The War of the Worlds | Page 9

DAILY
CHRONICLE. I was naturally startled, and lost no time in going out and across the
Ottershaw bridge to the sand pits.

CHAPTER THREE
ON HORSELL COMMON
I found a little crowd of perhaps twenty people surrounding the huge hole in which the
cylinder lay. I have already described the appearance of that colossal bulk, embedded in
the ground. The turf and gravel about it seemed charred as if by a sudden explosion. No

doubt its impact had caused a flash of fire. Henderson and Ogilvy were not there. I think
they perceived that nothing was to be done for the present, and had gone away to
breakfast at Henderson's house.
There were four or five boys sitting on the edge of the Pit, with their feet dangling, and
amusing themselves--until I stopped them--by throwing stones at the giant mass. After I
had spoken to them about it, they began playing at "touch" in and out of the group of
bystanders.
Among these were a couple of cyclists, a jobbing gardener I employed sometimes, a girl
carrying a baby, Gregg the butcher and his little boy, and two or three loafers and golf
caddies who were accustomed to hang about the railway station. There was very little
talking. Few of the common people in England had anything but the vaguest astronomical
ideas in those days. Most of them were staring quietly at the big table like end of the
cylinder, which was still as Ogilvy and Henderson had left it. I fancy the popular
expectation of a heap of charred corpses was disappointed at this inanimate bulk. Some
went away while I was there, and other people came. I clambered into the pit and fancied
I heard a faint movement under my feet. The top had certainly ceased to rotate.
It was only when I got thus close to it that the strangeness of this object was at all evident
to me. At the first glance it was really no more exciting than an overturned carriage or a
tree blown across the road. Not so much so, indeed. It looked like a rusty gas float. It
required a certain amount of scientific education to perceive that the grey scale of the
Thing was no common oxide, that the yellowish-white metal that gleamed in the crack
between the lid and the cylinder had an unfamiliar hue. "Extra-terrestrial" had no
meaning for most of the onlookers.
At that time it was quite clear in my own mind that the Thing had come from the planet
Mars, but I judged it improbable that it contained any living creature. I thought the
unscrewing might be automatic. In spite of Ogilvy, I still believed that there were men in
Mars. My mind ran fancifully on the possibilities of its containing manuscript, on the
difficulties in translation that might arise, whether we should find coins and models in it,
and so forth. Yet it was a little too large for assurance on this idea. I felt an impatience to
see it opened. About eleven, as nothing seemed happening, I walked back, full of such
thought, to my home in Maybury. But I found it difficult to get to work upon my abstract
investigations.
In the afternoon the appearance of the common had altered very much. The early editions
of the evening papers had startled London with enormous headlines:
"A MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM MARS."
"REMARKABLE STORY FROM WOKING,"
and so forth. In addition, Ogilvy's wire to the Astronomical Exchange had roused every
observatory in the three kingdoms.
There were half a dozen flies or more from the Woking station standing in the road by the

sand pits, a basket-chaise from Chobham, and a rather lordly carriage. Besides that, there
was quite a heap of bicycles. In addition, a large number of people must have walked, in
spite of the heat of the day, from Woking and Chertsey, so that there was altogether quite
a considerable crowd--one or two gaily dressed ladies among the others.
It was glaringly hot, not a cloud in the sky nor a breath of wind, and the only shadow was
that of the few scattered pine trees. The burning heather had been extinguished, but the
level ground towards Ottershaw was blackened as far as one could see, and still giving
off vertical streamers of smoke. An enterprising sweet-stuff dealer in the Chobham Road
had sent up his son with a barrow-load of green apples and ginger beer.
Going to the edge of the pit, I found it occupied by a group of about half a dozen
men--Henderson, Ogilvy, and a tall, fair-haired man that I afterwards learned was Stent,
the Astronomer Royal, with several workmen wielding spades and pickaxes. Stent was
giving directions in a clear, high-pitched voice. He was standing on the cylinder, which
was