I remember that we all sat gasping in our chairs, with thatsweet, wet south-western breeze, fresh from the sea, flapping themuslin curtains and cooling our flushed faces. I wonder how longwe sat! None of us afterwards could agree at all on that point.We were bewildered, stunned, semi-conscious. We had all bracedour courage for death, but this fearful and sudden newfact--that we must continue to live after we had survived therace to which we belonged--struck us with the shock of aphysical blow and left us prostrate. Then gradually thesuspended mechanism began to move once more; the shuttles ofmemory worked; ideas weaved themselves together in our minds. Wesaw, with vivid, merciless clearness, the relations between thepast, the present, and the future--the lives that we had led andthe lives which we would have to live. Our eyes turned in silenthorror upon those of our companions and found the same answeringlook in theirs. Instead of the joy which men might have beenexpected to feel who had so narrowly escaped an imminent death,a terrible wave of darkest depression submerged us. Everythingon earth that we loved had been washed away into the great,infinite, unknown ocean, and here were we marooned upon thisdesert island of a world, without companions, hopes, oraspirations. A few years' skulking like jackals among the gravesof the human race and then our belated and lonely end would come.

"It's dreadful, George, dreadful!" the lady cried in an agony ofsobs. "If we had only passed with the others! Oh, why did yousaveus? I feel as if it is we that are dead and everyone elsealive."

Challenger's great eyebrows were drawn down in concentratedthought, while his huge, hairy paw closed upon the outstretchedhand of his wife. I had observed that she always held out herarms to him in trouble as a child would to its mother.

"Without being a fatalist to the point of nonresistance," saidhe, "I have always found that the highest wisdom lies in anacquiescence with the actual." He spoke slowly, and there was avibration of feeling in his sonorous voice.

"I do NOT acquiesce," said Summerlee firmly.

"I don't see that it matters a row of pins whether you acquiesceor whether you don't," remarked Lord John. "You've got to takeit, whether you take it fightin' or take it lyin' down, sowhat's the odds whether you acquiesce or not?

I can't remember that anyone asked our permission before thething began, and nobody's likely to ask it now. So whatdifference can it make what we may think of it?"

"It is just all the difference between happiness and misery,"said Challenger with an abstracted face, still patting hiswife's hand. "You can swim with the tide and have peace in mindand soul, or you can thrust against it and be bruised and weary.This business is beyond us, so let us accept it as it stands andsay no more."

"But what in the world are we to do with our lives?" I asked,appealing in desperation to the blue, empty heaven.

"What am I to do, for example? There are no newspapers, sothere's an end of my vocation."

"And there's nothin' left to shoot, and no more soldierin', sothere's an end of mine," said Lord John.

"And there are no students, so there's an end of mine," criedSummerlee.

"But I have my husband and my house, so I can thank heaven thatthere is no end of mine," said the lady.

"Nor is there an end of mine," remarked Challenger, "for scienceis not dead, and this catastrophe in itself will offer us manymost absorbing problems for investigation."

He had now flung open the windows and we were gazing out uponthe silent and motionless landscape.

"Let me consider," he continued. "It was about three, or alittle after, yesterday afternoon that the world finally enteredthe poison belt to the extent of being completely submerged. Itis now nine o'clock. The question is, at what hour did we passout from it?"

"The air was very bad at daybreak," said I.

"Later than that," said Mrs. Challenger. "As late as eighto'clock I distinctly felt the same choking at my throat whichcame at the outset."

"Then we shall say that it passed just after eight o'clock. Forseventeen hours the world has been soaked in the poisonousether. For that length of time the Great Gardener has sterilizedthe human mold which had grown over the surface of His fruit. Isit possible that the work is incompletely done--that others mayhave survived besides ourselves?"

"That's what I was wonderin'" said Lord John. "Why should we bethe only pebbles on the beach?"

"It is absurd to suppose that anyone besides ourselves canpossibly have survived," said Summerlee with conviction."Consider that the poison was so virulent that even a man who isas strong as an ox and has not a nerve in his body, like Malonehere, could hardly get up the stairs before he fell unconscious.Is it likely that anyone could stand seventeen minutes of it,far less hours?"

"Unless someone saw it coming and made preparation, same as oldfriend Challenger did."

"That, I think, is hardly probable," said Challenger, projectinghis beard and sinking his eyelids. "The combination ofobservation, inference, and anticipatory imagination whichenabled me to foresee the danger is what one can hardly expecttwice in the same generation."

"Then your conclusion is that everyone is certainly dead?"

"There can be little doubt of that. We have to remember,however, that the poison worked from below upwards and wouldpossibly be less virulent in the higher strata of theatmosphere. It is strange, indeed, that it should be so; but itpresents one of those features which will afford us in thefuture a fascinating field for study. One could imagine,therefore, that if one had to search for survivors one wouldturn one's eyes with best hopes of success to some Tibetanvillage or some Alpine farm, many thousands of feet above thesea level."

"Well, considerin' that there are no railroads and no steamersyou might as well talk about survivors in the moon," said LordJohn. "But what I'm askin' myself is whether it's really over orwhether it's only half-time."

Summerlee craned his neck to look round the horizon. "It seemsclear and fine," said he in a very dubious voice; "but soit did yesterday. I am by no means assured that it is all over."

Challenger shrugged his shoulders.

"We must come back once more to our fatalism," said he. "If theworld has undergone this experience before, which is not outsidethe range of possibility; it was certainly a very long time ago.Therefore, we may reasonably hope that it will be very longbefore it occurs again. "

"That's all very well," said Lord John, "but if you get anearthquake shock you are mighty likely to have a second oneright on the top of it. I think we'd be wise to stretch our legsand have a breath of air while we have the chance. Since ouroxygen is exhausted we may just as well be caught outside as in."

It was strange the absolute lethargy which had come upon us asa reaction after our tremendous emotions of the last twenty-fourhours. It was both mental and physical, a deep-lying feelingthatnothing mattered and that everything was a weariness and aprofitless exertion. Even Challenger had succumbed to it, andsat in his chair, with his great head leaning upon his hands andhis thoughts far away, until Lord John and I, catching him byeach arm, fairly lifted him on to his feet, receiving only theglare and growl of an angry mastiff for our trouble. However,once we had got out of our narrow haven of refuge into the wideratmosphere of everyday life, our normal energy came graduallyback to us once more.

But what were we to begin to do in that graveyard of a world?Could ever men have been faced with such a question since thedawn of time? It is true that our own physical needs, and evenour luxuries, were assured for the future. All the stores offood, all the vintages of wine, all the treasures of art wereours for the taking. But what were we to DO? Some few tasksappealed to us at once, since they lay ready to our hands. Wedescended into the kitchen and laid the two domestics upon theirrespective beds. They seemed to have died without suffering, onein the chair by the fire, the other upon the scullery floor. Thenwe carried in poor Austin from the yard. His muscles were set ashard as a board in the most exaggerated rigor mortis, while thecontraction of the fibres had drawn his mouth into a hardsardonic grin. This symptom was prevalent among all who had diedfrom the poison. Wherever we went we were confronted by thosegrinning faces, which seemed to mock at our dreadful position,smiling silently and grimly at the ill-fated survivors of theirrace.

"Look here," said Lord John, who had paced restlessly about thedining-room whilst we partook of some food, "I don't know howyou fellows feel about it, but for my part, I simply CAN'T sithere and do nothin'."

"Perhaps," Challenger answered, "you would have the kindness tosuggest what you think we ought to do."

"Get a move on us and see all that has happened."

"That is what I should myself propose."

"But not in this little country village. We can see from thewindow all that this place can teach us."

"Where should we go, then?"

"To London!"

"That's all very well," grumbled Summerlee. "You may be equal toa forty-mile walk, but I'm not so sure about Challenger, withhis stumpy legs, and I am perfectly sure about myself."Challenger was very much annoyed.

"If you could see your way, sir, to confining your remarks toyour own physical peculiarities, you would find that you had anample field for comment," he cried.

"I had no intention to offend you, my dear Challenger," criedour tactless friend, "You can't be held responsible for your ownphysique. If nature has given you a short, heavy body you cannotpossibly help having stumpy legs."

Challenger was too furious to answer. He could only growl andblink and bristle. Lord John hastened to intervene before thedispute became more violent.

"You talk of walking. Why should we walk?" said he.

"Do you suggest taking a train?" asked Challenger, stillsimmering.

"What's the matter with the motor-car? Why should we not go inthat?"

"I am not an expert," said Challenger, pulling at his beardreflectively. "At the same time, you are right in supposing thatthe human intellect in its higher manifestations should besufficiently flexible to turn itself to anything. Your idea isanexcellent one, Lord John. I myself will drive you all toLondon."

"You will do nothing of the kind," said Summerlee with decision.

"No, indeed, George!" cried his wife. "You only tried once, andyou remember how you crashed through the gate of the garage."

"It was a momentary want of concentration," said Challengercomplacently. "You can consider the matter settled. I willcertainly drive you all to London."

The situation was relieved by Lord John.

"What's the car?" he asked.

"A twenty-horsepower Humber."

"Why, I've driven one for years," said he. "By George!" headded. "I never thought I'd live to take the whole human race inone load. There's just room for five, as I remember it. Getyourthings on, and I'll be ready at the door by ten o'clock."

Sure enough, at the hour named, the car came purring andcrackling from the yard with Lord John at the wheel. I took myseat beside him, while the lady, a useful little buffer state,wassqueezed in between the two men of wrath at the back. Then LordJohn released his brakes, slid his lever rapidly from first tothird, and we sped off upon the strangest drive that ever humanbeings have taken since man first came upon the earth.

You are to picture the loveliness of nature upon that Augustday, the freshness of the morning air, the golden glare of thesummer sunshine, the cloudless sky, the luxuriant green of theSussex woods, and the deep purple of heather-clad downs. As youlooked round upon the many-coloured beauty of the scene allthought of a vast catastrophe would have passed from your mindhad it not been for one sinister sign--the solemn, all-embracingsilence. There is a gentle hum of life which pervades aclosely-settled country, so deep and constant that one ceases toobserve it, as the dweller by the sea loses all sense of theconstantmurmur of the waves. The twitter of birds, the buzz of insects,the far-off echo of voices, the lowing of cattle, the distantbarking of dogs, roar of trains, and rattle of carts--all theseform one low, unremitting note, striking unheeded upon the ear.We missed it now. This deadly silence was appalling. So solemnwas it, so impressive, that the buzz and rattle of our motor-carseemed an unwarrantable intrusion, an indecent disregard of thisreverent stillness which lay like a pall over and round theruins of humanity. It was this grim hush, and the tall clouds ofsmoke which rose here and there over the country-side fromsmoldering buildings, which cast a chill into our hearts as wegazed round at the glorious panorama of the Weald.

And then there were the dead! At first those endless groups ofdrawn and grinning faces filled us with a shuddering horror. Sovivid and mordant was the impression that I can live over againthat slow descent of the station hill, the passing by thenurse-girl with the two babes, the sight of the old horse on hisknees between the shafts, the cabman twisted across his seat,and the young man inside with his hand upon the open door in thevery act of springing out. Lower down were six reapers all in alitter, their limbs crossing, their dead, unwinking eyes gazingupwards at the glare of heaven. These things I see as in aphotograph. But soon, by the merciful provision of nature, theover-excited nerve ceased to respond. The very vastness of thehorror took away from its personal appeal. Individuals mergedinto groups, groups into crowds, crowds into a universalphenomenon which one soon accepted as the inevitable detail ofevery scene. Only here and there, where some particularly brutalor grotesque incident caught the attention, did the mind comebackwith a sudden shock to the personal and human meaning of it all.

Above all, there was the fate of the children. That, I remember,filled us with the strongest sense of intolerable injustice. Wecould have wept--Mrs. Challenger did weep--when we passed agreat council school and saw the long trail of tiny figuresscattered down the road which led from it. They had beendismissed by their terrified teachers and were speeding fortheir homes when the poison caught them in its net. Greatnumbers of people were at the open windows of the houses. InTunbridge Wells there was hardly one which had not its staring,smiling face. At the last instant the need of air, that verycraving for oxygen which we alone had been able to satisfy, hadsent them flying to the window. The sidewalks too were litteredwith men and women, hatless and bonnetless, who had rushed outof the houses. Many of them had fallen in the roadway. It was alucky thing that in Lord John we had found an expert driver, forit was no easy matter to pick one's way. Passing through thevillages or towns we could only go at a walking pace, and once,I remember, opposite the school at Tonbridge, we had to halt sometime while we carried aside the bodies which blocked our path.

A few small, definite pictures stand out in my memory from amidthat long panorama of death upon the Sussex and Kentish highroads. One was that of a great, glittering motor-car standingoutside the inn at the village of Southborough. It bore, as Ishould guess, some pleasure party upon their return fromBrighton or from Eastbourne. There were three gaily dressedwomen, all young and beautiful, one of them with a Pekingspaniel upon her lap. With them were a rakish-looking elderlyman and a young aristocrat, his eyeglass still in his eye, hiscigarette burned down to the stub between the fingers of hisbegloved hand. Death must have come on them in an instant andfixed them as they sat. Save that the elderly man had at thelast moment torn out his collar in an effort to breathe, theymight all have been asleep. On one side of the car a waiter withsome broken glasses beside a tray was huddled near the step. Onthe other, two very ragged tramps, a man and a woman, lay wherethey had fallen, the man with his long, thin arm stilloutstretched, even as he had asked for alms in his lifetime. Oneinstant of time had put aristocrat, waiter, tramp, and dog uponone common footing of inert and dissolving protoplasm.

I remember another singular picture, some miles on the Londonside of Sevenoaks. There is a large convent upon the left, witha long, green slope in front of it. Upon this slope wereassembled a great number of school children, all kneeling atprayer. In front of them was a fringe of nuns, and higher up theslope, facing towards them, a single figure whom we took to bethe Mother Superior. Unlike the pleasure-seekers in themotor-car,these people seemed to have had warning of their danger andto have died beautifully together, the teachers and the taught,assembled for their last common lesson.

My mind is still stunned by that terrific experience, and Igrope vainly for means of expression by which I can reproducethe emotions which we felt. Perhaps it is best and wisest not totry, but merely to indicate the facts. Even Summerlee andChallenger were crushed, and we heard nothing of our companionsbehind us save an occasional whimper from the lady. As to LordJohn, he was too intent upon his wheel and the difficult task ofthreading his way along such roads to have time or inclinationfor conversation. One phrase he used with such wearisomeiteration that it stuck in my memory and at last almost made melaugh as a comment upon the day of doom.

"Pretty doin's! What!"

That was his ejaculation as each fresh tremendous combination ofdeath and disaster displayed itself before us. "Pretty doin's!What!" he cried, as we descended the station hill atRotherfield, and it was still "Pretty doin's! What!" as wepicked our way through a wilderness of death in the High Streetof Lewisham and the Old Kent Road.

It was here that we received a sudden and amazing shock. Out ofthe window of a humble corner house there appeared a flutteringhandkerchief waving at the end of a long, thin human arm. Neverhad the sight of unexpected death caused our hearts to stop andthen throb so wildly as did this amazing indication of life.Lord John ran the motor to the curb, and in an instant we hadrushed through the open door of the house and up the staircaseto the second-floor front room from which the signal proceeded.

A very old lady sat in a chair by the open window, and close toher, laid across a second chair, was a cylinder of oxygen,smaller but of the same shape as those which had saved our ownlives. She turned her thin, drawn, bespectacled face toward usas we crowded in at the doorway.

"I feared that I was abandoned here forever," said she, "for Iam an invalid and cannot stir."

"Well, madam," Challenger answered, "it is a lucky chance thatwe happened to pass."

"I have one all-important question to ask you," said she."Gentlemen, I beg that you will be frank with me. What effectwillthese events have upon London and North-Western Railway shares?"

We should have laughed had it not been for the tragic eagernesswith which she listened for our answer. Mrs. Burston, for thatwas her name, was an aged widow, whose whole income dependedupon a small holding of this stock. Her life had been regulatedby the rise and fall of the dividend, and she could form noconception of existence save as it was affected by the quotationof her shares. In vain we pointed out to her that all the moneyin the world was hers for the taking and was useless when taken.Her old mind would not adapt itself to the new idea, and shewept loudly over her vanished stock. "It was all I had," shewailed. "If that is gone I may as well go too."

Amid her lamentations we found out how this frail old plant hadlived where the whole great forest had fallen. She was aconfirmed invalid and an asthmatic. Oxygen had been prescribedfor her malady, and a tube was in her room at the moment of thecrisis. She had naturally inhaled some as had been her habitwhen there was a difficulty with her breathing. It had given herrelief, and by doling out her supply she had managed to survivethe night. Finally she had fallen asleep and been awakened bythe buzz of our motor-car. As it was impossible to take her onwith us, we saw that she had all necessaries of life and promisedto communicate with her in a couple of days at the latest. So weleft her, still weeping bitterly over her vanished stock.

As we approached the Thames the block in the streets becamethicker and the obstacles more bewildering. It was withdifficulty that we made our way across London Bridge. Theapproaches to it upon the Middlesex side were choked from end toend with frozen traffic which made all further advance in thatdirection impossible. A ship was blazing brightly alongside oneof the wharves near the bridge, and the air was full of driftingsmuts and of a heavy acrid smell of burning. There was a cloudof dense smoke somewhere near the Houses of Parliament, but itwas impossible from where we were to see what was on fire.

"I don't know how it strikes you," Lord John remarked as hebrought his engine to a standstill, "but it seems to me thecountry is more cheerful than the town. Dead London is gettin'on my nerves. I'm for a cast round and then gettin' back toRotherfield."

"I confess that I do not see what we can hope for here," saidProfessor Summerlee.

"At the same time," said Challenger, his great voice boomingstrangely amid the silence, "it is difficult for us to conceivethat out of seven millions of people there is only this one oldwoman who by some peculiarity of constitution or some accidentof occupation has managed to survive this catastrophe."

"If there should be others, how can we hope to find them,George?" asked the lady. "And yet I agree with you that wecannot go back until we have tried."

Getting out of the car and leaving it by the curb, we walkedwith some difficulty along the crowded pavement of King WilliamStreet and entered the open door of a large insurance office. Itwas a corner house, and we chose it as commanding a view inevery direction. Ascending the stair, we passed through what Isuppose to have been the board-room, for eight elderly men wereseated round a long table in the centre of it. The high windowwas open and we all stepped out upon the balcony. From it wecould see the crowded city streets radiating in every direction,while below us the road was black from side to side with thetops of the motionless taxis. All, or nearly all, had theirheads pointed outwards, showing how the terrified men of thecity had at the last moment made a vain endeavor to rejoin theirfamilies in the suburbs or the country. Here and there amid thehumbler cabs towered the great brass-spangled motor-car of somewealthy magnate, wedged hopelessly among the dammed stream ofarrested traffic. Just beneath us there was such a one of greatsize and luxurious appearance, with its owner, a fat old man,leaning out, half his gross body through the window, and hispodgy hand, gleaming with diamonds, outstretched as he urged hischauffeur to make a last effort to break through the press.

A dozen motor-buses towered up like islands in this flood, thepassengers who crowded the roofs lying all huddled together andacross eash others' laps like a child's toys in a nursery. On abroad lamp pedestal in the centre of the roadway, a burlypoliceman was standing, leaning his back against the post in sonatural an attitude that it was hard to realize that he was notalive, while at his feet there lay a ragged newsboy with hisbundle of papers on the ground beside him. A paper-cart had gotblocked in the crowd, and we could read in large letters, blackupon yellow, "Scene at Lord's. County Match Interrupted." Thismust have been the earliest edition, for there were otherplacards bearing the legend, "Is It the End? Great Scientist'sWarning." And another, "Is Challenger Justified? OminousRumours."

Challenger pointed the latter placard out to his wife, as itthrust itself like a banner above the throng. I could see himthrow out his chest and stroke his beard as he looked at it. Itpleased and flattered that complex mind to think that London haddied with his name and his words still present in theirthoughts. His feelings were so evident that they aroused thesardonic comment of his colleague.

"In the limelight to the last, Challenger," he remarked.

"So it would appear," he answered complacently. "Well," he addedas he looked down the long vista of the radiating streets, allsilent and all choked up with death, "I really see no purpose tobe served by our staying any longer in London. I suggest that wereturn at once to Rotherfield and then take counsel as to how weshall most profitably employ the years which lie before us."

Only one other picture shall I give of the scenes which wecarried back in our memories from the dead city. It is a glimpsewhich we had of the interior of the old church of St. Mary's,which is at the very point where our car was awaiting us.Picking our way among the prostrate figures upon the steps, wepushed open the swing door and entered. It was a wonderfulsight. The church was crammed from end to end with kneelingfigures in every posture of supplication and abasement. At thelast dreadful moment, brought suddenly face to face with therealities of life, those terrific realities which hang over useven while we follow the shadows, the terrified people hadrushed into those old city churches which for generations hadhardly ever held a congregation. There they huddled as close asthey could kneel, many of them in their agitation still wearingtheir hats, while above them in the pulpit a young man in laydress had apparently been addressing them when he and they hadbeen overwhelmed by the same fate. He lay now, like Punch in hisbooth, with his head and two limp arms hanging over the ledge ofthe pulpit. It was a nightmare, the grey, dusty church, the rowsof agonized figures, the dimness and silence of it all. We movedabout with hushed whispers, walking upon our tip-toes.

And then suddenly I had an idea. At one corner of the church,near the door, stood the ancient font, and behind it a deeprecess in which there hung the ropes for the bell-ringers. Whyshould we not send a message out over London which would attractto us anyone who might still be alive? I ran across, and pullingat the list-covered rope, I was surprised to find how difficultit was to swing the bell. Lord John had followed me.

"By George, young fellah!" said he, pulling off his coat. "You'vehit on a dooced good notion. Give me a grip and we'll soon havea move on it."

But, even then, so heavy was the bell that it was not untilChallenger and Summerlee had added their weight to ours that weheard the roaring and clanging above our heads which told usthat the great clapper was ringing out its music. Far over deadLondon resounded our message of comradeship and hope to anyfellow-man surviving. It cheered our own hearts, that strong,metallic call, and we turned the more earnestly to our work,dragged two feet off the earth with each upward jerk of therope, but all straining together on the downward heave,Challenger the lowest of all, bending all his great strength tothe task and flopping up and down like a monstrous bull-frog,croaking with every pull. It was at that moment that an artistmight have taken a picture of the four adventurers, the comradesof many strange perils in the past, whom fate had now chosen forso supreme an experience. For half an hour we worked, the sweatdropping from our faces, our arms and backs aching with theexertion. Then we went out into the portico of the church andlooked eagerly up and down the silent, crowded streets. Not asound, not a motion, in answer to our summons.

"It's no use. No one is left," I cried.

"We can do nothing more," said Mrs. Challenger. "For God's sake,George, let us get back to Rotherfield. Another hour of thisdreadful, silent city would drive me mad."

We got into the car without another word. Lord John backed herround and turned her to the south. To us the chapter seemedclosed. Little did we foresee the strange new chapter which wasto open.