The Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated
stations present Orson Welles and the Mercury
Theater on the air in The War of the Worlds by
H .G. Wells. Ladies and gentlemen, the director
of the Mercury Theater and star of these broadcasts,
Orson Welles. We know now that in the early years
of the 20th century, this world was being watched
closely by intelligences greater than man's,
and yet as mortal as his own. We know now that
as human beings vivid themselves about their
various concerns, they were scrutinized and studied.
Perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope
might scrutinize the transient creatures that
swarm and multiply in a drop of water. With infinite
complacence, people went to and fro over the
earth about their little affairs, serene in the
assurance of their dominion over this small,
spinning fragment of solar driftwood, which by
chance or design, man has inherited out of the
dark mystery of time and space. yet across an
immense, ethereal gulf. Minds that are to our
minds, as ours are to the beasts in the jungle.
Intellects, vast, cool and unsympathetic, regarded
this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and
surely drew their plans against us. In the 39th
year of the 20th century came the great disillusionment.
Near the end of October, Business was better.
The war scare was over. More men were back at
work. Sales were picking up. On this particular
evening, October 30th, the Crosley service estimated
that 32 million people were listening in on radios.
In the next 24 hours, not much change in temperature.
A slight atmospheric disturbance of undetermined
origin is reported over Nova Scotia. causing
a low -pressure area to move down rather rapidly
over the northeastern states, bringing a forecast
of rain accompanied by winds of light gale force.
Maximum temperature 66, minimum 48. This weather
report comes to you from the Government Weather
Bureau. We take you now to the Merdian Room in
the Hotel Park Plaza in downtown New York, where
you will be entertained by the music of Raymond
Raquelow and his orchestra. Good evening, ladies
and gentlemen. From the Meridian Room in the
Park Plaza Hotel in New York City, we bring you
the music of Raymond Raquello and his orchestra.
With a touch of the Spanish, Raymond Raquello
leads off with La Campesita. Ladies and gentlemen,
we interrupt our program of dance music to bring
you a special bulletin from the Intercontinental
Radio News. At 20 minutes before eight central
time, Professor Farrell of the Mount Jennings
Observatory, Chicago, Illinois, reports observing
several explosions of incandescent gas occurring
at regular intervals on the planet Mars. The
spectroscope indicates the gas to be hydrogen
and moving toward the Earth with enormous velocity.
Professor Pearson of the Observatory at Princeton
confirms Farrell's observation and describes
the phenomenon as, quote, like a jet of blue
flame shot from a gun, unquote. We now return
you to the music of Ramon Raquello playing for
you in the Meridian Room of the Park Plaza Hotel,
situated in downtown New York. A tune that never
loses favor, the ever popular Stardust. Raymond
Rakello and his orchestra. Ladies and gentlemen,
following on the news given in our bulletin a
moment ago, the government meteorological bureau
has requested the large observatories of the
country to keep an astronomical watch on any
further disturbances occurring on the planet
Mars. Due to the unusual nature of this occurrence,
we have arranged an interview with a noted astronomer,
Professor Pearson, who will give us his views
on this event. In a few moments, we will take
you to the Princeton Observatory at Princeton,
New Jersey. We return you until then to the music
of Ramon Raquelou and his orchestra. We are ready
now to take you to the Princeton Observatory
at Princeton, where Carl Phillips, our commentator,
will interview Professor Richard Pearson, famous
astronomer. We take you now to Princeton, New
Jersey. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This
is Carl Phillips speaking to you from the Observatory
at Princeton. I'm standing in a large semicircular
room, pitch black except for an oblong split
in the ceiling. Through this opening, I can see
a sprinkling of stars that cast a kind of frosty
glow over the intricate mechanism of the huge
telescope. The ticking sound you hear is the
vibration of the clockwork. Professor Pearson
stands directly above me on a small platform,
peering through the giant lens. I ask you to
be patient, ladies and gentlemen, during any
delay that may arise during our interview. Besides
the ceaseless watch of the heavens, Professor
Pearson may be interrupted by telephone or other
communications. During this period he is in constant
touch with the astronomical centers of the world.
Professor, may I begin our questions? Any time,
Mr. Phillips. Professor, would you please tell
our radio audience exactly what you see as you
observe the planet Mars through your telescope?
Nothing unusual at the moment, Mr. Phillips.
A red disk swimming in a blue sea. Transverse
stripes across the disk. Quite distinct now because
Mars has to be at the point nearest to the Earth
in opposition, as we call it. In your opinion,
what do these transverse stripes signify? Not
canals, I can assure you, Mr. Phillips. Although
that's the popular conjecture of those who imagine
Mars to be inhabited. From a scientific viewpoint,
the stripes are merely the result of atmospheric
conditions peculiar to the planet. Then you're
quite convinced, as a scientist, that living
intelligence as we know it does not exist on
Mars? I'd say the chances against it are a thousand
to one. And yet... How do you account for these
gas eruptions occurring on the surface of the
planet at regular intervals? Phillips, I cannot
account for it. By the way, Professor, for the
benefit of our listeners, how far is Mars from
the Earth? Approximately 40 million miles. Well,
that seems a safe enough distance. Just a moment,
ladies and gentlemen. Someone has just handed
Professor Pearson a message. While he reads it,
let me remind you that we are speaking to you
from the Observatory in Princeton, New Jersey.
where we are interviewing the world -famous astronomer
Professor Pearson. One moment, please. Professor
Pearson has passed me a message which he has
just received. Professor, may I read the message
to the listening audience? Certainly, Mr. Brooks.
Ladies and gentlemen, I shall read you a wire
addressed to Professor Pearson from Dr. Gray
of the Natural History Museum, New York. Quote.
9 .15 p .m. Eastern Standard Time. Seismograph
registered shock of almost earthquake intensity
occurring within a radius of 20 miles of Princeton.
Please investigate. Signed Lloyd Gray, Chief
of Astronomical Division." Unquote. Professor
Pearson, could this occurrence possibly have
something to do with the disturbances observed
on the planet Mars? Hardly, Mr. Phillips. This
is probably a meteorite of unusual size, and
its arrival at this particular time is merely
a coincidence. However, we shall conduct a search
as soon as daylight permits. Thank you, Professor.
Ladies and gentlemen, for the past ten minutes,
we've been speaking to you from the observatory
at Princeton. bringing you a special interview
with Professor Pearson, noted astronomer. This
is Carl Phillips speaking. We are returning you
now to our New York studio. Ladies and gentlemen,
here is the latest bulletin from the Intercontinental
Radio News. Toronto, Canada. Professor Morris
of Macmillan University reports observing a total
of three explosions on the planet Mars between
the hours of 7 45 p .m. And 9 20 p .m. Eastern
Standard Time this confirms earlier reports received
from American observatories Now near home comes
a special bulletin from Trenton, New Jersey It
is reported that at 8 50 p .m. A huge flaming
object believed to be a meteorite fell on a farm
in the neighborhood of Grovers Mill, New Jersey
22 miles from Trenton The flash in the sky was
visible within a radius of several hundred miles,
and the noise of the impact was heard as far
north as Elizabeth. We have dispatched a special
mobile unit to the scene, and we'll have our
commentator, Carl Phillips, give you a word picture
of the scene as soon as he can reach there from
Princeton. In the meantime, we take you to the
Hotel Martinette in Brooklyn, where Bobby Millett
and his orchestra are offering a program of dance
music. We take you now to Grovers Mill, New Jersey.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is Carl Phillips again,
out at the Wilmeth farm, Grovers Mill, New Jersey.
Mr. Pearson and myself made the 11 miles from
Princeton in 10 minutes. Well, I hardly know
where to begin, so I'll paint for you a word
picture of a strange scene before my eyes, like
something out of a modern Arabian night. Well,
I just got here. I haven't had a chance to...
Look around, Jed. I guess that's it. Yes, I guess
that's the thing directly in front of me. Half
buried in a vast pit. Must have stuck with terrific
force. The ground is covered with splinters of
a tree. It must have struck on its way down.
But I can see the object itself doesn't look
very much like a meteor. At least not the meteor
as I've seen. It looks more like a huge cylinder.
Has a diameter of, um... What would you say,
Professor Pearson? What would you say, what's
the diameter of this? About 30 yards. About 30
yards. The metal on the sheath is, well, I've
never seen anything like it. The color is sort
of yellowish -white. It's curious. Spectators
now are pressing close to the object in spite
of the efforts of the police to keep them back.
They're getting in front of my line of vision.
Would you mind standing one side, please? While
the police are pushing the crowd back. Here's
Mr. Wilmott, owner of the farm here. He may have
some interesting facts to add. Mr. Wilmott. Would
you please tell the radio audience as much as
you remember of this rather unusual visitor that
dropped in your backyard? Step closer, please.
Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Wilman. Well,
I was listening to the radio... Closer and louder,
please. Pardon me? Louder, please, closer. Yes.
I was listening to the radio and kind of drowsy.
A professor fellow was talking about Mars, so
I was half chosen and half... Yes, yes, Mr. Wilman.
And then what happened? Well, as I was saying,
I was listening to the radio... Kind of halfway.
Yes, Mr. Wilmot. And then you saw something.
Not first off. I heard something. And what did
you hear? A hissing sound, like this. Kind of
like a Fourth of July rocket. Yes, then what?
I turned my head out the window and would have
sworn I was asleep and dreaming. Yes. I seen
a kind of greenish streak and then zingo. Something
smacked the ground. Knocked me clear out of my
chair. Well, were you frightened, Mr. Wilmot?
Well, I ain't quite sure. I reckon I was kind
of riled. Well, thank you, Mr. Wilmot. Thank
you very much. You want me to tell them tomorrow?
No, that's quite all right. That's plenty. Ladies
and gentlemen, you've just heard Mr. Wilmot,
owner of the farm where this thing has fallen.
I wish I could convey the atmosphere, the background
of this fantastic scene. Hundreds of cars are
parked in the field and back of us and the police
are trying to rope off the roadway leading into
the farm, but it's no use. They're breaking right
through. Cars, headlights throw an enormous spotlight
on the pit where the object's half buried. Now,
some of the more daring soldiers now are venturing
near the edge. The silhouette stand out against
the metal chains. One man wants to touch the
thing. He's having an argument with the policeman.
Now, the policeman wins. Now, ladies and gentlemen,
there's something I haven't mentioned in all
this excitement, but it's becoming more distinct.
Perhaps you've caught it already on your radio.
Listen, please. Do you hear it? It's a curious
humming sound that seems to come from inside
the object. I'll move the microphone nearer.
Here. Now, we're not more than 25 feet away.
Can you hear it now? Professor Pearson? Yes,
Mr... Can you tell us the meaning of that scraping
noise inside the thing? Possibly the unequal
cooling of its surface. I say, do you still think
it's a meteor, Professor? I don't know what to
think. The metal casing is definitely extraterrestrial.
Not found on this earth. Friction with the earth's
atmosphere usually tears holes in a meteorite.
This thing is smooth, and you can see a cylindrical
shape. Something's happening. Ladies and gentlemen,
this is terrific. This end of the thing is beginning
to flake off. The top is beginning to rotate
like a screw, and this thing must be hollow.
Keep back there! Keep those idiots back! Ladies
and gentlemen, this is the most terrifying thing
I've ever witnessed. Wait a minute. Someone calling
someone or something, I can see, turning out
of that black hole through luminous disks. The
eyes, it might be a face, it might be all of
the heavens, something wriggling out of the shadow
like a gray snake. Now it's another one and another
one and another one. They look like tentacles
to me. I can see the thing's body. Now it's large.
It's as large as a bear. It's glistening like
wet leather, but that face... Ladies and gentlemen,
it's indescribable, but I can hardly force myself
to keep looking at it. It's so awful. The eyes
are black and they gleam like a serpent. The
mouth is that kind of V -shape. It's alive. It's
dripping from its rimless lips. It seems to...
those quivered pulsates and the monster or whatever
it is can hardly move. It seems weighed down
by possibly gravity or something. The thing's...
Rising up now, and the crowd falls back. It seems
plenty, the most extraordinary experience, ladies
and gentlemen. I can't find words. Well, pull
this microphone with me as I talk. I'll have
to stop the description until I can take a new
position. Hold on, will you, please? I'll be
right back in a minute. We are bringing you an
eyewitness account of what's happening on the
Wilmeth farm, Grovers Mill, New Jersey. We now
return you to Carl Phillips at Grovers Mill.
Ladies and gentlemen, Maryon. Ladies and gentlemen.
Ladies and gentlemen, here I am, back of a stone
wall that adjoins Mr. Wilma's garden. From here,
I get a sweep of the whole scene. I'll give you
every detail as long as I can talk and as long
as I can see. More state police have arrived.
They're drawing up a cordon in front of the pit.
About 30 of them. No need to push the crowd back
now. They're willing to keep their distance.
The captain's conferring with someone. I can't
quite see who. Ah, yes, I believe it's Professor
Pearson. Yes, it is. Now they've parted, and
the professor moves around one side. Studying
the object while the captain and two policemen
advance with something in their hands. I can
see it now. It's a white hexagon tied to a pole.
A flag of truce. Those preachers know what that
means, what anything means. Wait a minute, something's
happening. Humped shape is rising out of the
pit. I can make out a small beam of light against
a mirror. What's that? There's a jet of flames
springing from the mirror that leaps right at
the advancing men. Ladies and gentlemen due to
circumstances beyond our control we are unable
to continue the broadcast from Grover's mill
Evidently, there's some difficulty with our field
transmission. However We will return to that
point at the earliest opportunity. In the meantime,
we have a late bulletin from San Diego, California.
Professor Endelkofer, speaking at a dinner of
the California Astronomical Society, expressed
the opinion that the explosions on Mars are undoubtedly
nothing more than severe volcanic disturbances
on the surface of the planet. We continue now
with our piano interlude. Ladies and gentlemen,
I've just been handed a message that came in
from Grover's Mill by telephone. Just one moment,
please. At least 40 people, including six state
troopers, lie dead in a field east of the village
of Grover's Mill, their bodies burned and distorted
beyond all possible recognition. The next voice
you hear will be that of Brigadier General Montgomery
Smith, commander of the state militia at Trenton,
New Jersey. I have been requested by the governor
of New Jersey to place the counties of Mercer
and Middlesex as far west as Princeton and east
to Jamesburg under martial law. No one will be
permitted to enter this area except by special
pass issued by state or military authorities.
Four companies of state militia are proceeding
from Trenton to Grover's Mill. and will aid in
the evacuation of homes within the range of military
operations. Thank you. You have just been listening
to General Montgomery Smith, commanding the state
militia at Trenton. In the meantime, further
details of the catastrophe at Grover's Mill are
coming in. The strange creatures, after unleashing
their deadly assault, crawled back in their pit
and made no attempt to prevent the efforts of
the firemen to recover the bodies and extinguish
the fire. The combined fire departments of Mercer
County are fighting the flames which menace the
entire countryside. We have been unable to establish
any contact with our mobile unit at Grover's
Mill, but we hope to be able to return you there
at the earliest possible moment. In the meantime,
we take you to... Just one moment, please. Ladies
and gentlemen, I have just been informed that
we have finally established communication with
an eyewitness of the tragedy. Professor Pearson
has been located at a farmhouse near Grover's
Mill where he has established an emergency observation
post. As a scientist, he will give you his explanation
of the calamity. The next voice you hear will
be that of Professor Pearson brought to you by
direct wire. Professor Pearson. Of the creatures
in the rocket cylinder at Grover's Mill, I can
give you no... authoritative information, either
as to their nature, their origin, or their purposes
here on Earth. Of their destructive instrument,
I might venture some conjectural explanation.
For want of a better term, I shall refer to the
mysterious weapon as a heat ray. It's all too
evident that these creatures have scientific
knowledge far in advance of our own. It's my
guess that in some way they are able to generate
an intense heat in a chamber of practically absolute
non -conductivity. This intense heat they project
in a parallel beam against any object they choose
by means of a polished parabolic mirror of unknown
composition, much as the mirror of a lighthouse
projects a beam of light. That is my conjecture
of the origin of the heat ray. Thank you, Professor
Pearson. Ladies and gentlemen, here is a bulletin
from Trenton. It is a brief statement informing
us that the charred body of Carl Phillips has
been identified in a Trenton hospital. Now here's
another bulletin from Washington, D .C. The Office
of the Director of the National Red Cross reports
ten units of Red Cross emergency workers have
been assigned to the headquarters of the state
militia, stationed outside of Grovers Mill, New
Jersey. Here's a bulletin from State Police Princeton
Junction. The fires at Grovers Mill and vicinity
are now under control. Scouts report all quiet
in the pit and there is no sign of life appearing
from the mouth of the cylinder Now ladies and
gentlemen, we have a special statement from mr.
Harry McDonald vice president in charge of operations
We have received a request from the state militia
of Trenton to place at their disposal our entire
broadcasting facilities In view of the gravity
of the situation and believing that radio has
a responsibility to serve in the public interest
at all times We are turning over our facilities
to the State Militia at Trenton. We take you
now to the field headquarters of the State Militia
near Grovers Mill, New Jersey. This is Captain
Lansing of the Signal Corps attached to the State
Militia, now engaged in military operations in
the vicinity of Grovers Mill. Situation arising
from the reported presence of certain individuals
of unidentified nature is now under complete
control. The cylindrical object which lies in
a pit directly below our position, surrounded
on all sides by eight battalions of infantry.
Without heavy field pieces, but adequately armed
with rifles and machine guns. All cause for alarm,
if such cause ever existed, is now entirely unjustified.
Things, whatever they are, do not even venture
to poke their heads above the pit. I can see
their hiding place plainly in the glare of the
searchlights here. With all their reported resources,
these creatures can scarcely stand up against
heavy machine gun fire. Anyway, it's an interesting
outing for the troops. I can make out their cocky
uniforms, crossing back and forth in front of
the lights. Looks almost like a real war. There
appears to be some slight smoke in the woods
bordering the Millstone River. Probably fire
started by campers. Well, we ought to see some
action soon. One of the companies is deploying
on the left flank. A quick thrust and it'll all
be over. Wait a minute. I see something on top
of the cylinder. No, it's nothing but a shadow.
Now the troops are on the edge of the Wilmouth
farm. 7 ,000 armed men closing in on an old metal
tube. A tub, rather. Well, wait. That wasn't
a shadow. It's something moving. Solid metal.
Kind of a shield -like affair rising up out of
the cylinder. It's going higher and higher. It's
standing on legs. Actually rearing up on a sort
of metal framework. Now it's reaching above the
trees and the searchlights are on it. Hold on.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have a grave announcement
to make. Incredible as it may seem, both the
observations of science and the evidence of our
eyes lead to the inescapable assumption that
those strange beings who landed in the Jersey
farmlands tonight are the vanguard of an invading
army from the planet Mars. The battle which took
place tonight at Grover Mills has ended in one
of the most startling defeats ever suffered by
an army in modern times. 7 ,000 men armed with
rifles and machine guns pitted against a single
fighting machine of the invaders from Mars. 120
known survivors. The rest strewn over the battle
area from Grover's Mill to Plainsboro, crushed
and trampled to death under the metal feet of
the monster, or burned to cinders by its heat
ray. The monster is now in control of the middle
section of New Jersey and has effectively cut
the state through its center. Communication lines
are down from Pennsylvania to the Atlantic Ocean.
Railroad tracks are torn and service from New
York to Philadelphia discontinued except routing
some of the trains through Allerton and Phoenixville.
Highways to the north, south and west are clogged
with frantic human traffic. Police and army reserves
are unable to control the mad flight. By morning
the fugitives will have swelled Philadelphia,
Camden and Trenton. It is estimated to twice
their normal population. Martial law prevails
throughout New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania.
At this time, we take you to Washington for a
special broadcast on the national emergency.
The Secretary of the Interior. Citizens of the
nation, I shall not try to conceal the gravity
of the situation that confronts the country.
Nor the concern of your government in protecting
the lives and property of its people However,
I wish to impress upon you Private citizens and
public officials all of you the urgent need of
calm and resourceful action Fortunately this
formidable enemy is still confined to a comparatively
small area and we may place our faith in the
military forces to keep them there. In the meantime,
placing our faith in God, we must continue the
performance of our duties, each and every one
of us, so that we may confront this destructive
adversary with a nation united, courageous, and
consecrated to the preservation of human supremacy
on this earth. I thank you. You have just heard
the Secretary of the Interior speaking from Washington.
Bulletin's too numerous to read are piling up
in the studio here. We're informed that the central
portion of New Jersey is blacked out from radio
communication due to the effect of the heat ray
upon power lines and electrical equipment. Here
is a special bullet in New York. Cables have
been received from English, French, and German
scientific bodies offering assistance. Astronomers
report continued gas outbursts at regular intervals
and... the planet Mars. The majority voice the
opinion that the enemy will be reinforced by
additional rocket machines. There have been several
attempts made to locate Professor Pearson of
Princeton who has observed Martians at close
range. It is feared he was lost in the recent
battle. Langham Field, Virginia. Scouting planes
report three Martian machines visible above treetops
moving north toward Somerville with population
fleeing ahead of them. The heat ray is not in
use although advancing at express train speed.
Invaders picked their way carefully. They seemed
to be making a conscious effort to avoid destruction
of cities and countryside. However, they stopped
to uproot power lines, bridges, and railroad
tracks. Their apparent objective is to crush
resistance, paralyze communication, and disorganize
human society. Here is a bulletin from Basking
Ridge, New Jersey. Coon hunters have stumbled
on a second cylinder similar to the first embedded
in the Great Swamp 20 miles south of Morristown.
Army field pieces are proceeding from Newark
to blow up the second invading unit before the
cylinder can be opened in the fighting machine
rig They are taking up a position in the foothills
of watching mountains another fear another another
Bolton from Langham Field, Virginia Scouting
planes report enemy machines now three a number
Increasing speed northward kicking over houses
and trees in their evident haste to form a conjunction
with their allies south of Mars town Machines
also sighted by telephone operate east of Middlesex
within 10 miles of Plainfield Here's a bulletin
from Winston Field, Long Island. A fleet of Army
bombers carrying heavy explosive flying north
in pursuit of enemy. Scouting planes act as guides.
They keep the speeding enemy in sight. Just a
moment, please, ladies and gentlemen. We've run
special wires to the artillery line and adjacent
villages to give you direct reports on the zone
of the advancing enemy. First, we take you to
the battery of the 22nd Field Artillery, located
in the watching mountains. Range. 32 meters.
32 meters. Rejection 39 degrees. 39 degrees.
Fire! 140 yards to the right, sir. Ship range
31 meters. 31 meters. Rejection 37 degrees. 37
degrees. Fire! Just a tripod of one of them.
Let's stop. The others are trying to repair it.
Crick, get the range. Shift 50 -30 meters. 30
meters. Projection 27 degrees. 27 degrees. Fire!
Can't see the shell land, sir. Letting off a
smoke. What is it? Black smoke, sir. Moving this
way. Land close to the ground. Moving fast. Put
on gas masks. Get ready to fire. Shift to 24
meters. 24 meters. Projection 24 degrees. 24
degrees. Fire! They're 10 feet, sir. Smoke's
coming nearer. Get the reins! 23 meters. 23 meters.
43 meters. 32. 22. Bombing plane V843 off Bayonne,
New Jersey. Lieutenant Volt commanding eight
bombers reporting to Commander Fairfax Langham
Field. This is Volt reporting to Commander Fairfax
Langham Field. Enemy tripod machines now in sight.
Reinforced by three machines from the Morristown
cylinder. Six altogether. One machine partially
crippled. Believed hit by shell from army gun
in Wachung Mountains. Guns now appear silent.
A heavy black fog hanging close to the earth
of extreme density, nature unknown. No sign of
heat ray. Enemy now turns east, crossing Passaic
River into the Jersey marshes. Another straddles
the Pulaski Skyway. Evident objective is New
York City. They're pushing down a high -tension
power station. Machines are close together now
and we're ready to attack. Plane circling, ready
to strike. A thousand yards and we'll be over
the first. Eight hundred yards. Six hundred.
There they go. The giant arm raised. Green flash.
They're spraying us with flame. 2 ,000 feet.
Engines are giving out. No chance to release
bombs. Only one thing left. Drop on them, plane
and all. We're diving on the first one. Now the
engine's gone. New Jersey, calling Langham Field.
This is Bayonne, New Jersey, calling Langham
Field. Come in, please. This is Langham Field.
Go ahead. Eight Army bombers in engagement with
enemy tripod machines over Jersey flats. Engines
incapacitated by heat ray all crashed. One enemy
machine destroyed. Enemy now discharging heavy
black smoke in direction of... This is Newark,
New Jersey. This is Newark, New Jersey. Warning!
Poisonous black smoke pouring in from Jersey
marshes. Breach at South Street. Gas masks useless.
Urge population to move into open spaces. Automobiles
use routes 7, 23, 24. Avoid congested areas.
Smoke now spreading over Raymond Boulevard. Calling
CQ, 2X2L. Calling CQ, 2X2L. Calling 8X3R. Come
in, please. This is 8X3R coming back at 2X2L.
Eyes reception. Eyes reception. K, please. Where
are you, 8X3R? What's the matter? Broadcasting
Building. I'm speaking from the roof of Broadcasting
Building, New York City. The bells you hear are
ringing to warn the people to evacuate the city
as the Martians approach. Estimated in the last
two hours, three million people have moved out
along the roads to the north. Hutchison River
Parkway still kept open for motor traffic. Avoid
bridges to Long Island, hopelessly jammed. All
communication with Jersey Shore closed ten minutes
ago. No more defenses. Our army is wiped out.
Artillery, Air Force, everything wiped out. This
may be the last broadcast. We'll stay here to
the end. People are holding service here below
us in the cathedral. Now I look down the harbor,
all manner of boats, overloaded with fleeing
population pulling out from docks. Streets are
all jammed, noise and crowds like New Year's
Eve in city. Wait a minute, the... The enemy
is now in sight above the palisades. Five, five
great machines. First one is crossing the river.
I can see it from here, waiting, waiting the
Hudson like a man, waiting through a brook. A
bulletin has handed me. Martian cylinders are
falling all over the country. One outside of
Buffalo, one in Chicago. St. Louis seemed to
be timed in space. Now the first machine reaches
the shore. He stands watching, looking over the
city. The steel cowlish head is even with the
skyscrapers. He waits for the others. They rise
like a line of new towers on the city's west
side. Now they're lifting their metal hands.
This is the end now. Smoke comes out, black smoke
drifting over the city. People in the streets
see it now. They're running toward the East River,
thousands of them. Dropping in like rats. Now
the smoke's spreading faster. It's reached Times
Square. People are trying to run away from it,
but it's no use. They... They're falling like
flies. Now the smoke's crossing 6th Avenue. 5th
Avenue. 100 yards away. It's 50 feet. You are
listening to a CBS presentation of Orson Welles
and the Mercury Theater on the Air in an original
dramatization of The War of the Worlds by H .G.
Wells. The performance will continue after a
brief intermission. This is the Columbia Broadcasting
System. The War of the Worlds by H .G. Wells,
starring Orson Welles and the Mercury Theater
on the Air. As I set down these notes on paper,
I'm obsessed by the thought that I may be the
last living man on earth. I've been hiding in
this empty house near Grover's Mill, a small
island of daylight cut off by the black smoke
from the rest of the world. All that happened
before the arrival of these monstrous creatures
in the world now seems part of another life.
A life that has no continuity with the present.
Fertile existence of the lonely derelict who
Pencils these words on the back of some astronomical
notes bearing the signature of Richard Pearson
Look down at my blackened hand Try to connect
them with a professor who lives at Princeton
and who on the night of October 20th Glimpse
through his telescope an orange splash of light
on a distant planet My wife My colleagues, my
students, my books, my observatory, my... my
world. Where are they? Did they ever exist? Am
I Richard Pearson? What day is it? Do days exist
without calendars? This time pass when there
no human hands left to wind the clocks. Writing
down my daily life, I tell myself I shall preserve
human history between the dark covers of this
little book that was meant to record the movements
of the stars. But to write I must live and to
live I must eat. Find moldy bread in the kitchen
and an orange not too spoiled to swallow. Keep
watch at the window. Time to time I catch sight
of a Martian above the black smoke. The smoke
still holds the house in its black coil, but
at length there's a hissing sound, and suddenly
I see a Martian mounted on his machine, spraying
the air with a jet of steam as if to dissipate
the smoke. I watch in a corner as his huge metal
legs nearly brush against the house. Sausted
by terror, I fall asleep. Morning. Sunstreams
in the window. Black cloud of gas is lifted,
and the scorched meadows to the north look as
though a black snowstorm had passed over them.
I venture from the house. I make my way to a
road, no traffic. Here in their wrecked car,
baggage overturned, a blackened skeleton. Push
on north. For some reason, I feel safer trailing
these monsters than running away from them. And
I keep a careful watch. I've seen the Martians
feed. Should one of their machines appear over
the top of trees, I'm ready to fling myself flat
on the earth. Come to a chestnut tree, October.
Chestnuts are ripe. They're all my pockets. I
must keep alive. Two days I wander in a vague
northerly direction through a desolate world.
Finally, I notice a living creature. A small
red squirrel in a beech tree. I stare at him
and wonder. He stares back at me. I believe at
that moment the animal and I shared the same
emotion. The joy of finding another living being.
Push on north, I find dead cows in a brackish
field and beyond the charred ruins of a dairy
in a silo. Main standing guard over the wasteland
like a lighthouse. deserted by the sea. I stride
the silo, perch as a weathercock, the arrow points
north. North. Next day, I come to a city, a city
vaguely familiar in its contours, yet its building
strangely dwarfed and leveled off, as if a giant
had sliced off its highest towers with a capricious
sweep of his hand. Reached the outskirts. I found
Newark. Newark, undemolished, but humbled by
some whim of the advancing Martians. Presently,
with an odd feeling of being watched, I caught
sight of something crouching in a doorway. I
made a step towards it. It rose up and became
a man. A man armed with a large knife. Stop!
I come from... from many places. A long time
ago, from Princeton. Princeton, huh? That's near
Grover's Mill. Yes. Grover's Mill. There's no
food here. This is my country. All this end of
town down the river. There's only food for one.
Which way are you going? I don't know. I guess
I'm looking... for people. Hey, what was that?
Did we hear something just then? No. Only a bird.
A live bird. Yeah. You get to know that birds
have shadows these days. Say, we're in the open
here. Let's crawl in this doorway here and talk.
Have you seen any Martians? No. They're going
over to New York. At night, the sky is alive
with their lights, just as if people were still
living in it. By daylight, you can't see them.
Five days ago, a couple of them carried something
big across the flats from the airport. I think
they're learning how to fly. Fly? Yeah, fly.
Then it's all over with humanity. Stranger, there's
still you and I. Two of us left. Yeah. They got
themselves in solid. They wrecked the greatest
country in the world. Those green stars, they're
probably falling somewhere every night. They've
only lost one machine. There isn't anything to
do. We're done. We're licked. Where were you?
You're in a uniform. Yeah, what's left of it?
I was in the militia. National Guard. That's
good. There wasn't any war. Any more than there's
war between men and ants. Yes, but we're eatable
ants. I found that out. What'll they do to us?
I've thought it all out. Right now, we're caught
as we're wanted. A Martian only has to go a few
miles to get a crowd on the run. But they won't
keep on doing that. They'll begin catching us
systematically. Keeping the best and storing
us in cages and things. They haven't begun on
us yet. Not begun? Not begun. All that's happened
so far is because we don't have sense enough
to keep quiet. Bothering them with guns and such
stuff and losing our heads and rushing off in
crowds. Now, instead of our rushing around blind,
we gotta fix ourselves up. Fix ourselves up according
to the way things are now. Cities, nations, civilization,
progress. Yes, but if that's so, what is there
to live for? Well, there won't be any more concerts
for a million years or so and no nice little
dinners at restaurants. If it's amusement you're
after, I guess the game's up. What is there left?
Life, that's what. I wanna live. Yeah, and so
do you. We're not gonna be exterminated. And
I don't mean to be caught either. Tamed and fattened
and bred like an ox. What are you gonna do? I'm
going on. Right under their feet. I got a plan.
We men as men, we're finished. We don't know
enough. We've got to learn plenty before we've
got a chance. We've got to live and keep free
what we learn, see? I've thought it all out,
see? Well, tell me the rest. Well, it isn't all
of us that are made for wild beasts. That's what
it got to be. That's why I watched you. I watched
you. All those little office workers that used
to live in these houses. They'd be no good. They
haven't any stuff in them. They used to run.
Run off to work. I've seen hundreds of them running
to catch their commuters train in the morning,
afraid they'd get canned if they didn't. Running
back at night, afraid they wouldn't be in time
for dinner. Lives insured and a little invested
in case of accidents. And on Sundays, worried
about the hereafter. The Martians, they'll be
a godsend for those guys. Nice roomy cages, good
food, careful breeding, no worries. After a week
or so of chasing around the fields on empty stomachs...
They'll come and be glad to be caught. You've
thought it all out, haven't you? Sure, you bet
I have. That isn't all. These Martians are gonna
make pets of some of them. Train them to do tricks.
Who knows? Get sentimental over the pet boy who
grew up and had to be killed. Yeah. And some,
maybe. They'll train to hunt us. Oh, no, it's
impossible. Yes, they will. There's men who do
it gladly. after me, but... In the meantime,
you and I and others like us. Where are we to
live when the Martians own the earth? I got it
all figured out. We'll live underground. I've
been thinking about the sewers. Under New York,
there are miles and miles of them. The main ones,
they're big enough for anybody. Then there's
cellars, vaults, underground storerooms, railway
tunnels, subways. You begin to see, huh? We'll
get a bunch of strong men together. No weaklings.
That rubbish, out. As you meant me to go. Very
right. With you a chance, didn't I? Won't quarrel
about that. Go on. Well, we got to make safe
places for us to stay in, see? Get all the books
we can. Science books. That's where men like
you come in, see? We raid the museums. Will even
spy on the Martians. May not be so much we have
to learn before. Just imagine this. Four or five
of their own fighting machines suddenly start
off. Heat rays right and left. Not a Martian
in them. Not a Martian in them, see? But men.
Men who've learned the way how. May even be in
our time. Gee. Imagine having one of them lovely
things with a heat ray wide and free. We'd turn
it on Martians. We'd turn it on men. We'd bring
everybody down on their knees. That's your plan.
Yeah. You, me, a few more of us. We'd own the
world. I see. Hey. Hey, what's the matter? Where
are you going? Not to your world. Bye, stranger.
After parting with the artillerymen, I came at
last to the Holland Tunnel, entered that silent
tube, anxious to know the fate of the great city
on the other side of the Hudson. Cautiously,
I came out of the tunnel and made my way up Canal
Street. Reached 14th Street, and there again
were black powder and several bodies and an evil
ominous smell from the gratings of the cellars
of some of the houses. Wandered up through the
30s and 40s. Stood alone on Times Square. Caught
sight of a lean dog running down 7th Avenue with
a piece of dark brown meat in his jaws and a
pack of starving mongrels at his heels. Made
a wide circle around me as though he feared I
might prove a fresh competitor. Walked up Broadway
in the direction of that... that strange powder,
that silent shop windows. displaying their mute
wares to empty sidewalks. Past the Capitol Theater,
silent, dark. Past a shooting gallery where a
row of empty guns faced an arrested line of wooden
ducks near Columbus Circle. I noticed models
of 1939 motor cars in the showrooms facing empty
streets. Over the top of the General Motors building,
I watched a flock of black birds circling in
the sky. Hurry it on. Suddenly I caught sight
of the hood of a Martian machine, standing somewhere
in Central Park, gleaming in the late afternoon
sun. An insane idea. I rushed recklessly across
Columbus Circle and into the park. I climbed
a small hill above the pond at 60th Street, and
from there I could see, standing in a silent
row along the mall, 19 of those great metal titans,
their cowls empty, their steel arms... hanging
listlessly by their sides. I looked in vain for
the monsters that inhabit those machines. Suddenly
my eyes were attracted to the immense flock of
black birds that hovered directly below me. They
circled to the ground. And there before my eyes,
stark and silent, lay the Martians with the hungry
birds pecking and tearing brown shreds of flesh
from their dead bodies. Later, when their bodies
were examined in laboratories, it was found that
they were killed by the putrefactive and diseased
bacteria against which their systems were unprepared.
Plain, after all, man's defenses had failed by
the humblest thing that God, as wisdom, has put
upon this earth. Before the cylinder fell, there
was... A general persuasion that through all
the deep of space, no life existed beyond the
petty surface of our minute sphere. Now we see
further. Dim and wonderful is the vision I've
conjured up in my mind of life spreading slowly
from this little seedbed of the solar system
throughout the inanimate vastnesses of sidereal
space. But a remote dream, maybe. Maybe that
the destruction of the Martians is only a reprieve
to them and not to us. The future ordained, perhaps.
Strange it now seems to sit in my peaceful study,
Princeton, writing down this last chapter of
the record, begun at a deserted farm in Grovers
Mill. Strange to watch children playing in the
streets. Strange to see young people strolling
on the green where the new spring grass heals
the last black scars of a bruised earth. Strange
to watch the sightseers enter the museum where
the dissembled parts of a Martian machine are
kept on public view. Strange when I recall a
time when I first saw it. Bright and clean -cut,
hard. and silent under the dawn of that last
great day. This is Orson Welles, ladies and gentlemen.
Out of character... to assure you that the war
of the world has no further significance than
as the holiday offering it was intended to be.
The Mercury Theater's own radio version of dressing
up in a sheet and jumping out of a bush and saying
boo. Starting now, we couldn't soap all your
windows and steal all your garden gates by tomorrow
night, so we did the best next thing. We annihilated
the world before your very ears and utterly destroyed
the CBS. You will be relieved, I hope, to learn
that we didn't mean it and that both institutions
are still open for business. So goodbye, everybody,
and remember, please, for the next day or so,
the terrible lesson you learn tonight. That grinning,
glowing, globular invader of your living room
is an inhabitant of the pumpkin patch, and if
your doorbell rings and nobody's there, that
was no Martian. It's Halloween. Tonight the Columbia
Broadcasting System and its affiliated stations
coast to coast has brought you The War of the
World by H .G. Wells, the 17th in its weekly
series of dramatic broadcasts featuring Orson
Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the air. Next
week we present a dramatization of three famous
short stories. This is the Columbia Broadcasting
System. Broadcasting system and its affiliated
stations present Orson Welles and the Mercury
Theater on the air