Books: A Princess of Mars
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Edgar Rice Burroughs >> A Princess of Mars
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15 Corrections supplied in November 2001 by Andrew Sly.
Illustrations for the HTML format provided by Tim Holmes.
A PRINCESS OF MARS
by Edgar Rice Burroughs
To My Son Jack
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.
CONTENTS
I On the Arizona Hills
II The Escape of the Dead
III My Advent on Mars
IV A Prisoner
V I Elude My Watch Dog
VI A Fight That Won Friends
VII Child-Raising on Mars
VIII A Fair Captive from the Sky
IX I Learn the Language
X Champion and Chief
XI With Dejah Thoris
XII A Prisoner with Power
XIII Love-Making on Mars
XIV A Duel to the Death
XV Sola Tells Me Her Story
XVI We Plan Escape
XVII A Costly Recapture
XVIII Chained in Warhoon
XIX Battling in the Arena
XX In the Atmosphere Factory
XXI An Air Scout for Zodanga
XXII I Find Dejah
XXIII Lost in the Sky
XXIV Tars Tarkas Finds a Friend
XXV The Looting of Zodanga
XXVI Through Carnage to Joy
XXVII From Joy to Death
XXVIII At the Arizona Cave
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.
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