chance or design man has inherited out of the dark mystery of Time and Space. Yet across an immense ethereal gulf, minds that 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 thirty-ninth year of the twentieth century came the great disillusionment. It was 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 30, the Crossley service estimated that thirty-two million people were listening in on radios.
ANNOUNCER: . . .for the next twenty-four 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 now take you to the Meridian Room in the Hotel
Park Plaza in downtown New York, where you will be entertained by the
music of Ramon Raquello and his orchestra.
(MUSIC: SPANISH THEME SONG [A TANGO] . . . FADES)
ANNOUNCER THREE: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. From the Meridian
Room in the Park Plaza in New York City, we bring you the music of
Ramon Raquello and his orchestra. With a touch of the Spanish. Ramon
Raquello leads off with “La Cumparsita.”
(PIECE STARTS PLAYING)
ANNOUNCER TWO: Ladies and gentlemen, we interrupt our program of dance
music to bring you a special bulletin from the Intercontinental Radio
News. At twenty minutes before eight, central time, Professor Farrell
of the Mount Jennings Observatory, Chicago, Illinois, reports observing2
several explosions of incandescent gas, occurring at regular intervals
on the planet Mars. The spectroscope indicates the gas to be hydrogen
and moving towards the earth with enormous velocity. Professor Pierson
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.
(MUSIC PLAYS FOR A FEW MOMENTS UNTIL PIECE ENDS . . . SOUND OF
APPLAUSE)
ANNOUNCER THREE: Now a tune that never loses favor, the ever-popular
“Star Dust.” Ramon Raquello and his orchestra . . .
(MUSIC)
ANNOUNCER TWO: 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 occuring on the planet
Mars. Due to the unusual nature of this occurance, we have arranged an
interview with noted astronomer. Professor Pierson, who will give us
his views on the 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 Raquello and his orchestra.
(MUSIC . . .)
ANNOUNCER TWO: We are now ready to take you to the Princeton
Observatory at Princeton where Carl Phillips, or commentator, will
interview Professor Richard Pierson, famous astronomer. We take you now
to Princeton, New Jersey.
(ECHO CHAMBER. FX: TICK-TOCK SOUND)
PHILLIPS: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. This is Carl Phillips,
speaking to you from the observatory at Princeton. I am standing in a
large semi-circular 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 Pierson stands directly above me on a small
platform, peering through a giant lens. I ask you to be patient, ladies
and gentlemen, during any delay that may arise during our interview.
Besides his ceaseless watch of the heavens, Professor Pierson 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?
PIERSON: At any time, Mr. Phillips.
PHILLIPS: Professor, would you please tell our radio audience exactly
what you see as you observe the planet Mars through your telescope?
PIERSON: 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 happens to be the point nearest the earth . .
. in opposition, as we call it.3
PHILLIPS: In your opinion, what do these transverse stripes signify,
Professor Pierson?
PIERSON: 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.
PHILLIPS: Then you’re quite convinced as a scientist that living
intelligence as we know it does not exist on Mars?
PIERSON: I’d say the chances against it are a thousand to one.
PHILLIPS: And yet how do you account for those gas eruptions occuring
on the surface of the planet at regular intervals?
PIERSON: Mr. Phillips, I cannot account for it.
PHILLIPS: By the way, Professor, for the benefit of our listeners, how
far is Mars from earth?
PIERSON: Approximately forty million miles.
PHILLIPS: Well, that seems a safe enough distance.
(OFF MIKE) Thank you.
(PAUSE)
PHILLIPS: Just a moment, ladies and gentlemen, someone has just handed
Professor Pierson 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
Pierson . . . One moment, please. Professor Pierson has passed me a
message which he has just received . . . Professor, may I read the
message to the listening audience?
PIERSON: Certainly, Mr. Phillips
PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen, I shall read you a wire addressed to
Professor Pierson from Dr. Gray of the National History Museum, New
York. “9:15 P.M. eastern standard time. Seismograph registered shock of
almost earthquake intensity occuring within a radius of twenty miles of
Princeton. Please investigate. Signed, Lloyd Gray, Chief of
Astronomical Division” . . . Professor Pierson, could this occurrence
possibly have something to do with the disturbances observed on the
planet Mars?
PIERSON: 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.
PHILLIPS: 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 Pierson, noted
astronomer. This is Carl Phillips speaking. We are returning you now to
our New York studio.4
(FADE IN PIANO PLAYING)
ANNOUNCER TWO: Ladies and gentlemen, here is the latest bulletin from
the Intercontinental Radio News. Toronto, Canada: Professor Morse of
McGill 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 announcement 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, twenty-two 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 will have
our commentator, Carl Phillips, give you a word desription as soon as
he can reach there from Princeton. In the meantime, we take you to the
Hotel Martinet in Brooklyn, where Bobby Millette and his orchestra are
offering a program of dance music.
(SWING BAND FOR TWENTY SECONDS . . . THEN CUT)
ANNOUNCER TWO: We take you now to Grovers Mill, New Jersey.
(CROWD NOISES . . . POLICE SIRENS)
PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen, this is Carl Phillips again, at the
Wilmuth farm, Grovers Mill, New Jersey. Professor Pierson and myself
made the eleven miles from Princeton in ten minutes. Well, I . . . I
hardly know where to begin, to paint for you a word picture of the
strange scene before my eyes, like something out of a modern “Arabian
Nights.” 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. Must have struck with
terrific force. The ground is covered with splinters of a tree it must
have struck on its way down. What I can see of the . . . object itself
doesn’t look very much like a meteor, at least not the meteors I’ve
seen. It looks more like a huge cylinder. It has a diameter of . . .
what would you say, Professor Pierson?
PIERSON (OFF-MIKE): What’s that?
PHILLIPS: What would you say . . . what is the diameter?
PIERSON: About thirty yards.
PHILLIPS: About thirty yards . . . The metal on the sheath is . . .
well, I’ve never seen anything like it. The color is sort of yellowishwhite. 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 to one side,
please?
POLICEMAN: One side, there, one side.
PHILLIPS: While the policemen are pushing the crowd back, here’s Mr.
Wilmuth, owner of the farm here. He may have some interesting facts to
add . . . Mr. Wilmuth, would you please tell the radio audience as much
as you remember of this rather unusual visitor that dropped in your5
backyard? Step closer, please. Ladies and gentlemen, this is Mr.
Wilmuth.
WILMUTH: Well, I was listenin’ to the radio.
PHILLIPS: Closer and louder please.
WILMUTH: Pardon me?!
PHILLIPS: Louder, please, and closer.
WILMUTH: Yes, sir — I was listening to the radio and kinda drowsin’.
That Professor fellow was talkin’ about Mars, so I was half dozin’ and
half . . .
PHILLIPS: Yes, yes, Mr. Wilmuth. Then what happened?
WILMUTH: As I was sayin’, I was listenin’ to the radio kinda halfways .
. .
PHILLIPS: Yes, Mr. Wilmuth, and then you saw something?
WILMUTH: Not first off. I heard something.
PHILLIPS: And what did you hear?
WILMUTH: A hissing sound. Like this: SSSSSSS . . . kinda like a fourt’
of July rocket.
PHILLIPS: Yes, then what?
WILMUTH: Turned my head out the window and would have swore I was to
sleep and dreamin.’
PHILLIPS: Then what?
WILMUTH: I seen a kinda greenish streak and then zingo! Somethin’
smacked the ground. Knocked me clear out of my chair!
PHILLIPS: Well, were you frightened, Mr. Wilmuth?
WILMUTH: Well, I — I ain’t quite sure. I reckon I — I was kinda
riled.
PHILLIPS: Thank you, Mr. Wilmuth. Thank you.
WILMUTH: Want me to tell you some more?
PHILLIPS: No . . . That’s quite all right, that’s plenty.
PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen, you’ve just heard Mr. Wilmuth, 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 a field in back of us. Police are trying to rope
off the roadway leading to the farm. But it’s no use. They’re breaking
right through. Cars’ headlights throw an enormous spot on the pit where
the object’s half buried. Some of the more daring souls are now6
venturing near the edge. Their silhouettes stand out against the metal
sheen.
(FAINT HUMMING SOUND)
One man wants to touch the thing . . . he’s having an argument with a
policeman. The policeman wins. . . . Now, ladies and gentlemen, there’s
something I haven’t mentioned in all this excitement, but now it’s
becoming more distinct. Perhaps you’ve caught it already on your radio.
Listen:
(LONG PAUSE) . . .
Do you hear it? It’s a curious humming sound that seems to come from
inside the object. I’ll move the microphone nearer. (PAUSE) Now we’re
not more then twenty-five feet away. Can you hear it now? Oh, Professor
Pierson!
PIERSON: Yes, Mr. Phillips?
PHILLIPS: Can you tell us the meaning of that scraping noise inside the
thing?
PIERSON: Possibly the unequal cooling of its surface.
PHILLIPS: I see, do you still think it’s a meteor, Professor?
PIERSON: 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, as you can see, of cylindrical shape.
PHILLIPS: Just a minute! 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! The thing must be hollow!
VOICES: She’s movin’! Look, the darn thing’s unscrewing! Keep back,
there! Keep back, I tell you! Maybe there’s men in it trying to escape!
It’s red hot, they’ll burn to a cinder! Keep back there. Keep those
idiots back!
(SUDDENLY THE CLANKING SOUND OF A HUGE PIECE OF FALLING METAL)
VOICES: She’s off! The top’s loose! Look out there! Stand back!
PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen, this is the most terrifying thing I
have ever witnessed . . . Wait a minute! Someone’s crawling out of the
hollow top. Someone or . . . something. I can see peering out of that
black hole two luminous disks . . are they eyes? It might be a face. It
might be . . .
(SHOUT OF AWE FROM THE CROWD)
PHILLIPS: Good heavens, something’s wriggling out of the shadow like a
gray snake. Now it’s another one, and another. They look like tentacles
to me. There, I can see the thing’s body. It’s large, large as a bear
and it glistens like wet leather. But that face, it . . . Ladies and
gentlemen, it’s indescribable. I can hardly force myself to keep
looking at it. The eyes are black and gleam like a serpent. The mouth7
is V-shaped with saliva dripping from its rimless lips that seem to
quiver and pulsate. The monster or whatever it is can hardly move. It
seems weighed down by . . . possibly gravity or something. The thing’s
raising up. The crowd falls back now. They’ve seen plenty. This is the
most extraordinary experience. I can’t find words . . . I’ll pull this
microphone with me as I talk. I’ll haveto stop the description until I
can take a new position. Hold on, will you please, I’ll be right back
in a minute.
(FADE INTO PIANO)
ANNOUNCER: We are bringing you an eyewitness account of what’s
happening on the Wilmuth farm, Grovers mill, New Jersey. (MORE PIANO)
We now return you to Carl Phillips at Grovers Mill.
PHILLIPS: Ladies and gentlemen (Am I on?). Ladies and gentlemen, here I
am, back of a stone wall that adjoins Mr. Wilmuth’s garden. From here I
get a sweep of the whole scene. I’ll give you every detail as long as I
can talk. As long as I can see. More state police have arrived They’re
drawing up a cordon in front of the pit, about thirty of them. No need
to push the crowd back now. They’re willing to keep their distance. The
captain is conferring with someone. We can’t quite see who. Oh yes, I
believe it’s Professor Pierson. Yes, it is. Now they’ve parted. 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 handkerchief tied to a pole . . . a flag of truce. If
those creatures know what that means . . . what anything means!. . .
Wait! Something’s happening!
(HISSING SOUND FOLLOWED BY A HUMMING THAT INCREASES IN INTENSITY)
PHILLIPS: A 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
flame springing from the mirror, and it leaps right at the advancing
men. It strikes them head on! Good Lord, they’re turning into flame!
(SCREAMS AND UNEARTHLY SHRIEKS)
PHILLIPS: Now the whole field’s caught fire. (EXPLOSION) The woods . .
. the barns . . . the gas tanks of automobiles . . . it’s spreading
everywhere. It’s coming this way. About twenty yards to my right . . .
(DEAD SILENCE)
ANNOUNCER: Ladies and gentlemen, due to circumstances beyond our
control, we are unable to continue the broadcast from Grovers Mill.8
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
Indellkoffer, 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 now continue with our piano interlude.
(PIANO . . . THEN CUT)
ANNOUNCER TWO: Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been handed a message
that came in from Grovers Mill by telephone. Just a moment. At least
forty people, including six state troopers lie dead in a field east of
the village of Grovers 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.
SMITH: 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 Grovers
Mill, and will aid in the evacuation of homes within the range of
military operations. Thank you.
ANNOUNCER TWO: You have just been listening to General Montgomery Smith
commanding the state militia at Trenton. In the meantime, further
details of the catastrophe at Grovers Mill are coming in. The strange
creatures after unleashing their deadly assault, crawled back into
their pit and made no attempt to prevent the efforts of the firemen to
recover the bodies and extinguish the fire. 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 Grovers Mill, but we hope to be able to return you there
at the earliest possible moment. In the meantime we take you — just
one moment please.
(LONG PAUSE)
(WHISPER) Ladies and gentlemen, I have just been informed that we have
finally established communication with an eyewitness of the tragedy.
Professor Pierson has been located at a farmhouse near Grovers 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 Pierson, brought to you by direct wire.
Professor Pierson.
(FEEDBACK. THEN FILTERED VOICE)
PIERSON: Of the creatures in the rocket cylinder at Grovers 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 is my guess that in some way they are able to
generate an intense heat in a chamber of practically absolute9
nonconductivity. 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…
ANNOUNCER TWO: Thank you, Professor Pierson. 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. 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 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
no sign of life appearing from the mouth of the cylinder . . . And now,
ladies and gentlemen, we have a special statement from Mr. Harry
McDonald, vice- president in charge of operations.
MC DONALD: We have received a request from the militia at 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.
ANNOUNCER TWO: We take you now to the field headquarters of the state
militia near Grovers Mill, New Jersey.
CAPTAIN: This is Captain Lansing of the signal corps, attatched 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 is
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. The 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
khaki uniforms, crossing back and forth in front of the lights. It
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. An quick thrust and it will all be
over. Now 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
Wilmuth farm. Seven thousand armed men closing in on an old metal tube.
Wait, that wasn’t a shadow! It’s something moving . . . solid metal . .
. kind of shieldlike affair rising up out of the cylinder . . . It’s
going higher and higher. Why, 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!
ANNOUNCER: 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 those10
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 Grovers Mill has ended in one of the most
startling defeats ever suffered by any army in modern times; seven
thousand men armed with rifles and machine guns pitted against a single
fighting machine of the invaders from Mars. One hundred and twenty
known survivors. The rest strewn over the battle area from Grovers 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 Allentown 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. At this time martial law
prevails throughout New Jersey and eastern Pennsylvania. We take you
now to Washington for a special broadcast on the National Emergency . .
. the Secretary of the Interior . . .
SECRETARY: 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.
ANNOUNCER: You have just heard the secretary of the Interior speaking
from Washington. Bulletins too numerous to read are piling up in the
studio here. We are informed 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 bulletin
from New York. Cables received from English, French, German scientific
bodies offering assistance. Astronomers report continued gas outbursts
at regular intervals on planet Mars. Majority voice opinion that enemy
will be reinforced by additional rocket machines. Attempts made to
locate Professor Pierson of Princeton, who has observed Martians at
close range. It is feared he was lost in recent battle. Langham field,
Virginia: Scouting planes report three Martian machines visible above
treetops, moving north towards Somerville with population fleeing ahead
of them. Heat ray not in use; although advancing at express-train
speed, invaders pick their way carefully. They seem to be making
conscious effort to avoid destruction of cities and countryside.
However, 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 twenty miles south of Morristown. Army fieldpieces are
proceeding from Newark to blow up second invading unit before cylinder11
can be opened and the fighting machine rigged. They are taking up
position in the — foothills of Watchung Mountains. Another bulletin
from Langham Field, Virginia: Scouting planes report enemy machines,
now three 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 ten miles of Plainfield. Here’s a bulletin from
Winston Field, Long Island: Fleet of army bombers carrying heavy
explosives flying north in pursuit of enemy. Scouting planes act as
guides. They keep speeding enemy in sight. Just a moment please. Ladies
and gentlemen, we’ve run special wires to the artillery line in
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 Watchtung Mountains.
OFFICER: Range, thirty-two meters.
GUNNER: Thirty-two meters.
OFFICER: Projection, thirty-nine degrees.
GUNNER: Thirty-nine degrees.
OFFICER: Fire! (BOOM OF HEAVY GUN . . . PAUSE)
OBSERVER: One hundred and forty yards to the right, sir.
OFFICER: Shift range . . . thirty-one meters.
GUNNER: Thirty-one meters
OFFICER: Projection . . . thirty-seven degrees.
GUNNER: Thirty-seven degrees.
OFFICER: Fire! (BOOM OF HEAVY GUN . . . PAUSE)
OBSERVER: A hit, sir! We got the tripod of one of them. They’ve
stopped. The others are trying to repair it.
OFFICER: Quick, get the range! Shift thirty meters.
GUNNER: Thirty meters.
OFFICER: Projection . . . twenty-seven degrees.
GUNNER: Twenty-seven degrees.
OFFICER: Fire! (BOOM OF HEAVY GUN . . . PAUSE)
OBSERVER: Can’t see the shell land, sir. They’re letting off a smoke.
OFFICER: What is it?
OBSERVER: A black smoke, sir. Moving this way. Lying close to the
ground. It’s moving fast.12
OFFICER: Put on gas masks. (PAUSE. VOICES NOW MUFFLED) Get ready to
fire. Shift twenty-four meters.
GUNNER: Twenty-four meters.
OFFICER: Projection, twenty-four degrees.
GUNNER: Twenty-four degrees.
OFFICER: Fire! (BOOM)
OBSERVER: Still can’t see, sir. The smoke’s coming nearer.
OFFICER: Get the range. (COUGHS)
OBSERVER: Twenty-three meters. (COUGHS)
OFFICER: Twenty-three meters. (COUGHS)
GUNNER: Twenty-three meters(COUGHS)
OBSERVER: Projection, twenty-two degrees. (COUGHING)
OFFICER: Twenty-two degrees (FADE-IN COUGHING) (CUT TO SOUND OF
AIRPLANE MOTOR)
COMMANDER: Army bombing plane, V-8-43, off Bayonne, New Jersey,
Lieutenant Voght, commanding eight bombers. Reporting to Commander
Fairfax, Langham Field . . . This is Voght, reporting to Commander
Fairfax, Langham Field . . . Enemy tripod machines now in sight.
Reinforced by three machines from the Morristown cylinder . . . Six
altogether. One machine already crippled. Believed hit by shell from
army gun in Watchung 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. The machines are close together now, and we’re ready to
attack. Planes circling, ready to strike. A thousand yards and we’ll be
over the first — eight hundred yards . . . six hundred . . . four
hundred . . . two hundred . . . There they go! The giant arm raised . .
. (SOUND OF HEAT RAY) Green flash! They’re spraying us with flame! Two
thousand 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! Eight . . . (PLANE GOES DOWN)
OPERATOR ONE: This is Bayonne, New Jersey, calling Langham Field . . .
This is Bayonne, New Jersey, calling Langham Field . . . Come in,
please . . .
OPERATOR TWO: This is Langham Field . . . Go ahead . . .
OPERATOR ONE: 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 –13
OPERATOR THREE: This is Newark, New Jersey . . . This is Newark, New
Jersey . . . Warning! Poisonous black smoke pouring in from Jersey
marshes. Reaches 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 . . .
OPERATOR FOUR: 2 X 2 L . . . calling C Q . . . 2 X 2 L . . . calling C
Q . . . 2 X 2 L . . . calling 8 X 3 R . . . Come in, please . . .
OPERATOR FIVE: This is 8 X 3 R . . . coming back at 2 X 2 L.
OPERATOR FOUR: How’s reception? How’s reception? K, please (PAUSE)
Where are you, 8 X 3 R? What’s the matter? Where are you?
(BELLS RINGING OVER CITY GRADUALLY DIMINISHING)
NY ANNOUNCER: I’m speaking from the roof of the Broadcasting Building,
New York City. (PAUSE, AS IF HE ISN’T SURE HE’S ON THE AIR) I’m
speaking from the roof of the 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 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 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 below us . . . in the
cathedral.
(VOICES SINGING HYMN)
Now I look down the harbor. All manner of boats, overloaded with
fleeing population, pulling out from docks.
(SOUND OF BOAT WHISTLES)
Streets are all jammed. Noise in crowds like New Year’s Eve in city.
Wait a minute . . . Enemy now in sight above the Palisades. Five —
five great machines. First one is crossing river. I can see it from
here, wading the Hudson like a man wading through a brook . . . A
bulletin’s handed me . . . Martian cylinders are falling all over the
country. One outside Buffalo, one in Chicago, St. Louis . . . seem to
be timed and spaced . . . Now the first machine reaches the shore. He
stands watching, looking over the city. His 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 towards the East River . . . thousands of them, dropping in
like rats. Now the smoke’s spreading faster. It’s reached Times Square.
People trying to run away from it, but it’s no use. They’re falling
like flies. Now the smoke’s crossing Sixth Avenue . . . Fifth Avenue .
. . one hundred yards away . . . it’s fifty feet . . .
(BODY FALLS)14
OPERATOR FOUR: 2 X 2 L calling C Q . . . 2 X 2 L calling C Q . . . 2 X
2 L calling C Q . . . New York Isn’t there anyone on the air? Isn’t
there anyone on the air? Isn’t there anyone . . . 2 X 2 L —
MERC ANNOUNCER: You’re listening to a CBS presentation of Orson Welles
and the Mercury Theatre 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
MUSIC
ANNOUNCER: “The War of the Worlds,” by H.G. Wells, starring Orson
Welles and the Mercury Theatre on the Air.
(MUSIC UP — DRAMATIC, LONELY THEME)
PIERSON: 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 have been hiding
in this empty house near Grovers 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 astornomical notes bearing the signature of
Richard Pierson. I look down at my blackened hands, my torn shoes, my
tattered clothes, and I try to connect them with a professor who lives
at Princeton, and who on the night of October 30, 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 Pierson? What day
is it? Do days exist without calendars? Does time pass when there are
no human hands left to wind the clocks? . . .In 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 . . .
I find moldy bread in the kitchen, and an orange not too spoiled to
swallow. I keep watch at the window. From 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 is 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. Exhausted by terror, I fall
asleep. . .it’s morning. . .
(QUIETLY) Morning! Sun streams in the window. The black cloud of gas
has lifted, and the scorched meadows to the north look as though a
black snowstorm has passed over them. I venture from the house. I make
my way to a road. No traffic. Here and there a wrecked car, baggage
overturned, a blackened skeleton. I push on north. For some reason I
feel safer trailing these monsters than running away from them. And I
keep a careful watch. I have seen the Martians. . . feed. Should one of
their machines appear over the top of trees, I am ready to fling myself
flat on the earth. I come to a chestnut tree. October chestnuts are
ripe. I fill 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 another15
living being. I push on north. I find dead cows in a brackish field.
Beyond, the charred ruins of a dairy. The silo remains standing guard
over the waste land like a lighthouse deserted by the sea. Astride the
silo perches a weathercock. The arrow points north.
Next day I came to a city vaguely familiar in its contours, yet its
buildings strangely dwarfed and leveled off, as if a giant hand sliced
off its highest towers with a capricious sweep of his hand. I reached
the outskirts. I found 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, and it rose up and bacame a man! — a man, armed with
a large knife.
STRANGER: (OFF MIKE) Stop. . . (CLOSER) where did you come from?
PIERSON: I come from . . . many places. A long time ago from Princeton.
STRANGER: Princeton, huh? That’s near Grovers Mill!
PIERSON: Yes.
STRANGER: Grovers Mill. . . (LAUGHS AS AT A GREAT JOKE) There’s no food
here. This is my country. . . all this end of town down to the river.
There’s only food for one. . . Which way are you going?
PIERSON: I don’t know. I guess I’m looking for — for people.
STRANGER: (NERVOUSLY) What was that? Did you hear something just then?
PIERSON: Only a bird . . . (AMAZED) A live bird!
STRANGER: You get to know that birds have shadows these days. . . Say,
we’re in the open here. Let’s crawl into this doorway and talk.
PIERSON: Have you seen any . . . Martians?
STRANGER: Naah. They’ve gone over to New York. At night the sky is
alive with their lights. Just as if people were still livin’ in it. By
daylight you can’t see them. Five days ago a couple of them carried
somethin’ big across the flats from the airport. I believe they’re
learning how to fly.
PIERSON: Fly!
STRANGER: Yeah, fly.
PIERSON: Then it’s all over with humanity. Stranger, there’s still you
and I. Two of us left.
STRANGER: 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.
PIERSON: Where were you? You’re in a uniform.16
STRANGER: Yeah, what’s left of it. I was in the militia — national
guard. . . That’s good! Wasn’t any war any more than there’s war
between men and ants.
PIERSON: And we’re eat-able ants. I found that out. . . What will they
do with us?
STRANGER: I’ve thought it all out. Right now we’re caught as we’re
wanted. The Martian only has to go a few miles to get a crowd on the
run. But they won’t keep doing that. They’ll begin catching us
systematic-like — keeping the best and storing us in cages and things.
They haven’t begun on us yet!
PIERSON: Not begun!
STRANGER: Not begun! All that’s happened so far is because we don’t
have sense enough to keep quiet. . . botherin’ them with guns and such
stuff and losing our heads and rushing off in crowds. Now 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. . . done.
PIERSON: But if that’s so, what is there to live for?
STRANGER: 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.
PIERSON: And what is there left?
STRANGER: Life. . . that’s what! I want to live. Yeah, and so do you.
We’re not going to be exterminated. And I don’t mean to be caught,
either, and tamed, and fattened, and bred, like an ox.
PIERSON: What are you going to do?
STRANGER: I’m going on. . . right under their feet. I got a plan. We
men as men are finished. We don’t know enough. We gotta learn plenty
before we’ve got a chance. And we’ve got to live and keep free while we
learn, see? I’ve thought it all out, see.
PIERSON: Tell me the rest.
STRANGER: Well, it isn’t all of us that were made for wild beasts, and
that’s what it’s got to be. That’s why I watched YOU. All these little
office workers that used to live in these houses — they’d be no good.
They haven’t any stuff to ’em. They just used to run off to work. I’ve
seen hundreds of ’em, running wild to catch their commuter train in the
morning for fear they’d get canned if they didn’t; running back at
night afraid they won’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 will be a godsend for those guys. Nice roomy
cages, good food, careful breeding, no worries. After a week or so
chasing about the fields on empty stomachs they’ll come and be glad to
be caught.
PIERSON: You’ve thought it all out, haven’t you?17
STRANGER: You bet I have! And that isn’t all. These Martians will make
pets of some of ’em, train ’em to do tricks. Who knows? Get sentimental
over the pet boy who grew up and had to be killed. . . And some, maybe,
they’ll train to hunt us.
PIERSON: No, that’s impossible. No human being. . .
STRANGER: Yes they will. There’s men who’ll do it gladly. If one of
them ever comes after me, why. . .
PIERSON: In the meantime, you and I and others like us. . . where are
we to live when the Martians own the earth?
STRANGER: I’ve got it all figured out. We’ll live underground. I’ve
been thinking about the sewers. Under New York are miles and miles of
’em. The main ones are big enough for anybody. Then there’s cellars,
vaults, underground storerooms, railway tunnels, subways. You begin to
see, eh? And we’ll get a bunch of strong men together. No weak ones;
that rubbish — out.
PIERSON: And you meant me to go?
STRANGER: Well, I gave you a chance, didn’t I?
PIERSON: We won’t quarrel about that. Go on.
STRANGER: And we’ve got to make safe places for us to stay in, see, and
get all the books we can — science books. That’s where men like you
come in, see? We’ll raid the museums, we’ll even spy on the Martians.
It 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 and not a Martian in ’em. Not a Martian in ’em! But
MEN — men who have learned the way how. It may even be in our time.
Gee! Imagine having one of them lovely things with it’s heat ray wide
and free! We’d turn it on Martians, we’d turn it on men. We’d bring
everybody down to their knees.
PIERSON: That’s your plan?
STRANGER: You, and me, and a few more of us we’d own the world.
PIERSON: I see. . .
STRANGER: (FADING OUT) Say, what’s the matter? . . . Where are you
going?
PIERSON: Not to your world. . . Goodbye, stranger. . .
PIERSON: After parting with the artilleryman, I came at last to the
Holland Tunnel. I 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. I reached Fourteenth
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 Thirties and Forties; I stood alone
on Times Square. I caught sight of a lean dog running down Seventh
Avenue with a piece of dark brown meat in his jaws, and a pack of
starving mongrels at his heels. He made a wide circle around me, as18
though he feared I might prove a fresh competitor. I walked up Broadway
in the direction of that strange powder — past silent shopwindows,
displaying their mute wares to empty sidewalks — past the Capitol
Theatre, 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 motorcars in the showrooms facing empty streets.
From 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 Sixtieth Street. From there I could see, standing in a
silent row along the mall, nineteen of those great metal Titans, their
cowls empty, their great 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 the laboratories, it was found
that they were killed by the putrefactive and disease bacteria against
which their systems were unprepared. . . slain, after all man’s
defenses had failed, by the humblest thing that God in His wisdom 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
have conjured up in my mind of life spreading slowly from this little
seedbed of the solar system throughout the inanimate vastness of
sidereal space. But that is a remote dream. It may be that the
destruction of the Martians is only a reprieve. To them, and not to us,
is the future ordained perhaps.
Strange it now seems to sit in my peaceful study at Princeton writing
down this last chapter of the record begun at a deserted farm in
Grovers Mill. Strange to see from my window the university spires dim
and blue through an April haze. 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 the time when I first saw it, bright and clean-cut, hard, and
silent, under the dawn of that last great day.
(MUSIC SWELLS UP AND OUT)
Orson Welles: This is Orson Welles, ladies and gentlemen, out of
character to assure you that The War of The Worlds has no further
significance than as the holiday offering it was intended to be. The
Mercury Theatre’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 annihiliated the world before your
very ears, and utterly destroyed the C. B. S. You will be releieved, I
hope, to learn that we didn’t mean it, and that both institutions are
still open for business. So goodbye everybody, and remember the19
terrible lesson you learned 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
Hallowe’en.
(MERCURY THEATRE THEME UP FULL, THEN DOWN)
Announcer: Tonight the Columbia Broadcasting System and its affiliated
stations coast-to-coast have brought you “The War of the Worlds,” by
H.G. Wells, the seventeenth 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.