All this had taken place in less than a minute, the very speed at which the Martians were capable of making war being a decisive factor in their supremacy.
Before we had time to recover our senses, the four battle-machines which had silenced the Chertsey battery went to aid their fallen comrade. The first we knew of this was when we heard a great hissing and splashing, and glancing upstream we saw the four mighty machines racing through the water towards us. We had no time to think of hiding or escaping; indeed, so stricken with terror were we that the Martians were on us before we could react. To our own good luck, the monsters had no thought or time for us, for they were engaged in a greater war. Almost before they were beyond us, the heat-cannons were spraying their deadly beams, and once more the deep, staccato voice of the artillery by Shepperton spoke its ineffectual reply.
Then came a sight I have no wish ever to witness again. The deliberation and malice of the Martian invaders was never realized in a more conclusive fashion.
One machine went towards the artillery at Shepperton, and, ignoring the shells which burst about its head, calmly silenced the guns with a long sweep of its beam. Another, standing beside it, set about the systematic destruction of Shepperton itself. The other two battle-machines, standing in the confusion of islands where the Wey meets the Thames, dealt death upon Weybridge. Without compunction, both man and his effects were blasted and razed, and across the green Surrey meadows we heard one detonation after another, and the clamour of voices raised in the terror that precedes a violent death.
When the Martians had finished their evil work the land became silent again…but there was no stillness about. Weybridge burned, and Shepperton burned. Steam from the river mingled with smoke from the towns, joining in a great column that poured into the cloudless sky.
The Martians, unchallenged once more, folded away their cannons, and congregated at the bend of the river where the first battle-machine had fallen. As the platforms rotated to and fro, the bright sunlight reflected from the burnished cowls.
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During all this Amelia and I had been so taken with the events about us that we failed to notice that our boat continued to drift with the stream. Amelia still crouched at the bottom of the boat, but I had shipped my oars and sat on the wooden seat.
I looked at Amelia, and with my voice reflecting in its hoarseness the terror I felt, I said: “If this is a measure of their power, the Martians will conquer the world!”
“We cannot sit by and allow that to happen.”
“What do you propose we do?”
“We must get to Richmond,” she said. “Sir William will be better placed to know.”
“Then we must row on,” I said.
In my terrible confusion I had overlooked the fact that four battle-machines stood between us and Richmond at that very moment, and so I took the oars and placed them in the water again. I took just one stroke, when behind me I heard a tremendous splashing of water, and Amelia screamed.
“They’re coming this way!”
I released the oars at once, and they slipped into the water.
“Lie still!” I cried to Amelia. Putting my own words into effect, I threw myself backwards, lying at an awkward and painful angle across the wooden seat. Behind me I heard the tumultuous splashing of the battle-machines as they hurtled up-river. We were now drifting almost in the centre of the stream, and so lay directly in their path!
The four were advancing abreast of one another, and lying as I was I could see them upside-down. The wreckage of the battle-machine struck by the shell had been retrieved by the others, and now, carried between them, was being taken back the way they had come. I saw for an instant the torn and blasted metal that had been the platform, and saw too that there was gore and blood about much of it. I derived no satisfaction from the death of one monster-creature, for what was this to the spiteful destruction of two towns and the murder of countless people?
If the monsters had chosen to slay us then we would have had no chance of survival, yet once again we were spared by their preoccupations. Their victory over the two hapless towns was emphatic, and such stray survivors as ourselves were of no consequence. They closed on us with breathtaking speed, almost obscured by the clouds of spray thrown up by their churning legs. One of these sliced into the water not three yards from our little boat, and we were instantly deluged. The boat rocked and yawed, taking in water in such copious quantities that I felt we must surely sink.
Then, in a few seconds, the tripods were gone, leaving us waterlogged and unsteady on the troubled river.
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It took us several minutes of paddling to retrieve our oars, and to bail out the water to make the boat manoeuvrable again. By then the Martian battle-machines had vanished towards the south, presumably heading for their pit on the common by Woking.
Considerably shaken by the prolonged incident I set myself to rowing, and in a few minutes we were passing the blasted remains of Weybridge.
If survivors there were, we saw none about. A ferry had been plying as the Martians struck, and we saw its upturned and blackened hull awash in the river. On the towpath lay scores, perhaps hundreds, of charred bodies of those who had suffered directly under the heat-beam. The town itself was well ablaze, with few if any buildings left untouched by the murderous attack. It was like a scene from a nightmare, for when a town burns in silence, unattended, it is no less than a funeral pyre.
There were many bodies in the water, presumably of those people who had thought that there lay refuge. Here the Martians, with their magnificent and wicked cunning, had turned their heat-beams on the river itself, so raising its temperature to that of boiling. As we rowed through, the water was still steaming and bubbling, and when Amelia tested it with her hand she snatched it away. Many of the bodies which floated here revealed by the brilliant redness of their skins that the people had been, quite literally, boiled to death. Fortunately for our sensibilities, the steam had the effect of obscuring our surroundings, and so, as we passed through the carnage, we were spared the sight of much of it.
It was with considerable relief that we turned the bend in the river, but our agonies were not at an end, for now we could see what damage had been inflicted on Shepperton. At Amelia’s urging I rowed more quickly, and in a few minutes I had taken us beyond the worst.
Once we had turned another bend I slackened off a little, for I was rapidly tiring. We were both in a terrible state as a result of what we had seen, and so I pulled into the bank. We climbed to the shore and sat down in a heady state of shock. What passed between us then I will not relate, but our agonizing was much coloured by our acceptance of complicity in this devastation.
By the time we had recovered our wits, two hours had passed, and our resolve to play a more active rôle in fighting these monsters had hardened. So it was with renewed sense of urgency that we returned to the boat. Sir William Reynolds, if he were not already engaged in the problem, would be able to propose some more subtle solution than the Army had so far devised.
By now there was only the occasional piece of floating wreckage to remind us of what we had seen, but the memories were clear enough. From the moment of the Martians’ onslaught we had seen no one alive, and even now the only apparent movement was the smoke.
The rest had restored my strength, and I returned to the rowing with great vigour, taking long, easy strokes.
In spite of everything we had experienced, the day was all that I had hungered for while on Mars. The breeze was soft, and the sun was warm. The green trees and grasses of the banks were a joy to the eye, and we saw and heard many birds and insects. All this, and the pleasant regularity of my rowing, served to order my thoughts.
Would the Martians, now they had demonstrated their supremacy, be satisfied to consolidate their position? If so, how much time would this give our military forces to essay new tactics? Indeed, what was the strength of our forces? Apart from the three artillery batteries we had seen and heard, the Army wa
s nowhere evident.
Beyond this, I felt that we needed to adjust to our actual circumstances. In some ways, Amelia and I had been living still to the routines we had established inside the projectile, which is to say that our lives were patterned by the dominance of the Martians. Now, though, we were in our own land, one where places had names we could recognize, and where there were days and weeks by which one ordered one’s life. We had established whereabouts in England we had landed, and we could see that England was enjoying a summer of splendid weather, even if other climates were foreboding, but we did not know which day of the week this was, nor even in which month we were.
It was on such matters, admittedly rather trivial, that I was dwelling as I brought our boat around the bend in the river that lies just above the bridge at Walton-on-Thames. Here it was that we saw the first living person that day: a young man, wearing a dark jacket. He sat in the reeds by the edge of the water, staring despondently across the river.
I pointed him out to Amelia, and at once altered course and headed towards him.
As we came closer I could see that he was a man of the cloth. He seemed very youthful, for his figure was slight and his head was topped with a mass of flaxen curls. Then we saw that lying on the ground beside him was the body of another man. He was more stoutly built, and his body—which from the waist up was naked—was covered with the filth of the river.
Still dwelling on my rather trivial thoughts of the moments before, I called out to the curate as soon as we were within hailing distance.
“Sir,” I shouted, “what day is this?”
The curate stared back at us, then stood up unsteadily. I could see he had been severely shocked by his experiences for his hands were never still, fretting with the torn front of his jacket. His gaze was vacant and uncertain as he answered me.
“It is the Day of Judgement, my children.”
Amelia had been staring at the man lying beside the curate, and she asked: “Father, is that man alive?”
No answer was forthcoming, for the curate had turned distractedly away from us. He made as if to move off, but then turned back and looked down at us.
“Do you need any help, Father?” Amelia said.
“Who can offer help when it is God’s wrath vented upon us?”
“Edward…row in to the shore.”
I said: “But what can we do to help?”
Nevertheless, I plied the oars and in a moment we had scrambled ashore. The curate watched as we knelt beside the prostrate man. We saw at once that he was not dead, nor even unconscious, but was turning restlessly as if in a delirium.
“Water…have you any water?” he said, his lips parched. I saw that his skin had a slightly reddened cast to it, as if he too had been caught when the Martians boiled the river.
“Have you not given him any water?” I said to the curate.
“He keeps asking for it, but we are beside a river of blood.”
I glanced at Amelia, and saw by her expression that my own opinion of the poor, distracted curate was confirmed.
“Amelia,” I said quietly, “see if you can find something to bring water in.”
I returned my attention to the delirious man, and in desperation I slapped him lightly about his face. This seemed to break through the delirium for he sat up at once, shaking his head.
Amelia had found a bottle by the river’s edge, and she brought this and gave it to the man. He raised it thankfully to his lips, and drank deeply. I noticed that he was now in command of his senses, and he was looking shrewdly at the young curate.
The curate saw how we were helping the man, and this seemed to disconcert him. He gazed across the meadows in the direction of the distant, shattered tower of Shepperton Church.
He said: “What does it mean? All our work is undone! It is the vengeance of God, for he hath taken away the children. The burning smoke goeth up for ever…”
With this cryptic incantation, he strode off determinedly through the long grass, and was soon out of our sight.
The man coughed a few times, and said: “I cannot thank you enough. I thought I must surely die.”
“Was the curate your companion?” I said.
He shook his head weakly. “I have never before laid eyes on him.”
“Are you well enough to move?” said Amelia.
“I believe so. I am not hurt, but I have had a narrow escape.”
“Were you in Weybridge?” I said.
“I was in the thick of it. Those Martians have no mercy, no compunction—”
“How do you know they are from Mars?” I said, greatly interested by this, as I had been at hearing of the soldiers’ rumours.
“It is well known. The firing of their projectiles was observed in many telescopes. Indeed, I was fortunate to observe one such myself, in the instrument at Ottershaw.”
“You are an astronomer?” said Amelia.
“That I am not, but I am acquainted with many scientists. My own calling is a more philosophical nature.” He paused then, and glanced down at himself, and was at once overcome with embarrassment. “My dear lady,” he said to Amelia, “I must apologize for my state of undress.”
“We are no better garbed ourselves,” she replied, with considerable accuracy.
“You too have come from the thick of the fighting?”
“In a sense,” I said. “Sir, I hope you will join us. We have a boat, and we are headed for Richmond. There I think we may find safety.”
“Thank you,” said the man. “But I must go my own way. I was trying to make for Leatherhead, for that is where I have left my wife.”
I thought quickly, trying to visualize the geography of the land. Leatherhead was many miles to the south of us.
The man went on: “You see, I am a resident of Woking, and before the Martians attacked I managed to take my wife to safety. Since then, because I was obliged to return to Woking, I have been trying to join her. But I have found, to my cost, that the land between here and Leatherhead is overrun with the brutes.”
“Then as your wife is safe,” Amelia said, “would it not be wise to fall in with us until the Army deals with this menace?”
The man was clearly tempted, for we were not many miles distant from Richmond. He hesitated for a few seconds more, then nodded.
“If you are rowing, you will need an extra pair of arms,” he said. “I shall be happy to oblige. But first, because I am in such a state of untidiness, I should like to wash myself.”
He went down to the water’s edge, and with his hands washed off much of the traces of the smoke, and grime which so disfigured him. Then, when he had swept back his hair, he held out his hand and assisted Amelia as she climbed back into the boat.
Chapter Twenty
ROWING DOWN THE RIVER
i
That our new friend was a man of gentle manners was affirmed the moment we entered the boat. He would not hear of my rowing until he had served a turn at the oars, and insisted that I sit with Amelia in the rear of the boat.
“We must have our wits about us,” he said, “in case those devils return. We will take turns at the oars, and all keep our eyes open.”
I had been feeling for some time that the Martians’ apparent inactivity must be temporary, and it was reassuring to know that my suspicions were shared. This could only be a lull in their campaign, and as such we must take the maximum advantage of it.
In accordance with our plan I kept a careful watch for sight of the tripods (although all seemed presently quiet), but Amelia’s attention was elsewhere. Indeed, she was staring at our new friend with quite improper attention.
At length she said: “Sir, may I enquire if you have ever visited Reynolds House in Richmond?”
The gentleman looked at her in manifest surprise, but immediately said: “I have indeed, but not for many years.”
“Then you would know Sir William Reynolds?”
“We were never the closest of friends, for I fear he was not one for intimate frien
dships, but we were members of the same club in St James’s and were occasionally wont to exchange confidences.”
Amelia was frowning in concentration. “I believe we have met before.”
Our friend paused with the oars clear of the water.
“By Jove!” he cried. “Are you not Sir William’s former amanuensis?”
“Yes, I am. And you, sir, I think your name is Mr Wells.”
“That is my name,” he said gravely. “And if I am not mistaken, I do believe you are Miss Fitzgibbon.”
Amelia instantly confirmed this. “What a remarkable coincidence!”
Mr Wells politely asked me my name, and I introduced myself. I reached over to shake his hand, and he leaned forward over the oars.
“Pleased to meet you, Turnbull,” he said.
Just then the sunlight fell on his face in such a way that his eyes revealed themselves to be a startling blue; in his tired and worried face they shone like optimistic beacons, and I felt myself warming to him.
Amelia was still animated in her excitement.
“It is to Reynolds House that we are going now,” she said. “We feel Sir William is one of the few men who can confront this menace.”
Mr Wells frowned, and returned to his rowing.
After a moment, he said: “I take it you have not seen Sir William for some time?”
Amelia glanced at me, and I knew she was uncertain how to reply.
I said for her: “Not since May of 1893, Sir.”
“That is the last time I, or anyone else, saw him. Surely if you were in his employ, you know about this?”
Amelia said: “I ceased to work for him in that May. Are you saying that he subsequently died?”
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