Robert Walton
(Takes place somewhere before Walton meets Victor, among his first letters to Margret)
Robert Walton: August 5th, 17–
Dearest Margaret,
As you read this, I know that you will have trouble fathoming these astonishingly bizarre events that have occurred on your dear brother’s voyage, but I guarantee that everything written is true, no matter how impossible it might appear. I don’t even know what to make of them and these impossible events occurred before my very eyes! I simply could not forbear recording it, revealing it to the one I love and trust most in this world.
Last Monday, (July 31), as we continued onwards on our course, our surroundings began to grow thicker and thicker with fog. The more disoriented the crew became, the greater the chance that misfortune would strike– and strike it did, as we soon discovered that she had come to be surrounded by ice, (p. 11). Blind and crippled, we were left with little mobility. I tried to calm my shipmates, but it did not take a genius to see that they were swelling with anxiousness. All we could do nothing was hope and pray to the Almighty that all would turn out well.
While the crew’s concerns continued to grow, an extraordinary glimpse suddenly caught our attention: “a low carriage on a sledge was being pulled by dogs towards the north. From what I saw, it held a single passenger of what appeared to be of ginormous stature. I had no idea what to think about my state of mind after seeing this ghost, but the crew’s similar reactions and identical accounts allowed me to drop my worry of falling into lunacy.
Exactly two hours after this haunting occurrence, at the final glimmer of sunset, the ground cracked, the ice had broken: we were free! We rested and at the crack of dawn, we were back on our search for glory, or so we thought. I woke up to find my crewmates on one side of the ship, pulling a sledge onto the deck. It held only one surviving dog from the pack and what turned out to be a civilized, European man, nothing like the savage of some island I originally expected, (p. 12).
He had nothing with him but the clothes on his back and a single heavy-looking satchel. Introducing myself, he asked me whether the ship was bound. I told we were not, and satisfied with my answer, he agreed to stay aboard. Good God, you should have seen him, Margaret! The condition he was in: his limbs were nearly frozen, his body dreadfully emaciated by fatigue and suffering, I had never seen such a wretched condition, (p.13). It is a miracle he made it so far without aid!
Luckily, we revived him by rubbing him with brandy, covering him with blankets, keeping him warm near the stove, and giving him the best from our best cook, (p.13). While his moods shifted from quiet and melancholy-invested to the intense and filled with madness, he appeared to be well recovered. While the crew continues to be tortured by their own curiosities about him, I order them to leave him be, (p.13). I gave up my cabin in the hopes to provide him with as much essential time as he could need. When he drifted to sleep two nights after finding him, I stood at the edge of the deck, gazing out onto the sea.
Two days had passed and for the life of me, Margaret, I couldn’t get that blasted satchel out of my thoughts! You are already know that once I have a purpose in my mind, nearly nothing can stop me, (why else would I attempt such an impossible voyage?) I tried to resist, sister, I truly did. I thought that his satchel would give me some insight into his character to help him, for he appeared to have endured great misery. I simply wished to relieve him of his pain– agony was virtually leaking from his pores! I unzipped his pack and in witnessing its contents, sincerely regret that I did.
Other than spare clothing, pistols, and the dagger, I found a couple of scientific notebooks. He was a man of SCIENCE! Scanning them as quickly as I could in the hopes of acquainting myself with his work before he could wake, I caught glimpses of notes about animals, anatomical structures of the human body, drawings of organs, diagrams of complex machinery, and suggestions for further research. Some pages were ripped out and somewhat burned. Was he attempting to destroy them or save them? Are they even his?
Additionally, tucked in one of these notebooks was a volunteer form for cemetery work along with a map of a graveyard. A scientist who works with the dead? Intriguing, is it not, Margaret? Two published works were the last items I took out: A volume labeled “Cornelius Agrippa,” (p.22). I didn’t spend as much time with it but from the passages I skimmed, the supposed author comes across as some psychotic heretic, and a copy of Milton’s, Paradise Lost. In it, a single quote is underlined: “…who overcomes By force, hath overcome but half his foe.” (p. 648-649). Why is this one significant than the rest of the book?
What could all this mean? Why does he carry these things in such harsh terrain? Who– or what, is he hunting with these weapons? Who was he before engaging in this crusade? Is this traveler an apostate to the crazy man, Cornelius? Was he a student of medicine studying with cadavers? Could he be a man of science attempting to connect with his inner believer? A grave robber with too much time on his hands? A maniacal big game hunter perhaps? Or a serial killer using old texts as the inspirations for his crimes? No– that is impossible, “while he is very silent, his manners are so conciliating and gentle,” (p. 14), he could not possibly be any of these monstrous occupations, could he?
He is still weak, I shall not confront him with this, no– I will lose his trust and in doing so lose the possibility of a dear, future friend. That wouldn’t benefit anybody. I’ll pretend I never saw these items. I’ll wait until he is able to speak and justify himself. I shall continue my journal concerning the stranger at intervals, should these questions find their answers.
Until then my sister,
Robby