Books: Princess of Mars
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Edgar Rice Burroughs >> Princess of Mars
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15 A Princess Of Mars
By 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.
CHAPTER III
MY ADVENT ON MARS
I opened my eyes upon a strange and weird landscape. I knew that I
was on Mars; not once did I question either my sanity or my wakefulness.
I was not asleep, no need for pinching here; my inner consciousness
told me as plainly that I was upon Mars as your conscious mind
tells you that you are upon Earth. You do not question the fact;
neither did I.
I found myself lying prone upon a bed of yellowish, mosslike vegetation
which stretched around me in all directions for interminable miles.
I seemed to be lying in a deep, circular basin, along the outer
verge of which I could distinguish the irregularities of low hills.
It was midday, the sun was shining full upon me and the heat of it
was rather intense upon my naked body, yet no greater than would
have been true under similar conditions on an Arizona desert. Here
and there were slight outcroppings of quartz-bearing rock which
glistened in the sunlight; and a little to my left, perhaps a hundred
yards, appeared a low, walled enclosure about four feet in height.
No water, and no other vegetation than the moss was in evidence,
and as I was somewhat thirsty I determined to do a little exploring.
Springing to my feet I received my first Martian surprise, for
the effort, which on Earth would have brought me standing upright,
carried me into the Martian air to the height of about three yards.
I alighted softly upon the ground, however, without appreciable
shock or jar. Now commenced a series of evolutions which even
then seemed ludicrous in the extreme. I found that I must learn
to walk all over again, as the muscular exertion which carried me
easily and safely upon Earth played strange antics with me upon
Mars.
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