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- Герберт Уеллс
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- Война миров
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- Стр. 96/99
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And
as
I
looked
at
this
wide
expanse
of
houses
and
factories
and
churches
,
silent
and
abandoned
;
as
I
thought
of
the
multitudinous
hopes
and
efforts
,
the
innumerable
hosts
of
lives
that
had
gone
to
build
this
human
reef
,
and
of
the
swift
and
ruthless
destruction
that
had
hung
over
it
all
;
when
I
realised
that
the
shadow
had
been
rolled
back
,
and
that
men
might
still
live
in
the
streets
,
and
this
dear
vast
dead
city
of
mine
be
once
more
alive
and
powerful
,
I
felt
a
wave
of
emotion
that
was
near
akin
to
tears
.
The
torment
was
over
.
Even
that
day
the
healing
would
begin
.
The
survivors
of
the
people
scattered
over
the
country
--
leaderless
,
lawless
,
foodless
,
like
sheep
without
a
shepherd
--
the
thousands
who
had
fled
by
sea
,
would
begin
to
return
;
the
pulse
of
life
,
growing
stronger
and
stronger
,
would
beat
again
in
the
empty
streets
and
pour
across
the
vacant
squares
.
Whatever
destruction
was
done
,
the
hand
of
the
destroyer
was
stayed
.
All
the
gaunt
wrecks
,
the
blackened
skeletons
of
houses
that
stared
so
dismally
at
the
sunlit
grass
of
the
hill
,
would
presently
be
echoing
with
the
hammers
of
the
restorers
and
ringing
with
the
tapping
of
their
trowels
.
At
the
thought
I
extended
my
hands
towards
the
sky
and
began
thanking
God
.
In
a
year
,
thought
I
--
in
a
year
...
With
overwhelming
force
came
the
thought
of
myself
,
of
my
wife
,
and
the
old
life
of
hope
and
tender
helpfulness
that
had
ceased
for
ever
.
And
now
comes
the
strangest
thing
in
my
story
.
Yet
,
perhaps
,
it
is
not
altogether
strange
.
I
remember
,
clearly
and
coldly
and
vividly
,
all
that
I
did
that
day
until
the
time
that
I
stood
weeping
and
praising
God
upon
the
summit
of
Primrose
Hill
.
And
then
I
forget
.
Of
the
next
three
days
I
know
nothing
.
I
have
learned
since
that
,
so
far
from
my
being
the
first
discoverer
of
the
Martian
overthrow
,
several
such
wanderers
as
myself
had
already
discovered
this
on
the
previous
night
.
One
man
--
the
first
--
had
gone
to
St.
Martin
's
-
le-Grand
,
and
,
while
I
sheltered
in
the
cabmen
's
hut
,
had
contrived
to
telegraph
to
Paris
.
Thence
the
joyful
news
had
flashed
all
over
the
world
;
a
thousand
cities
,
chilled
by
ghastly
apprehensions
,
suddenly
flashed
into
frantic
illuminations
;
they
knew
of
it
in
Dublin
,
Edinburgh
,
Manchester
,
Birmingham
,
at
the
time
when
I
stood
upon
the
verge
of
the
pit
.
Already
men
,
weeping
with
joy
,
as
I
have
heard
,
shouting
and
staying
their
work
to
shake
hands
and
shout
,
were
making
up
trains
,
even
as
near
as
Crewe
,
to
descend
upon
London
.
The
church
bells
that
had
ceased
a
fortnight
since
suddenly
caught
the
news
,
until
all
England
was
bell-ringing
.
Men
on
cycles
,
lean-faced
,
unkempt
,
scorched
along
every
country
lane
shouting
of
unhoped
deliverance
,
shouting
to
gaunt
,
staring
figures
of
despair
.
And
for
the
food
!
Across
the
Channel
,
across
the
Irish
Sea
,
across
the
Atlantic
,
corn
,
bread
,
and
meat
were
tearing
to
our
relief
.
All
the
shipping
in
the
world
seemed
going
Londonward
in
those
days
.
But
of
all
this
I
have
no
memory
.
I
drifted
--
a
demented
man
.
I
found
myself
in
a
house
of
kindly
people
,
who
had
found
me
on
the
third
day
wandering
,
weeping
,
and
raving
through
the
streets
of
St.
John
's
Wood
.
They
have
told
me
since
that
I
was
singing
some
insane
doggerel
about
"
The
Last
Man
Left
Alive
!
Hurrah
!
The
Last
Man
Left
Alive
!
"
Troubled
as
they
were
with
their
own
affairs
,
these
people
,
whose
name
,
much
as
I
would
like
to
express
my
gratitude
to
them
,
I
may
not
even
give
here
,
nevertheless
cumbered
themselves
with
me
,
sheltered
me
,
and
protected
me
from
myself
.
Apparently
they
had
learned
something
of
my
story
from
me
during
the
days
of
my
lapse
.
Very
gently
,
when
my
mind
was
assured
again
,
did
they
break
to
me
what
they
had
learned
of
the
fate
of
Leatherhead
.
Two
days
after
I
was
imprisoned
it
had
been
destroyed
,
with
every
soul
in
it
,
by
a
Martian
.
He
had
swept
it
out
of
existence
,
as
it
seemed
,
without
any
provocation
,
as
a
boy
might
crush
an
ant
hill
,
in
the
mere
wantonness
of
power
.
I
was
a
lonely
man
,
and
they
were
very
kind
to
me
.
I
was
a
lonely
man
and
a
sad
one
,
and
they
bore
with
me
.
I
remained
with
them
four
days
after
my
recovery
.
All
that
time
I
felt
a
vague
,
a
growing
craving
to
look
once
more
on
whatever
remained
of
the
little
life
that
seemed
so
happy
and
bright
in
my
past
.
It
was
a
mere
hopeless
desire
to
feast
upon
my
misery
.
They
dissuaded
me
.
They
did
all
they
could
to
divert
me
from
this
morbidity
.
But
at
last
I
could
resist
the
impulse
no
longer
,
and
,
promising
faithfully
to
return
to
them
,
and
parting
,
as
I
will
confess
,
from
these
four-day
friends
with
tears
,
I
went
out
again
into
the
streets
that
had
lately
been
so
dark
and
strange
and
empty
.
Already
they
were
busy
with
returning
people
;
in
places
even
there
were
shops
open
,
and
I
saw
a
drinking
fountain
running
water
.
I
remember
how
mockingly
bright
the
day
seemed
as
I
went
back
on
my
melancholy
pilgrimage
to
the
little
house
at
Woking
,
how
busy
the
streets
and
vivid
the
moving
life
about
me
.
