Letter 1
To Mrs. Saville, England
ST. PETERSBURGH, DEC. 11TH 17—. YOU WILL rejoyce 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 day dreams 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 for
ever 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 the preceding navigators—there snow and frost are
banished; and, sailing over a calm sea, we may be wafted to a land
surpassing in winders 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 for
ever. 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 laborious 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 tranquillise
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 voyages made for purposes of discovery composed the whole
of our good uncle Thomas's library. My education was neglected, yet I was
passionately fond of reading these volumes where 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 proudwhen 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 favorable 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 that that of an English
stage-coach. 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 dick 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.
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