BOOK ONE: THE COMING OF THE MARTIANS
CHAPTER 17: THE "THUNDER CHILD"
(continued)
Some of the passengers were of opinion that this firing
came from Shoeburyness, until it was noticed that it was
growing louder. At the same time, far away in the southeast
the masts and upperworks of three ironclads rose one after
the other out of the sea, beneath clouds of black smoke. But
my brother's attention speedily reverted to the distant firing
in the south. He fancied he saw a column of smoke rising
out of the distant grey haze.
The little steamer was already flapping her way eastward
of the big crescent of shipping, and the low Essex coast was
growing blue and hazy, when a Martian appeared, small and
faint in the remote distance, advancing along the muddy
coast from the direction of Foulness. At that the captain on
the bridge swore at the top of his voice with fear and anger
at his own delay, and the paddles seemed infected with his
terror. Every soul aboard stood at the bulwarks or on the seats
of the steamer and stared at that distant shape, higher than
the trees or church towers inland, and advancing with a
leisurely parody of a human stride.
It was the first Martian my brother had seen, and he
stood, more amazed than terrified, watching this Titan
advancing deliberately towards the shipping, wading farther
and farther into the water as the coast fell away. Then, far
away beyond the Crouch, came another, striding over some
stunted trees, and then yet another, still farther off, wading
deeply through a shiny mudflat that seemed to hang halfway
up between sea and sky. They were all stalking seaward, as
if to intercept the escape of the multitudinous vessels that
were crowded between Foulness and the Naze. In spite of
the throbbing exertions of the engines of the little paddle-boat,
and the pouring foam that her wheels flung behind
her, she receded with terrifying slowness from this ominous
advance.
Glancing northwestward, my brother saw the large crescent
of shipping already writhing with the approaching terror;
one ship passing behind another, another coming round from
broadside to end on, steamships whistling and giving off
volumes of steam, sails being let out, launches rushing hither
and thither. He was so fascinated by this and by the creeping
danger away to the left that he had no eyes for anything
seaward. And then a swift movement of the steamboat (she
had suddenly come round to avoid being run down) flung
him headlong from the seat upon which he was standing.
There was a shouting all about him, a trampling of feet, and
a cheer that seemed to be answered faintly. The steamboat
lurched and rolled him over upon his hands.
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