You're listening to the Hour of the Time. I'm William Cooper, and I guess you've noticed that we did not play our normal lead-in, and this is the only time since the beginning broadcast of the Hour of the Time that we have not done so, and it's for a very special reason. In 1917, John Dewey said at a dinner given for Viscount Ishii and the Imperial Japanese delegation, and I quote, the best way to unite all humanity in a one-world government and do away with wars forever if we were invaded by some other species from some other planet. This hypothesis was put to the test on October 30, 1938, when the Mercury Theater aired War of the Worlds, and it proved that it would work. In 1947, near Roswell, New Mexico, a group of Army and Army Air Corps intelligence officers sprinkled debris over the desert and planted several shaved and surgically altered monkeys. And today, blatant and incredible stories proliferate of alien abductions and outright and total phonies like Don Ecker perpetuate the menace of the alien threat. Pay close attention, ladies and gentlemen. 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. 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 the East Broadcasting System, 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 visited 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 that are the beasts in the jungle, intellects vast, cool and unsympathetic, regarded this thirst with envious eyes and slowly and surely drew their plans against us. In the 39th year of the 20th century came the great disillusionment. It was near the end of October. Business was treathered. 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 Meridian Room in the Hotel Park Plaza in downtown New York, where you will be entertained by the music of Raymond Raquello 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. For the touch of the Spanish, Raymond Raquello leads off with La Compensita. 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 8 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 Raymond Raquello, playing for you in the Meridian Room of the Park Plaza Hotel, situated in downtown New York. The End And now a tune that never loses faces, the ever-popular Stardust, Raymond Raquello and the Buster. 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 with the music of Raymond Raquello and the Dorf. The End 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 spread in the ceiling. Through this opening, I can see a sprinkling of stars that cast a kind of fausty 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 a ceaseless watch of the heavens, Professor Pearson may be interrupted by telephone or other communication. During this period, he is in constant touch with the astronomical centers of the world. Professor, may I begin our questions? At any time, Mr. Storch. Professor, would you please tell our radio audience exactly what you see as you observe the planet Mars through your telescope? I think I knew it was worth the moment, Mr. Storch. A red disc swimming in the blue sea. Transverse strikes across the disc. Quite distinct now, because Mars happens to be at the point nearest the Earth in opposition, as we call it. In your opinion, what do these transverse strikes signify, Professor? Not canals, I can assure you, Mr. Storch. Although, that's the popular conjecture of those who imagine Mars to be inhabited. From a scientific viewpoint, it strikes 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? Well, I cannot account for it. By the way, Professor, for the benefit of our listeners, how far is Mars from the Earth? It's 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. Ladies and gentlemen, I shall read you a wire address to Professor Pearson from Dr. Gray of the Natural History Museum, New York. Quote, 9.15 p.m. Eastern Standard Time. Stars McGrath 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, would this occurrence possibly have something to do with the disturbances observed on the planet Mars? Hardly, Mr. Thoughts. 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. The End of the World 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 nearer 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 Drovers 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 Millette and his orchestra are offering a program of dance music. To Drovers Mill, New Jersey. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Carl Phillips again, out at the Wilmoth Farm, Galvis Mill, New Jersey. Mr. Pearson and myself made the 11 miles from Princeton in 10 minutes. Well, I hardly know where to begin, but I came to you a word picture of a strange scene before my eyes, like something out of a modern Iranian night. Well, I just got here. I haven't had a chance to look around yet. I guess that's it. Yes, I guess that's the thing directly in front of me. Half buried in a vast pit. It must have sucked with terrific force. The ground is covered with the splinters of a tree. It must have stuck 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. It has a diameter of... What would you say, Professor Pearson? What's that? What would you say? What's the diameter of the... 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. The 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... Would you mind standing one side, please? While it moves, pushing the crowd back. Here's Mr. Wilmott, owner of the barn 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, a step closer, please? Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr. Wilmott. 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 drowsing. A professor fellow was talking about Mars, so I was half chosen and half... Yes, yes, Mr. Wilmott. And then what happened? Well, as I was saying, I was listening to the radio kind of halfway... Yes, Mr. Wilmott. And then you saw something. Well, 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 that kind of greenish streak and then zingo. Something smacked the ground. Knocked me clear out of my chair. Well, were you frightened, Mr. Wilmott? Well, I ain't quite sure. I reckon I was kind of riled. Well, thank you, Mr. Wilmott. Thank you very much. No, that's quite all right. That's funny. Ladies and gentlemen, you've just heard Mr. Wilmott, owner of the farm, where this thing has fallen. I wish I'd convey the atmosphere, the background of this fantastic scene. Hundreds of cars are parked in a field and backless of police are trying to rope off the roadway, leading into the farm, but it's no use. They're breaking right through. Cars, headlights, thrown an enormous spotlight on the pit where the objects have buried. Now, some of the more gary shows now are venturing near the edge. There's a cigarette stand out against the metal team. One man wants to touch the thing. He's having an argument with a 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? 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, sir. Can you tell us the meaning of that scraping noise inside the thing? Possibly the unequal cooling of its surface. I see. 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. You can see it's lintical. Just a minute. Something's happening. Ladies and gentlemen, this is terrific. This end of this thing is beginning to flake off. The top is beginning to rotate like it's screwing. This thing must be hollow. He's moving. Keep going back. Keep going back. Keep going back. Keep going back. Keep going back. Keep going back. Come on. Keep going back. Keep going back. Keep going back. The top is out there. Ladies and gentlemen, this is the most terrifying thing I've ever witnessed. Wake up. Someone's 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 almost a face of heavens. Something ringing 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 large as a bear. It's dripping like wet leather. But the face, it's the thing as a gentleman's been described but I can hardly force myself to keep looking at it. It's so awful. The eyes are black and they scream like a serpent in the mouth and a kind of bee-shaped with saliva dripping from its rimless lips. It's kind of a little sliver and pulsate and monster or whatever it is can hardly move. It's weighed down by possibly gravity or something. The thing's rising up down, the cloud falls back. It seems funny that most of the strong experience really don't like. Can't find words in it. Well, I'll pull this microphone with me if I talk. I'll have to stop the script 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 recount of what's happening on the Wilmoth Farm, Grover's Mill, New Jersey. We now return you to Carl Phillips at Grover's Mill. Ladies and gentlemen, my aunt, ladies and gentlemen, ladies and gentlemen, here I am, back of a stone wall that joins Mr. Wilmoth's garden. From here, I get a sweep of the whole scene. I'll give you every detail as long as I can saw it and as long as I can see it. 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 guard back now. They're willing to keep their distance. The captain's conferring with someone that can't quite see who. 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 as the white hatchet tied to a pole by the truce. Those creatures know what that means, what anything means. Wait a minute, something's happening. A hump's shape is rising out of the pit and they make out a small beam of light against the mirror. The test is to get the flame springs in the mirror and it leaks right at the advanced men. He strikes them head on. The rods are turning into flames. They're here caught up by the woods of fire. There's gas pegs in the automobiles spreading everywhere. Coming your plane out about 20 yards to my rock. Ladies and gentlemen, if you're the 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 Indelcofer, 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 the 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 menaced 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 compositions. much as the mirror of a lighthouse projects the speed 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 the Trenton hospitals. 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 Grover's Mill, New Jersey. Here's a bulletin from State Police Princeton Junction. The fires at Grover's Mill and vicinity are now under control. Scouts report all quiet in the pit and there is no sign of light 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 of Trenton. We take you now to the field headquarters of the state militia near Grover's Mill, New Jersey. Attached to the state militia, now engaged in military operations in the vicinity of Grover's Mill. The 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, uh, 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. Now, wait a minute, I see something on top of the cylinder. Oh, it's nothing but a shadow. Now the troops are on the edge of the Wilmoth 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 a pair rising up out of the cylinder. It's going higher and higher. What? It's standing on legs. Actually rearing up on a sort of metal framework. Now it's reaching above the trees and the circulector 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 rate. 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 in 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 as it is estimated to twice their normal population. Marshall 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 flat out from radio communication due to the effect of the heat ray upon power lines and electrical equipment. Here's 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 on the planet Mars. The majority voiced 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 seem to be making a conscious effort to avoid destruction of cities and countryside, or whether they stop 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 rigged. They are taking up a position in the foothills of Washington Mountains. Another bulletin from Langham Field, Virginia. Scouting planes report enemy machines now free in number, increasing speed northward, kicking over houses and trees in their evident haste to form a conjunction with their allies south of Morristown. Machines also sighted by telephone operator east of Middlesex within 10 miles of flames field. Here is a bulletin from Winston Field, Long Island. A fleet of army bombers carrying heavy explosives flying north in pursuit of enemy. Scouting planes active guides. They keep the speeding enemy in sight. Just a moment, please, ladies and gentlemen. We've run special wires to the artillery line in the adjacent villages to give you direct reports in the zone of the advancing enemy. First, we take you to the battery of the 22nd Field Artillery located in the Washington Mountains. range, 32 meters. 32 meters. Extraction, 39 degrees. 39 degrees. Fire. 140 out to the right, sir. Shift range, 31 meters. 31 meters. Extraction, 37 degrees. 37 degrees. Fire. Fire. Fire. Fire. Here, sir. Got the tripod of one of them. Let's stop it. The others are trying to repair. Quick, get the range. Shift, 50, 30 meters. 30 meters. Protection, 27 degrees. 27 degrees. Fire. I can't see the fair land, sir. Letting off the smoke. What is it? Electro, sir. Moving this way. Flying close to the ground. Moving fast. Put on gas maps. You can't see, sir. It's coming near. Get the range. military weet us. I can't see, sir. Very aircraft. Once, we. These, sir. Edit. Beac tarde.ане. bombing plane the 843 of the owner of the lieutenant both commanding eight bombers reporting to command a fairfax Langham field this is both reporting to command a fairfax Langham field enemy tripod machines now in sight reinforced by three machines from the Mars town cylinder six altogether one machine partially crippled believe it by shell from army gun and watch young mountain guns now appear silent I have a 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 and pushing down a high-tension power station machines are close together now we're ready to attack like circling ready to strike thousand yards and we'll be over the first 800 yards 600 200 200 There they go Giant arm raised Green flash Miss Spangers with flame 2,000 feet Engines are giving out No chance to release bombs Only one thing left Drop on the plane and all We're diving on the first one Now the engine's gone Eight This is Fayon, New Jersey, calling Langham Field This is Fayon, New Jersey, calling Langham Field Come in, please Langham Field Go ahead Eight army bombers in engagement with enemy tripod machines over Jersey Plats Engines incapacitated by heat rays All crashed One enemy machine destroyed Enemy now discharging heavy black smoke in direction of Newark, New Jersey This is Newark, New Jersey Warning Poisonous black smoke pouring in from Jersey marshes Reaches South Street Gas masks useless Earth populations move into open spaces Automobiles use route 7 23 24 Avoid congested areas Smoke now spreading over over Raymond Boulevard 2X2L Calling CKill 2X2L Calling CKill 2X2L Calling 8X3R Come in, please This is 8X3R Coming back at 2X2L Highs reception Highs reception Take, please Where are you, 8X3R? What's the matter? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? Where are you? I'm speaking from the roof of 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 Hutchinson 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 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 the city Wait a minute The The enemy is now in sight above the palisades Five 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 is handed me Harkened cylinders are Falling all over the country One outside of Buffalo One in Chicago St. Louis Seem to be climbed in space Now the first machine reaches the shore He Stands watching Looking over the city The steel cowlish head is even with a skyscraper 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're falling like flies They're falling like flies Now the smoke's crossing 6th Avenue 5th Avenue 5th Avenue A hundred yards away It's It's It's It's It's It's It's It's It's It's It's It's It's Calling CQ 2X2L Calling CQ New York Isn't there anyone on the air? Isn't there anyone on the air? Isn't there anyone? 2X2L 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. The War of the Worlds by H.G. Wells 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. Furtive existence of the lonely derelict who pencils these words on the back of some astronomical notes bearing the signature of Richard Pearson. I look down at my blackened hand and I try to connect them with a professor who lives at Princeton and who on the night of October 20th glimpsed 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? Does time pass when there are 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. 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. Smoke still holds the house in its black coil, but thanks to 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 the corner as his huge metal legs nearly brush against the house. Exhausted by terror, I fall asleep. Morning. Morning. Morning. Sun streams 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 avenge it from the house. I make my way to a road. No traffic. Here in there, wrecked car, baggage overturned, the blackened skeleton. Push on north. For some reason, I feel safer trailing these monsters and running with 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. I come to a chestnut tree. October. Yes, that's a ride. It's all my pockets. I just keep it 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 in 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, the silo made standing guard over the wasteland like a lighthouse. Deserted by the sea. Strive the silo perches a weathercock. The arrow. Goes 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 tars with a capricious sweep of its head. Reached the outskirts. I found Newark. Newark, undemolished but humbled by some whim of the advancing Martians. Presently, with an odd feeling of being washed, I caught sight of something crouching in a doorway. I made a step towards it. Rows up and became a man. A man armed with a large knife. Stop! Where do you come from? 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. What was that? Did we hear something just then? No. Only a bird. A light bird. You get to know that birds have shadows these days. Hey, 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. Tonight the sky's alive with their lights. It's 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. Well, 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've probably fallen somewhere every night. They've only lost one machine. There isn't anything to do. Well, 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 do we do with it? I said 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. If they don't keep on doing that, they'll begin catching us systematically. Like 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. Instead of our rushing around blind, we've got to 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 why. I want to live. And so do you. We're not going to be exterminated. I don't mean to be caught either. Tamed and fattened and bred like an ox. What are you going to do? I'm going on. Right under their feet. I got a plan. We men as men were finished. We don't know enough. We got to learn plenty before we got a chance. We got to live and keep free while we learn, see? I've thought it all out, see? I'll tell you the risk. 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. 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 could can 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. Well, 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 the law. These Martians are going to make pets at 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. It's impossible. Yes, they will. There's men who do it gladly. One of them ever comes after me by... 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 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. And there's cellars, walls, underground storerooms, railway tunnels, subways. You begin to see, huh? We've got a bunch of strong men together. No weakness. That rubbish, out. As you meant me to go. Go away. You gave me a chance, didn't you? I won't quarrel about that. Go on. Well, we've 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. We'll 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 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. That's your marks. We'd own the world. I see. Hey. Hey. Hey, what's the matter? Where are you going? Not to your world. Bye, stranger. Well, after parting with the artilleryman, I came at last to the Holland Tunnel and 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. I 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. I walked up Broadway in the direction of that... that strange powder. That silent shop windows displaying their mute wares to empty sidewalks. That's the Capitol Theater. Silence. Dark. That's the 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. I hurried 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. From there, I could see standing in a silent row along the mall, nineteen 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 threads 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. Slain, after all, man's defenses had failed. By the humblest thing that God has wisdoms 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 siderial space. But a remote dream may be, may be that the destruction of the Martians is only a reprieve to them and not to us as the future ordained press. Ah, 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 Grover's Mill. Strange to watch children playing in the streets. Strange to see young people strolling on the green while the new spring grass heals the last black scars of a Brewster. Strange to watch the sightseers enter the museum while the dissembled parts of a Martian machine are kept on public view. Strange when I recall the time when I first saw it. Bright and clean cuts, hard and silent under the dawn of that last great day. Ladies and gentlemen, when the War of the World aired in 1938, people jumped out of windows. The stock market took a precipitous fall the following day. And that night, in Grover's Mill, New Jersey, farmers and townsfolk picked up their shotguns and their hunting rifles, walked out and shot their own water tank full of holes, thinking that it was one of the alien tripod machines. Today, these same globalists attempt to bring about world government by creating an artificial threat from space. The alien abduction phenomenon is nothing more than a very sophisticated mind control operation. People like Leo Sprinkle, Bud Hopkins, and others are not interested interested in helping those that go to them for solace in their terror, not understanding what is happening to them. They are merely judging the effectiveness of this mind control operation, and the data that they collect helps those who conduct it to perfect their methods. And all across the world and across the United States, people gather to hear phonies like Donald Francis Ecker, who was no more a police officer or criminal investigator than the man in the moon. And so-called nuclear physicists like Stanton T. Friedman, who in our investigation for the last 30 years has never gone near anything even resembling nuclear physics. And I could go on and on and on. The technology that we see in the sky belongs to humans, that which we have been able to identify. And someday you will be presented with the scenario that the Earth is being invaded by some other species from some other planet. And the answer will be for all humanity to come together under one world government and sacrifice whatever is needed to oppose this threat. Good night, ladies and gentlemen, and God bless you all.