The little steamer was already flapping her way eastward of the big
crescent of shipping, and the low Essex coast was growing blue and
hazy, when a Martian appeared, small and faint in the remote distance,
advancing along the muddy coast from the direction of Foulness. At that
the captain on the bridge swore at the top of his voice with fear and
anger at his own delay, and the paddles seemed infected with his
terror. Every soul aboard stood at the bulwarks or on the seats of the
steamer and stared at that distant shape, higher than the trees or
church towers inland, and advancing with a leisurely parody of a human
stride.
It was the first Martian my brother had seen, and he stood, more amazed
than terrified, watching this Titan advancing deliberately towards the
shipping, wading farther and farther into the water as the coast fell
away. Then, far away beyond the Crouch, came another, striding over
some stunted trees, and then yet another, still farther off, wading
deeply through a shiny mudflat that seemed to hang halfway up between
sea and sky. They were all stalking seaward, as if to intercept the
escape of the multitudinous vessels that were crowded between Foulness
and the Naze. In spite of the throbbing exertions of the engines of the
little paddle-boat, and the pouring foam that her wheels flung behind
her, she receded with terrifying slowness from this ominous advance.
Glancing northwestward, my brother saw the large crescent of shipping
already writhing with the approaching terror; one ship passing behind
another, another coming round from broadside to end on, steamships
whistling and giving off volumes of steam, sails being let out,
launches rushing hither and thither. He was so fascinated by this and
by the creeping danger away to the left that he had no eyes for
anything seaward. And then a swift movement of the steamboat (she had
suddenly come round to avoid being run down) flung him headlong from
the seat upon which he was standing. There was a shouting all about
him, a trampling of feet, and a cheer that seemed to be answered
faintly. The steamboat lurched and rolled him over upon his hands.
He sprang to his feet and saw to starboard, and not a hundred yards
from their heeling, pitching boat, a vast iron bulk like the blade of a
plough tearing through the water, tossing it on either side in huge
waves of foam that leaped towards the steamer, flinging her paddles
helplessly in the air, and then sucking her deck down almost to the
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