The little vessel continued to beat its way seaward, and the ironclads
receded slowly towards the coast, which was hidden still by a marbled
bank of vapour, part steam, part black gas, eddying and combining in
the strangest way. The fleet of refugees was scattering to the
northeast; several smacks were sailing between the ironclads and the
steamboat. After a time, and before they reached the sinking cloud
bank, the warships turned northward, and then abruptly went about and
passed into the thickening haze of evening southward. The coast grew
faint, and at last indistinguishable amid the low banks of clouds that
were gathering about the sinking sun.
Then suddenly out of the golden haze of the sunset came the vibration
of guns, and a form of black shadows moving. Everyone struggled to the
rail of the steamer and peered into the blinding furnace of the west,
but nothing was to be distinguished clearly. A mass of smoke rose
slanting and barred the face of the sun. The steamboat throbbed on its
way through an interminable suspense.
The sun sank into grey clouds, the sky flushed and darkened, the
evening star trembled into sight. It was deep twilight when the captain
cried out and pointed. My brother strained his eyes. Something rushed
up into the sky out of the greyness rushed slantingly upward and very
swiftly into the luminous clearness above the clouds in the western
sky; something flat and broad, and very large, that swept round in a
vast curve, grew smaller, sank slowly, and vanished again into the grey
mystery of the night. And as it flew it rained down darkness upon the
land.
BOOK TWO
THE EARTH UNDER THE MARTIANS.
I.
UNDER FOOT.
100