Trains, vessels, and the air lines struggled to cope with broken schedules and a mad rush of frenzied passengers. Accidents of every sort were reported--but in the mass of extraordinary happenings with which the news-tape was jammed, they passed almost unnoticed. Within a few days, when it became evident that the enemy was moving southward, Boston was depopulated, as was all of Cape Cod, and every city and village along the coast. Father stayed in Washington. He had immediately advised against a premature attack of Togaro. Even had Washington overruled him, no attack could have been made in those first days, for every official thought and effort was absorbed by the need of transportation. Millions of people were routed from the threatened territory. This was unlike any war the world had ever known. Advancing enemy armies had always found the great bulk of the civilians remaining in captured territory. But there was no living soul willing to remain within a hundred miles of these giants. A psychological terror--and the very real danger of being trampled upon. Transportation was of vital importance. Government airplanes, ships, soldiers and police were all absorbed in helping the people to escape. There was little thought of attacking this enemy. Yet there had been sporadic encounters. A battleship had put into Boston harbor, with the intention of helping transport the people. A giant, ahead of his fellows, had come wading down the coast. There were still some people in the city of Lynn. He stamped upon them, and wrecked the snug little city, green and beautiful in the spring sunlight. Within five minutes it was a burning mass of wreckage. Then the lone giant came on southward. The battleship, whose commander perhaps felt that he was trapped, turned and steamed out of Boston harbor. Then it faced the giant, and shelled him from a distance of a few miles. The giant, whose head and shoulders were some fifty feet above the ocean as he waded near shore, was struck and killed. His body stained the water, lashed it to bloody foam with his dying struggles. But from the north another giant rose. Again I think it must have been Togaro. He grew to a size monstrous and came leaping down the coast. Some reports have it that he was a thousand feet tall; others say still higher. He bounded from one village to another in a single leap. Then he dived into the ocean and swam. The battleship was trapped by the hook of Cape Cod. It fired a single broadside--and missed, for the swimming Togaro saw the smoke-puff of the guns, and dived in a watery cataclysm. He came up close to the ship. He flung an arm over it. Like a toy, the great battleship up-ended, was heaved up into the air, and sank. There were a few survivors, for Togaro ignored them as though they were ants struggling in a pond. He turned, swam north--waded ashore and dwindled into the northern distance.