The Frankenstein Papers

Chapter 12

February 18, 1783—London, at last

The crossing has been perilous in the extreme, attended with a thousand dangers. Having survived them all, I am not sure now whether the worst of them emanated from the crew of scoundrels with which I found myself surrounded, from the final perfidy of the captain, or from the elements. On the whole my instincts are to award the plaudits to the crew. Were not my size and appearance enough to intimidate even the worst blackguards among them—except on one occasion, when I was forced to demonstrate a willingness to act—I have no doubt that the crossing would have been even more interesting than it was.

There were other, incidental, perils. On the fifth day we were sighted by a vessel that our captain proclaimed to be an American privateer, which gave chase to us. We fled successfully, though our escape may be more attributable to a sudden change in wind and weather than to any particular facility in seamanship on the part of the master of our own craft.

On the next day, it was the turn of a French man-of-war to discover our sail and give chase, but with the same outcome. I suppose that her captain, as cautious as most commanders of large warships are said to be, might have been loath to risk an encounter with an armed opponent of any description. But that, and all other difficulties of the crossing, are now fortunately over.

Later_Ashore. The ship is behind me now, and so are those dockside neighborhoods in which the press gangs are wont to seize their victims. Some have assured me that such kidnappings never take place in London, but I do not trust the men who told me so.

That I am here, and free, is not due to the good will of any of my erstwhile shipmates. I am now certain that the sailor who recruited me, though not a member of the Argo's crew when I was aboard her, had and still has some connection with Captain Walton, and through him had learned something of my history. This man must have recognized me at first sight in Philadelphia, and seized the initiative. He knew that I was still being doggedly sought by Walton and Saville, who had quietly passed the word around among certain of their associates that they were offering a substantial reward for my live capture and return.

But to recount the conclusion of my trans-Atlantic voyage. On the day before we were to make port, an effort to imprison me was made, as I had more than half expected. The captain and a squad of sturdy men (I could hear their muttering, and heavy breathing.) approached the closed door of my cabin. In only a moment all the locks, bolts, and bars there on had been made fast, much good did it do them.

Not that I broke out immediately; I contented myself with some startled grumblings for a start, rattled the door a little, and then allowed myself a full-throated howl or two, to demonstrate that the fact of my imprisonment was finally borne in upon my weak intelligence. I followed this with a few minutes of half-hearted hammering upon the door until it was plain—even to the dull wits of a monster—that I should not be able to break out.

I rested quietly until darkness had fallen, and I was sure, from the familiar sounds of other commerce upon the Thames that we were close to shore. Then one swift surge and the hinges that I had so thoughtfully weakened at the start of our voyage burst asunder, startling a sleepy sentinel so badly that he dropped his musket before he could think of what else to do with it. To save him the trouble of attempting any additional thought I promptly threw the musket over the rail, and followed it in a swift dive.

We were, as I had deduced, quite close to shore, and my swim was short. Climbing from the icy water onto a dock, I terrified a few stray onlookers and fled inland, losing myself quickly in the maze of London streets and alleys, and managing to steal some dry blankets before I perished of exposure.

I am not totally unfamiliar with this environment, thanks to my earlier stay here near the docks as Saville's guest. I am now hiding out, hungry, a fugitive again from my enemies, but for the moment satisfied to be here, in the city of my greatest enemy's greatest power.

I remember very well the location of Saville's warehouse-office; and I intend to go there as soon as I have the chance. Beyond that point I remain uncertain.

Later_I have been meditating for some time on the idea that special goods or materials must now and then be imported for Saville's luxurious mansion (Which by the way I have never seen—does he have his laundry done in the tropics, as do some of the French nobility?). Vague mention of some such shipments once or twice reached my ears during the epoch of my warehouse residence. I should be able to keep an eye on the warehouse for these imports, see who shows up to accept them, and follow when the materials are picked up for delivery. What I should really like to have is entree to his dwelling.

February 19_The contact I sought has been established. A delivery wagon evidently carrying luxuries left the warehouse late this afternoon, and I managed to climb into the vehicle and stow away before it took its departure. There were hams and cheeses in the cargo, amid less appetizing items, and I took care to fill my pockets with a food supply, not knowing what provisions I might find available when I reached the end of my journey. Towards the end of an interesting ride through the city and far into its outskirts, we passed through huge iron gates, set in a high stone wall. The gates were promptly closed after us when we had entered. I understood that I had arrived at the suburban Saville estate, which I had often heard mentioned by Saville himself, but had not thought, until very recently, ever to have the opportunity to see for myself.

After a circling drive through wooded grounds we passed around the house, which I meanwhile observed through a chink in the canvas covering the wagon's rear. It is very large, and there seems to be a large staff. I dropped off the wagon, at what seemed a likely opportunity, and fled unnoticed through the dusk to conceal myself in the parklike woods. Meanwhile the vehicle proceeded, I suppose to deliver its legitimate cargo at some tradesman's entrance in the rear.

The state, though at only a few miles': distance from London, appears to be remarkably isolated, and the house is surrounded by several acres of wooded grounds. I only wonder that Saville did not choose this establishment to be the site of Frankenstein's first experiments under his sponsorship, instead of dragging us all off to Scotland. But perhaps the villain thought his murderous schemes only likely to succeed if afforded that extra degree of secrecy possible only on such a remote island. Whether or not he was correct in this assessment remains to be seen.

I am presently ensconced in a hollow oak, some twenty feet above the ground. An owl established at an equal altitude in a neighboring trunk has been regarding me for some time with solemn astonishment. From this position I can see the great house but dimly, a gray bulk mostly obscured by the leafless branches of innumerable trees. I hear dogs, probably a mastiff or two, now evidently roaming free in the grounds. If the beasts hold true to canine form, they will not care to follow or find me, but my presence in the grounds will make them uneasy.

More later, after I make my first approach to the house, which I shall attempt after dark. I can hope that all my enemies are gathered in the house, and that they remain ignorant of my proximity. But in any case I shall persist.