For a moment perhaps I stood there, breast-high in the almost

boiling water, dumbfounded at my position, hopeless of escape. Through

the reek I could see the people who had been with me in the river

scrambling out of the water through the reeds, like little frogs

hurrying through grass from the advance of a man, or running to and

fro in utter dismay on the towing path.

Then suddenly the white flashes of the Heat-Ray came leaping

towards me. The houses caved in as they dissolved at its touch, and

darted out flames; the trees changed to fire with a roar. The Ray

flickered up and down the towing path, licking off the people who ran

this way and that, and came down to the water's edge not fifty yards

from where I stood. It swept across the river to Shepperton, and the

water in its track rose in a boiling weal crested with steam. I

turned shoreward.

In another moment the huge wave, well-nigh at the boiling-point had

rushed upon me. I screamed aloud, and scalded, half blinded,

agonised, I staggered through the leaping, hissing water towards the

shore. Had my foot stumbled, it would have been the end. I fell

helplessly, in full sight of the Martians, upon the broad, bare

gravelly spit that runs down to mark the angle of the Wey and Thames.

I expected nothing but death.

I have a dim memory of the foot of a Martian coming down within a

The War of the Worlds