BOOK ONE: THE COMING OF THE MARTIANS
CHAPTER 14: IN LONDON
(continued)
The authorities had reason to suppose, from the size of the
cylinders, that at the outside there could not be more than
five in each cylinder--fifteen altogether. And one at least was
disposed of--perhaps more. The public would be fairly
warned of the approach of danger, and elaborate measures
were being taken for the protection of the people in the
threatened southwestern suburbs. And so, with reiterated
assurances of the safety of London and the ability of the
authorities to cope with the difficulty, this quasi-proclamation
closed.
This was printed in enormous type on paper so fresh that it
was still wet, and there had been no time to add a word of
comment. It was curious, my brother said, to see how ruthlessly the usual contents of the paper had been hacked and
taken out to give this place.
All down Wellington Street people could be seen fluttering
out the pink sheets and reading, and the Strand was suddenly
noisy with the voices of an army of hawkers following these
pioneers. Men came scrambling off buses to secure copies.
Certainly this news excited people intensely, whatever
their previous apathy. The shutters of a map shop in the
Strand were being taken down, my brother said, and a man
in his Sunday raiment, lemon-yellow gloves even, was visible inside the window hastily fastening maps of Surrey to
the glass.
Going on along the Strand to Trafalgar Square, the paper
in his hand, my brother saw some of the fugitives from West
Surrey. There was a man with his wife and two boys and
some articles of furniture in a cart such as greengrocers use.
He was driving from the direction of Westminster Bridge;
and close behind him came a hay waggon with five or six
respectable-looking people in it, and some boxes and bundles.
The faces of these people were haggard, and their entire
appearance contrasted conspicuously with the Sabbath-best
appearance of the people on the omnibuses. People in fashionable clothing peeped at them out of cabs. They stopped at
the Square as if undecided which way to take, and finally
turned eastward along the Strand. Some way behind these
came a man in workday clothes, riding one of those old-fashioned
tricycles with a small front wheel. He was dirty and
white in the face.
|