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 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. 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 afterwards. 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.

When the war broke out he left us, nor did I see him again for some fifteen or sixteen years. 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. His horsemanship, especially after hounds, was a marvel and delight even in that country of magnificent horsemen. His manners were perfect, and his courtliness was that of a typical southern gentleman of the highest type. 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. 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.

We all loved him, and our slaves fairly worshipped the ground he trod. 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. I was then a child of but five years, yet I will remember the tall, dark, smooth-faced, athletic man whom I called Uncle Jack. 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. 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.

Mars trilogy