About eight o clock a noise of heavy firing was distinctly audible all
over the south of London. My brother could not hear it for the traffic
in the main thoroughfares, but by striking through the quiet back
streets to the river he was able to distinguish it quite plainly.
He walked from Westminster to his apartments near Regent s Park, about
two. He was now very anxious on my account, and disturbed at the
evident magnitude of the trouble. His mind was inclined to run, even as
mine had run on Saturday, on military details. He thought of all those
silent, expectant guns, of the suddenly nomadic countryside; he tried
to imagine boilers on stilts a hundred feet high.
There were one or two cartloads of refugees passing along Oxford
Street, and several in the Marylebone Road, but so slowly was the news
spreading that Regent Street and Portland Place were full of their
usual Sunday-night promenaders, albeit they talked in groups, and along
the edge of Regent s Park there were as many silent couples walking
out together under the scattered gas lamps as ever there had been. The
night was warm and still, and a little oppressive; the sound of guns
continued intermittently, and after midnight there seemed to be sheet
lightning in the south.
He read and re-read the paper, fearing the worst had happened to me. He
was restless, and after supper prowled out again aimlessly. He returned
and tried in vain to divert his attention to his examination notes. He
went to bed a little after midnight, and was awakened from lurid dreams
in the small hours of Monday by the sound of door knockers, feet
running in the street, distant drumming, and a clamour of bells. Red
reflections danced on the ceiling. For a moment he lay astonished,
wondering whether day had come or the world gone mad. Then he jumped
out of bed and ran to the window.
His room was an attic and as he thrust his head out, up and down the
street there were a dozen echoes to the noise of his window sash, and
heads in every kind of night disarray appeared. Enquiries were being
shouted. They are coming! bawled a policeman, hammering at the door;
the Martians are coming! and hurried to the next door.
The sound of drumming and trumpeting came from the Albany Street
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