Edgar Rice Burroughs - Mars Chronicles 01 - A princess of M

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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

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

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

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

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摘要：

mortality.AndbecauseofthisconvictionIhavedeterminedtowritedownthestoryoftheinterestingperiodsofmylifeandofmydeath.Icannotexplainthephenomena;IcanonlysetdownhereinthewordsofanordinarysoldieroffortuneachronicleofthestrangeeventsthatbefellmeduringthetenyearsthatmydeadbodylayundiscoveredinanArizonacave....

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Edgar Rice Burroughs - Mars Chronicles 01 - A princess of M

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