affected by the strange intelligence that the newsvendors were disseminating. People were interested, or, if alarmed, alarmed only on account of the local residents. At the station he heard for the first time that the Windsor and Chertsey lines were now interrupted. The porters told him that several remarkable telegrams had been received in the morning from Byfleet and Chertsey stations, but that these had abruptly ceased. My brother could get very little precise detail out of them.

My brother went to church at the Foundling Hospital that morning, still unaware of what had happened the night before. There he heard references to the invasion and a special prayer for peace. On leaving, he bought a Referee. Alarmed by the news in it, he went back to Waterloo station to see if communication had been restored. The buses, carriages, cyclists, and countless people walking in their best clothes seemed hardly affected by the strange news the newsvendors were spreading. People were interested, or, if they were alarmed, they were alarmed only for the local residents. At the station, he learned for the first time that service on the Windsor and Chertsey lines was now interrupted. The porters told him that several remarkable telegrams had arrived that morning from Byfleet and Chertsey stations. But the telegrams had abruptly stopped. My brother could get very few precise details from the porters.

“There’s fighting going on about Weybridge” was the extent of their information.

“There’s fighting going on around Weybridge” was all they knew.

The train service was now very much disorganised. Quite a number of people who had been expecting friends from places on the South-Western network were standing about the station. One grey-headed old gentleman came and abused the South-Western Company bitterly to my brother. “It wants showing up,” he said.

The train service was now badly disrupted. Quite a few people were standing around the station, waiting for friends from places on the South-Western network. A grey-haired old gentleman came up to my brother and bitterly criticized the South-Western Company. “The company needs to be exposed,” he said.

One or two trains came in from Richmond, Putney, and Kingston, containing people who had gone out for a day’s boating and found the locks closed and a feeling of panic in the air. A man in a blue and white blazer addressed my brother, full of strange tidings.

One or two trains arrived from Richmond, Putney, and Kingston. They carried people who had gone out boating for the day. They had found the locks closed and sensed panic in the air. A man in a blue and white blazer spoke to my brother. He had strange news to share.

“There’s hosts of people driving into Kingston in traps and carts and things, with boxes of valuables and all that,” he said. “They come from Molesey and Weybridge and Walton, and they say there’s been guns heard at Chertsey, heavy firing, and that mounted soldiers have told them to get off at once because the Martians are coming. We heard guns firing at Hampton Court station, but we thought it was thunder. What the dickens does it all mean? The Martians can’t get out of their pit, can they?”

“Lots of people are driving into Kingston in horse-drawn carriages, carts, and other vehicles, carrying boxes of valuables and things like that,” he said. “They’re coming from Molesey, Weybridge, and Walton. They say heavy gunfire has been heard at Chertsey. They also say soldiers on horseback have told them to leave at once because the Martians are coming. We heard guns firing at Hampton Court station, but we thought it was thunder. What on earth does it all mean? The Martians can’t get out of their pit, can they?”

My brother could not tell him.

My brother couldn't tell him.

Afterwards he found that the vague feeling of alarm had spread to the clients of the underground railway, and that the Sunday excursionists began to return from all over the South-Western “lung”—Barnes, Wimbledon, Richmond Park, Kew, and so forth—at unnaturally early hours; but not a soul had anything more than vague hearsay to tell of. Everyone connected with the terminus seemed ill-tempered.

Afterward, he learned that a vague sense of alarm had spread to passengers on the underground railway. Sunday day-trippers were returning unusually early from all over the South-Western “lung”: Barnes, Wimbledon, Richmond Park, Kew, and other places. But not a single person had anything more than vague rumors to share. Everyone working at the terminus seemed bad-tempered.

About five o’clock the gathering crowd in the station was immensely excited by the opening of the line of communication, which is almost invariably closed, between the South-Eastern and the South-Western stations, and the passage of carriage trucks bearing huge guns and carriages crammed with soldiers. These were the guns that were brought up from Woolwich and Chatham to cover Kingston. There was an exchange of pleasantries: “You’ll get eaten!” “We’re the beast-tamers!” and so forth. A little while after that a squad of police came into the station and began to clear the public off the platforms, and my brother went out into the street again.

Around five o’clock, the growing crowd at the station became tremendously excited. The link between the South-Eastern and South-Western stations, which was almost always closed, had opened. Flatcars carrying huge guns and carriages packed with soldiers passed through. The guns had been brought from Woolwich and Chatham to defend Kingston. People exchanged jokes: “You’ll get eaten!” “We’re the beast-tamers!” and so on. A little later, a squad of police entered the station and began clearing the public from the platforms. My brother went back out into the street.

The church bells were ringing for evensong, and a squad of Salvation Army lassies came singing down Waterloo Road. On the bridge a number of loafers were watching a curious brown scum that came drifting down the stream in patches. The sun was just setting, and the Clock Tower and the Houses of Parliament rose against one of the most peaceful skies it is possible to imagine, a sky of gold, barred with long transverse stripes of reddish-purple cloud. There was talk of a floating body. One of the men there, a reservist he said he was, told my brother he had seen the heliograph flickering in the west.

The church bells were ringing for evening worship, and a group of young Salvation Army women came singing down Waterloo Road. On the bridge, several people were watching patches of strange brown scum drift down the river. The sun was just setting. The Clock Tower and the Houses of Parliament rose against one of the most peaceful skies imaginable. The sky was golden, crossed by long stripes of reddish-purple cloud. People were talking about a body floating in the river. One man there said he was a reservist. He told my brother he had seen the heliograph flashing in the west.

In Wellington Street my brother met a couple of sturdy roughs who had just been rushed out of Fleet Street with still-wet newspapers and staring placards. “Dreadful catastrophe!” they bawled one to the other down Wellington Street. “Fighting at Weybridge! Full description! Repulse of the Martians! London in Danger!” He had to give threepence for a copy of that paper.

In Wellington Street, my brother met two tough-looking men. They had just hurried out of Fleet Street carrying newspapers, still wet from the press, and eye-catching posters. They shouted to each other along Wellington Street, “Terrible disaster! Fighting at Weybridge! Full description! Martians driven back! London in Danger!” My brother had to pay threepence for a copy of the paper.

Then it was, and then only, that he realised something of the full power and terror of these monsters. He learned that they were not merely a handful of small sluggish creatures, but that they were minds swaying vast mechanical bodies; and that they could move swiftly and smite with such power that even the mightiest guns could not stand against them.

Only then did he begin to grasp the full power and terror of these monsters. He learned that they were not merely a handful of small, slow creatures. They were minds controlling vast mechanical bodies. They could move quickly and strike with such force that even the mightiest guns could not stand against them.

They were described as “vast spiderlike machines, nearly a hundred feet high, capable of the speed of an express train, and able to shoot out a beam of intense heat.” Masked batteries, chiefly of field guns, had been planted in the country about Horsell Common, and especially between the Woking district and London. Five of the machines had been seen moving towards the Thames, and one, by a happy chance, had been destroyed. In the other cases the shells had missed, and the batteries had been at once annihilated by the Heat-Rays. Heavy losses of soldiers were mentioned, but the tone of the dispatch was optimistic.

They were described as “huge spiderlike machines, nearly a hundred feet tall, able to travel as fast as an express train and shoot a beam of intense heat.” Concealed batteries, mostly made up of field guns, had been placed around Horsell Common. They were concentrated especially between the Woking district and London. Five machines had been seen moving toward the Thames, and one had been destroyed by a lucky chance. In the other cases, the shells had missed, and the Heat-Rays had immediately destroyed the batteries. The dispatch mentioned heavy losses among the soldiers, but its tone was optimistic.

The Martians had been repulsed; they were not invulnerable. They had retreated to their triangle of cylinders again, in the circle about Woking. Signallers with heliographs were pushing forward upon them from all sides. Guns were in rapid transit from Windsor, Portsmouth, Aldershot, Woolwich—even from the north; among others, long wire-guns of ninety-five tons from Woolwich. Altogether one hundred and sixteen were in position or being hastily placed, chiefly covering London. Never before in England had there been such a vast or rapid concentration of military material.

The Martians had been driven back. They were not invulnerable. They had retreated to their triangle of cylinders within the area around Woking. Signallers using heliographs were advancing toward them from all sides. Guns were being rushed in from Windsor, Portsmouth, Aldershot, Woolwich, and even from the north. Among them were long wire-guns from Woolwich, each weighing ninety-five tons. Altogether, one hundred and sixteen guns were in position or being hurriedly placed, mainly to cover London. Never before in England had so much military equipment been brought together so quickly.

Any further cylinders that fell, it was hoped, could be destroyed at once by high explosives, which were being rapidly manufactured and distributed. No doubt, ran the report, the situation was of the strangest and gravest description, but the public was exhorted to avoid and discourage panic. No doubt the Martians were strange and terrible in the extreme, but at the outside there could not be more than twenty of them against our millions.

People hoped that any more cylinders that fell could be destroyed immediately with high explosives. The explosives were being made and distributed quickly. The report said the situation was undoubtedly very strange and serious, but urged the public to avoid and discourage panic. The Martians were undoubtedly extremely strange and terrifying, but there could be no more than twenty of them against our millions.

The authorities had reason to suppose, from the size of the cylinders, that at the outside there could not be more than five in each cylinder—fifteen altogether. And one at least was disposed of—perhaps more. The public would be fairly warned of the approach of danger, and elaborate measures were being taken for the protection of the people in the threatened southwestern suburbs. And so, with reiterated assurances of the safety of London and the ability of the authorities to cope with the difficulty, this quasi-proclamation closed.

From the size of the cylinders, the authorities had reason to believe each could hold no more than five, fifteen in total. At least one had been dealt with, and perhaps more. The public would receive adequate warning if danger approached. Detailed measures were being taken to protect people in the southwestern suburbs under threat. The statement closed by repeatedly assuring the public that London was safe and that the authorities could handle the situation.

This was printed in enormous type on paper so fresh that it was still wet, and there had been no time to add a word of comment. It was curious, my brother said, to see how ruthlessly the usual contents of the paper had been hacked and taken out to give this place.

This was printed in huge type on paper so fresh it was still wet. There had been no time to add any comment. My brother said it was strange to see how ruthlessly the paper’s usual contents had been cut out to make room for this.

All down Wellington Street people could be seen fluttering out the pink sheets and reading, and the Strand was suddenly noisy with the voices of an army of hawkers following these pioneers. Men came scrambling off buses to secure copies. Certainly this news excited people intensely, whatever their previous apathy. The shutters of a map shop in the Strand were being taken down, my brother said, and a man in his Sunday raiment, lemon-yellow gloves even, was visible inside the window hastily fastening maps of Surrey to the glass.

All along Wellington Street, people were unfolding and reading the pink sheets. The Strand suddenly rang with the voices of an army of newspaper sellers following the first ones. Men scrambled off buses to get copies. Whatever their earlier indifference, the news certainly caused intense excitement. My brother said the shutters were being removed from a map shop in the Strand. Inside the window, a man in his Sunday best, even wearing lemon-yellow gloves, was hurriedly fastening maps of Surrey to the glass.

Going on along the Strand to Trafalgar Square, the paper in his hand, my brother saw some of the fugitives from West Surrey. There was a man with his wife and two boys and some articles of furniture in a cart such as greengrocers use. He was driving from the direction of Westminster Bridge; and close behind him came a hay waggon with five or six respectable-looking people in it, and some boxes and bundles. The faces of these people were haggard, and their entire appearance contrasted conspicuously with the Sabbath-best appearance of the people on the omnibuses. People in fashionable clothing peeped at them out of cabs. They stopped at the Square as if undecided which way to take, and finally turned eastward along the Strand. Some way behind these came a man in workday clothes, riding one of those old-fashioned tricycles with a small front wheel. He was dirty and white in the face.

As my brother continued along the Strand toward Trafalgar Square, newspaper in hand, he saw some refugees from West Surrey. A man was traveling with his wife and two boys in a greengrocer’s cart, along with some furniture. He was driving from the direction of Westminster Bridge. Close behind him came a hay wagon carrying five or six respectable-looking people, along with boxes and bundles. Their faces were drawn, and their whole appearance stood out against the people on the buses, dressed in their Sunday best. Fashionably dressed people peered at the refugees from cabs. The refugees stopped at the Square, as if unsure which way to go. Finally, they turned east along the Strand. Some distance behind them came a man in work clothes, riding an old-fashioned tricycle with a small front wheel. He was dirty and pale.

My brother turned down towards Victoria, and met a number of such people. He had a vague idea that he might see something of me. He noticed an unusual number of police regulating the traffic. Some of the refugees were exchanging news with the people on the omnibuses. One was professing to have seen the Martians. “Boilers on stilts, I tell you, striding along like men.” Most of them were excited and animated by their strange experience.

My brother headed toward Victoria and met a number of people like these. He had a vague hope that he might see me. He noticed an unusual number of police directing traffic. Some of the refugees were exchanging news with people on the buses. One claimed to have seen the Martians. “Boilers on stilts, I tell you, striding along like men.” Most of the refugees were excited and lively after their strange experience.

Beyond Victoria the public-houses were doing a lively trade with these arrivals. At all the street corners groups of people were reading papers, talking excitedly, or staring at these unusual Sunday visitors. They seemed to increase as night drew on, until at last the roads, my brother said, were like Epsom High Street on a Derby Day. My brother addressed several of these fugitives and got unsatisfactory answers from most.

Beyond Victoria, pubs were doing brisk business with the new arrivals. At every street corner, groups of people were reading newspapers, talking excitedly, or staring at these unusual Sunday visitors. The visitors seemed to grow more numerous as night fell. Eventually, my brother said, the roads were like Epsom High Street on Derby Day. My brother spoke to several of the fugitives, but most gave unsatisfactory answers.

None of them could tell him any news of Woking except one man, who assured him that Woking had been entirely destroyed on the previous night.

Only one of them had news of Woking. He assured him that Woking had been completely destroyed the night before.

“I come from Byfleet,” he said; “a man on a bicycle came through the place in the early morning, and ran from door to door warning us to come away. Then came soldiers. We went out to look, and there were clouds of smoke to the south—nothing but smoke, and not a soul coming that way. Then we heard the guns at Chertsey, and folks coming from Weybridge. So I’ve locked up my house and come on.”

“I come from Byfleet,” he said. “A man on a bicycle came through early this morning. He went from door to door, warning us to leave. Then soldiers came. We went out to look and saw clouds of smoke to the south. There was nothing but smoke, and not a soul coming from that direction. Then we heard the guns at Chertsey and people coming from Weybridge. So I locked up my house and came on.”

At that time there was a strong feeling in the streets that the authorities were to blame for their incapacity to dispose of the invaders without all this inconvenience.

At the time, many people in the streets blamed the authorities. They felt the authorities should have been able to get rid of the invaders without all this inconvenience.

About eight o’clock a noise of heavy firing was distinctly audible all over the south of London. My brother could not hear it for the traffic in the main thoroughfares, but by striking through the quiet back streets to the river he was able to distinguish it quite plainly.

Around eight o’clock, the sound of heavy gunfire could be heard clearly all across south London. My brother could not hear it over the traffic on the main roads. But he made his way through the quiet back streets to the river, where he could hear the gunfire quite plainly.

He walked from Westminster to his apartments near Regent’s Park, about two. He was now very anxious on my account, and disturbed at the evident magnitude of the trouble. His mind was inclined to run, even as mine had run on Saturday, on military details. He thought of all those silent, expectant guns, of the suddenly nomadic countryside; he tried to imagine “boilers on stilts” a hundred feet high.

At about two, he walked from Westminster to his apartment near Regent’s Park. He was now very worried about me and troubled by the obvious scale of the danger. Just as I had on Saturday, he found himself thinking about military details. He thought of all those silent guns, ready and waiting, and of the countryside suddenly on the move. He tried to imagine “boilers on stilts” a hundred feet high.

There were one or two cartloads of refugees passing along Oxford Street, and several in the Marylebone Road, but so slowly was the news spreading that Regent Street and Portland Place were full of their usual Sunday-night promenaders, albeit they talked in groups, and along the edge of Regent’s Park there were as many silent couples “walking out” together under the scattered gas lamps as ever there had been. The night was warm and still, and a little oppressive; the sound of guns continued intermittently, and after midnight there seemed to be sheet lightning in the south.

One or two cartloads of refugees were passing along Oxford Street, and several more were on the Marylebone Road. But the news was spreading so slowly that Regent Street and Portland Place were full of their usual Sunday evening walkers. They talked in groups, though. Along the edge of Regent’s Park, as many silent couples as ever were “walking out” together beneath the scattered gas lamps. The night was warm and still, and a little oppressive. The sound of guns continued now and then, and after midnight there seemed to be sheet lightning in the south.

He read and re-read the paper, fearing the worst had happened to me. He was restless, and after supper prowled out again aimlessly. He returned and tried in vain to divert his attention to his examination notes. He went to bed a little after midnight, and was awakened from lurid dreams in the small hours of Monday by the sound of door knockers, feet running in the street, distant drumming, and a clamour of bells. Red reflections danced on the ceiling. For a moment he lay astonished, wondering whether day had come or the world gone mad. Then he jumped out of bed and ran to the window.

He read the paper again and again, fearing that the worst had happened to me. He was restless, and after supper he wandered out again without any purpose. When he returned, he tried to focus on his examination notes, but could not. He went to bed a little after midnight. In the early hours of Monday, he woke from vivid, disturbing dreams. He heard door knockers, feet running in the street, distant drumming, and a clamour of bells. Red reflections danced on the ceiling. For a moment he lay there in astonishment, wondering whether day had come or the world had gone mad. Then he jumped out of bed and ran to the window.

His room was an attic and as he thrust his head out, up and down the street there were a dozen echoes to the noise of his window sash, and heads in every kind of night disarray appeared. Enquiries were being shouted. “They are coming!” bawled a policeman, hammering at the door; “the Martians are coming!” and hurried to the next door.

His room was in the attic. As he stuck his head out, a dozen windows opened up and down the street, echoing the sound of his own. Heads appeared, their hair in every kind of nighttime disarray. People shouted questions. “They are coming!” a policeman shouted, hammering at the door. “The Martians are coming!” He hurried to the next door.

The sound of drumming and trumpeting came from the Albany Street Barracks, and every church within earshot was hard at work killing sleep with a vehement disorderly tocsin. There was a noise of doors opening, and window after window in the houses opposite flashed from darkness into yellow illumination.

Drums and trumpets sounded from the Albany Street Barracks. Every church within earshot was ringing a fierce, chaotic alarm, making sleep impossible. Doors opened, and window after window in the houses opposite lit up yellow.

Up the street came galloping a closed carriage, bursting abruptly into noise at the corner, rising to a clattering climax under the window, and dying away slowly in the distance. Close on the rear of this came a couple of cabs, the forerunners of a long procession of flying vehicles, going for the most part to Chalk Farm station, where the North-Western special trains were loading up, instead of coming down the gradient into Euston.

A closed carriage came galloping up the street. Its noise burst out as it rounded the corner, reached a clattering peak beneath the window, then slowly faded into the distance. Two cabs followed close behind. They were the first in a long procession of vehicles fleeing the area. Most were headed for Chalk Farm station, where the North-Western special trains were taking on passengers instead of coming down the slope into Euston.

For a long time my brother stared out of the window in blank astonishment, watching the policemen hammering at door after door, and delivering their incomprehensible message. Then the door behind him opened, and the man who lodged across the landing came in, dressed only in shirt, trousers, and slippers, his braces loose about his waist, his hair disordered from his pillow.

For a long time, my brother stared out of the window in stunned disbelief. He watched the policemen pounding on doors and delivering their incomprehensible message. Then the door behind him opened, and the man who rented the room across the landing came in. He wore only a shirt, trousers, and slippers. His suspenders hung loose around his waist, and his hair was messy from sleep.

“What the devil is it?” he asked. “A fire? What a devil of a row!”

“What the devil is it?” he asked. “A fire? What a terrible noise!”

They both craned their heads out of the window, straining to hear what the policemen were shouting. People were coming out of the side streets, and standing in groups at the corners talking.

They both leaned out of the window, trying to hear what the police officers were shouting. People were coming out of the side streets and gathering in groups at the corners to talk.

“What the devil is it all about?” said my brother’s fellow lodger.

“What the hell is it all about?” said my brother’s fellow tenant.

My brother answered him vaguely and began to dress, running with each garment to the window in order to miss nothing of the growing excitement. And presently men selling unnaturally early newspapers came bawling into the street:

My brother gave him a vague answer and began to dress. With each piece of clothing, he ran to the window so he would not miss any of the growing excitement. Soon, men came into the street shouting as they sold newspapers that had come out unusually early:

“London in danger of suffocation! The Kingston and Richmond defences forced! Fearful massacres in the Thames Valley!”

“London in danger of suffocating! The defenses at Kingston and Richmond have been breached! Horrific massacres in the Thames Valley!”

And all about him—in the rooms below, in the houses on each side and across the road, and behind in the Park Terraces and in the hundred other streets of that part of Marylebone, and the Westbourne Park district and St. Pancras, and westward and northward in Kilburn and St. John’s Wood and Hampstead, and eastward in Shoreditch and Highbury and Haggerston and Hoxton, and, indeed, through all the vastness of London from Ealing to East Ham—people were rubbing their eyes, and opening windows to stare out and ask aimless questions, dressing hastily as the first breath of the coming storm of Fear blew through the streets. It was the dawn of the great panic. London, which had gone to bed on Sunday night oblivious and inert, was awakened, in the small hours of Monday morning, to a vivid sense of danger.

All around him, people were rubbing their eyes, opening windows to stare out, asking aimless questions, and dressing hastily. They were in the rooms below, in the houses on either side and across the road, and behind him in Park Terraces. They were in the hundred other streets of that part of Marylebone, in the Westbourne Park district and St. Pancras. They were in Kilburn, St. John’s Wood, and Hampstead to the west and north. They were in Shoreditch, Highbury, Haggerston, and Hoxton to the east. Indeed, all across the vastness of London, from Ealing to East Ham, people were waking as the first breath of the coming storm of Fear blew through the streets. It was the dawn of the great panic. London had gone to bed on Sunday night unaware and inactive. In the early hours of Monday morning, it woke to a vivid sense of danger.

Unable from his window to learn what was happening, my brother went down and out into the street, just as the sky between the parapets of the houses grew pink with the early dawn. The flying people on foot and in vehicles grew more numerous every moment. “Black Smoke!” he heard people crying, and again “Black Smoke!” The contagion of such a unanimous fear was inevitable. As my brother hesitated on the door-step, he saw another newsvendor approaching, and got a paper forthwith. The man was running away with the rest, and selling his papers for a shilling each as he ran—a grotesque mingling of profit and panic.

Unable to see what was happening from his window, my brother went downstairs and out into the street. The sky between the rooftops was turning pink with the early dawn. More and more people were fleeing on foot and in vehicles. He heard people crying, “Black Smoke!” and then again, “Black Smoke!” With everyone so afraid, it was inevitable that my brother would feel afraid too. As he hesitated on the doorstep, he saw another newspaper seller approaching and immediately bought a paper. The man was running away with everyone else, selling his papers for a shilling each as he ran. It was a grotesque mix of profit and panic.

And from this paper my brother read that catastrophic dispatch of the Commander-in-Chief:

And in this newspaper, my brother read the Commander-in-Chief's disastrous report:

That was all, but it was enough. The whole population of the great six-million city was stirring, slipping, running; presently it would be pouring en masse northward.

That was all, but it was enough. The whole population of the great city of six million was stirring, slipping away, running. Soon they would be pouring together northward.

“Black Smoke!” the voices cried. “Fire!”

“Black Smoke!” the voices shouted. “Fire!”

The bells of the neighbouring church made a jangling tumult, a cart carelessly driven smashed, amid shrieks and curses, against the water trough up the street. Sickly yellow lights went to and fro in the houses, and some of the passing cabs flaunted unextinguished lamps. And overhead the dawn was growing brighter, clear and steady and calm.

The bells of the nearby church rang in a noisy jumble. A carelessly driven cart smashed into the water trough up the street, amid screams and curses. Sickly yellow lights moved back and forth inside the houses, and some of the passing cabs still had their lamps lit. Overhead, the dawn grew brighter, clear, steady, and calm.

He heard footsteps running to and fro in the rooms, and up and down stairs behind him. His landlady came to the door, loosely wrapped in dressing gown and shawl; her husband followed, ejaculating.

He heard footsteps running back and forth through the rooms and up and down the stairs behind him. His landlady came to the door, loosely wrapped in a dressing gown and shawl. Her husband followed, shouting.

As my brother began to realise the import of all these things, he turned hastily to his own room, put all his available money—some ten pounds altogether—into his pockets, and went out again into the streets.

As my brother began to understand what all these things meant, he hurried back to his room. He put all the money he had, about ten pounds in total, into his pockets. Then he went back out into the streets.