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 othermen, nor do I remember any childhood. So far as I can recollect I havealways been a man, a man of about thirty. I appear today as I didforty years and more ago, and yet I feel that I cannot go on livingforever; that some day I shall die the real death from which there isno resurrection. I do not know why I should fear death, I who havedied twice and am still alive; but yet I have the same horror of it asyou who have never died, and it is because of this terror of death, Ibelieve, that I am so convinced of my mortality.
And because of this conviction I have determined to write down thestory of the interesting periods of my life and of my death. I cannotexplain the phenomena; I can only set down here in the words of anordinary soldier of fortune a chronicle of the strange events thatbefell me during the ten years that my dead body lay undiscovered in anArizona cave.
I have never told this story, nor shall mortal man see this manuscriptuntil after I have passed over for eternity. I know that the averagehuman mind will not believe what it cannot grasp, and so I do notpurpose being pilloried by the public, the pulpit, and the press, andheld up as a colossal liar when I am but telling the simple truthswhich some day science will substantiate. Possibly the suggestionswhich I gained upon Mars, and the knowledge which I can set down inthis chronicle, will aid in an earlier understanding of the mysteriesof 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 ofVirginia. At the close of the Civil War I found myself possessed ofseveral hundred thousand dollars (Confederate) and a captain'scommission in the cavalry arm of an army which no longer existed; theservant 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 toretrieve my fallen fortunes in a search for gold.
I spent nearly a year prospecting in company with another Confederateofficer, Captain James K. Powell of Richmond. We were extremelyfortunate, for late in the winter of 1865, after many hardships andprivations, we located the most remarkable gold-bearing quartz veinthat our wildest dreams had ever pictured. Powell, who was a miningengineer by education, stated that we had uncovered over a milliondollars worth of ore in a trifle over three months.
As our equipment was crude in the extreme we decided that one of usmust return to civilization, purchase the necessary machinery andreturn with a sufficient force of men properly to work the mine.
As Powell was familiar with the country, as well as with the mechanicalrequirements of mining we determined that it would be best for him tomake the trip. It was agreed that I was to hold down our claim againstthe remote possibility of its being jumped by some wandering prospector.
On March 3, 1866, Powell and I packed his provisions on two of ourburros, and bidding me good-bye he mounted his horse, and started downthe mountainside toward the valley, across which led the first stage ofhis journey.
The morning of Powell's departure was, like nearly all Arizonamornings, clear and beautiful; I could see him and his little packanimals picking their way down the mountainside toward the valley, andall during the morning I would catch occasional glimpses of them asthey topped a hog back or came out upon a level plateau. My last sightof Powell was about three in the afternoon as he entered the shadows ofthe range on the opposite side of the valley.
Some half hour later I happened to glance casually across the valleyand was much surprised to note three little dots in about the sameplace I had last seen my friend and his two pack animals. I am notgiven to needless worrying, but the more I tried to convince myselfthat all was well with Powell, and that the dots I had seen on histrail were antelope or wild horses, the less I was able to assuremyself.
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 toridicule the stories we had heard of the great numbers of these viciousmarauders that were supposed to haunt the trails, taking their toll inlives and torture of every white party which fell into their mercilessclutches.
Powell, I knew, was well armed and, further, an experienced Indianfighter; but I too had lived and fought for years among the Sioux inthe North, and I knew that his chances were small against a party ofcunning trailing Apaches. Finally I could endure the suspense nolonger, and, arming myself with my two Colt revolvers and a carbine, Istrapped 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 acanter and continued this, where the going permitted, until, close upondusk, I discovered the point where other tracks joined those of Powell.They were the tracks of unshod ponies, three of them, and the ponieshad been galloping.
I followed rapidly until, darkness shutting down, I was forced to awaitthe rising of the moon, and given an opportunity to speculate on thequestion of the wisdom of my chase. Possibly I had conjured upimpossible dangers, like some nervous old housewife, and when I shouldcatch up with Powell would get a good laugh for my pains. However, Iam not prone to sensitiveness, and the following of a sense of duty,wherever it may lead, has always been a kind of fetich with methroughout my life; which may account for the honors bestowed upon meby three republics and the decorations and friendships of an old andpowerful emperor and several lesser kings, in whose service my swordhas been red many a time.
About nine o'clock the moon was sufficiently bright for me to proceedon my way and I had no difficulty in following the trail at a fastwalk, and in some places at a brisk trot until, about midnight, Ireached the water hole where Powell had expected to camp. I came uponthe spot unexpectedly, finding it entirely deserted, with no signs ofhaving been recently occupied as a camp.
I was interested to note that the tracks of the pursuing horsemen, forsuch I was now convinced they must be, continued after Powell with onlya brief stop at the hole for water; and always at the same rate ofspeed as his.
I was positive now that the trailers were Apaches and that they wishedto capture Powell alive for the fiendish pleasure of the torture, so Iurged my horse onward at a most dangerous pace, hoping against hopethat I would catch up with the red rascals before they attacked him.
Further speculation was suddenly cut short by the faint report of twoshots 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 anddifficult mountain trail.
I had forged ahead for perhaps a mile or more without hearing furthersounds, when the trail suddenly debouched onto a small, open plateaunear 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, andthere were probably half a thousand red warriors clustered around someobject near the center of the camp. Their attention was so whollyriveted to this point of interest that they did not notice me, and Ieasily could have turned back into the dark recesses of the gorge andmade my escape with perfect safety. The fact, however, that thisthought did not occur to me until the following day removes anypossible right to a claim to heroism to which the narration of thisepisode 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 actshave placed me face to face with death, I cannot recall a single onewhere any alternative step to that I took occurred to me until manyhours later. My mind is evidently so constituted that I amsubconsciously forced into the path of duty without recourse totiresome mental processes. However that may be, I have never regrettedthat cowardice is not optional with me.
In this instance I was, of course, positive that Powell was the centerof attraction, but whether I thought or acted first I do not know, butwithin an instant from the moment the scene broke upon my view I hadwhipped out my revolvers and was charging down upon the entire army ofwarriors, 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 regularswas upon them, turned and fled in every direction for their bows,arrows, and rifles.
The view which their hurried routing disclosed filled me withapprehension and with rage. Under the clear rays of the Arizona moonlay Powell, his body fairly bristling with the hostile arrows of thebraves. That he was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yetI would have saved his body from mutilation at the hands of the Apachesas quickly as I would have saved the man himself from death.
Riding close to him I reached down from the saddle, and grasping hiscartridge belt drew him up across the withers of my mount. A backwardglance convinced me that to return by the way I had come would be morehazardous than to continue across the plateau, so, putting spurs to mypoor beast, I made a dash for the opening to the pass which I coulddistinguish on the far side of the table land.
The Indians had by this time discovered that I was alone and I waspursued with imprecations, arrows, and rifle balls. The fact that itis 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 variousdeadly projectiles of the enemy and permitted me to reach the shadowsof the surrounding peaks before an orderly pursuit could be organized.
My horse was traveling practically unguided as I knew that I hadprobably less knowledge of the exact location of the trail to the passthan he, and thus it happened that he entered a defile which led to thesummit of the range and not to the pass which I had hoped would carryme to the valley and to safety. It is probable, however, that to thisfact I owe my life and the remarkable experiences and adventures whichbefell me during the following ten years.
My first knowledge that I was on the wrong trail came when I heard theyells of the pursuing savages suddenly grow fainter and fainter far offto my left.
I knew then that they had passed to the left of the jagged rockformation at the edge of the plateau, to the right of which my horsehad borne me and the body of Powell.
I drew rein on a little level promontory overlooking the trail belowand to my left, and saw the party of pursuing savages disappearingaround the point of a neighboring peak.
I knew the Indians would soon discover that they were on the wrongtrail and that the search for me would be renewed in the rightdirection as soon as they located my tracks.
I had gone but a short distance further when what seemed to be anexcellent trail opened up around the face of a high cliff. The trailwas level and quite broad and led upward and in the general direction Iwished 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 bottomof a rocky ravine.
I had followed this trail for perhaps a hundred yards when a sharp turnto the right brought me to the mouth of a large cave. The opening wasabout four feet in height and three to four feet wide, and at thisopening the trail ended.
It was now morning, and, with the customary lack of dawn which is astartling characteristic of Arizona, it had become daylight almostwithout warning.
Dismounting, I laid Powell upon the ground, but the most painstakingexamination failed to reveal the faintest spark of life. I forcedwater from my canteen between his dead lips, bathed his face and rubbedhis hands, working over him continuously for the better part of an hourin 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; apolished southern gentleman; a staunch and true friend; and it was witha feeling of the deepest grief that I finally gave up my crudeendeavors at resuscitation.
Leaving Powell's body where it lay on the ledge I crept into the caveto reconnoiter. I found a large chamber, possibly a hundred feet indiameter and thirty or forty feet in height; a smooth and well-wornfloor, and many other evidences that the cave had, at some remoteperiod, been inhabited. The back of the cave was so lost in denseshadow that I could not distinguish whether there were openings intoother apartments or not.
As I was continuing my examination I commenced to feel a pleasantdrowsiness creeping over me which I attributed to the fatigue of mylong and strenuous ride, and the reaction from the excitement of thefight and the pursuit. I felt comparatively safe in my presentlocation as I knew that one man could defend the trail to the caveagainst an army.
I soon became so drowsy that I could scarcely resist the strong desireto throw myself on the floor of the cave for a few moments' rest, but Iknew that this would never do, as it would mean certain death at thehands of my red friends, who might be upon me at any moment. With aneffort I started toward the opening of the cave only to reel drunkenlyagainst a side wall, and from there slip prone upon the floor.
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