An Update on @HGWells
Despite Well’s evocative descriptions of a deserted city, not everyone had left London. Some simply could not afford to, others such as the botanist Ernest Marquand could not leave because of familial responsibilities. Others remained to fight, or to support those who had stayed.
Historians now estimate that of the 6.3 million who lived in Greater London before the war, 20% (1.25 million people) stayed in the city. This left 5 million refugees, of whom perhaps only 338,000 would have been able to be evacuated by sea to the continent – fleeing north.
For those remaining in London most hid, but not all. Wells’ Artilleryman later claimed to have seen Regent’s Street ablaze with lights, crowded with painted and ragged drunkards, men and women, dancing and shouting – even as a tripod stood sentinel near by the Langham watching, unobserved.
The Martian tripod watched until dawn and then working its way down the street picked up perhaps a 100 of those too drunk or frightened to run away.
Woken by noise. So many lights. So much shouting and noise. All to the north and not far. #PiccadillyCircus #RegentsSt #aretheyinsane #whatishappening
Although no photograph of Maxim’s improved flying machine is known to exist, his earlier craft is pictured. Built in 1894, It was powered by two lightweight 180-horsepower steam engines, achieved forty miles per hour at launch, and flew two hundred feet before crashing.
It had been believed that Maxim lost interest in flying after this failure, however, his journal makes it quite clear this was not the case. Maxim’s journal records his interest in the work by Franco-American inventor Emile Lamm (1834 – 1873) who developed a “fireless steam engine” that ran on ammonia for potential use with city tram lines.
Lamm’s invention saw some limited use in both Paris and New Orleans before fading into obscurity. Because ammonia compresses quite easily into a liquid, the engine was naturally lighter without having to carry wood or coal around with it. A much-developed version powered Maxim’s flying machine.
It is the 10th day of Wells confinement to the collapsed house in Sheen and, after a sleepless night, once again Wells wakens to the curate praying loudly.
Wells attempts to quieten him, but the curate rises to his knees, and in a voice that Wells later states must have reached the pit, cries: “I have been still too long and must now bear my witness. Woe unto this unfaithful city! Woe! to the inhabitants of the earth.”
Wells describes rising to his feet in a terror lest the Martians hear them. But the curate simply continues shouting, at the top of his voice, standing to match Wells and extending his arms. “I must speak! The word of the Lord is upon me!”
And then the curate breaks, running for the pit and Wells pursues him, a meat-chopper in his hand. At the last moment Wells strikes him with the butt of the cleaver and the curate falls headlong, to lay stretched on the ground.
But Wells’ fears now come to pass as the hole in the wall overlooking the pit darkens and a Martian comes to investigate. Creeping as noiselessly as he can Wells creeps to the coal cellar, and begins to cover himself up with the coal and firewood lying there.
Wells describes watching the Martian working its way down the steps, “a tentacle like an elephant’s trunk—waving towards him and touching and examining the wall, coals, wood, and ceiling. Like a black worm swaying its blind head to and fro.”
Wells feels the tentacle touch the heel of of his boot, and must bite his hand to remain silent. With an abrupt click, it grips something—a lump of coal—and leaves to examine it.
The Martian has not returned to the scullery; but Wells has lain all this day, in the close darkness, buried among coals and firewood, not daring even to crawl out for the drink he craves.