chapter-5

Chapter 5 For some time I stood there without thinking

about my safety. At that moment I felt an unfamiliar emotion. I felt something growing

quite clear in my mind, something that worried me for many days. The fact that I was no longer

the master but an animal among the animals under Martian control. The power of man had

disappeared, but as soon as I realized this it went away. My main problem became hunger.

Beyond a wall in the distance I saw a garden. This gave me an idea, and I went there as

fast as I could. I climbed up the wall and jumped into the garden below. Here I found some young

onions and some carrots which I took. I climbed back up the wall and started walking through

the red trees towards Q. I had two ideas in my mind, to get more food and to get away

from the pit as quickly as possible. A little further away I came upon a brown stream of

water. I was surprised at seeing so much water in a hot, dry summer, but later I discovered

that it was caused by the redweed. When the redweed touched water it grew enormously,

its seeds spread to the waters, and as the weed grew more and more the water poured out

from the rivers into the fields. As the water spread, the weed followed it until the Thames

Valley and all the destruction caused by the Martians was covered in redweed. In the end

the redweed died almost as quickly as it had spread. It is believed that a disease caused

by certain bacteria was the reason for its disappearance. Because of natural selection

all plants on earth have acquired a power against bacterial diseases. But the redweed

was not able to fight the disease. When I came to the water the first thing I did was

to drink lots and lots of water. I even ate some redweed, but it had a metallic taste.

Afterwards I walked up the hill towards Putney Common. Parts of it were destroyed completely

and other parts were untouched. There were some houses with their curtain shut and doors

closed. There was less redweed here and the tall trees were not covered with it. I looked

for food but found nothing. I rested under some trees until night time because I was too exhausted

to walk. All this time I saw no human beings and no signs of the Martians. I saw a couple

of hungry looking dogs, but both hurried away from me. I saw two human skeletons and

some bones of cats and rabbits. After sunset I struggled on along the road towards Putney.

I found some small potatoes in a garden which were enough to stop my hunger. From the garden

I looked down on Putney and the river. The place looked depressing, blackened trees, deserted

ruins and down the hill the flooded red river. And overall, silence. It filled me with terror

to think how quickly that change had come. For a time I believed that humankind had been

exterminated and that I stood there alone, the last man left alive. The Martians, I thought,

had left the country to look for food somewhere else. Perhaps they were destroying Berlin or

Paris now, or they were going northward. I spent that night in the inn on the top of

Putney Hill, sleeping in a maid bed for the first time since I had escaped a leatherhead.

I broke into the house and looked everywhere for some food. I was about to lose hope when

I found some old bread and two tins of pineapple in a bedroom. The place had already been searched

and emptied. Later I also found some biscuits and sandwiches. The sandwiches were too rotten

to eat, but the biscuits were good and I filled my pockets. I lit no lamps because I was afraid

that a Martian might come to that part of London for food in the night. Before I went to bed,

I felt nervous and moved from window to window, looking out for some sign of the monsters.

I slept little. As I lay in bed, I found myself thinking. I had three things on my mind, the

death of the curate, the location of the Martians, and the fate of my wife. I did not have regrets

about the death of the curate. I did not feel guilty. I remembered all our conversations

from the first moment to the end. We had been unable of work together. If I had known I would

have left him at Halliford. There were no witnesses. I could have kept everything a secret. But

I write it all down and the reader must make their own judgment.

When I thought about the fate of my wife, I felt terrible. I sat up in bed, staring at

the dark. I prayed that the heat -ray had killed her immediately and painlessly. The

morning was bright and fine, and the pink sky was covered with little golden clouds.

The road that runs from the top of Putney Hill to Wimbledon was full of objects that

had been left behind by the people running to London on the Sunday night after the fighting

began. There was a little two -wheeled cart with a broken wheel. There was a straw hat

in the hard -end mud and a lot of broken glass with blood on it. I moved lazily and without

a clear plan. I thought about going to Leatherhead, although I knew that I had little chance

of finding my wife. Certainly unless they had died, my cousins and she would have run away.

I wanted to find my wife badly, but I had no idea how I could do it. I felt a deep loneliness.

When I came to the edge of Wimbledon Common, I saw that it was covered in yellow flowers.

There was no red weed anywhere, and as I looked on the sun came up bringing light and life.

I came across a busy swarm of little frogs in a pond among the trees. I stopped to look

at them, and suddenly I had the strange feeling that I was being watched. I turned and saw

something hiding in the bushes. I took a step towards it, and it rose up. It was a man holding

a sword. I approached him slowly. He stood still, watching me. As I came nearer, I saw

that he was dressed in clothes as dusty and dirty as my own. His black hair fell over

his eyes, and his face was dark and dirty and thin. So at first I did not recognize him. There

was a red cut across the lower part of his face. Stop! he cried when I was within ten

meters of him, and I stopped.

Where do you come from? He said.

I come from Mort Lake. I said. I was buried near the pit the Martians made around their

cylinder. I have escaped.

There is no food around here, he said. This is my country. All this hill down to the river

and up to the edge of the common. There is only food for one. Which way are you going?

I don't know. I said slowly. I have been buried in the ruins of a house. I don't know what

has happened. He looked at me doubtfully. Then his face changed.

I don't wish to stop here, I said. I think I will go to Leatherhead. My wife was there.

It's you, he shouted, pointing a finger. The man from Woking. And you weren't killed at

Wabridge?

I recognized him at the same moment. You are the artilleryman who came into my garden.

What luck, he said. We are lucky ones. He put out a hand and I took it.

I hid, he said. But they didn't kill everyone. And after they left, I went towards Walton

across the fields. But it's only been sixteen days. And your hair is grey.

He looked over his shoulder suddenly.

Only a bird, he said. Let's crawl under those bushes and talk.

Have you seen any Martians? I asked.

They've gone away across London, he said.

I guess they've got a bigger camp there. The night before last, the sky was all bright.

It was something in the air. I think they've built a flying machine and are learning to fly.

I stopped on hands and knees. We had come to the bushes.

Fly. Yes, he said. Fly.

I went on into a little open space and sat down.

It is the end of humankind, I said. If they can do that, they will simply go round the world.

They will, but it will make things easier for us here. And besides, he looked at me.

Aren't you happy? It is the end of humankind. I am. We're beaten.

I stared. I had not realized this fact, an obvious fact.

It's all over, he said. They've lost one, just one. And they've stopped the greatest power in the world.

They've walked over us. The death of that one Martian at Waybridge was an accident.

And these are only the first ones. They keep coming. The green stars. I've not seen them five or six days,

but I'm sure they're falling somewhere every night. We cannot do anything. We're beaten.

I did not reply. I sat staring, trying to find an answer, but I could not.

This isn't a war, said the soldier. It never was a war, any more than a war between man and ants.

Suddenly I remembered the night in the observatory. After the tenth shot, they stopped firing, I said.

At least, until the first cylinder came.

How do you know, asked the soldier? I explained. He thought.

Something wrong with the gun, he said. But even if there is, they'll fix it.

We sat looking at each other. And what will they do with us? I asked.

That's what I've been thinking, he said. They're intelligent things, and it seems they want us for food.

First, they'll destroy us. Ships, machines, guns, cities. Next, they'll begin catching us,

picking the best ones and keeping us in cages and things. They haven't begun on us yet.

Not begun, I exclaimed. Not begun. They're getting things ready for the rest of their people.

And instead of rushing around blindly or using our guns to try to blow them up,

we must adapt ourselves to the new situation. That's what I think.

Cities, nations, civilization, it's all over. We're beaten. But if that is true, what is there to live for?

There won't be any music or art for a million years. No nice dinners at restaurants, no entertainment.

Only men like me are going to survive. And if I'm not wrong, you'll show how strong you are too.

We aren't going to be killed. I won't be caught and caged and fattened. Ugh.

Do you mean? Yes, I'm going to survive. I've got a plan. We've got to learn.

And we've got to live and stay free while we learn. That's what we've got to do.

I stared, surprised by the man's determination. Good God, I said. You are a brave man.

Well, people who plan to escape must get ready. I'm getting ready. We'll have to live like animals, but not all of us can do it.

That's why I watched you. I had my doubts. You're thin. All these people, the kind that lived in these houses

and all the little office workers that lived around here, they wouldn't survive. They don't have any life in them. No dreams, no passion.

They went to work with a bit of break fast in hand, ran to catch their train, scared to lose their jobs if they were late,

and in the evening they went back home in time for dinner.

Well, the Martians will just be good for these people. Nice big cages, fattening food, no worry.

After a few weeks of running around the fields on empty stomachs, they'll come and be caught happily.

Probably the Martians will make pets of some of them, train them to do tricks. Who knows?

And maybe they will train some to hunt us. No, I cried. That's impossible. No human being.

What's the good of going on with such lies? Said the soldier. There are men who would do it willingly.

And I agreed with him. I sat thinking. He was just a simple soldier, but he had understood the situation much better than I,

a philosophical writer. What are your plans? I asked. He hesitated.

Well, we have to invent a new life, where humans can live and have children and be safe enough to bring them up.

The gentle ones will be like domesticated animals. They'll become big, beautiful, wealthy and stupid.

The others will be like wild animals. I intend to live underground. I've been thinking about the drains.

Under London there are hundreds of kilometers of them. The main ones are big and airy enough.

And there are also the railway tunnels and subways. Do you see? And we will gather people.

Only the strong, clean -minded ones. The weak ones will go.

We want strong, clean -minded women, mothers and teachers. We can't have anyone lazy, weak or silly.

Life is real again and the useless have to die. They ought to die. They must not weaken the human race.

But saving the human race is not enough. We must save our knowledge and add to it.

Men like you are needed. We must make great, safe places under the ground and get all the books we can, novels and poetry,

and also ideas, science books. We must go to the British Museum and choose books. We must keep up our science.

Learn more. We must watch the Martians. Some of us must go to them as spies.

The soldier paused and put his brown hand on my arm.

It may not be so difficult to learn about their machines. Imagine this.

Four or five fighting machines controlled by men, not Martians.

Imagine controlling the machines and using the heat ray against the Martians.

For some time, the imagination of the soldier and his confidence and courage completely persuaded me.

I believed in his prediction about the future of humankind and in the possibility of his crazy plan.

We talked through the early morning and later we crept out of the bushes.

After checking the sky for the Martians, we hurried to the house on Putney Hill where he had been hiding.

There I saw what he had been working on for a week. It was a tunnel less than ten metres long,

designed to reach to the main drain on Putney Hill. That was the first time I had my doubts about his plans.

I could have dug that hole in a day. But I believed in him. So I worked with him all that morning.

As we dug the ground, I thought about his plan and became more and more doubtful.

I thought about the distance we had to go to reach the drain and the possibility of missing it completely.

I did not understand why we were digging this long tunnel when we could get into the drain easily down one of the manholes

and dig back towards the house. As I was beginning to question things, the soldier stopped and looked at me.

We're working well, he said. Let's stop and look around from the roof of the house. I wanted to go on working.

Suddenly I had a thought.

Why were you walking around the common? I asked.

Instead of being here, taking the air, he said, I was coming back. It's safer by night. But the work.

Oh, one can't always work, he said. And suddenly I understood the man clearly. He hesitated.

We should look around now, in case anyone comes unexpectedly, he said.

We went together to the roof and stood on a ladder looking out of the roof door. No Martians could be seen.

The soldier began to tell me about the people who remained in London. One night last week, he said, some fools fixed the electric light

and the central parts of London were all lit up. And early in the morning a fighting machine arrived and looked down at them. He picked up nearly a hundred people.

After that he told me about his great plans again. He talked so enthusiastically about the possibility of taking a fighting machine that I almost believed in him again.

But now I was beginning to understand him.

After a time we went down to the house and had some food. Then we played card games. Later I went back upstairs to look at the lights which he had told me about.

I stared across the London Valley. The northern hills were in darkness and the fires near Kensington burnt readily. The rest of London was black.

Then I turned my gaze towards Mars, red and clear, shining in the night sky. I stayed there for a very long time thinking about the strange events of the day.

I felt like I was betraying my wife and humankind. I was filled with guilt. I decided to leave this dreamer of great things and to go on into London.

There I thought I had the best chance of learning what the Martians and human beings were doing.

After I had left the soldier I went down the hill and by the high street across the bridge to Fulham. The bridge was covered with the red weed at that time but its leaves were already whitened by the disease that would kill it so quickly.

On the road after the bridge there was black dust which grew thicker in Fulham. The streets were horribly quiet. I found some old bread in a baker's shop. The streets then became clear of powder and I passed some white houses that were on fire.

The noise of the burning was better than the silence. Towards Brompton the streets were quiet again. Here there was black powder in the streets.

I also saw several dead bodies. Where there was no black powder it looked like a Sunday in the city with the closed shops and the houses locked up. In some places thieves had been at work but mostly at the food shops. A jeweler's window had been broken open but some gold chains and a watch were lying on the pavement. I did not touch them. The stillness grew as I went further but it was not so much the stillness of death.

It was the stillness of expectation. At any time the destruction might strike among these houses and leave them smoking ruins. London was a ruined city waiting for its death.

In South Kensington the streets were clear of dead people and of black powder. Near there I first heard the howling. It was a sad repetition of two notes.

Ula, Ula, Ula, Ula. As I went northward it grew louder and houses and buildings seemed to cut it off again. It came most loudly down Exhibition Road.

I stopped staring towards Kensington Gardens. It seemed that the houses had found a voice for their fear and loneliness.

Ula, Ula, Ula, Ula. Repeated that inhuman note, great waves of sound went down the broad sunlit road between the tall buildings on each side.

I turned northwards towards Hyde Park. The voice grew stronger and stronger but I could see nothing above the tops of the houses on the north side of the park except some smoke to the northwest.

Ula, Ula, Ula, Ula. Cried the voice. It seemed to be coming from the area around Regent's Park.

The cry had a strange effect on my mind. My mood changed. I felt very tired, hungry and thirsty again.

It was already past noon. Why was I all alone in this city of the dead?

I felt extremely lonely. I thought of old friends that I had forgotten for years. I came into Oxford Street and here again were black powder and several bodies.

With great trouble I broke into a pub and found some food and drink. I was tired after eating and went behind the bar and slept on a sofa I found there.

I woke up to find that terrible howling still in my ears. Ula, Ula, Ula, Ula.

It was almost dark and after I had found some biscuits and cheese I walked through the silent squares to Baker Street and came at last to Regent's Park.

And as I came out of the top of Baker Street I saw far away over the trees in the clearness of the sunset, the top of a Martian giant.

The howling was coming from it. I was not scared. I watched it for some time but it did not move.

It seemed to be standing and yelling but I could not discover why. I tried to work out a plan of action.

That sound of Ula, Ula, Ula, Ula confused me. Perhaps I was too tired to be scared.

I was more curious than afraid.

I turned back away from the park and went into Park Road intending to go round the park.

I was able to see the unmoving howling Martian from the direction of St. John's Wood.

I came to a destroyed building machine halfway to St. John's Wood station.

At first I thought a house had fallen across the road.

When I climbed among the ruins I was surprised to find this mechanical giant lying with its tentacles bent and destroyed among the ruins it had made.

The front part was broken. It looked as if it had driven at the house and had been crushed under it.

Wondering about all that I had seen, I moved on towards Primrose Hill.

Far away through the trees I saw a second Martian unmoving like the first, standing in the park near the zoological gardens.

A little further I came across the red weed again. The Regents Canal was filled with the dark red plant.

As I crossed the bridge the sound of Ula, Ula, Ula, Ula stopped suddenly.

The silence came unexpectedly. Night, the mother of fear and mystery was coming. London was like a ghost.

My imagination found a thousand noiseless enemies moving. I was filled with terror.

In front of me the road became black and I saw something lying across the pavement. I could not go on.

I turned down St. John's Wood Road and ran from this unbearable stillness towards Kilburn.

I hid from the night and the silence until long after midnight in a shed in Harrow Road.

But in the morning my courage returned and while the stars were still in the sky I turned towards Regents Park again.

I lost my way and soon saw down a long road in the half -light of the early morning the curve of Primrose Hill.

On the top was a third Martian unmoving like the others. A mad idea came to me. I would die and end it.

And I would save myself even the trouble of killing myself. I walked towards this giant.

As I came nearer and the light grew I saw that some black birds were circling and gathering around the top of it.

At that my heart jumped and I started running. I came onto the grass before the rising of the sun.

There were piles of soil at the top of the hill. It was the final and largest pit the Martians had made.

From behind the piles thin smoke rose to the sky. I saw a dog run and disappear.

The thought that had flashed into my mind grew real. I felt no fear only a wild happiness.

As I ran up the hill towards the unmoving monster. Out of the top of it hung long brown pieces of flesh

which the hungry birds were tearing away. I quickly climbed up the side of the pit. I could now see the inside of it.

It was a very large space with enormous machines, lots of material and strange buildings. And all around it

some in their overturned war machines, some in their building machines and ten of them lying in a row were the Martians dead.

They had been killed by disease bacteria. Their systems were unprepared against the bacteria.

So they were killed just like the redweed was killed. After all human machines had failed

the smallest things that God has put on this earth had killed them.

I and many others were too blinded to see that this would happen. These germs of disease have killed people

since the beginning of life on earth. But we have developed the power to fight them.

But there are no bacteria on Mars. And once the Martians arrived and drank and fed

our microscopic friends began to work against them.

Humankind has paid a million lives to earn their right to live on earth.

It is ours. And even if the Martians were ten times as strong as they are, it would still be ours.

As the sun was rising, I stood staring into the pit, my heart filled with happiness.

The pit was still in darkness. The enormous machines rose out of the shadows.

I could hear dogs fighting in the darkness at the bottom of the pit.

At the further edge of the pit lay a great flying machine.

The Martians had been testing in our atmosphere when death had stopped them.

I turned and looked down the slope of the hill towards the place I had seen the two other Martians

the previous night. They were now dead and surrounded by birds. One of them had died while crying to

its friends. Its voice had gone on until the machine ran out of power. They were now harmless tripods

of metal, shining in the brightness of the rising sun. All around the pit and saved from being

destroyed forever lay the great city of London. I looked at the houses and factories and churches,

silent and empty. I thought of the hopes and efforts that had gone to build this city and

remembered the cruel destruction that had threatened it. Then I realized that the darkness had been

lifted and that people might still be alive and my dear city might be alive and powerful once again.

I was full of emotion that brought tears to my eyes. The suffering was over.

Those who had escaped would begin to return. Life would come back to the empty streets.

Soon the sound of hammers would be heard in the ruined houses and buildings.

At the thought I lifted my hands towards the sky and began thanking God.

Then came the thought of myself, my wife, and the old life of hope and kindness that had ended forever.

And now comes the strangest thing in my story. But perhaps it is not so strange.

I clearly remember all that I did that day until the time that I stood crying on the top of Primrose Hill.

And then I forget. I remember nothing of the next three days.

I have learned that I was not the first one to discover the death of the Martians.

Several others had already discovered it on the previous night.

One man, the first, had been able to telegraph Paris.

After that, the happy news had flashed all over the world.

They knew of it in Dublin, Edinburgh, Manchester, Birmingham at the time when I stood on the edge of the pit.

People crying with joy, shouting and shaking hands were taking trains to go to London.

Men on bicycles rode along country roads shouting the news of freedom and the food.

Across the channel, across the Irish sea, across the Atlantic, corn, bread and meat were coming.

All the ships in the world seemed to be coming to London.

But I do not remember any of this. I walked around like a madman for three days.

I found myself in a house of kind people who had found me on the third day, wild and crazy.

They have told me that I was singing a song about the last man left alive, the last man left alive.

Although they had their own problems, these people helped me and protected me from myself.

When I was better, they told me very gently what they had learned about Leatherhead.

Two days after I was imprisoned, it had been destroyed with everyone in it.

I was a lonely man, and they were very kind to me.

I stayed with them for four days. All that time I felt a growing need to go back to Woking

and to see whatever remained of the little happy life of my past.

The people who had saved me tried to stop me from going.

But at last, promising to return to them, I went out.

The streets that had been so dark, strange and empty were now busy with returning people.

There were even some shops open. The day seemed bright as I went back to my little house in Woking.

The streets were busy. People were everywhere doing a thousand activities.

But then I noticed how ill the people looked with their messy hair and dirty clothes.

The churches were distributing bread centres by the French government.

Tired policemen with white badges stood at the corners of every street.

When I reached Wellington Street, I saw the red weed climbing over Waterloo Bridge.

There, I bought a copy of the Daily Mail.

I learned nothing new except that in one week they had already learned amazing things about the Martian machines.

Among other things, they had discovered the secret of flying.

At Waterloo Station there were free trains that were taking people to their homes.

The first rush was over, so there were few people on the train.

I did not feel like talking. I sat by myself, looking at the destruction that went past the windows.

London was dirty with the powder of the black smoke in spite of two days of thunderstorms and rain.

All down the line from there the country looked empty and unfamiliar.

Especially Wimbledon had suffered. Every little water stream was full of red weed.

I saw the sixth cylinder. People were standing around it and soldiers were busy inside it.

Over it was a British flag flying cheerfully in the morning breeze.

The line on the London side of Woking Station was still being repaired,

so I got off at Biflete Station and took the road to Mayberry,

past the place where I had seen the Martian in the thunderstorm.

I saw a broken cart with the whitened bones of the horse.

For a time I stood looking at the remains.

Then I went through the wood which was covered in red weed here and there.

A man standing at an open door called me by name as I passed.

I looked at my house with a quick flash of hope that died immediately.

The door had been broken and it opened slowly as I approached.

It closed again.

The curtains of my study blew out of the open window from which the soldier and I had watched the sunrise.

No one had closed it since then. I went into the hall and the house felt empty.

The stair carpet was discoloured where I had sat, wet to the skin on the terrible night.

Our muddy footsteps went up the stairs.

I went upstairs to my study and on my writing table I found the sheet of work I had left on the afternoon

of the opening of the cylinder.

For some time I stood reading it.

I remembered I could not concentrate and I had gone to get my daily chronicle from the newspaper boy.

I went downstairs into the dining room.

There were the meat and the bread, both now gone bad, just as I and the soldier had left them.

My home was a lonely place.

I realised I was stupid to hold on to hope for so long.

And then a strange thing happened.

It is no use, said a voice.

The house is deserted.

No one has been here for ten days.

Do not stay here.

You are the only one who escaped.

I was shocked.

Had I spoken my thought aloud?

I turned and the door to the garden was open behind me.

I went to it and stood looking out.

And there, amazed and afraid, were my cousin and my wife, my wife white and tealess.

She saw me and gave a faint cry.

I came, she said.

I knew, knew.

She put her hand to her throat and passed out.

I made a step forward and caught her in my arms.

As I conclude my story, I regret that I cannot answer many of the unanswered questions.

My area is philosophy.

I know little about biology, but I agree with the theory that the Martians died because of bacteria.

In all the bodies of the Martians that were examined after the war,

only bacteria living on earth were found.

Besides, we still do not know exactly what the black smoke is or how the heat ray generator works.

A more serious question is the possibility of another attack from the Martians.

I do not think that enough attention is being paid to this.

We should be prepared.

By studying Mars, we could calculate the position of the gun from which the shots came

and watch this part of the planet to predict the next attack.

If they send a cylinder, it could be destroyed before the Martians come out,

or they could be killed by guns as soon as the door opens.

The astronomer Lessing believes that the Martians have successfully landed on the planet Venus,

and he has shown excellent reasons for this theory.

Seven months ago, Venus and Mars were close to the sun,

and faint dark marks were seen on photographs.

Whether we expect another attack or not, we must change our views of the human future.

We have learned now that we cannot regard this planet as a safe place for humans.

We cannot predict the unseen good or evil that may come suddenly out of space.

Perhaps this attack from Mars is beneficial for us.

It has taken away our confidence in the future.

It has contributed to our science enormously,

and it has helped us see the importance of the common good of humankind.

Our views have been broadened greatly.

Before the cylinder fell, we believed that there was no life in space except for our planet.

Now we see further.

If the Martians can reach Venus, humankind can too.

When the slow cooling of the sun makes this earth unlivable,

it is possible that life that began here can continue there.

I must say that everything we went through has left a sense of doubt and fear in my mind.

I sit in my study writing by lamp light, and suddenly,

I see the valley below on fire and feel the house around me empty and lonely.

I go out into the by -fleet road and see the vehicles pass me,

a workman on a bicycle, children going to school.

Suddenly, they become strange and unreal,

and I find myself walking with the soldier through the hot silence.

At night, I see the black powder covering the silent streets.

I go to London and see the busy people in Fleet Street and the Strand,

and I feel that they are the ghosts of the past,

walking in the streets that I have seen silent and empty.

I stand on Primrose Hill and see the houses and the people walking among the flower beds.

The sight seers around the Martian machine that still stands there,

and the children running around. It all feels very strange.

And strangest of all is to hold my wife's hand again

and to think that I have thought she was dead, and she has thought I was dead.