Indifferently I accepted the role of servant. The coarser chores of cleaning up were almost invariably left to me, and I discovered that in a rough general way I was aware of how they should be performed. Might I have been a servant in my previous life, or lives? If so, why such evidence of education as I display? I had no idea then, and have little now.
When it came time to sleep, I was relegated to the out-of-doors, while the men snored under canvas.
In a privately chartered riverboat we went down the Rhine to the sea, and it was in the port of Rotterdam that I first met Captain Walton. There it was that I first boarded his ship, the Argo of evil memory. But I will write of that anon.
This good ship, the Mary Goode, continues drifting. She is moving fairly rapidly, I think, a mere chip caught up in the massive migration of the ice. At times I can hear the ocean murmuring beneath the hull, and by certain prominent features in the distant icefields I am able to determine that the hulk is turning amid the floes and cakes that alternately grip and scrape against its sides. If I were able to see the stars I might learn more about my motion; but to catch more than the merest glimpse of celestial objects is impossible, what with the frequent cloudiness and the nearly continuous daylight.
Two days later (by estimation)_Still drifting. There is still a vast reserve of bear meat left, though I have grown heartily tired of the taste. This, more than any need, led me to search again, and this time my efforts were rewarded by the discovery of a hidden cache of food, well preserved by cold. I conjecture that some member of the vanished crew established this small secret store, then somehow perished before he could enjoy it. Or, perhaps more likely, he was forced to leave it behind when he joined in the general evacuation of the ship.
The cache contained:
Two or three pounds of ship's biscuit, not at all wormy.
An approximately equal weight of dried beans, wrapped in a paper packet.
Twice as much of salt pork, wrapped in paper and oilskin.
An equal weight of bacon.
I have sampled some of each item already, a welcome relief from scorched bear.
One day later_My search of the ship for food continues, but without any further success. As I had thought, imminent starvation was the reason why this stout vessel was abandoned.
In my investigations I have turned up a considerable variety of clothing—none of it, naturally enough, big enough to fit me.
Two days later_Much to tell. Company has ar-rived, and I am no longer alone. Six human beings have joined me, two men, two women, and two small children. I suppose that these are the folk known to us as Esquimeaux, though the name seems to mean nothing to them when I pronounce it. All arrived in a group—from where?—traversing the shifting fields of ice by dogsled and on foot without apparent difficulty.
Neither French, German, nor English make any impression on them, nor does my smattering of Russian. Their language does not sound to me like any that I have ever heard before.
The two men, armed with short spears for hunting—any people less warlike it would be hard to imagine—came clambering onto my ship before I had reason to suspect the presence of any human beings within five hundred miles. On hearing the sounds of movement, I emerged from belowdecks with my reloaded musket at the ready, more than half believing that the presence of four more unfamiliar feet upon my deck signalled the arrival of another bear.
Naturally enough, my visitors recoiled at first from such an apparition as myself. But then they quickly, though with an obvious effort, mastered their initial fright, and by words and signs endeavored earnestly to convey to me that I had nothing to fear from them. I put down my weapon and responded in kind, as well as I was able. Finding language of no use, I employed what sounds and gestures I could think of to make my guests understand that they were welcome to feed themselves, their wives and children, and their dogs, from the carcass of my bear, which trophy I think much impressed them. From that beginning our sociability has progressed, I think to a remarkable degree. Indeed, I already find myself more at ease in their company than in any other that my admittedly imperfect memory can bring to mind.
Later_The women are, if anything, friendlier than the men. They all intend, if I understand them correctly, to make camp—somehow—on the ice hard by the ship, rather than accept my invitation to move aboard. I have done my best to indicate that they are welcome.
These folk are not natives of Lapland, or at least they do not respond to the few words of that tongue that I have lately recollected and tried on them. My only reward was looks as blank, if as pleasant, as before.
Later_My friends the Inoot—that is as nearly as I can try to spell the word by which they seem to call themselves—are much taken with my writing, the captain's notebook which I use, the graphite pencils, and the small knife with which I carry out the occasional ritual of sharpening.
I am excited. One of the men has made the sign of the cross, from which I infer the presence of missionaries. Now I can hope that some outpost of civilization may exist, at a reachable distance from where I am.
European civilization—is that indeed what I now yearn for? But my origins, the answers to the riddle of my life, must lie in Europe. And Walton and Saville are there, most probably, if vengeance on Saville and Walton is what I really seek.
My life—from whatever cause, and even though the whole world find it hateful—flows strongly in my veins. I am determined to survive, and to seek out the secrets of my self.
When the Inoot move on, I shall go with them.
Chapter 3
June? 1782?
I write this by clear sunlight, though the time is near midnight—the sun has dipped its closest to the horizon. Between me and this sun there are no cabin windows. The ship, the cabin, all ships and all cabins, are far behind me now.
The aperture through which the sun must pass to fall upon my paper is the narrow doorway of a small house made of ice. This strange structure my companions, with some trifling help from me, have erected in less than an hour's time, cutting and placing the blocks with a sureness and rapidity that must be born of long practice. Inside the house is a single chamber, with room for seven travelers to huddle in their furs. Directly in the center of the floor of ice there burns a small oil-lamp, with a small chimney-hole directly over it, at the apex of the ice-dome. The single curved surface of the interior wall gleams with melted and re-frozen water. The air inside the dwelling is grown surprisingly warm; any warmer and soon I shall find my fur robes oppressive.
The Inoot and I are headed into the south—where else? But I have doubts that I am still in the longitude of Europe. If not, then it is to be North America; my own flight from Europe, my last nightmarish encounter with my tormentors aboard the Argo, and the drifting of the Mary Goode, have carried me farther west than I at first thought possible. But the truth of the matter is that I can scarcely guess at my location.
So, with my new friends—undoubtedly my only friends in all the world—I go south. When we have managed to reach something other than ice and snow, then I may grow more particular as to my destination. The remnants of the frozen bear travel with us, and now with other food supplies are walled away from the dogs in a small ice-closet constructed for that purpose.
The dogs do not like me, any more than did the ones I drove in Russia. But then sled dogs do not like anyone or anything, except when it. appears as food.
Next morning_or, at any rate, after some hours of sleep. And after much else.
For as far back as I can remember I had been firmly convinced that no human female would ever, conceivably—at least without great financial inducement—be willing to join herself to me in the manner of a woman with a man, not even in a fashion devoid of all the finer sentiments, and purely animal or brutal. This assumption—I was persuaded of it by many things that my creator said, and by other evidence as well—has now been proven wrong.
My thoughts are humble ones, and yet in a way proud, as I write of the experience. Eve
n as my encounter with the white bear marked a point of sharp division between one epoch of my life and another, so did last night's encounter with Kunuk signal another end, and a beginning.
I marvel at the suddenness and naturalness with which it came about. In the confined space of the ice-shelter there was no question of privacy. As we all made such preparations as were possible before retiring, I observed that my companions, male and female, young and old alike, divested themselves of all clothing before entering their beds of sleeping furs. Years of experience as a traveler have taught me that when about to embark upon some unfamiliar activity, it is wise to imitate the actions of the natives when they perform the act in question; and I considered that sleeping in a house made of ice was new and strange enough to bring this rule into full force. I removed my clothes entirely.
The women made not the least effort to conceal themselves from me, and I, following the lead of my hosts, was equally frank in my behavior. The older woman was indifferent to what she saw; but the younger gave evidence in her facial expressions and her manner that what she beheld amused and perhaps amazed her; and with unmistakable gestures she beckoned me to share her furs. Here, it seems that morals and customs that are well-nigh universal in other lands must give way before the sheer animal need to conserve warmth, and, I suppose, to avoid conflict among members of a party when all are confronted at every hour with the challenge of survival in a most savage and unforgiving environment.
No one else in the group, not even the man I had supposed to be Kunuk's husband, appeared to be in the least surprised by her invitation, nor offered the least objection to it. And verily I had none.
This morning, in my eyes, even the world of ice has a certain warmth about it. The very sun is brighter. Ye have been wrong, ye gods who attempt to control my destiny, whoever ye may be_who from my creation have despised and detested me! I have put behind me the curse of death ye would have fastened on me from my creation, and I go on to life!
I babble foolishly. But it does not matter. We go south. I shall probably write no more today. Or tonight.
Next day_Last night with Kunuk again. My appetites, long denied, seem insatiable. And yet. There is already an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The woman is good, and kind, and gives me much_and yet she is not of my kind. And there is much_something—I would have, that she cannot give.
The hunters this morning killed a seal, spearing it through a hole in the ice, and we have fresh meat again. Entrails and all are devoured, as with the bear. When we left the frozen ship, my friends insisted on bringing with them the bear's liver, along with the other meat, despite my gestures of warning, meant to describe sickness. Now I see that they feed some of the liver to the dogs, and eat of it themselves without harm, by mixing small morsels with large amounts of other meat. I dared to taste a mouthful of the mixture, and have suffered no ill effect; I suppose that what is poisonous in large quantities may be of benefit in small. And memory comes and goes, fleetingly; memory from some life before this one, gone again before I can even try to fix its shape or substance.
As always, I hoard up bits of knowledge of this mysterious world in which I find myself. The time will no doubt soon come again when I must confront its mysteries alone.
Kunuk, who will never be able to read these words, you have been all to me that you can be. I already realize that I will miss you keenly when that hour of our parting comes. And whether my life be long or short thereafter, I shall remember you until its end.
Later_I believe that we are still proceeding almost directly south. Still I do not know whether I am north of Iceland, Greenland, or even Labrador. There has been no chance for me to get my bearings from the sky. My companions however seem to know where they are going; at least they evince no sign of uncertainty or uneasiness about their route.
Kunuk has rejoined her husband in his sleeping-furs, though not without a look or two at me, as if she were concerned over what I might think of this change. In truth I did not like it much; yet how could I object?
The older woman, whose name I am still uncertain of, smiled at me tentatively; but I only smiled back, and closed my eyes, and fell asleep.
Next day_I am alone again. It is a strange, almost a frightening situation after so many days of unaccustomed companionship. But I have thrived on loneliness before, and shall again.
The end of fellowship—and of more intimate gratifications—came before I was well prepared for it, yet hardly as a surprise. I had known from the start that my path and that of my companions might diverge at any moment. Land, solid and undeniable, had come into view, hills no taller than I am but looming like the Alps in this eternal flatness.
No sooner had we climbed onto the land, than my party showed their intention of turning west among the snowy, barren hills.
I, however, rightly or wrongly, persisted stubbornly in my determination to continue south; and I no longer had the least doubt as to which way that was. My most weighty reason was that I had already satisfied myself, by dint of long and patient gesturing, that whoever had taught these people the sign of the cross was to be found in that direction.
My friends, when they saw I was determined, wasted no further time or strength in argument. They insisted on going west from the point of our landfall, and so we amicably, and somewhat sadly, separated.
I have some food, some fishing hooks and lines, and a seal-hunter's spear, the last traded to me for a large share of my supply of fish-hooks and some other trade goods that were on the hulk. After what I have survived already, I do not fear to face the miles ahead. So far, since our separation, the weather has been favorable, and I see no sign of immediate change. And hardihood against the elements is mine, greater than that of any human being. On to the south alone!
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, remai
ned 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.
The Frankenstein Papers Page 3