Франкенштейн

My dear sister Margaret,

I am writing to you from St. Petersburg, far to the north of London. The cold wind blows on my face as I walk through the streets, but I do not mind it. It comes from the place where I am going, and it fills me with hope. You know my dream. Since I was a boy, I have wanted to sail to the North Pole, where no man has ever been. I want to see a land of ice and endless light. I want to find a new way across the top of the world, and perhaps to discover the secret of the needle that always points north.

For six years I have prepared for this. I have studied the sea and the stars. I have sailed with whale fishers in the cold northern waters, and I have slept on the hard deck at night. Soon I will travel to Archangel, where I will hire a ship and a crew. Then, in June, we will sail.