residential squares to Baker Street--Portman Square is the only one I

can name--and so came out at last upon Regent's Park. And as I

emerged from the top of Baker Street, I saw far away over the trees in

the clearness of the sunset the hood of the Martian giant from which

this howling proceeded. I was not terrified. I came upon him as if

it were a matter of course. I watched him for some time, but he did

not move. He appeared to be standing and yelling, for no reason that

I could discover.

I tried to formulate a plan of action. That perpetual sound of

"Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," confused my mind. Perhaps I was too tired

to be very fearful. Certainly I was more curious to know the reason

of this monotonous crying than afraid. I turned back away from the

park and struck into Park Road, intending to skirt the park, went

along under the shelter of the terraces, and got a view of this

stationary, howling Martian from the direction of St. John's Wood. A

couple of hundred yards out of Baker Street I heard a yelping chorus,

and saw, first a dog with a piece of putrescent red meat in his jaws

coming headlong towards me, and then a pack of starving mongrels in

pursuit of him. He made a wide curve to avoid me, as though he feared

I might prove a fresh competitor. As the yelping died away down the

silent road, the wailing sound of "Ulla, ulla, ulla, ulla," reasserted

itself.

I came upon the wrecked handling-machine halfway to St. John's Wood

station. At first I thought a house had fallen across the road. It

241

The War of the Worlds