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- Герберт Уеллс
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- Война миров
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- Стр. 58/99
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In
one
cart
stood
a
blind
man
in
the
uniform
of
the
Salvation
Army
,
gesticulating
with
his
crooked
fingers
and
bawling
,
"
Eternity
!
Eternity
!
"
His
voice
was
hoarse
and
very
loud
so
that
my
brother
could
hear
him
long
after
he
was
lost
to
sight
in
the
dust
.
Some
of
the
people
who
crowded
in
the
carts
whipped
stupidly
at
their
horses
and
quarrelled
with
other
drivers
;
some
sat
motionless
,
staring
at
nothing
with
miserable
eyes
;
some
gnawed
their
hands
with
thirst
,
or
lay
prostrate
in
the
bottoms
of
their
conveyances
.
The
horses
'
bits
were
covered
with
foam
,
their
eyes
bloodshot
.
There
were
cabs
,
carriages
,
shop
cars
,
waggons
,
beyond
counting
;
a
mail
cart
,
a
road-cleaner
's
cart
marked
"
Vestry
of
St.
Pancras
,
"
a
huge
timber
waggon
crowded
with
roughs
.
A
brewer
's
dray
rumbled
by
with
its
two
near
wheels
splashed
with
fresh
blood
.
"
Clear
the
way
!
"
cried
the
voices
.
"
Clear
the
way
!
"
"
Eter-nity
!
Eter-nity
!
"
came
echoing
down
the
road
.
There
were
sad
,
haggard
women
tramping
by
,
well
dressed
,
with
children
that
cried
and
stumbled
,
their
dainty
clothes
smothered
in
dust
,
their
weary
faces
smeared
with
tears
.
With
many
of
these
came
men
,
sometimes
helpful
,
sometimes
lowering
and
savage
.
Fighting
side
by
side
with
them
pushed
some
weary
street
outcast
in
faded
black
rags
,
wide-eyed
,
loud-voiced
,
and
foul-mouthed
.
There
were
sturdy
workmen
thrusting
their
way
along
,
wretched
,
unkempt
men
,
clothed
like
clerks
or
shopmen
,
struggling
spasmodically
;
a
wounded
soldier
my
brother
noticed
,
men
dressed
in
the
clothes
of
railway
porters
,
one
wretched
creature
in
a
nightshirt
with
a
coat
thrown
over
it
.
But
varied
as
its
composition
was
,
certain
things
all
that
host
had
in
common
.
There
were
fear
and
pain
on
their
faces
,
and
fear
behind
them
.
A
tumult
up
the
road
,
a
quarrel
for
a
place
in
a
waggon
,
sent
the
whole
host
of
them
quickening
their
pace
;
even
a
man
so
scared
and
broken
that
his
knees
bent
under
him
was
galvanised
for
a
moment
into
renewed
activity
.
The
heat
and
dust
had
already
been
at
work
upon
this
multitude
.
Their
skins
were
dry
,
their
lips
black
and
cracked
.
They
were
all
thirsty
,
weary
,
and
footsore
.
And
amid
the
various
cries
one
heard
disputes
,
reproaches
,
groans
of
weariness
and
fatigue
;
the
voices
of
most
of
them
were
hoarse
and
weak
.
Through
it
all
ran
a
refrain
:
"
Way
!
Way
!
The
Martians
are
coming
!
"
Few
stopped
and
came
aside
from
that
flood
.
The
lane
opened
slantingly
into
the
main
road
with
a
narrow
opening
,
and
had
a
delusive
appearance
of
coming
from
the
direction
of
London
.
Yet
a
kind
of
eddy
of
people
drove
into
its
mouth
;
weaklings
elbowed
out
of
the
stream
,
who
for
the
most
part
rested
but
a
moment
before
plunging
into
it
again
.
A
little
way
down
the
lane
,
with
two
friends
bending
over
him
,
lay
a
man
with
a
bare
leg
,
wrapped
about
with
bloody
rags
.
He
was
a
lucky
man
to
have
friends
.
A
little
old
man
,
with
a
grey
military
moustache
and
a
filthy
black
frock
coat
,
limped
out
and
sat
down
beside
the
trap
,
removed
his
boot
--
his
sock
was
blood-stained
--
shook
out
a
pebble
,
and
hobbled
on
again
;
and
then
a
little
girl
of
eight
or
nine
,
all
alone
,
threw
herself
under
the
hedge
close
by
my
brother
,
weeping
.
