chapter 2

To Mrs. Saville, England._rnrnArchangel, 28th March, 17—.rnrnrnHow slowly the time passes here, encompassed as I am by frost and snow!rnYet a second step is taken towards my enterprise. I have hired arnvessel and am occupied in collecting my sailors; those whom I havernalready engaged appear to be men on whom I can depend and are certainlyrnpossessed of dauntless courage.rnrnBut I have one want which I have never yet been able to satisfy, and thernabsence of the object of which I now feel as a most severe evil, I have nornfriend, Margaret: when I am glowing with the enthusiasm of success, therernwill be none to participate my joy; if I am assailed by disappointment, nornone will endeavour to sustain me in dejection. I shall commit my thoughtsrnto paper, it is true; but that is a poor medium for the communication ofrnfeeling. I desire the company of a man who could sympathise with me, whoserneyes would reply to mine. You may deem me romantic, my dear sister, but Irnbitterly feel the want of a friend. I have no one near me, gentle yetrncourageous, possessed of a cultivated as well as of a capacious mind, whoserntastes are like my own, to approve or amend my plans. How would such arnfriend repair the faults of your poor brother! I am too ardent in executionrnand too impatient of difficulties. But it is a still greater evil to mernthat I am self-educated: for the first fourteen years of my life I ran wildrnon a common and read nothing but our Uncle Thomas’ books of voyages.rnAt that age I became acquainted with the celebrated poets of our ownrncountry; but it was only when it had ceased to be in my power to derive itsrnmost important benefits from such a conviction that I perceived thernnecessity of becoming acquainted with more languages than that of my nativerncountry. Now I am twenty-eight and am in reality more illiterate than manyrnschoolboys of fifteen. It is true that I have thought more and that myrndaydreams are more extended and magnificent, but they want (as the paintersrncall it) _keeping;_ and I greatly need a friend who would have sensernenough not to despise me as romantic, and affection enough for me tornendeavour to regulate my mind.rnrnWell, these are useless complaints; I shall certainly find no friend on thernwide ocean, nor even here in Archangel, among merchants and seamen. Yetrnsome feelings, unallied to the dross of human nature, beat even in thesernrugged bosoms. My lieutenant, for instance, is a man of wonderful couragernand enterprise; he is madly desirous of glory, or rather, to word my phrasernmore characteristically, of advancement in his profession. He is anrnEnglishman, and in the midst of national and professional prejudices,rnunsoftened by cultivation, retains some of the noblest endowments ofrnhumanity. I first became acquainted with him on board a whale vessel;rnfinding that he was unemployed in this city, I easily engaged him to assistrnin my enterprise.rnrnThe master is a person of an excellent disposition and is remarkable in thernship for his gentleness and the mildness of his discipline. Thisrncircumstance, added to his well-known integrity and dauntless courage, madernme very desirous to engage him. A youth passed in solitude, my best yearsrnspent under your gentle and feminine fosterage, has so refined therngroundwork of my character that I cannot overcome an intense distaste tornthe usual brutality exercised on board ship: I have never believed it to bernnecessary, and when I heard of a mariner equally noted for his kindlinessrnof heart and the respect and obedience paid to him by his crew, I feltrnmyself peculiarly fortunate in being able to secure his services. I heardrnof him first in rather a romantic manner, from a lady who owes to him thernhappiness of her life. This, briefly, is his story. Some years ago he lovedrna young Russian lady of moderate fortune, and having amassed a considerablernsum in prize-money, the father of the girl consented to the match. He sawrnhis mistress once before the destined ceremony; but she was bathed inrntears, and throwing herself at his feet, entreated him to spare her,rnconfessing at the same time that she loved another, but that he was poor,rnand that her father would never consent to the union. My generous friendrnreassured the suppliant, and on being informed of the name of her lover,rninstantly abandoned his pursuit. He had already bought a farm with hisrnmoney, on which he had designed to pass the remainder of his life; but hernbestowed the whole on his rival, together with the remains of hisrnprize-money to purchase stock, and then himself solicited the youngrnwoman’s father to consent to her marriage with her lover. But the oldrnman decidedly refused, thinking himself bound in honour to my friend, who,rnwhen he found the father inexorable, quitted his country, nor returnedrnuntil he heard that his former mistress was married according to herrninclinations. “What a noble fellow!” you will exclaim. He isrnso; but then he is wholly uneducated: he is as silent as a Turk, and a kindrnof ignorant carelessness attends him, which, while it renders his conductrnthe more astonishing, detracts from the interest and sympathy whichrnotherwise he would command.rnrnYet do not suppose, because I complain a little or because I canrnconceive a consolation for my toils which I may never know, that I amrnwavering in my resolutions. Those are as fixed as fate, and my voyagernis only now delayed until the weather shall permit my embarkation. Thernwinter has been dreadfully severe, but the spring promises well, and itrnis considered as a remarkably early season, so that perhaps I may sailrnsooner than I expected. I shall do nothing rashly: you know mernsufficiently to confide in my prudence and considerateness whenever thernsafety of others is committed to my care.rnrnI cannot describe to you my sensations on the near prospect of myrnundertaking. It is impossible to communicate to you a conception ofrnthe trembling sensation, half pleasurable and half fearful, with whichrnI am preparing to depart. I am going to unexplored regions, to “thernland of mist and snow,” but I shall kill no albatross; therefore do notrnbe alarmed for my safety or if I should come back to you as worn andrnwoeful as the “Ancient Mariner.” You will smile at my allusion, but Irnwill disclose a secret. I have often attributed my attachment to, myrnpassionate enthusiasm for, the dangerous mysteries of ocean to thatrnproduction of the most imaginative of modern poets. There is somethingrnat work in my soul which I do not understand. I am practicallyrnindustrious—painstaking, a workman to execute with perseverance andrnlabour—but besides this there is a love for the marvellous, a beliefrnin the marvellous, intertwined in all my projects, which hurries me outrnof the common pathways of men, even to the wild sea and unvisitedrnregions I am about to explore.rnrnBut to return to dearer considerations. Shall I meet you again, afterrnhaving traversed immense seas, and returned by the most southern cape ofrnAfrica or America? I dare not expect such success, yet I cannot bear tornlook on the reverse of the picture. Continue for the present to write tornme by every opportunity: I may receive your letters on some occasions whenrnI need them most to support my spirits. I love you very tenderly. rnRemember me with affection, should you never hear from me again.rnrnYour affectionate brother, Robert Waltonrnrn