The Frankenstein Papers

Chapter 4

Early August? 1782?_At any rate much later than my last entry

Twenty days (if my reckoning of time is accurate) of nearly continuous travel have at last brought me free of the perpetual ice. I now traverse a land of mosses and stinging insects, wild flowers and dwarf birches. In some ways—the rocks and grass, the uninhabited distances, the dearth of trees—this territory reminds me of that other seagirt land of evil memory, to which I was brought by Frankenstein and by his mentor Saville, a man more evil than himself, to be their slave, their accomplice, their companion—it would take a long list of words to exhaust all the possibilities of what I was to them at one time and another. Now I am fairly certain that my creator is dead. And toward that other, and the human creatures who serve him, I can know only enmity.

The resemblance between this land where I now find myself, and those isles in the north of Britain has been rendered all the more acute by a deterioration in the weather. Since leaving my friends I have endured three or four storms, or squalls; one of them a veritable tempest of snow and freezing rain—I am sure that no human, unsheltered as I am, could have survived it.

At the moment the rain has ceased. I am writing this overdue entry in my journal whilst seated on a granite outcropping in what is almost a verdant meadow. I believe the month now to be August; and I am now virtually certain that, despite the similarities of landscape mentioned above, I am now in America and not in any part of northern Europe. The differences in terrain, and in flora and fauna, are too great to admit of any other conclusion. This, of course, will mean another long and arduous journey, a crossing of the sea, before I can confront those who hold the secrets of my being—if those secrets did not die with Frankenstein—but still, in my heart, I am relieved not to be on those desolate Scottish isles now.

The Argo, sailing from Rotterdam, did not bear us directly to that northern land. I had heard enough from the men who thought themselves my owners, to understand that our first destination was London, but not enough to explain to me why it must be so. I was already beginning to distrust those men; but I had no one and nothing else to trust. It was for me a hideous voyage; I suffered somewhat from seasickness, and of course, at the command of my creator, remained below decks almost continuously. Few or none of the crew even knew that I was on board.

It seemed to me even then that I had not always been confined out of sight lest I terrify anyone who caught a glimpse of me—but when and where could that have been?

My chief occupation on the voyage from Rotterdam to London, then, was thought—and so much thought can be dangerous. Not only did I think, but I made every effort to listen to more conversations among my masters as to what they were planning to do with me, and for me.

I was able to gather that the ship either had already, when we came aboard, some cargo deliverable to London; or that some had been taken on when Saville informed Captain Walton of his new destination. I was no expert on maritime affairs; and yet such concepts as cargo and profit were in some way familiar to me.

Who was I?

Who had I been—before?

Why had I still no name? I ought to have one—in fact I did have one. I grew increasingly certain of that, but I could not remember what my name was.

The fact of my actual presence on board remained a secret. But from mutterings I overheard among the crew I understood that they were aware, as sailors will be aware, that something or someone strange was on board—they heard or smelled or dreamt enough to suggest to them a strange and invisible presence—but they never got a good look at me.

There were days when what tormented me more than anything else was that there was no place below decks where I could stand up straight.

Later_So far, during my present journey, feeding myself has presented no real problem. The walrus and the whale are beyond my powers as a hunter, but fish, birds, wild hare, and berries are not.

Only once since leaving my friends have I encountered other human beings, and on that occasion I made no effort to approach or speak with them. They were a small group of hunters, at least half a mile away, and headed in a direction I had no wish to go. Whatever human contact I might have achieved with them would almost certainly have been brief, and I saw no reason to think that it would be satisfactory; indeed, having some sense that I must be nearer to civilization now, I felt virtually certain that my appearance would once more excite disgust and suspicion.

Later, the same day_Much has happened, and quickly. Another small group of men came into my sight, and at the same time, beyond them to the east, a large body of water, too broad for the farther shore to be visible at any point.

These men were not embarking upon a hunting expedition, but were busy with something on the shore. This time I did approach my fellow beings, in hopes of establishing some contact with civilization. I experienced a familiar sight as I drew near them—how, as my exceptional stature became apparent, their attitudes were changed; and how, when my face was near enough for them to see it clearly, a still greater change came over theirs. These men were much warier than the Inoot had been, confirming my idea that civilization in some form might not be far distant now.

I smiled gently and spoke softly, as I have learned to do. One of those before me had a few words of English, and from him I learned that I have now reached the shore of Hudson Bay, though I cannot yet determine at what point on that immense length of coastline I have arrived. Dealing with this man and his fellows through gestures, I have now bargained away all of my remaining trade goods for a well-used kayak, with which I now mean to continue my journey southward along the shore. Today the sea in front of me is calm, free, or almost free, of floating ice, and the wind mild and favorable.

A day later_I write this by the light of a small fire, as I attempt to dry my clothing. The kayak, though as I thought purchased cheaply, proved to be no bargain. After an hour's use it began to leak so badly that, though I was no more than a hundred yards from shore at any time, I had all I could do to get back within wading distance of the shoreline before the craft sank. I endured a partial wetting, but retained everything I had of value, and was able to light a fire of twigs and driftwood.

Thoughts of revenge afflict me. But to pursue the man who sold me the cursed boat would be pointless, and achieve nothing but to take me farther from my true goal. Think of it no more. Or, if I am to dream of vengeance, let my wrath be directed against those who have done me far greater harm.

Onto the south, once more on foot. In some curious way I am glad that the boat is gone, glad to be traveling on my legs again.