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  A Princess of Mars Rethroned

  by Edna Rice Burroughs

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2010 Edna Rice Burroughs

  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 she spent at my mother'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 woman whom I called Aunt Jack.

  She seemed always to be laughing; and she entered into the sports of the children with the same hearty good fellowship she displayed toward those pastimes in which the women and men of her own age indulged; or she would sit for an hour at a time entertaining my old grandfather with stories of her strange, wild life in all parts of the world. We all loved her, and our slaves fairly worshipped the ground she trod.

  She was a splendid specimen of womanhood, standing a good two inches over six feet, broad of shoulder and narrow of hip, with the carriage of the trained fighting woman. Her features were regular and clear cut, her hair black and closely cropped, while her eyes were of a steel gray, reflecting a strong and loyal character, filled with fire and initiative. Her manners were perfect, and her courtliness was that of a typical southern gentlewoman of the highest type.

  Her horsewomanship, especially after hounds, was a marvel and delight even in that country of magnificent horsewomen. I have often heard my mother caution her against her wild recklessness, but she would only laugh, and say that the tumble that killed her would be from the back of a horse yet unfoaled.

  When the war broke out she left us, nor did I see her again for some fifteen or sixteen years. When she returned it was without warning, and I was much surprised to note that she had not aged apparently a moment, nor had she changed in any other outward way. She was, when others were with her, the same genial, happy fellow we had known of old, but when she thought herself alone I have seen her sit for hours gazing off into space, her face set in a look of wistful longing and hopeless misery; and at night she would sit thus looking up into the heavens, at what I did not know until I read her manuscript years afterward.

  She told us that she had been prospecting and mining in Arizona part of the time since the war; and that she had been very successful was evidenced by the unlimited amount of money with which she was supplied. As to the details of her life during these years she was very reticent, in fact she would not talk of them at all.

  She remained with us for about a year and then went to New York, where she purchased a little place on the Hudson, where I visited her once a year on the occasions of my trips to the New York market--my mother 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 she was much occupied in writing, I presume now, upon this manuscript.

  She told me at this time that if anything should happen to her she wished me to take charge of her estate, and she gave me a key to a compartment in the safe which stood in her study, telling me I would find her will there and some personal instructions which she had me pledge myself to carry out with absolute fidelity.

  After I had retired for the night I have seen her from my window standing in the moonlight on the brink of the bluff overlooking the Hudson with her arms stretched out to the heavens as though in appeal. I thought at the time that she was praying, although I never understood that she was in the strict sense of the term a religious woman.

  Several months after I had returned home from my last visit, the first of March, 1886, I think, I received a telegram from her asking me to come to her at once. I had always been her favorite among the younger generation of Carters and so I hastened to comply with her demand.

  I arrived at the little station, about a mile from her grounds, on the morning of March 4, 1886, and when I asked the livery woman to drive me out to Captain Carter's she replied that if I was a friend of the Captain's she 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 her place as quickly as possible, so that I could take charge of the body and of her affairs.

  I found the watchman who had discovered her, together with the local police chief and several townspeople, assembled in her little study. The watchman related the few details connected with the finding of the body, which she said had been still warm when she came upon it. It lay, she said, stretched full length in the snow with the arms outstretched above the head toward the edge of the bluff, and when she showed me the spot it flashed upon me that it was the identical one where I had seen her on those other nights, with her 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 she 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.

  She directed that I remove her body to Virginia without embalming, and that she be laid in an open coffin within a tomb which she 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 she directed, even in secrecy if necessary.

  Her 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. Her 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 her death.

  A strange feature about the tomb, where her 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,

  Edna Rice Burroughs.

  CHAPTER I

  ON THE ARIZONA HILLS

  I am a very old woman; how old I do not know. Possibly I am a hundred, possibly more; but I cannot tell because I have never aged as other women, nor do I remember any childhood. So far as I can recollect I have always been a woman, a woman 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 woman 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 brother planet; mysteries to you, but no longer mysteries to me.

  My name is Joan 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 Jamie 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 women 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 her 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 her provisions on two of our burros, and bidding me good-bye she mounted her horse, and started down the mountainside toward the valley, across which led the first stage of her journey.

  The morning of Powell's departure was, like nearly all Arizona mornings, clear and beautiful; I could see her and her 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 she 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 her 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 her 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 her 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 horsewomen, 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 hers.

  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 her.

  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 her 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 women, 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, her body fairly bristling with the hostile arrows of the braves. That she was already dead I could not but be convinced, and yet I would have saved her body from mutilation at the hands of the Apaches as quickly as I would have saved the woman herself from death.

  Riding close to her I reached down from the saddle, and grasping her cartridge belt drew her 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 she, and thus it happened that she 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.