CHAPTER THREE
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 flies 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.