Letter 1


To Mrs. Saville, England



St. Petersburgh, Dec. 11th, 17--



You will rejoice to hear that no disaster has accompanied the commencement

of an enterprise which you have regarded with such evil forebodings.

I arrived here yesterday, and my first task is to assure my dear sister

of my welfare and increasing confidence in the success of my undertaking.



I am already far north of London, and as I walk in the streets

of Petersburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks,

which braces my nerves and fills me with delight. Do you understand

this feeling? This breeze, which has travelled from the regions

towards which I am advancing, gives me a foretaste of those icy climes.

Inspirited by this wind of promise, my daydreams become more fervent

and vivid. I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole

is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself

to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight. There, Margaret,

the sun is forever visible, its broad disk just skirting the horizon

and diffusing a perpetual splendour. There--for with your leave,

my sister, I will put some trust in preceding navigators--

there snow and frost are banished; and, sailing over a calm sea,

we may be wafted to a land surpassing in wonders and in beauty

every region hitherto discovered on the habitable globe.

Its productions and features may be without example, as the phenomena

of the heavenly bodies undoubtedly are in those undiscovered solitudes.

What may not be expected in a country of eternal light?

I may there discover the wondrous power which attracts the needle

and may regulate a thousand celestial observations that require

only this voyage to render their seeming eccentricities consistent forever.

I shall satiate my ardent curiosity with the sight of a part of the world

never before visited, and may tread a land never before imprinted

by the foot of man. These are my enticements, and they are sufficient

to conquer all fear of danger or death and to induce me to commence

this labourious voyage with the joy a child feels when he embarks

in a little boat, with his holiday mates, on an expedition of discovery

up his native river. But supposing all these conjectures to be false,

you cannot contest the inestimable benefit which I shall confer

on all mankind, to the last generation, by discovering a passage

near the pole to those countries, to reach which at present so many months

are requisite; or by ascertaining the secret of the magnet, which,

if at all possible, can only be effected by an undertaking such as mine.



These reflections have dispelled the agitation with which I began my letter,

and I feel my heart glow with an enthusiasm which elevates me to heaven,

for nothing contributes so much to tranquillize the mind

as a steady purpose--a point on which the soul may fix

its intellectual eye. This expedition has been the favourite dream

of my early years. I have read with ardour the accounts

of the various voyages which have been made in the prospect

of arriving at the North Pacific Ocean through the seas

which surround the pole. You may remember that a history

of all the voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the whole

of our good Uncle Thomas' library. My education was neglected,

yet I was passionately fond of reading. These volumes were my study

day and night, and my familiarity with them increased that regret

which I had felt, as a child, on learning that my father's dying injunction

had forbidden my uncle to allow me to embark in a seafaring life.



These visions faded when I perused, for the first time, those poets

whose effusions entranced my soul and lifted it to heaven. I also became

a poet and for one year lived in a paradise of my own creation;

I imagined that I also might obtain a niche in the temple

where the names of Homer and Shakespeare are consecrated.

You are well acquainted with my failure and how heavily

I bore the disappointment. But just at that time I inherited

the fortune of my cousin, and my thoughts were turned

into the channel of their earlier bent.



Six years have passed since I resolved on my present undertaking.

I can, even now, remember the hour from which I dedicated myself

to this great enterprise. I commenced by inuring my body to hardship.

I accompanied the whale-fishers on several expeditions to the North Sea;

I voluntarily endured cold, famine, thirst, and want of sleep;

I often worked harder than the common sailors during the day

and devoted my nights to the study of mathematics, the theory of medicine,

and those branches of physical science from which a naval adventurer

might derive the greatest practical advantage. Twice I actually hired myself

as an under-mate in a Greenland whaler, and acquitted myself to admiration.

I must own I felt a little proud when my captain offered me

the second dignity in the vessel and entreated me to remain

with the greatest earnestness, so valuable did he consider my services.



And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish

some great purpose? My life might have been passed in ease and luxury,

but I preferred glory to every enticement that wealth placed in my path.

Oh, that some encouraging voice would answer in the affirmative!

My courage and my resolution is firm; but my hopes fluctuate,

and my spirits are often depressed. I am about to proceed

on a long and difficult voyage, the emergencies of which

will demand all my fortitude: I am required not only

to raise the spirits of others, but sometimes to sustain my own,

when theirs are failing.



This is the most favourable period for travelling in Russia.

They fly quickly over the snow in their sledges; the motion is pleasant,

and, in my opinion, far more agreeable than that of an English stagecoach.

The cold is not excessive, if you are wrapped in furs--

a dress which I have already adopted, for there is a great difference

between walking the deck and remaining seated motionless for hours,

when no exercise prevents the blood from actually freezing in your veins.

I have no ambition to lose my life on the post-road between

St. Petersburgh and Archangel.



I shall depart for the latter town in a fortnight or three weeks;

and my intention is to hire a ship there, which can easily be done

by paying the insurance for the owner, and to engage as many sailors

as I think necessary among those who are accustomed to the whale-fishing.

I do not intend to sail until the month of June; and when shall I return?

Ah, dear sister, how can I answer this question? If I succeed,

many, many months, perhaps years, will pass before you and I may meet.

If I fail, you will see me again soon, or never.



Farewell, my dear, excellent Margaret. Heaven shower down blessings on you,

and save me, that I may again and again testify my gratitude

for all your love and kindness.



Your affectionate brother,

R. Walton







Letter 2





To Mrs. Saville, England



Archangel, 28th March, 17--



How slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow!

Yet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired a vessel

and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I have already engaged

appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainly possessed

of dauntless courage.



But I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy,

and the absence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil.

I have no friend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm

of success, there will be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed

by disappointment, no one will endeavour to sustain me in dejection.

I shall commit my thoughts to paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium

for the communication of feeling. I desire the company of a man

who could sympathize with me, whose eyes would reply to mine.

You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but I bitterly feel

the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yet courageous,

possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind,

whose tastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans.

How would such a friend repair the faults of your poor brother!

I am too ardent in execution and too impatient of difficulties.

But it is a still greater evil to me that I am self-educated:

for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wild on a common

and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas' books of voyages.

At that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets

of our own country; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power

to derive its most important benefits from such a conviction

that I perceived the necessity of becoming acquainted with more languages

than that of my native country. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality

more illiterate than many schoolboys of fifteen. It is true

that I have thought more and that my daydreams are more extended

and magnificent, but they want (as the painters call it) *keeping*;

and I greatly need a friend who would have sense enough not to despise me

as romantic, and affection enough for me to endeavour to regulate my mind.



Well, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend

on the wide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen.

Yet some feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even

in these rugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful

courage and enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or rather,

to word my phrase more characteristically, of advancement in his profession.

He is an Englishman, and in the midst of national and professional

prejudices, unsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest

endowments of humanity. I first became acquainted with him

on board a whale vessel; finding that he was unemployed in this city,

I easily engaged him to assist in my enterprise.



The master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable

in the ship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline.

This circumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage,

made me very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude,

my best years spent under your gentle and feminine fosterage,

has so refined the groundwork of my character that I cannot overcome

an intense distaste to the usual brutality exercised on board ship:

I have never believed it to be necessary, and when I heard of a mariner

equally noted for his kindliness of heart and the respect and obedience

paid to him by his crew, I felt myself peculiarly fortunate

in being able to secure his services. I heard of him first

in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him the happiness

of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago

he loved a young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and having amassed

a considerable sum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented

to the match. He saw his mistress once before the destined ceremony;

but she was bathed in tears, and throwing herself at his feet,

entreated him to spare her, confessing at the same time

that she loved another, but that he was poor, and that her father

would never consent to the union. My generous friend

reassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover,

instantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm

with his money, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of his life;

but he bestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains

of his prize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited

the young woman's father to consent to her marriage with her lover.

But the old man decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour

to my friend, who, when he found the father inexorable,

quitted his country, nor returned until he heard that his former mistress

was married according to her inclinations. "What a noble fellow!"

you will exclaim. He is so; but then he is wholly uneducated:

he is as silent as a Turk, and a kind of ignorant carelessness attends him,

which, while it renders his conduct the more astonishing,

detracts from the interest and sympathy which otherwise he would command.



Yet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I can conceive

a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I am wavering

in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyage

is only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation.

The winter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well,

and it is considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps

I may sail sooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly:

you know me sufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness

whenever the safety of others is committed to my care.



I cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect

of my undertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you

a conception of the trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful,

with which I am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions,

to "the land of mist and snow," but I shall kill no albatross;

therefore do not be alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you

as worn and woeful as the "Ancient Mariner." You will smile at my allusion,

but I will disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to,

my passionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean

to that production of the most imaginative of modern poets.

There is something at work in my soul which I do not understand.

I am practically industrious--painstaking, a workman to execute

with perseverance and labour--but besides this there is a love

for the marvellous, a belief in the marvellous, intertwined

in all my projects, which hurries me out of the common pathways of men,

even to the wild sea and unvisited regions I am about to explore.



But to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again,

after having traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape

of Africa or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear

to look on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present

to write to me by every opportunity: I may receive your letters

on some occasions when I need them most to support my spirits.

I love you very tenderly. Remember me with affection,

should you never hear from me again.



Your affectionate brother,

Robert Walton







Letter 3





To Mrs. Saville, England



July 7th, 17--



My dear Sister,



I write a few lines in haste to say that I am safe--

and well advanced on my voyage. This letter will reach England

by a merchantman now on its homeward voyage from Archangel;

more fortunate than I, who may not see my native land, perhaps,

for many years. I am, however, in good spirits: my men are bold

and apparently firm of purpose, nor do the floating sheets of ice

that continually pass us, indicating the dangers of the region

towards which we are advancing, appear to dismay them.

We have already reached a very high latitude; but it is

the height of summer, and although not so warm as in England,

the southern gales, which blow us speedily towards those shores

which I so ardently desire to attain, breathe a degree

of renovating warmth which I had not expected.



No incidents have hitherto befallen us that would make a figure

in a letter. One or two stiff gales and the springing of a leak

are accidents which experienced navigators scarcely remember to record,

and I shall be well content if nothing worse happen to us during our voyage.



Adieu, my dear Margaret. Be assured that for my own sake,

as well as yours, I will not rashly encounter danger.

I will be cool, persevering, and prudent.



But success *shall* crown my endeavours. Wherefore not?

Thus far I have gone, tracing a secure way over the pathless seas,

the very stars themselves being witnesses and testimonies

of my triumph. Why not still proceed over the untamed

yet obedient element? What can stop the determined heart

and resolved will of man?



My swelling heart involuntarily pours itself out thus.

But I must finish. Heaven bless my beloved sister!





R.W.







Letter 4





To Mrs. Saville, England



August 5th, 17--



So strange an accident has happened to us that I cannot forbear

recording it, although it is very probable that you will see me

before these papers can come into your possession.



Last Monday (July 3lst) we were nearly surrounded by ice,

which closed in the ship on all sides, scarcely leaving her

the sea-room in which she floated. Our situation was somewhat dangerous,

especially as we were compassed round by a very thick fog.

We accordingly lay to, hoping that some change would take place

in the atmosphere and weather.



About two o'clock the mist cleared away, and we beheld,

stretched out in every direction, vast and irregular plains of ice,

which seemed to have no end. Some of my comrades groaned,

and my own mind began to grow watchful with anxious thoughts,

when a strange sight suddenly attracted our attention

and diverted our solicitude from our own situation.

We perceived a low carriage, fixed on a sledge and drawn by dogs,

pass on towards the north, at the distance of half a mile;

a being which had the shape of a man, but apparently of gigantic stature,

sat in the sledge and guided the dogs. We watched the rapid progress

of the traveller with our telescopes until he was lost

among the distant inequalities of the ice.



This appearance excited our unqualified wonder. We were, as we believed,

many hundred miles from any land; but this apparition seemed to denote

that it was not, in reality, so distant as we had supposed. Shut in,

however, by ice, it was impossible to follow his track,

which we had observed with the greatest attention.



About two hours after this occurrence we heard the ground sea,

and before night the ice broke and freed our ship. We, however,

lay to until the morning, fearing to encounter in the dark

those large loose masses which float about after the breaking up

of the ice. I profited of this time to rest for a few hours.



In the morning, however, as soon as it was light, I went upon deck

and found all the sailors busy on one side of the vessel,

apparently talking to someone in the sea. It was, in fact, a sledge,

like that we had seen before, which had drifted towards us in the night

on a large fragment of ice. Only one dog remained alive;

but there was a human being within it whom the sailors were persuading

to enter the vessel. He was not, as the other traveller seemed to be,

a savage inhabitant of some undiscovered island, but a European.

When I appeared on deck the master said, "Here is our captain,

and he will not allow you to perish on the open sea."



On perceiving me, the stranger addressed me in English,

although with a foreign accent. "Before I come on board your vessel,"

said he, "will you have the kindness to inform me whither you are bound?"



You may conceive my astonishment on hearing such a question

addressed to me from a man on the brink of destruction and to whom

I should have supposed that my vessel would have been a resource

which he would not have exchanged for the most precious wealth

the earth can afford. I replied, however, that we

were on a voyage of discovery towards the northern pole.



Upon hearing this he appeared satisfied and consented to come on board.

Good God! Margaret, if you had seen the man who thus capitulated

for his safety, your surprise would have been boundless.

His limbs were nearly frozen, and his body dreadfully emaciated

by fatigue and suffering. I never saw a man in so wretched a condition.

We attempted to carry him into the cabin, but as soon as he had quitted

the fresh air he fainted. We accordingly brought him back to the deck

and restored him to animation by rubbing him with brandy

and forcing him to swallow a small quantity. As soon as he showed

signs of life we wrapped him up in blankets and placed him near the chimney

of the kitchen stove. By slow degrees he recovered and ate a little soup,

which restored him wonderfully.



Two days passed in this manner before he was able to speak,

and I often feared that his sufferings had deprived him of understanding.

When he had in some measure recovered, I removed him to my own cabin

and attended on him as much as my duty would permit. I never saw

a more interesting creature: his eyes have generally

an expression of wildness, and even madness, but there are moments when,

if anyone performs an act of kindness towards him or does him

the most trifling service, his whole countenance is lighted up,

as it were, with a beam of benevolence and sweetness

that I never saw equalled. But he is generally melancholy and despairing,

and sometimes he gnashes his teeth, as if impatient of the weight of woes

that oppresses him.



When my guest was a little recovered I had great trouble

to keep off the men, who wished to ask him a thousand questions;

but I would not allow him to be tormented by their idle curiosity,

in a state of body and mind whose restoration evidently depended

upon entire repose. Once, however, the lieutenant asked

why he had come so far upon the ice in so strange a vehicle.



His countenance instantly assumed an aspect of the deepest gloom,

and he replied, "To seek one who fled from me."



"And did the man whom you pursued travel in the same fashion?"



"Yes."



"Then I fancy we have seen him, for the day before we picked you up

we saw some dogs drawing a sledge, with a man in it, across the ice."



This aroused the stranger's attention, and he asked a multitude

of questions concerning the route which the demon, as he called him,

had pursued. Soon after, when he was alone with me, he said,

"I have, doubtless, excited your curiosity, as well as that

of these good people; but you are too considerate to make inquiries."



"Certainly; it would indeed be very impertinent and inhuman of me

to trouble you with any inquisitiveness of mine."





"And yet you rescued me from a strange and perilous situation;

you have benevolently restored me to life."



Soon after this he inquired if I thought that the breaking up

of the ice had destroyed the other sledge. I replied

that I could not answer with any degree of certainty,

for the ice had not broken until near midnight, and the traveller

might have arrived at a place of safety before that time;

but of this I could not judge.



From this time a new spirit of life animated the decaying frame

of the stranger. He manifested the greatest eagerness to be upon deck

to watch for the sledge which had before appeared; but I have persuaded him

to remain in the cabin, for he is far too weak to sustain the rawness

of the atmosphere. I have promised that someone should watch for him

and give him instant notice if any new object should appear in sight.



Such is my journal of what relates to this strange occurrence

up to the present day. The stranger has gradually improved in health

but is very silent and appears uneasy when anyone except myself

enters his cabin. Yet his manners are so conciliating and gentle

that the sailors are all interested in him, although they have had

very little communication with him. For my own part, I begin to love him

as a brother, and his constant and deep grief fills me with sympathy

and compassion. He must have been a noble creature in his better days,

being even now in wreck so attractive and amiable.



I said in one of my letters, my dear Margaret, that I should find no friend

on the wide ocean; yet I have found a man who, before his spirit

had been broken by misery, I should have been happy to have possessed

as the brother of my heart.



I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals,

should I have any fresh incidents to record.





August 13th, 17--



My affection for my guest increases every day. He excites at once

my admiration and my pity to an astonishing degree.

How can I see so noble a creature destroyed by misery

without feeling the most poignant grief? He is so gentle,

yet so wise; his mind is so cultivated, and when he speaks,

although his words are culled with the choicest art,

yet they flow with rapidity and unparalleled eloquence.



He is now much recovered from his illness and is continually on the deck,

apparently watching for the sledge that preceded his own.

Yet, although unhappy, he is not so utterly occupied by his own misery

but that he interests himself deeply in the projects of others.

He has frequently conversed with me on mine, which I have communicated

to him without disguise. He entered attentively into all my arguments

in favour of my eventual success and into every minute detail

of the measures I had taken to secure it. I was easily led

by the sympathy which he evinced to use the language of my heart,

to give utterance to the burning ardour of my soul, and to say,

with all the fervour that warmed me, how gladly I would sacrifice my fortune,

my existence, my every hope, to the furtherance of my enterprise.

One man's life or death were but a small price to pay for the acquirement

of the knowledge which I sought, for the dominion I should acquire

and transmit over the elemental foes of our race. As I spoke,

a dark gloom spread over my listener's countenance. At first

I perceived that he tried to suppress his emotion; he placed his hands

before his eyes, and my voice quivered and failed me as I beheld tears

trickle fast from between his fingers; a groan burst from his heaving breast.

I paused; at length he spoke, in broken accents: "Unhappy man!

Do you share my madness? Have you drunk also of the intoxicating draught?

Hear me; let me reveal my tale, and you will dash the cup from your lips!"



Such words, you may imagine, strongly excited my curiosity;

but the paroxysm of grief that had seized the stranger

overcame his weakened powers, and many hours of repose

and tranquil conversation were necessary to restore his composure.



Having conquered the violence of his feelings, he appeared

to despise himself for being the slave of passion; and quelling

the dark tyranny of despair, he led me again to converse

concerning myself personally. He asked me the history

of my earlier years. The tale was quickly told, but it awakened

various trains of reflection. I spoke of my desire of finding a friend,

of my thirst for a more intimate sympathy with a fellow mind

than had ever fallen to my lot, and expressed my conviction

that a man could boast of little happiness who did not enjoy this blessing.



"I agree with you," replied the stranger; "we are unfashioned creatures,

but half made up, if one wiser, better, dearer than ourselves--

such a friend ought to be--do not lend his aid to perfectionate

our weak and faulty natures. I once had a friend, the most noble

of human creatures, and am entitled, therefore, to judge

respecting friendship. You have hope, and the world before you,

and have no cause for despair. But I--I have lost everything

and cannot begin life anew."



As he said this his countenance became expressive of a calm,

settled grief that touched me to the heart. But he was silent

and presently retired to his cabin.



Even broken in spirit as he is, no one can feel more deeply than he does

the beauties of nature. The starry sky, the sea, and every sight

afforded by these wonderful regions seem still to have the power

of elevating his soul from earth. Such a man has a double existence:

he may suffer misery and be overwhelmed by disappointments,

yet when he has retired into himself, he will be like a celestial spirit

that has a halo around him, within whose circle no grief or folly ventures.



Will you smile at the enthusiasm I express concerning this divine wanderer?

You would not if you saw him. You have been tutored and refined

by books and retirement from the world, and you are therefore

somewhat fastidious; but this only renders you the more fit

to appreciate the extraordinary merits of this wonderful man.

Sometimes I have endeavoured to discover what quality it is

which he possesses that elevates him so immeasurably above

any other person I ever knew. I believe it to be an intuitive discernment,

a quick but never-failing power of judgment, a penetration

into the causes of things, unequalled for clearness and precision;

add to this a facility of expression and a voice whose varied intonations

are soul-subduing music.





August l9, 17--



Yesterday the stranger said to me, "You may easily perceive,

Captain Walton, that I have suffered great and unparalleled misfortunes.

I had determined at one time that the memory of these evils

should die with me, but you have won me to alter my determination.

You seek for knowledge and wisdom, as I once did; and I ardently hope

that the gratification of your wishes may not be a serpent to sting you,

as mine has been. I do not know that the relation of my disasters

will be useful to you; yet, when I reflect that you are pursuing

the same course, exposing yourself to the same dangers

which have rendered me what I am, I imagine that you may deduce

an apt moral from my tale, one that may direct you if you succeed

in your undertaking and console you in case of failure.

Prepare to hear of occurrences which are usually deemed marvellous.

Were we among the tamer scenes of nature I might fear to encounter

your unbelief, perhaps your ridicule; but many things will appear possible

in these wild and mysterious regions which would provoke the laughter

of those unacquainted with the ever-varied powers of nature;

nor can I doubt but that my tale conveys in its series internal evidence

of the truth of the events of which it is composed."



You may easily imagine that I was much gratified

by the offered communication, yet I could not endure that he should renew

his grief by a recital of his misfortunes. I felt the greatest eagerness

to hear the promised narrative, partly from curiosity and partly

from a strong desire to ameliorate his fate if it were in my power.

I expressed these feelings in my answer.



"I thank you," he replied, "for your sympathy, but it is useless;

my fate is nearly fulfilled. I wait but for one event,

and then I shall repose in peace. I understand your feeling,"

continued he, perceiving that I wished to interrupt him;

"but you are mistaken, my friend, if thus you will allow me to name you;

nothing can alter my destiny; listen to my history,

and you will perceive how irrevocably it is determined."



He then told me that he would commence his narrative the next day

when I should be at leisure. This promise drew from me the warmest thanks.

I have resolved every night, when I am not imperatively occupied

by my duties, to record, as nearly as possible in his own words,

what he has related during the day. If I should be engaged,

I will at least make notes. This manuscript will doubtless afford you

the greatest pleasure; but to me, who know him and who hear it

from his own lips--with what interest and sympathy shall I read it

in some future day! Even now, as I commence my task, his full-toned voice

swells in my ears; his lustrous eyes dwell on me

with all their melancholy sweetness; I see his thin hand

raised in animation, while the lineaments of his face

are irradiated by the soul within. Strange and harrowing must be his story,

frightful the storm which embraced the gallant vessel on its course

and wrecked it--thus!

****

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