第 三 章 · ON HORSELL COMMON.

. ON HORSELL COMMON.

I found a little crowd of perhaps twenty people surrounding the huge

hole in which the cylinder lay. I have already described the appearance

of that colossal bulk, embedded in the ground. The turf and gravel

about it seemed charred as if by a sudden explosion. No doubt its

impact had caused a flash of fire. Henderson and Ogilvy were not there.

I think they perceived that nothing was to be done for the present, and

had gone away to breakfast at Henderson’s house.

There were four or five boys sitting on the edge of the Pit, with their

feet dangling, and amusing themselves—until I stopped them—by throwing

stones at the giant mass. After I had spoken to them about it, they

began playing at “touch” in and out of the group of bystanders.

Among these were a couple of cyclists, a jobbing gardener I employed

sometimes, a girl carrying a baby, Gregg the butcher and his little

boy, and two or three loafers and golf caddies who were accustomed to

hang about the railway station. There was very little talking. Few of

the common people in England had anything but the vaguest astronomical

ideas in those days. Most of them were staring quietly at the big table

like end of the cylinder, which was still as Ogilvy and Henderson had

left it. I fancy the popular expectation of a heap of charred corpses

was disappointed at this inanimate bulk. Some went away while I was

there, and other people came. I clambered into the pit and fancied I

heard a faint movement under my feet. The top had certainly ceased to

rotate.

It was only when I got thus close to it that the strangeness of this

object was at all evident to me. At the first glance it was really no

more exciting than an overturned carriage or a tree blown across the

road. Not so much so, indeed. It looked like a rusty gas float. It

required a certain amount of scientific education to perceive that the

grey scale of the Thing was no common oxide, that the yellowish-white

metal that gleamed in the crack between the lid and the cylinder had an

unfamiliar hue. “Extra-terrestrial” had no meaning for most of the

onlookers.

At that time it was quite clear in my own mind that the Thing had come

from the planet Mars, but I judged it improbable that it contained any

living creature. I thought the unscrewing might be automatic. In spite

of Ogilvy, I still believed that there were men in Mars. My mind ran

fancifully on the possibilities of its containing manuscript, on the

difficulties in translation that might arise, whether we should find

coins and models in it, and so forth. Yet it was a little too large for

assurance on this idea. I felt an impatience to see it opened. About

eleven, as nothing seemed happening, I walked back, full of such

thought, to my home in Maybury. But I found it difficult to get to work

upon my abstract investigations.

In the afternoon the appearance of the common had altered very much.

The early editions of the evening papers had startled London with

enormous headlines:

“A MESSAGE RECEIVED FROM MARS.”

“REMARKABLE STORY FROM WOKING,”

and so forth. In addition, Ogilvy’s wire to the Astronomical Exchange

had roused every observatory in the three kingdoms.

There were half a dozen flys or more from the Woking station standing

in the road by the sand-pits, a basket-chaise from Chobham, and a

rather lordly carriage. Besides that, there was quite a heap of

bicycles. In addition, a large number of people must have walked, in

spite of the heat of the day, from Woking and Chertsey, so that there

was altogether quite a considerable crowd—one or two gaily dressed

ladies among the others.

It was glaringly hot, not a cloud in the sky nor a breath of wind, and

the only shadow was that of the few scattered pine trees. The burning

heather had been extinguished, but the level ground towards Ottershaw

was blackened as far as one could see, and still giving off vertical

streamers of smoke. An enterprising sweet-stuff dealer in the Chobham

Road had sent up his son with a barrow-load of green apples and ginger

beer.

Going to the edge of the pit, I found it occupied by a group of about

half a dozen men—Henderson, Ogilvy, and a tall, fair-haired man that I

afterwards learned was Stent, the Astronomer Royal, with several

workmen wielding spades and pickaxes. Stent was giving directions in a

clear, high-pitched voice. He was standing on the cylinder, which was

now evidently much cooler; his face was crimson and streaming with

perspiration, and something seemed to have irritated him.

A large portion of the cylinder had been uncovered, though its lower

end was still embedded. As soon as Ogilvy saw me among the staring

crowd on the edge of the pit he called to me to come down, and asked me

if I would mind going over to see Lord Hilton, the lord of the manor.

The growing crowd, he said, was becoming a serious impediment to their

excavations, especially the boys. They wanted a light railing put up,

and help to keep the people back. He told me that a faint stirring was

occasionally still audible within the case, but that the workmen had

failed to unscrew the top, as it afforded no grip to them. The case

appeared to be enormously thick, and it was possible that the faint

sounds we heard represented a noisy tumult in the interior.

I was very glad to do as he asked, and so become one of the privileged

spectators within the contemplated enclosure. I failed to find Lord

Hilton at his house, but I was told he was expected from London by the

six o’clock train from Waterloo; and as it was then about a quarter

past five, I went home, had some tea, and walked up to the station to

waylay him.