The War of the Worlds | Page 8

the pine trees towards Weybridge, was
already warm. He did not remember hearing any birds that morning, there was certainly
no breeze stirring, and the only sounds were the faint movements from within the cindery
cylinder. He was all alone on the common.
Then suddenly he noticed with a start that some of the grey clinker, the ashy incrustation
that covered the meteorite, was falling off the circular edge of the end. It was dropping
off in flakes and raining down upon the sand. A large piece suddenly came off and fell
with a sharp noise that brought his heart into his mouth.
For a minute he scarcely realised what this meant, and, although the heat was excessive,
he clambered down into the pit close to the bulk to see the Thing more clearly. He

fancied even then that the cooling of the body might account for this, but what disturbed
that idea was the fact that the ash was falling only from the end of the cylinder.
And then he perceived that, very slowly, the circular top of the cylinder was rotating on
its body. It was such a gradual movement that he discovered it only through noticing that
a black mark that had been near him five minutes ago was now at the other side of the
circumference. Even then he scarcely understood what this indicated, until he heard a
muffled grating sound and saw the black mark jerk forward an inch or so. Then the thing
came upon him in a flash. The cylinder was artificial--hollow--with an end that screwed
out! Something within the cylinder was unscrewing the top!
"Good heavens!" said Ogilvy. "There's a man in it--men in it! Half roasted to death!
Trying to escape!"
At once, with a quick mental leap, he linked the Thing with the flash upon Mars.
The thought of the confined creature was so dreadful to him that he forgot the heat and
went forward to the cylinder to help turn. But luckily the dull radiation arrested him
before he could burn his hands on the still-glowing metal. At that he stood irresolute for a
moment, then turned, scrambled out of the pit, and set off running wildly into Woking.
The time then must have been somewhere about six o'clock. He met a waggoner and tried
to make him understand, but the tale he told and his appearance were so wild--his hat had
fallen off in the pit-- that the man simply drove on. He was equally unsuccessful with the
potman who was just unlocking the doors of the public-house by Horsell Bridge. The
fellow thought he was a lunatic at large and made an unsuccessful attempt to shut him
into the taproom. That sobered him a little; and when he saw Henderson, the London
journalist, in his garden, he called over the palings and made himself understood.
"Henderson," he called, "you saw that shooting star last night?"
"Well?" said Henderson.
"It's out on Horsell Common now."
"Good Lord!" said Henderson. "Fallen meteorite! That's good."
"But it's something more than a meteorite. It's a cylinder--an artificial cylinder, man! And
there's something inside."
Henderson stood up with his spade in his hand.
"What's that?" he said. He was deaf in one ear.
Ogilvy told him all that he had seen. Henderson was a minute or so taking it in. Then he
dropped his spade, snatched up his jacket, and came out into the road. The two men
hurried back at once to the common, and found the cylinder still lying in the same
position. But now the sounds inside had ceased, and a thin circle of bright metal showed
between the top and the body of the cylinder. Air was either entering or escaping at the

rim with a thin, sizzling sound.
They listened, rapped on the scaly burnt metal with a stick, and, meeting with no
response, they both concluded the man or men inside must be insensible or dead.
Of course the two were quite unable to do anything. They shouted consolation and
promises, and went off back to the town again to get help. One can imagine them,
covered with sand, excited and disordered, running up the little street in the bright
sunlight just as the shop folks were taking down their shutters and people were opening
their bedroom windows. Henderson went into the railway station at once, in order to
telegraph the news to London. The newspaper articles had prepared men's minds for the
reception of the idea.
By eight o'clock a number of boys and unemployed men had already started for the
common to see the "dead men from Mars." That was the form the story took. I heard of it
first from my newspaper boy about a quarter to nine when I went out to get my