What Had Happened in Surrey

It was while the curate had sat and talked so wildly to me under the hedge in the flat meadows near Halliford, and while my brother was watching the fugitives stream over Westminster Bridge, that the Martians had resumed the offensive. So far as one can ascertain from the conflicting accounts that have been put forth, the majority of them remained busied with preparations in the Horsell pit until nine that night, hurrying on some operation that disengaged huge volumes of green smoke.

The curate sat under the hedge in the flat meadows near Halliford, talking wildly to me. Meanwhile, my brother watched the fugitives streaming across Westminster Bridge. It was then that the Martians resumed their attack. The accounts conflict, but as far as one can tell, most of the Martians stayed in the Horsell pit until nine that night. They were busy with preparations, rushing some operation that released huge clouds of green smoke.

But three certainly came out about eight o’clock and, advancing slowly and cautiously, made their way through Byfleet and Pyrford towards Ripley and Weybridge, and so came in sight of the expectant batteries against the setting sun. These Martians did not advance in a body, but in a line, each perhaps a mile and a half from his nearest fellow. They communicated with one another by means of sirenlike howls, running up and down the scale from one note to another.

But three certainly came out around eight o’clock. They moved slowly and cautiously through Byfleet and Pyrford towards Ripley and Weybridge. There, against the setting sun, they came into view of the waiting artillery batteries. These Martians did not advance as a group, but in a line. Each was perhaps a mile and a half from the nearest one. They communicated with one another through sirenlike howls that rose and fell from one note to another.

It was this howling and firing of the guns at Ripley and St. George’s Hill that we had heard at Upper Halliford. The Ripley gunners, unseasoned artillery volunteers who ought never to have been placed in such a position, fired one wild, premature, ineffectual volley, and bolted on horse and foot through the deserted village, while the Martian, without using his Heat-Ray, walked serenely over their guns, stepped gingerly among them, passed in front of them, and so came unexpectedly upon the guns in Painshill Park, which he destroyed.

The howling and gunfire we had heard at Upper Halliford came from Ripley and St. George’s Hill. The gunners at Ripley were inexperienced artillery volunteers. They should never have been placed in such a position. They fired one wild, premature, useless volley, then fled through the deserted village, some on horseback and some on foot. Meanwhile, the Martian walked calmly over their guns without using his Heat-Ray. He stepped carefully among the guns and passed in front of them. He then came unexpectedly upon the guns in Painshill Park and destroyed them.

The St. George’s Hill men, however, were better led or of a better mettle. Hidden by a pine wood as they were, they seem to have been quite unsuspected by the Martian nearest to them. They laid their guns as deliberately as if they had been on parade, and fired at about a thousand yards’ range.

The St. George’s Hill men, however, were better led or braver. Hidden by a pine wood, they seem to have escaped the notice of the nearest Martian. They aimed their guns as calmly as if they were on parade and fired from about a thousand yards away.

The shells flashed all round him, and he was seen to advance a few paces, stagger, and go down. Everybody yelled together, and the guns were reloaded in frantic haste. The overthrown Martian set up a prolonged ululation, and immediately a second glittering giant, answering him, appeared over the trees to the south. It would seem that a leg of the tripod had been smashed by one of the shells. The whole of the second volley flew wide of the Martian on the ground, and, simultaneously, both his companions brought their Heat-Rays to bear on the battery. The ammunition blew up, the pine trees all about the guns flashed into fire, and only one or two of the men who were already running over the crest of the hill escaped.

Shells flashed all around him. He was seen to advance a few steps, stagger, and fall. Everyone shouted at once, and the guns were reloaded in frantic haste. The fallen Martian let out a long howl. Immediately, a second glittering giant appeared above the trees to the south, answering him. It seemed that one of the shells had smashed a leg of the tripod. The entire second volley missed the Martian on the ground. At the same time, both his companions aimed their Heat-Rays at the battery. The ammunition exploded, and the pine trees all around the guns burst into flames. Only one or two of the men already running over the top of the hill escaped.

After this it would seem that the three took counsel together and halted, and the scouts who were watching them report that they remained absolutely stationary for the next half hour. The Martian who had been overthrown crawled tediously out of his hood, a small brown figure, oddly suggestive from that distance of a speck of blight, and apparently engaged in the repair of his support. About nine he had finished, for his cowl was then seen above the trees again.

After this, the three seem to have consulted one another and stopped. The scouts watching them reported that they remained completely still for the next half hour. The fallen Martian slowly crawled out of his hood. From a distance, the small brown figure strangely resembled a speck of blight. He appeared to be repairing his support. By about nine, he had finished, since his cowl could be seen above the trees again.

It was a few minutes past nine that night when these three sentinels were joined by four other Martians, each carrying a thick black tube. A similar tube was handed to each of the three, and the seven proceeded to distribute themselves at equal distances along a curved line between St. George’s Hill, Weybridge, and the village of Send, southwest of Ripley.

A few minutes after nine that night, four more Martians joined the three sentinels. Each newcomer carried a thick black tube. Each of the three sentinels was given a similar tube. The seven Martians then spaced themselves evenly along a curved line between St. George’s Hill, Weybridge, and the village of Send, southwest of Ripley.

A dozen rockets sprang out of the hills before them so soon as they began to move, and warned the waiting batteries about Ditton and Esher. At the same time four of their fighting machines, similarly armed with tubes, crossed the river, and two of them, black against the western sky, came into sight of myself and the curate as we hurried wearily and painfully along the road that runs northward out of Halliford. They moved, as it seemed to us, upon a cloud, for a milky mist covered the fields and rose to a third of their height.

As soon as they began to move, a dozen rockets shot up from the hills ahead of them. The rockets warned the waiting batteries around Ditton and Esher. At the same time, four of their fighting machines crossed the river, also armed with tubes. The curate and I saw two of them, silhouetted against the western sky. We were hurrying along the road north out of Halliford, weary and in pain. The machines seemed to be moving on a cloud. A milky mist covered the fields and rose a third of the way up their height.

At this sight the curate cried faintly in his throat, and began running; but I knew it was no good running from a Martian, and I turned aside and crawled through dewy nettles and brambles into the broad ditch by the side of the road. He looked back, saw what I was doing, and turned to join me.

At the sight, the curate let out a faint cry and began to run. But I knew there was no point in running from a Martian. I turned aside and crawled through dewy nettles and brambles into the broad ditch beside the road. He looked back, saw what I was doing, and turned to join me.

The two halted, the nearer to us standing and facing Sunbury, the remoter being a grey indistinctness towards the evening star, away towards Staines.

The two stopped. The one nearer to us stood facing Sunbury. The farther one was a vague grey shape toward the evening star, in the direction of Staines.

The occasional howling of the Martians had ceased; they took up their positions in the huge crescent about their cylinders in absolute silence. It was a crescent with twelve miles between its horns. Never since the devising of gunpowder was the beginning of a battle so still. To us and to an observer about Ripley it would have had precisely the same effect—the Martians seemed in solitary possession of the darkling night, lit only as it was by the slender moon, the stars, the afterglow of the daylight, and the ruddy glare from St. George’s Hill and the woods of Painshill.

The Martians’ occasional howling had stopped. In absolute silence, they took up positions in a huge crescent around their cylinders. The crescent stretched twelve miles from one tip to the other. Never since the invention of gunpowder had a battle begun so quietly. The scene would have looked exactly the same to us as to someone near Ripley. The Martians seemed to have the darkening night entirely to themselves. The only light came from the slender moon, the stars, the fading daylight, and the red glow from St. George’s Hill and the woods of Painshill.

But facing that crescent everywhere—at Staines, Hounslow, Ditton, Esher, Ockham, behind hills and woods south of the river, and across the flat grass meadows to the north of it, wherever a cluster of trees or village houses gave sufficient cover—the guns were waiting. The signal rockets burst and rained their sparks through the night and vanished, and the spirit of all those watching batteries rose to a tense expectation. The Martians had but to advance into the line of fire, and instantly those motionless black forms of men, those guns glittering so darkly in the early night, would explode into a thunderous fury of battle.

But guns waited everywhere facing that crescent, at Staines, Hounslow, Ditton, Esher, and Ockham. They waited behind hills and woods south of the river and across the flat grassy meadows to the north. They were wherever a cluster of trees or village houses offered enough cover. Signal rockets burst, showered sparks through the night, and vanished. Every battery watching grew tense with anticipation. The Martians only had to advance into the line of fire. Then those motionless black figures of men and those guns glittering darkly in the early night would explode into a thunderous fury of battle.

No doubt the thought that was uppermost in a thousand of those vigilant minds, even as it was uppermost in mine, was the riddle—how much they understood of us. Did they grasp that we in our millions were organized, disciplined, working together? Or did they interpret our spurts of fire, the sudden stinging of our shells, our steady investment of their encampment, as we should the furious unanimity of onslaught in a disturbed hive of bees? Did they dream they might exterminate us? (At that time no one knew what food they needed.) A hundred such questions struggled together in my mind as I watched that vast sentinel shape. And in the back of my mind was the sense of all the huge unknown and hidden forces Londonward. Had they prepared pitfalls? Were the powder mills at Hounslow ready as a snare? Would the Londoners have the heart and courage to make a greater Moscow of their mighty province of houses?

No doubt the question foremost in a thousand of those watchful minds was the same as mine: how much did the Martians understand about us? Did they realize that we were millions strong, organized, disciplined, and working together? Or did they see our bursts of gunfire and the sudden sting of our shells as we would see the united fury of bees attacking when their hive is disturbed? Did they see our steady encirclement of their camp in the same way? Did they imagine they could wipe us out? (At the time, no one knew what food they needed.) A hundred questions like these crowded my mind as I watched that huge sentinel shape. At the back of my mind, I also sensed all the vast, unknown forces hidden in the direction of London. Had they prepared traps? Were the powder mills at Hounslow ready to be used as a trap? Would the people of London have the heart and courage to make their vast expanse of houses into an even greater Moscow?

Then, after an interminable time, as it seemed to us, crouching and peering through the hedge, came a sound like the distant concussion of a gun. Another nearer, and then another. And then the Martian beside us raised his tube on high and discharged it, gunwise, with a heavy report that made the ground heave. The one towards Staines answered him. There was no flash, no smoke, simply that loaded detonation.

Then, after what seemed like an endless time as we crouched and peered through the hedge, we heard a sound like distant gunfire. Another shot sounded closer, and then another. Then the Martian beside us raised his tube high and fired it like a gun. The heavy blast made the ground heave. The Martian toward Staines answered him. There was no flash or smoke, just that powerful blast.

I was so excited by these heavy minute-guns following one another that I so far forgot my personal safety and my scalded hands as to clamber up into the hedge and stare towards Sunbury. As I did so a second report followed, and a big projectile hurtled overhead towards Hounslow. I expected at least to see smoke or fire, or some such evidence of its work. But all I saw was the deep blue sky above, with one solitary star, and the white mist spreading wide and low beneath. And there had been no crash, no answering explosion. The silence was restored; the minute lengthened to three.

The heavy guns fired one after another, a minute apart. I was so excited that I forgot my safety and my scalded hands. I climbed up into the hedge and stared toward Sunbury. As I did, another shot rang out, and a large projectile flew overhead toward Hounslow. I expected to see at least some smoke or fire, or some other sign of its effect. But all I saw was the deep blue sky above, with a single star, and white mist spreading wide and low beneath it. There was no crash or answering explosion. Silence returned, and one minute stretched into three.

“What has happened?” said the curate, standing up beside me.

“What happened?” said the curate, standing up beside me.

“Heaven knows!” said I.

“Heaven knows!” I said.

A bat flickered by and vanished. A distant tumult of shouting began and ceased. I looked again at the Martian, and saw he was now moving eastward along the riverbank, with a swift, rolling motion.

A bat darted past and vanished. Shouting broke out in the distance, then stopped. I looked at the Martian again. He was moving east along the riverbank with a swift, rolling motion.

Every moment I expected the fire of some hidden battery to spring upon him; but the evening calm was unbroken. The figure of the Martian grew smaller as he receded, and presently the mist and the gathering night had swallowed him up. By a common impulse we clambered higher. Towards Sunbury was a dark appearance, as though a conical hill had suddenly come into being there, hiding our view of the farther country; and then, remoter across the river, over Walton, we saw another such summit. These hill-like forms grew lower and broader even as we stared.

At any moment, I expected a hidden battery to open fire on him, but the evening calm remained unbroken. The Martian grew smaller as he moved away. Soon the mist and gathering darkness swallowed him up. We all climbed higher on the same impulse. Toward Sunbury, there was a dark shape, as if a cone-shaped hill had suddenly appeared there. It hid our view of the land beyond. Then, farther away across the river, over Walton, we saw another similar peak. Even as we stared, these hill-like shapes grew lower and wider.

Moved by a sudden thought, I looked northward, and there I perceived a third of these cloudy black kopjes had risen.

A sudden thought made me look north, where I saw that a third of these cloudy black hills had risen.

Everything had suddenly become very still. Far away to the southeast, marking the quiet, we heard the Martians hooting to one another, and then the air quivered again with the distant thud of their guns. But the earthly artillery made no reply.

Everything had suddenly become very still. Far away to the southeast, we heard the Martians hooting to one another, breaking the silence. Then the air shook again with the distant thud of their guns. But the Earth's artillery did not reply.

Now at the time we could not understand these things, but later I was to learn the meaning of these ominous kopjes that gathered in the twilight. Each of the Martians, standing in the great crescent I have described, had discharged, by means of the gunlike tube he carried, a huge canister over whatever hill, copse, cluster of houses, or other possible cover for guns, chanced to be in front of him. Some fired only one of these, some two—as in the case of the one we had seen; the one at Ripley is said to have discharged no fewer than five at that time. These canisters smashed on striking the ground—they did not explode—and incontinently disengaged an enormous volume of heavy, inky vapour, coiling and pouring upward in a huge and ebony cumulus cloud, a gaseous hill that sank and spread itself slowly over the surrounding country. And the touch of that vapour, the inhaling of its pungent wisps, was death to all that breathes.

At the time, we could not understand these things. But later I learned what those ominous hill-like shapes gathering in the twilight meant. The Martians stood in the great crescent I have described. Each used the gunlike tube he carried to fire a huge canister over whatever possible cover for guns lay ahead. It might be a hill, a patch of woods, a cluster of houses, or something else. Some Martians fired only one canister, and some fired two, as the one we had seen did. The Martian at Ripley is said to have fired no fewer than five at that time. The canisters smashed when they hit the ground. They did not explode. Instead, they immediately released an enormous amount of heavy, inky vapor. It curled and poured upward in a huge, black cumulus cloud, a gaseous hill that sank and slowly spread over the surrounding countryside. The touch of that vapor, or the inhalation of its sharp-smelling wisps, meant death to all that breathes.

It was heavy, this vapour, heavier than the densest smoke, so that, after the first tumultuous uprush and outflow of its impact, it sank down through the air and poured over the ground in a manner rather liquid than gaseous, abandoning the hills, and streaming into the valleys and ditches and watercourses even as I have heard the carbonic-acid gas that pours from volcanic clefts is wont to do. And where it came upon water some chemical action occurred, and the surface would be instantly covered with a powdery scum that sank slowly and made way for more. The scum was absolutely insoluble, and it is a strange thing, seeing the instant effect of the gas, that one could drink without hurt the water from which it had been strained. The vapour did not diffuse as a true gas would do. It hung together in banks, flowing sluggishly down the slope of the land and driving reluctantly before the wind, and very slowly it combined with the mist and moisture of the air, and sank to the earth in the form of dust. Save that an unknown element giving a group of four lines in the blue of the spectrum is concerned, we are still entirely ignorant of the nature of this substance.

The vapour was heavy, heavier than the densest smoke. After surging violently upward and outward on impact, it sank through the air and flowed over the ground more like a liquid than a gas. It left the hills and streamed into valleys, ditches, and watercourses. I have heard that carbon dioxide gas flowing from volcanic cracks does much the same. Where the vapour reached water, some chemical reaction occurred. The surface was instantly covered with a powdery scum, which slowly sank and made way for more. The scum was completely insoluble. Strangely, given the gas’s instant effect, one could safely drink water after the scum had been strained from it. The vapour did not spread out as a true gas would. It stayed together in banks, flowing slowly down slopes and moving reluctantly before the wind. Very slowly, it combined with mist and moisture in the air and settled on the ground as dust. We still know nothing about the nature of this substance, except that an unknown element is involved. This element produces a group of four lines in the blue part of the spectrum.

Once the tumultuous upheaval of its dispersion was over, the black smoke clung so closely to the ground, even before its precipitation, that fifty feet up in the air, on the roofs and upper stories of high houses and on great trees, there was a chance of escaping its poison altogether, as was proved even that night at Street Cobham and Ditton.

Once the violent turbulence of its spread had passed, the black smoke clung close to the ground, even before settling. So fifty feet up, on roofs, in the upper stories of tall houses, or in large trees, there was a chance of escaping its poison altogether. This was proved that very night at Street Cobham and Ditton.

The man who escaped at the former place tells a wonderful story of the strangeness of its coiling flow, and how he looked down from the church spire and saw the houses of the village rising like ghosts out of its inky nothingness. For a day and a half he remained there, weary, starving and sun-scorched, the earth under the blue sky and against the prospect of the distant hills a velvet-black expanse, with red roofs, green trees, and, later, black-veiled shrubs and gates, barns, outhouses, and walls, rising here and there into the sunlight.

The man who escaped at the first place told an astonishing story about the strange way it flowed and curled. From the church spire, he saw the village houses rising like ghosts out of its inky darkness. He stayed there for a day and a half, exhausted, starving, and scorched by the sun. Beneath the blue sky and against the distant hills, the earth was a velvet black expanse. Red roofs and green trees rose here and there into the sunlight. Later, shrubs and gates, barns, outbuildings, and walls rose into view, veiled in black.

But that was at Street Cobham, where the black vapour was allowed to remain until it sank of its own accord into the ground. As a rule the Martians, when it had served its purpose, cleared the air of it again by wading into it and directing a jet of steam upon it.

But that was at Street Cobham, where the black vapour was left to sink into the ground on its own. Usually, once the vapour had served its purpose, the Martians cleared it from the air. They did this by wading into it and directing a jet of steam at it.

This they did with the vapour banks near us, as we saw in the starlight from the window of a deserted house at Upper Halliford, whither we had returned. From there we could see the searchlights on Richmond Hill and Kingston Hill going to and fro, and about eleven the windows rattled, and we heard the sound of the huge siege guns that had been put in position there. These continued intermittently for the space of a quarter of an hour, sending chance shots at the invisible Martians at Hampton and Ditton, and then the pale beams of the electric light vanished, and were replaced by a bright red glow.

They did this with the banks of vapour near us, as we saw by starlight from a deserted house. We had returned to the house in Upper Halliford. From its window, we could see searchlights sweeping back and forth on Richmond Hill and Kingston Hill. Around eleven, the windows rattled as we heard the huge siege guns positioned on the hills. The guns fired intermittently for fifteen minutes, sending shots at random toward the invisible Martians at Hampton and Ditton. Then the pale beams of electric light vanished, and a bright red glow took their place.

Then the fourth cylinder fell—a brilliant green meteor—as I learned afterwards, in Bushey Park. Before the guns on the Richmond and Kingston line of hills began, there was a fitful cannonade far away in the southwest, due, I believe, to guns being fired haphazard before the black vapour could overwhelm the gunners.

Then the fourth cylinder fell, a brilliant green meteor. I learned afterwards that it landed in Bushey Park. Before the guns on the Richmond and Kingston hills began firing, there was sporadic cannon fire far to the southwest. I believe the guns were fired at random before the black vapour could overwhelm the gunners.

So, setting about it as methodically as men might smoke out a wasps’ nest, the Martians spread this strange stifling vapour over the Londonward country. The horns of the crescent slowly moved apart, until at last they formed a line from Hanwell to Coombe and Malden. All night through their destructive tubes advanced. Never once, after the Martian at St. George’s Hill was brought down, did they give the artillery the ghost of a chance against them. Wherever there was a possibility of guns being laid for them unseen, a fresh canister of the black vapour was discharged, and where the guns were openly displayed the Heat-Ray was brought to bear.

The Martians set about their task as methodically as people smoking out a wasps’ nest. They spread the strange, suffocating vapour over the countryside toward London. The two ends of their crescent slowly moved apart. At last, they formed a line from Hanwell to Coombe and Malden. Their destructive tubes advanced all night. After the Martian at St. George’s Hill was brought down, the Martians never gave the artillery the slightest chance against them. Wherever guns might have been hidden and aimed at them, they released another canister of black vapour. Where guns were in plain sight, they aimed the Heat-Ray at them.

By midnight the blazing trees along the slopes of Richmond Park and the glare of Kingston Hill threw their light upon a network of black smoke, blotting out the whole valley of the Thames and extending as far as the eye could reach. And through this two Martians slowly waded, and turned their hissing steam jets this way and that.

By midnight, burning trees on the slopes of Richmond Park and the glow from Kingston Hill lit up a network of black smoke. The smoke covered the whole Thames valley and stretched as far as the eye could see. Two Martians slowly waded through the smoke, turning their hissing steam jets in every direction.

They were sparing of the Heat-Ray that night, either because they had but a limited supply of material for its production or because they did not wish to destroy the country but only to crush and overawe the opposition they had aroused. In the latter aim they certainly succeeded. Sunday night was the end of the organised opposition to their movements. After that no body of men would stand against them, so hopeless was the enterprise. Even the crews of the torpedo-boats and destroyers that had brought their quick-firers up the Thames refused to stop, mutinied, and went down again. The only offensive operation men ventured upon after that night was the preparation of mines and pitfalls, and even in that their energies were frantic and spasmodic.

They used the Heat-Ray sparingly that night. Perhaps they had only a limited supply of the material needed to produce it. Or perhaps they did not want to destroy the country, but only to crush and intimidate the opposition they had provoked. They certainly succeeded in that aim. Sunday night marked the end of organized opposition to their movements. After that, no group of men would stand against them because the effort was so hopeless. Even the crews of the torpedo boats and destroyers that had brought their rapid-fire guns up the Thames refused to stop. They mutinied and went back down the river. After that night, the only offensive action men dared to take was to prepare mines and pits. Even those efforts were frantic and sporadic.

One has to imagine, as well as one may, the fate of those batteries towards Esher, waiting so tensely in the twilight. Survivors there were none. One may picture the orderly expectation, the officers alert and watchful, the gunners ready, the ammunition piled to hand, the limber gunners with their horses and waggons, the groups of civilian spectators standing as near as they were permitted, the evening stillness, the ambulances and hospital tents with the burned and wounded from Weybridge; then the dull resonance of the shots the Martians fired, and the clumsy projectile whirling over the trees and houses and smashing amid the neighbouring fields.

We must imagine as best we can what happened to the artillery batteries near Esher, waiting so tensely in the twilight. There were no survivors. We can picture them waiting in an orderly way. The officers were alert and watchful, the gunners ready, and the ammunition piled close at hand. The limber crews stood with their horses and wagons. Groups of civilian spectators stood as close as they were allowed. The evening was still. Ambulances and hospital tents held the burned and wounded from Weybridge. Then came the dull sound of the Martians’ shots. A clumsy projectile spun over the trees and houses and smashed into the nearby fields.

One may picture, too, the sudden shifting of the attention, the swiftly spreading coils and bellyings of that blackness advancing headlong, towering heavenward, turning the twilight to a palpable darkness, a strange and horrible antagonist of vapour striding upon its victims, men and horses near it seen dimly, running, shrieking, falling headlong, shouts of dismay, the guns suddenly abandoned, men choking and writhing on the ground, and the swift broadening-out of the opaque cone of smoke. And then night and extinction—nothing but a silent mass of impenetrable vapour hiding its dead.

You can also picture the sudden shift in attention. The blackness rushed forward, its coils and billows spreading swiftly and towering toward the sky. It turned the twilight into a darkness you could almost touch. Like a strange and terrible enemy made of vapor, it strode toward its victims. Men and horses near the blackness were dimly visible, running, shrieking, and falling headlong. People shouted in dismay. The guns were suddenly abandoned. Men lay choking and writhing on the ground as the dense cone of smoke rapidly widened. Then came night and extinction. Nothing remained but a silent mass of impenetrable vapor hiding its dead.

Before dawn the black vapour was pouring through the streets of Richmond, and the disintegrating organism of government was, with a last expiring effort, rousing the population of London to the necessity of flight.

Before dawn, black vapour was pouring through the streets of Richmond. The government was falling apart, but in one last effort, it was warning the people of London that they had to flee.