I got back to lunch about two, very tired for, as I have said, the
day was extremely hot and dull; and in order to refresh myself I took
a cold bath in the afternoon.  About half past four I went up to the
railway station to get an evening paper, for the morning papers had
contained only a very inaccurate description of the killing of Stent,
Henderson, Ogilvy, and the others.  But there was little I didn't
know.  The Martians did not show an inch of themselves.  They seemed
busy in their pit, and there was a sound of hammering and an almost
continuous streamer of smoke.  Apparently they were busy getting ready
for a struggle.  "Fresh attempts have been made to signal, but without
success," was the stereotyped formula of the papers.  A sapper told me
it was done by a man in a ditch with a flag on a long pole.  The
Martians took as much notice of such advances as we should of the
lowing of a cow.