English
AfterIhadpartedfromtheartilleryman,Iwentdownthehill,andbytheHighStreetacrossthebridgetoFulham.
Theredweedwastumultuousatthattime,andnearlychokedthebridgeroadway;butitsfrondswerealreadywhitenedinpatchesbythespreadingdiseasethatpresentlyremoveditsoswiftly.
AtthecornerofthelanethatrunstoPutneyBridgestationIfoundamanlying.
Hewasasblackasasweepwiththeblackdust,alive,buthelplesslyandspeechlesslydrunk.
Icouldgetnothingfromhimbutcursesandfuriouslungesatmyhead.
IthinkIshouldhavestayedbyhimbutforthebrutalexpressionofhisface.
Therewasblackdustalongtheroadwayfromthebridgeonwards,anditgrewthickerinFulham.Thestreetswerehorriblyquiet.
Igotfood—sour,hard,andmouldy,butquiteeatable—inabaker'sshophere.
SomewaytowardsWalhamGreenthestreetsbecameclearofpowder,andIpassedawhiteterraceofhousesonfire;thenoiseoftheburningwasanabsoluterelief.
GoingontowardsBrompton,thestreetswerequietagain.
HereIcameoncemoreupontheblackpowderinthestreetsandupondeadbodies.
IsawaltogetheraboutadozeninthelengthoftheFulhamRoad.
Theyhadbeendeadmanydays,sothatIhurriedquicklypastthem.
Theblackpowdercoveredthemover,andsoftenedtheiroutlines.Oneortwohadbeendisturbedbydogs.
Wheretherewasnoblackpowder,itwascuriouslylikeaSundayintheCity,withtheclosedshops,thehouseslockedupandtheblindsdrawn,thedesertion,andthestillness.
Insomeplacesplunderershadbeenatwork,butrarelyatotherthantheprovisionandwineshops.
Ajeweller'swindowhadbeenbrokenopeninoneplace,butapparentlythethiefhadbeendisturbed,andanumberofgoldchainsandawatchlayscatteredonthepavement.Ididnottroubletotouchthem.
Fartheronwasatatteredwomaninaheaponadoorstep;thehandthathungoverherkneewasgashedandbleddownherrustybrowndress,andasmashedmagnumofchampagneformedapoolacrossthepavement.Sheseemedasleep,butshewasdead.
ThefartherIpenetratedintoLondon,theprofoundergrewthestillness.
Butitwasnotsomuchthestillnessofdeath—itwasthestillnessofsuspense,ofexpectation.
Atanytimethedestructionthathadalreadysingedthenorthwesternbordersofthemetropolis,andhadannihilatedEalingandKilburn,mightstrikeamongthesehousesandleavethemsmokingruins.
Itwasacitycondemnedandderelict....
InSouthKensingtonthestreetswereclearofdeadandofblackpowder.
ItwasnearSouthKensingtonthatIfirstheardthehowling.
Itcreptalmostimperceptiblyuponmysenses.
Itwasasobbingalternationoftwonotes,"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla,"keepingonperpetually.
WhenIpassedstreetsthatrannorthwarditgrewinvolume,andhousesandbuildingsseemedtodeadenandcutitoffagain.
ItcameinafulltidedownExhibitionRoad.
Istopped,staringtowardsKensingtonGardens,wonderingatthisstrange,remotewailing.
Itwasasifthatmightydesertofhouseshadfoundavoiceforitsfearandsolitude.
"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla,"wailedthatsuperhumannote—greatwavesofsoundsweepingdownthebroad,sunlitroadway,betweenthetallbuildingsoneachside.
Iturnednorthwards,marvelling,towardstheirongatesofHydePark.
IhadhalfamindtobreakintotheNaturalHistoryMuseumandfindmywayuptothesummitsofthetowers,inordertoseeacrossthepark.
ButIdecidedtokeeptotheground,wherequickhidingwaspossible,andsowentonuptheExhibitionRoad.
Allthelargemansionsoneachsideoftheroadwereemptyandstill,andmyfootstepsechoedagainstthesidesofthehouses.
Atthetop,neartheparkgate,Icameuponastrangesight—abusoverturned,andtheskeletonofahorsepickedclean.
Ipuzzledoverthisforatime,andthenwentontothebridgeovertheSerpentine.
Thevoicegrewstrongerandstronger,thoughIcouldseenothingabovethehousetopsonthenorthsideofthepark,saveahazeofsmoketothenorthwest.
"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla,"criedthevoice,coming,asitseemedtome,fromthedistrictaboutRegent'sPark.Thedesolatingcryworkeduponmymind.Themoodthathadsustainedmepassed.Thewailingtookpossessionofme.
IfoundIwasintenselyweary,footsore,andnowagainhungryandthirsty.
Itwasalreadypastnoon.WhywasIwanderingaloneinthiscityofthedead?
WhywasIalonewhenallLondonwaslyinginstate,andinitsblackshroud?Ifeltintolerablylonely.
MymindranonoldfriendsthatIhadforgottenforyears.
Ithoughtofthepoisonsinthechemists'shops,oftheliquorsthewinemerchantsstored;Irecalledthetwosoddencreaturesofdespair,whosofarasIknew,sharedthecitywithmyself....
IcameintoOxfordStreetbytheMarbleArch,andhereagainwereblackpowderandseveralbodies,andanevil,ominoussmellfromthegratingsofthecellarsofsomeofthehouses.
Igrewverythirstyaftertheheatofmylongwalk.
WithinfinitetroubleImanagedtobreakintoapublic–houseandgetfoodanddrink.
Iwaswearyaftereating,andwentintotheparlourbehindthebar,andsleptonablackhorsehairsofaIfoundthere.
Iawoketofindthatdismalhowlingstillinmyears,"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla."
Itwasnowdusk,andafterIhadroutedoutsomebiscuitsandacheeseinthebar—therewasameatsafe,butitcontainednothingbutmaggots—IwanderedonthroughthesilentresidentialsquarestoBakerStreet—PortmanSquareistheonlyoneIcanname—andsocameoutatlastuponRegent'sPark.
AndasIemergedfromthetopofBakerStreet,IsawfarawayoverthetreesintheclearnessofthesunsetthehoodoftheMartiangiantfromwhichthishowlingproceeded.Iwasnotterrified.
Icameuponhimasifitwereamatterofcourse.
Iwatchedhimforsometime,buthedidnotmove.
Heappearedtobestandingandyelling,fornoreasonthatIcoulddiscover.
Itriedtoformulateaplanofaction.Thatperpetualsoundof"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla,"confusedmymind.
PerhapsIwastootiredtobeveryfearful.
CertainlyIwasmorecurioustoknowthereasonofthismonotonouscryingthanafraid.
IturnedbackawayfromtheparkandstruckintoParkRoad,intendingtoskirtthepark,wentalongundertheshelteroftheterraces,andgotaviewofthisstationary,howlingMartianfromthedirectionofSt.John'sWood.
AcoupleofhundredyardsoutofBakerStreetIheardayelpingchorus,andsaw,firstadogwithapieceofputrescentredmeatinhisjawscomingheadlongtowardsme,andthenapackofstarvingmongrelsinpursuitofhim.
Hemadeawidecurvetoavoidme,asthoughhefearedImightproveafreshcompetitor.
Astheyelpingdiedawaydownthesilentroad,thewailingsoundof"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla,"reasserteditself.
Icameuponthewreckedhandling–machinehalfwaytoSt.John'sWoodstation.
AtfirstIthoughtahousehadfallenacrosstheroad.
ItwasonlyasIclamberedamongtheruinsthatIsaw,withastart,thismechanicalSamsonlying,withitstentaclesbentandsmashedandtwisted,amongtheruinsithadmade.Theforepartwasshattered.
Itseemedasifithaddrivenblindlystraightatthehouse,andhadbeenoverwhelmedinitsoverthrow.
Itseemedtomethenthatthismighthavehappenedbyahandling–machineescapingfromtheguidanceofitsMartian.
Icouldnotclamberamongtheruinstoseeit,andthetwilightwasnowsofaradvancedthatthebloodwithwhichitsseatwassmeared,andthegnawedgristleoftheMartianthatthedogshadleft,wereinvisibletome.
WonderingstillmoreatallthatIhadseen,IpushedontowardsPrimroseHill.
Faraway,throughagapinthetrees,IsawasecondMartian,asmotionlessasthefirst,standingintheparktowardstheZoologicalGardens,andsilent.
Alittlebeyondtheruinsaboutthesmashedhandling–machineIcameupontheredweedagain,andfoundtheRegent'sCanal,aspongymassofdark–redvegetation.
AsIcrossedthebridge,thesoundof"Ulla,ulla,ulla,ulla,"ceased.Itwas,asitwere,cutoff.Thesilencecamelikeathunderclap.
Theduskyhousesaboutmestoodfaintandtallanddim;thetreestowardstheparkweregrowingblack.
Allaboutmetheredweedclamberedamongtheruins,writhingtogetabovemeinthedimness.
Night,themotheroffearandmystery,wascominguponme.
Butwhilethatvoicesoundedthesolitude,thedesolation,hadbeenendurable;byvirtueofitLondonhadstillseemedalive,andthesenseoflifeaboutmehadupheldme.
Thensuddenlyachange,thepassingofsomething—Iknewnotwhat—andthenastillnessthatcouldbefelt.Nothingbutthisgauntquiet.
Londonaboutmegazedatmespectrally.Thewindowsinthewhitehouseswereliketheeyesocketsofskulls.
Aboutmemyimaginationfoundathousandnoiselessenemiesmoving.
Terrorseizedme,ahorrorofmytemerity.
Infrontofmetheroadbecamepitchyblackasthoughitwastarred,andIsawacontortedshapelyingacrossthepathway.Icouldnotbringmyselftogoon.
IturneddownSt.John'sWoodRoad,andranheadlongfromthisunendurablestillnesstowardsKilburn.
Ihidfromthenightandthesilence,untillongaftermidnight,inacabmen'sshelterinHarrowRoad.
Butbeforethedawnmycouragereturned,andwhilethestarswerestillintheskyIturnedoncemoretowardsRegent'sPark.
Imissedmywayamongthestreets,andpresentlysawdownalongavenue,inthehalf–lightoftheearlydawn,thecurveofPrimroseHill.
Onthesummit,toweringuptothefadingstars,wasathirdMartian,erectandmotionlessliketheothers.
Aninsaneresolvepossessedme.Iwoulddieandendit.
AndIwouldsavemyselfeventhetroubleofkillingmyself.
ImarchedonrecklesslytowardsthisTitan,andthen,asIdrewnearerandthelightgrew,Isawthatamultitudeofblackbirdswascirclingandclusteringaboutthehood.
Atthatmyheartgaveabound,andIbeganrunningalongtheroad.
IhurriedthroughtheredweedthatchokedSt.Edmund'sTerrace(Iwadedbreast–highacrossatorrentofwaterthatwasrushingdownfromthewaterworkstowardstheAlbertRoad),andemergeduponthegrassbeforetherisingofthesun.
Greatmoundshadbeenheapedaboutthecrestofthehill,makingahugeredoubtofit—itwasthefinalandlargestplacetheMartianshadmade—andfrombehindtheseheapsthereroseathinsmokeagainstthesky.
Againsttheskylineaneagerdogrananddisappeared.
Thethoughtthathadflashedintomymindgrewreal,grewcredible.
Ifeltnofear,onlyawild,tremblingexultation,asIranupthehilltowardsthemotionlessmonster.
Outofthehoodhunglankshredsofbrown,atwhichthehungrybirdspeckedandtore.
InanothermomentIhadscrambleduptheearthenrampartandstooduponitscrest,andtheinterioroftheredoubtwasbelowme.
Amightyspaceitwas,withgiganticmachineshereandtherewithinit,hugemoundsofmaterialandstrangeshelterplaces.
Andscatteredaboutit,someintheiroverturnedwar–machines,someinthenowrigidhandling–machines,andadozenofthemstarkandsilentandlaidinarow,weretheMartians—dead!
—slainbytheputrefactiveanddiseasebacteriaagainstwhichtheirsystemswereunprepared;slainastheredweedwasbeingslain;slain,afterallman'sdeviceshadfailed,bythehumblestthingsthatGod,inhiswisdom,hasputuponthisearth.
Forsoithadcomeabout,asindeedIandmanymenmighthaveforeseenhadnotterroranddisasterblindedourminds.
Thesegermsofdiseasehavetakentollofhumanitysincethebeginningofthings—takentollofourprehumanancestorssincelifebeganhere.
Butbyvirtueofthisnaturalselectionofourkindwehavedevelopedresistingpower;tonogermsdowesuccumbwithoutastruggle,andtomany—thosethatcauseputrefactionindeadmatter,forinstance—ourlivingframesarealtogetherimmune.
ButtherearenobacteriainMars,anddirectlytheseinvadersarrived,directlytheydrankandfed,ourmicroscopicalliesbegantoworktheiroverthrow.
AlreadywhenIwatchedthemtheywereirrevocablydoomed,dyingandrottingevenastheywenttoandfro.Itwasinevitable.
Bythetollofabilliondeathsmanhasboughthisbirthrightoftheearth,anditishisagainstallcomers;itwouldstillbehisweretheMartianstentimesasmightyastheyare.
Forneitherdomenlivenordieinvain.
Hereandtheretheywerescattered,nearlyfiftyaltogether,inthatgreatgulftheyhadmade,overtakenbyadeaththatmusthaveseemedtothemasincomprehensibleasanydeathcouldbe.
Tomealsoatthattimethisdeathwasincomprehensible.
AllIknewwasthatthesethingsthathadbeenaliveandsoterribletomenweredead.
ForamomentIbelievedthatthedestructionofSennacheribhadbeenrepeated,thatGodhadrepented,thattheAngelofDeathhadslaintheminthenight.
Istoodstaringintothepit,andmyheartlightenedgloriously,evenastherisingsunstrucktheworldtofireaboutmewithhisrays.
Thepitwasstillindarkness;themightyengines,sogreatandwonderfulintheirpowerandcomplexity,sounearthlyintheirtortuousforms,roseweirdandvagueandstrangeoutoftheshadowstowardsthelight.
Amultitudeofdogs,Icouldhear,foughtoverthebodiesthatlaydarklyinthedepthofthepit,farbelowme.
Acrossthepitonitsfartherlip,flatandvastandstrange,laythegreatflying–machinewithwhichtheyhadbeenexperimentinguponourdenseratmospherewhendecayanddeatharrestedthem.Deathhadcomenotadaytoosoon.
AtthesoundofacawingoverheadIlookedupatthehugefighting–machinethatwouldfightnomoreforever,atthetatteredredshredsoffleshthatdrippeddownupontheoverturnedseatsonthesummitofPrimroseHill.
Iturnedandlookeddowntheslopeofthehilltowhere,enhaloednowinbirds,stoodthoseothertwoMartiansthatIhadseenovernight,justasdeathhadovertakenthem.
Theonehaddied,evenasithadbeencryingtoitscompanions;perhapsitwasthelasttodie,anditsvoicehadgoneonperpetuallyuntiltheforceofitsmachinerywasexhausted.
Theyglitterednow,harmlesstripodtowersofshiningmetal,inthebrightnessoftherisingsun.
Allaboutthepit,andsavedasbyamiraclefromeverlastingdestruction,stretchedthegreatMotherofCities.
ThosewhohaveonlyseenLondonveiledinhersombrerobesofsmokecanscarcelyimaginethenakedclearnessandbeautyofthesilentwildernessofhouses.
Eastward,overtheblackenedruinsoftheAlbertTerraceandthesplinteredspireofthechurch,thesunblazeddazzlinginaclearsky,andhereandtheresomefacetinthegreatwildernessofroofscaughtthelightandglaredwithawhiteintensity.
NorthwardwereKilburnandHampsted,blueandcrowdedwithhouses;westwardthegreatcitywasdimmed;andsouthward,beyondtheMartians,thegreenwavesofRegent'sPark,theLanghamHotel,thedomeoftheAlbertHall,theImperialInstitute,andthegiantmansionsoftheBromptonRoadcameoutclearandlittleinthesunrise,thejaggedruinsofWestminsterrisinghazilybeyond.
FarawayandblueweretheSurreyhills,andthetowersoftheCrystalPalaceglitteredliketwosilverrods.
ThedomeofSt.Paul'swasdarkagainstthesunrise,andinjured,Isawforthefirsttime,byahugegapingcavityonitswesternside.
AndasIlookedatthiswideexpanseofhousesandfactoriesandchurches,silentandabandoned;asIthoughtofthemultitudinoushopesandefforts,theinnumerablehostsoflivesthathadgonetobuildthishumanreef,andoftheswiftandruthlessdestructionthathadhungoveritall;whenIrealisedthattheshadowhadbeenrolledback,andthatmenmightstillliveinthestreets,andthisdearvastdeadcityofminebeoncemorealiveandpowerful,Ifeltawaveofemotionthatwasnearakintotears.
Thetormentwasover.Eventhatdaythehealingwouldbegin.
Thesurvivorsofthepeoplescatteredoverthecountry—leaderless,lawless,foodless,likesheepwithoutashepherd—thethousandswhohadfledbysea,wouldbegintoreturn;thepulseoflife,growingstrongerandstronger,wouldbeatagainintheemptystreetsandpouracrossthevacantsquares.
Whateverdestructionwasdone,thehandofthedestroyerwasstayed.
Allthegauntwrecks,theblackenedskeletonsofhousesthatstaredsodismallyatthesunlitgrassofthehill,wouldpresentlybeechoingwiththehammersoftherestorersandringingwiththetappingoftheirtrowels.
AtthethoughtIextendedmyhandstowardstheskyandbeganthankingGod.Inayear,thoughtI—inayear...
Withoverwhelmingforcecamethethoughtofmyself,ofmywife,andtheoldlifeofhopeandtenderhelpfulnessthathadceasedforever.
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