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FOREWORD
To the Reader of this Work: In submitting Captain Carter's strange
manuscript to you in book form, I believe that a few words relative to this
remarkable personality will be of interest.
My first recollection of Captain Carter is of the few months he spent at my father's
home in Virginia, just prior to the opening of the civil war.
I was then a child of but five years, yet I well remember the tall, dark, smooth-faced,
athletic man whom I called Uncle Jack.
He seemed always to be laughing; and he entered into the sports of the children
with the same hearty good fellowship he displayed toward those pastimes in which
the men and women of his own age indulged;
or he would sit for an hour at a time entertaining my old grandmother with
stories of his strange, wild life in all parts of the world.
We all loved him, and our slaves fairly worshipped the ground he trod.
He was a splendid specimen of manhood, standing a good two inches over six feet,
broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with the carriage of the trained fighting man.
His features were regular and clear cut, his hair black and closely cropped, while
his eyes were of a steel gray, reflecting a strong and loyal character, filled with
fire and initiative.
His manners were perfect, and his courtliness was that of a typical southern
gentleman of the highest type.
His horsemanship, especially after hounds, was a marvel and delight even in that
country of magnificent horsemen.
I have often heard my father caution him against his wild recklessness, but he would
only laugh, and say that the tumble that killed him would be from the back of a
horse yet unfoaled.
When the war broke out he left us, nor did I see him again for some fifteen or sixteen
years.
When he returned it was without warning, and I was much surprised to note that he
had not aged apparently a moment, nor had he changed in any other outward way.
He was, when others were with him, the same genial, happy fellow we had known of old,
but when he thought himself alone I have seen him sit for hours gazing off into
space, his face set in a look of wistful
longing and hopeless misery; and at night he would sit thus looking up into the
heavens, at what I did not know until I read his manuscript years afterward.
He told us that he had been prospecting and mining in Arizona part of the time since
the war; and that he had been very successful was evidenced by the unlimited
amount of money with which he was supplied.
As to the details of his life during these years he was very reticent, in fact he
would not talk of them at all.
He remained with us for about a year and then went to New York, where he purchased a
little place on the Hudson, where I visited him once a year on the occasions of my
trips to the New York market--my father and
I owning and operating a string of general stores throughout Virginia at that time.
Captain Carter had a small but beautiful cottage, situated on a bluff overlooking
the river, and during one of my last visits, in the winter of 1885, I observed
he was much occupied in writing, I presume now, upon this manuscript.
He told me at this time that if anything should happen to him he wished me to take
charge of his estate, and he gave me a key to a compartment in the safe which stood in
his study, telling me I would find his will
there and some personal instructions which he had me pledge myself to carry out with
absolute fidelity.
After I had retired for the night I have seen him from my window standing in the
moonlight on the brink of the bluff overlooking the Hudson with his arms
stretched out to the heavens as though in appeal.
I thought at the time that he was praying, although I never understood that he was in
the strict sense of the term a religious man.
Several months after I had returned home from my last visit, the first of March,
1886, I think, I received a telegram from him asking me to come to him at once.
I had always been his favorite among the younger generation of Carters and so I
hastened to comply with his demand.
I arrived at the little station, about a mile from his grounds, on the morning of
March 4, 1886, and when I asked the livery man to drive me out to Captain Carter's he
replied that if I was a friend of the
Captain's he had some very bad news for me; the Captain had been found dead shortly
after daylight that very morning by the watchman attached to an adjoining property.
For some reason this news did not surprise me, but I hurried out to his place as
quickly as possible, so that I could take charge of the body and of his affairs.
I found the watchman who had discovered him, together with the local police chief
and several townspeople, assembled in his little study.
The watchman related the few details connected with the finding of the body,
which he said had been still warm when he came upon it.
It lay, he said, stretched full length in the snow with the arms outstretched above
the head toward the edge of the bluff, and when he showed me the spot it flashed upon
me that it was the identical one where I
had seen him on those other nights, with his arms raised in supplication to the
skies.
There were no marks of violence on the body, and with the aid of a local physician
the coroner's jury quickly reached a decision of death from heart failure.
Left alone in the study, I opened the safe and withdrew the contents of the drawer in
which he had told me I would find my instructions.
They were in part peculiar indeed, but I have followed them to each last detail as
faithfully as I was able.
He directed that I remove his body to Virginia without embalming, and that he be
laid in an open coffin within a tomb which he previously had had constructed and
which, as I later learned, was well ventilated.
The instructions impressed upon me that I must personally see that this was carried
out just as he directed, even in secrecy if necessary.
His property was left in such a way that I was to receive the entire income for
twenty-five years, when the principal was to become mine.
His further instructions related to this manuscript which I was to retain sealed and
unread, just as I found it, for eleven years; nor was I to divulge its contents
until twenty-one years after his death.
A strange feature about the tomb, where his body still lies, is that the massive door
is equipped with a single, huge gold-plated spring lock which can be opened only from
the inside.
Yours very sincerely, Edgar Rice Burroughs.
CHAPTER I ON THE ARIZONA HILLS
I am a very old man; how old I do not know. Possibly I am a hundred, possibly more; but
I cannot tell because I have never aged as other men, nor do I remember any childhood.
So far as I can recollect I have always been a man, a man of about thirty.
I appear today as I did forty years and more ago, and yet I feel that I cannot go
on living forever; that some day I shall die the real death from which there is no
resurrection.
I do not know why I should fear death, I who have died twice and am still alive; but
yet I have the same horror of it as you who have never died, and it is because of this
terror of death, I believe, that I am so convinced of my mortality.
And because of this conviction I have determined to write down the story of the
interesting periods of my life and of my death.
I cannot explain the phenomena; I can only set down here in the words of an ordinary
soldier of fortune a chronicle of the strange events that befell me during the
ten years that my dead body lay undiscovered in an Arizona cave.
I have never told this story, nor shall mortal man see this manuscript until after
I have passed over for eternity.
I know that the average human mind will not believe what it cannot grasp, and so I do
not purpose being pilloried by the public, the pulpit, and the press, and held up as a
colossal liar when I am but telling the
simple truths which some day science will substantiate.
Possibly the suggestions which I gained upon Mars, and the knowledge which I can
set down in this chronicle, will aid in an earlier understanding of the mysteries of
our sister planet; mysteries to you, but no longer mysteries to me.
My name is John Carter; I am better known as Captain Jack Carter of Virginia.
At the close of the Civil War I found myself possessed of several hundred
thousand dollars (Confederate) and a captain's commission in the cavalry arm of
an army which no longer existed; the
servant of a state which had vanished with the hopes of the South.
Masterless, penniless, and with my only means of livelihood, fighting, gone, I
determined to work my way to the southwest and attempt to retrieve my fallen fortunes
in a search for gold.
I spent nearly a year prospecting in company with another Confederate officer,
Captain James K. Powell of Richmond.
We were extremely fortunate, for late in the winter of 1865, after many hardships
and privations, we located the most remarkable gold-bearing quartz vein that
our wildest dreams had ever pictured.
Powell, who was a mining engineer by education, stated that we had uncovered
over a million dollars worth of ore in a trifle over three months.
As our equipment was crude in the extreme we decided that one of us must return to
civilization, purchase the necessary machinery and return with a sufficient
force of men properly to work the mine.
As Powell was familiar with the country, as well as with the mechanical requirements of
mining we determined that it would be best for him to make the trip.
It was agreed that I was to hold down our claim against the remote possibility of its
being jumped by some wandering prospector.
On March 3, 1866, Powell and I packed his provisions on two of our burros, and
bidding me good-bye he mounted his horse, and started down the mountainside toward
the valley, across which led the first stage of his journey.
The morning of Powell's departure was, like nearly all Arizona mornings, clear and
beautiful; I could see him and his little pack animals picking their way down the
mountainside toward the valley, and all
during the morning I would catch occasional glimpses of them as they topped a hog back
or came out upon a level plateau.
My last sight of Powell was about three in the afternoon as he entered the shadows of
the range on the opposite side of the valley.
Some half hour later I happened to glance casually across the valley and was much
surprised to note three little dots in about the same place I had last seen my
friend and his two pack animals.
I am not given to needless worrying, but the more I tried to convince myself that
all was well with Powell, and that the dots I had seen on his trail were antelope or
wild horses, the less I was able to assure myself.
Since we had entered the territory we had not seen a hostile Indian, and we had,
therefore, become careless in the extreme, and were wont to ridicule the stories we
had heard of the great numbers of these
vicious marauders that were supposed to haunt the trails, taking their toll in
lives and torture of every white party which fell into their merciless clutches.
Powell, I knew, was well armed and, further, an experienced Indian fighter; but
I too had lived and fought for years among the Sioux in the North, and I knew that his
chances were small against a party of cunning trailing Apaches.
Finally I could endure the suspense no longer, and, arming myself with my two Colt
revolvers and a carbine, I strapped two belts of cartridges about me and catching
my saddle horse, started down the trail taken by Powell in the morning.
As soon as I reached comparatively level ground I urged my mount into a canter and
continued this, where the going permitted, until, close upon dusk, I discovered the
point where other tracks joined those of Powell.
They were the tracks of unshod ponies, three of them, and the ponies had been
galloping.
I followed rapidly until, darkness shutting down, I was forced to await the rising of
the moon, and given an opportunity to speculate on the question of the wisdom of
my chase.
Possibly I had conjured up impossible dangers, like some nervous old housewife,
and when I should catch up with Powell would get a good laugh for my pains.
However, I am not prone to sensitiveness, and the following of a sense of duty,
wherever it may lead, has always been a kind of fetich with me throughout my life;
which may account for the honors bestowed
upon me by three republics and the decorations and friendships of an old and
powerful emperor and several lesser kings, in whose service my sword has been red many
a time.
About nine o'clock the moon was sufficiently bright for me to proceed on my
way and I had no difficulty in following the trail at a fast walk, and in some
places at a brisk trot until, about
midnight, I reached the water hole where Powell had expected to camp.
I came upon the spot unexpectedly, finding it entirely deserted, with no signs of
having been recently occupied as a camp.
I was interested to note that the tracks of the pursuing horsemen, for such I was now
convinced they must be, continued after Powell with only a brief stop at the hole
for water; and always at the same rate of speed as his.
I was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that they wished to capture
Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure of the torture, so I urged my horse onward at
a most dangerous pace, hoping against hope
that I would catch up with the red rascals before they attacked him.
Further speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint report of two shots far ahead
of me.
I knew that Powell would need me now if ever, and I instantly urged my horse to his
topmost speed up the narrow and difficult mountain trail.
I had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without hearing further sounds, when
the trail suddenly debouched onto a small, open plateau near the summit of the pass.
I had passed through a narrow, overhanging gorge just before entering suddenly upon
this table land, and the sight which met my eyes filled me with consternation and
dismay.
The little stretch of level land was white with Indian tepees, and there were probably
half a thousand red warriors clustered around some object near the center of the
camp.
Their attention was so wholly riveted to this point of interest that they did not
notice me, and I easily could have turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge
and made my escape with perfect safety.
The fact, however, that this thought did not occur to me until the following day
removes any possible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of this
episode might possibly otherwise entitle me.
I do not believe that I am made of the stuff which constitutes heroes, because, in
all of the hundreds of instances that my voluntary acts have placed me face to face
with death, I cannot recall a single one
where any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until many hours later.
My mind is evidently so constituted that I am subconsciously forced into the path of
duty without recourse to tiresome mental processes.
However that may be, I have never regretted that cowardice is not optional with me.
In this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was the center of attraction,
but whether I thought or acted first I do not know, but within an instant from the
moment the scene broke upon my view I had
whipped out my revolvers and was charging down upon the entire army of warriors,
shooting rapidly, and whooping at the top of my lungs.
Singlehanded, I could not have pursued better tactics, for the red men, convinced
by sudden surprise that not less than a regiment of regulars was upon them, turned
and fled in every direction for their bows, arrows, and rifles.
The view which their hurried routing disclosed filled me with apprehension and
with rage.
Under the clear rays of the Arizona moon lay Powell, his body fairly bristling with
the hostile arrows of the braves.
That he was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yet I would have saved his
body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches as quickly as I would have saved
the man himself from death.
Riding close to him I reached down from the saddle, and grasping his cartridge belt
drew him up across the withers of my mount.
A backward glance convinced me that to return by the way I had come would be more
hazardous than to continue across the plateau, so, putting spurs to my poor
beast, I made a dash for the opening to the
pass which I could distinguish on the far side of the table land.
The Indians had by this time discovered that I was alone and I was pursued with
imprecations, arrows, and rifle balls.
The fact that it is difficult to aim anything but imprecations accurately by
moonlight, that they were upset by the sudden and unexpected manner of my advent,
and that I was a rather rapidly moving
target saved me from the various deadly projectiles of the enemy and permitted me
to reach the shadows of the surrounding peaks before an orderly pursuit could be
organized.
My horse was traveling practically unguided as I knew that I had probably less
knowledge of the exact location of the trail to the pass than he, and thus it
happened that he entered a defile which led
to the summit of the range and not to the pass which I had hoped would carry me to
the valley and to safety.
It is probable, however, that to this fact I owe my life and the remarkable
experiences and adventures which befell me during the following ten years.
My first knowledge that I was on the wrong trail came when I heard the yells of the
pursuing savages suddenly grow fainter and fainter far off to my left.
I knew then that they had passed to the left of the jagged rock formation at the
edge of the plateau, to the right of which my horse had borne me and the body of
Powell.
I drew rein on a little level promontory overlooking the trail below and to my left,
and saw the party of pursuing savages disappearing around the point of a
neighboring peak.
I knew the Indians would soon discover that they were on the wrong trail and that the
search for me would be renewed in the right direction as soon as they located my
tracks.
I had gone but a short distance further when what seemed to be an excellent trail
opened up around the face of a high cliff.
The trail was level and quite broad and led upward and in the general direction I
wished to go.
The cliff arose for several hundred feet on my right, and on my left was an equal and
nearly perpendicular drop to the bottom of a rocky ravine.
I had followed this trail for perhaps a hundred yards when a sharp turn to the
right brought me to the mouth of a large cave.
The opening was about four feet in height and three to four feet wide, and at this
opening the trail ended.
It was now morning, and, with the customary lack of dawn which is a startling
characteristic of Arizona, it had become daylight almost without warning.
Dismounting, I laid Powell upon the ground, but the most painstaking examination failed
to reveal the faintest spark of life.
I forced water from my canteen between his dead lips, bathed his face and rubbed his
hands, working over him continuously for the better part of an hour in the face of
the fact that I knew him to be dead.
I was very fond of Powell; he was thoroughly a man in every respect; a
polished southern gentleman; a staunch and true friend; and it was with a feeling of
the deepest grief that I finally gave up my crude endeavors at resuscitation.
Leaving Powell's body where it lay on the ledge I crept into the cave to reconnoiter.
I found a large chamber, possibly a hundred feet in diameter and thirty or forty feet
in height; a smooth and well-worn floor, and many other evidences that the cave had,
at some remote period, been inhabited.
The back of the cave was so lost in dense shadow that I could not distinguish whether
there were openings into other apartments or not.
As I was continuing my examination I commenced to feel a pleasant drowsiness
creeping over me which I attributed to the fatigue of my long and strenuous ride, and
the reaction from the excitement of the fight and the pursuit.
I felt comparatively safe in my present location as I knew that one man could
defend the trail to the cave against an army.
I soon became so drowsy that I could scarcely resist the strong desire to throw
myself on the floor of the cave for a few moments' rest, but I knew that this would
never do, as it would mean certain death at
the hands of my red friends, who might be upon me at any moment.
With an effort I started toward the opening of the cave only to reel drunkenly against
a side wall, and from there slip prone upon the floor.
CHAPTER II THE ESCAPE OF THE DEAD
A sense of delicious dreaminess overcame me, my muscles relaxed, and I was on the
point of giving way to my desire to sleep when the sound of approaching horses
reached my ears.
I attempted to spring to my feet but was horrified to discover that my muscles
refused to respond to my will. I was now thoroughly awake, but as unable
to move a muscle as though turned to stone.
It was then, for the first time, that I noticed a slight vapor filling the cave.
It was extremely tenuous and only noticeable against the opening which led to
daylight.
There also came to my nostrils a faintly pungent odor, and I could only assume that
I had been overcome by some poisonous gas, but why I should retain my mental faculties
and yet be unable to move I could not fathom.
I lay facing the opening of the cave and where I could see the short stretch of
trail which lay between the cave and the turn of the cliff around which the trail
led.
The noise of the approaching horses had ceased, and I judged the Indians were
creeping stealthily upon me along the little ledge which led to my living tomb.
I remember that I hoped they would make short work of me as I did not particularly
relish the thought of the innumerable things they might do to me if the spirit
prompted them.
I had not long to wait before a stealthy sound apprised me of their nearness, and
then a war-bonneted, paint-streaked face was thrust cautiously around the shoulder
of the cliff, and savage eyes looked into mine.
That he could see me in the dim light of the cave I was sure for the early morning
sun was falling full upon me through the opening.
The fellow, instead of approaching, merely stood and stared; his eyes bulging and his
jaw dropped.
And then another savage face appeared, and a third and fourth and fifth, craning their
necks over the shoulders of their fellows whom they could not pass upon the narrow
ledge.
Each face was the picture of awe and fear, but for what reason I did not know, nor did
I learn until ten years later.
That there were still other braves behind those who regarded me was apparent from the
fact that the leaders passed back whispered word to those behind them.
Suddenly a low but distinct moaning sound issued from the recesses of the cave behind
me, and, as it reached the ears of the Indians, they turned and fled in terror,
panic-stricken.
So frantic were their efforts to escape from the unseen thing behind me that one of
the braves was hurled headlong from the cliff to the rocks below.
Their wild cries echoed in the canyon for a short time, and then all was still once
more.
The sound which had frightened them was not repeated, but it had been sufficient as it
was to start me speculating on the possible horror which lurked in the shadows at my
back.
Fear is a relative term and so I can only measure my feelings at that time by what I
had experienced in previous positions of danger and by those that I have passed
through since; but I can say without shame
that if the sensations I endured during the next few minutes were fear, then may God
help the coward, for cowardice is of a surety its own punishment.
To be held paralyzed, with one's back toward some horrible and unknown danger
from the very sound of which the ferocious Apache warriors turn in wild stampede, as a
flock of sheep would madly flee from a pack
of wolves, seems to me the last word in fearsome predicaments for a man who had
ever been used to fighting for his life with all the energy of a powerful physique.
Several times I thought I heard faint sounds behind me as of somebody moving
cautiously, but eventually even these ceased, and I was left to the contemplation
of my position without interruption.
I could but vaguely conjecture the cause of my paralysis, and my only hope lay in that
it might pass off as suddenly as it had fallen upon me.
Late in the afternoon my horse, which had been standing with dragging rein before the
cave, started slowly down the trail, evidently in search of food and water, and
I was left alone with my mysterious unknown
companion and the dead body of my friend, which lay just within my range of vision
upon the ledge where I had placed it in the early morning.
From then until possibly midnight all was silence, the silence of the dead; then,
suddenly, the awful moan of the morning broke upon my startled ears, and there came
again from the black shadows the sound of a
moving thing, and a faint rustling as of dead leaves.
The shock to my already overstrained nervous system was terrible in the extreme,
and with a superhuman effort I strove to break my awful bonds.
It was an effort of the mind, of the will, of the nerves; not muscular, for I could
not move even so much as my little finger, but none the less mighty for all that.
And then something gave, there was a momentary feeling of nausea, a sharp click
as of the snapping of a steel wire, and I stood with my back against the wall of the
cave facing my unknown foe.
And then the moonlight flooded the cave, and there before me lay my own body as it
had been lying all these hours, with the eyes staring toward the open ledge and the
hands resting limply upon the ground.
I looked first at my lifeless clay there upon the floor of the cave and then down at
myself in utter bewilderment; for there I lay clothed, and yet here I stood but naked
as at the minute of my birth.
The transition had been so sudden and so unexpected that it left me for a moment
forgetful of aught else than my strange metamorphosis.
My first thought was, is this then death!
Have I indeed passed over forever into that other life!
But I could not well believe this, as I could feel my heart pounding against my
ribs from the exertion of my efforts to release myself from the anaesthesis which
had held me.
My breath was coming in quick, short gasps, cold sweat stood out from every pore of my
body, and the ancient experiment of pinching revealed the fact that I was
anything other than a wraith.
Again was I suddenly recalled to my immediate surroundings by a repetition of
the weird moan from the depths of the cave. Naked and unarmed as I was, I had no desire
to face the unseen thing which menaced me.
My revolvers were strapped to my lifeless body which, for some unfathomable reason,
I could not bring myself to touch.
My carbine was in its boot, strapped to my saddle, and as my horse had wandered off I
was left without means of defense.
My only alternative seemed to lie in flight and my decision was crystallized by a
recurrence of the rustling sound from the thing which now seemed, in the darkness of
the cave and to my distorted imagination, to be creeping stealthily upon me.
Unable longer to resist the temptation to escape this horrible place I leaped quickly
through the opening into the starlight of a clear Arizona night.
The crisp, fresh mountain air outside the cave acted as an immediate tonic and I felt
new life and new courage coursing through me.
Pausing upon the brink of the ledge I upbraided myself for what now seemed to me
wholly unwarranted apprehension.
I reasoned with myself that I had lain helpless for many hours within the cave,
yet nothing had molested me, and my better judgment, when permitted the direction of
clear and logical reasoning, convinced me
that the noises I had heard must have resulted from purely natural and harmless
causes; probably the conformation of the cave was such that a slight breeze had
caused the sounds I heard.
I decided to investigate, but first I lifted my head to fill my lungs with the
pure, invigorating night air of the mountains.
As I did so I saw stretching far below me the beautiful vista of rocky gorge, and
level, cacti-studded flat, wrought by the moonlight into a miracle of soft splendor
and wondrous enchantment.
Few western wonders are more inspiring than the beauties of an Arizona moonlit
landscape; the silvered mountains in the distance, the strange lights and shadows
upon hog back and arroyo, and the grotesque
details of the stiff, yet beautiful cacti form a picture at once enchanting and
inspiring; as though one were catching for the first time a glimpse of some dead and
forgotten world, so different is it from
the aspect of any other spot upon our earth.
As I stood thus meditating, I turned my gaze from the landscape to the heavens
where the myriad stars formed a gorgeous and fitting canopy for the wonders of the
earthly scene.
My attention was quickly riveted by a large red star close to the distant horizon.
As I gazed upon it I felt a spell of overpowering fascination--it was Mars, the
god of war, and for me, the fighting man, it had always held the power of
irresistible enchantment.
As I gazed at it on that far-gone night it seemed to call across the unthinkable void,
to lure me to it, to draw me as the lodestone attracts a particle of iron.
My longing was beyond the power of opposition; I closed my eyes, stretched out
my arms toward the god of my vocation and felt myself drawn with the suddenness of
thought through the trackless immensity of space.
There was an instant of extreme cold and utter darkness.