On The Arizona Hills

: A Princess Of Mars

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 resu
rection. 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.



More

;