beach, where presently my brother succeeded in attracting the

attention of some men on a paddle steamer from the Thames. They sent

a boat and drove a bargain for thirty-six pounds for the three. The

steamer was going, these men said, to Ostend.

It was about two o'clock when my brother, having paid their fares

at the gangway, found himself safely aboard the steamboat with his

charges. There was food aboard, albeit at exorbitant prices, and the

three of them contrived to eat a meal on one of the seats forward.

There were already a couple of score of passengers aboard, some of

whom had expended their last money in securing a passage, but the

captain lay off the Blackwater until five in the afternoon, picking up

passengers until the seated decks were even dangerously crowded. He

would probably have remained longer had it not been for the sound of

guns that began about that hour in the south. As if in answer, the

ironclad seaward fired a small gun and hoisted a string of flags. A

jet of smoke sprang out of her funnels.

Some of the passengers were of opinion that this firing came from

Shoeburyness, until it was noticed that it was growing louder. At the

same time, far away in the southeast the masts and upperworks of three

ironclads rose one after the other out of the sea, beneath clouds of

black smoke. But my brother's attention speedily reverted to the

distant firing in the south. He fancied he saw a column of smoke

rising out of the distant grey haze.

157

The War of the Worlds