There were, of course, no horses on the island, no means of getting from one place to another save by walking, or going around through the surf by boat. I walked a great deal, almost invariably alone. Now and then Clerval chose to come with me, though we seldom talked. Again, without knowing why, I sometimes contemplated flight, and when I found an abandoned boat on the far side of the island from the bay and settlement, the idea came back more strongly. But escape would take me away from the possibility of such happiness as I could concretely imagine, the company of a mate, if not a whole harem of them. And, besides, to where could I flee? I did not fit into the world anywhere but there.
In my lonely walks I descried a distant sail from time to time, and from the vantage point of the central hills could make out other islands in the distance. I judged that the nearest of these was not closer than eight miles; and there was no sign of any commerce between that place and this.
Though in the room next to mine, my creator generally slept, I lived alone, as always.
On one of my solitary rambles, I heard strange cries, and hastened forward to investigate. I discovered the elegant ruffian, Small, attempting to force his will upon Molly. She had perhaps accompanied him willingly to that remote spot; or perhaps he had used threats from the first. But now there was no question as to the state of affairs. Her dress had been torn, and he was menacing her with a knife, while with his left hand he held her wrist.
I approached the pair and warned him to leave off.
Letting the girl go, he turned and threatened me with his knife. We were among one of the rare groves of trees upon the island, and I bent to grab up a fallen branch some seven or eight feet long. As I did so he darted in at me with his knife, but I caught him by the arm and threw him bodily. He fell hard and rolled over and thereafter kept his distance, trying to blister me with foul language, which tactic I found far less impressive than his knife. Happily, he had no pistol, and it was plain now that he could not prevail against me otherwise.
He swore he would report me to Saville, but I laughed and was sure he lied—I could report in turn that he had tried to kill me, and we both understood that if he was important in his master's plans, I was essential. Small also swore to wreak vengeance upon me at some future date. I had no trouble in believing that he wanted to try, but we both knew that Saville was not going to stand for my assassination.
Meanwhile, Molly had fled the scene, and in the end we each made our separate ways back to the settlement, and none of us, for our several reasons, reported the incident at all.
In the way of game our own island had nothing larger than a few wild goats, but there were red deer on one of the other nearby islands, and from time to time, when the weather was fair and promising, the gentlemen took a boat and went hunting them. Except of course, for Frankenstein, who was now lost in his work. He ate food when it was brought to him, and nipped at his brandy when he desired to sleep. Otherwise he worked.
Once or twice I was commanded, by Saville and then by Small, to remain within the confines of the village. I did not argue with these orders, but ignored them. The gentlemen were doubtless aware that I still went wandering, but no one wanted to force a decisive confrontation. Continuing my solitary rambles, I watched the seals, swimming offshore, and as often as not I envied them. I recognized kittiwakes and puffins among the seabirds on the grey gneiss rocks along the shore, and marveled that I knew the names of birds and stone.
One small loch lay in a cup amid the central hills. A few stands of trees remained in that area, mostly dwarfed and twisted, though most had been taken for the villagers' firewood. Some piles of cut peat were near one end of the little settlement, and we mined them to keep our fires going when the weather was chill, which was most of the time, though it was summer.
Meanwhile, in his stone house, Frankenstein worked steadily, or tried to work. It was hard for anyone else to know what degree of success he was having, and he tended to ignore questions. Sometimes he called upon my strength to aid him in manhandling another hogshead into the laboratory, or in its careful emptying. Those parts he considered useless, those on which some operation of his had failed, or from which all bone or other useful material had been extracted, were buried at a little distance from the settlement, where a few neglected graves gave evidence that villagers from time to time had also been laid to rest. Clerval said prayers on these occasions—he became ever more thoughtful and moody, and occasionally he had arguments with Frankenstein, of which I was unable to overhear anything more than the tones of their raised voices.
I now and then indulged a whimsical thought about the bodies—that they were my brides—but in the main I continued to view them impersonally. Whether in hogshead's or graves, they were really only materials, less awesome than the electricity that could be produced in the machines of the laboratory, or drawn down from the sky by slender rods. That these particular pickled arms or breasts or thighs might someday, restored to breathing life, become things of living mystery and objects of my devotion, was too peculiar an idea to arouse in me feelings of awe or bewilderment. Still I was not indifferent. Each time I was called upon to help my creator at his new work, I watched avidly for signs that I could take as indicators of progress, though I found the details repugnant.
From the day on which his labors began, Victor kept the central table and its burden covered with a sheet. There was a single object on that table, awaiting animation, an object that daily drew, bit by bit assuming underneath its shrouds and wrappings a more nearly human configuration, and a size commensurate with my own. I wanted to observe this progress in all its details, but my creator refused to allow it. When I asked him Why, he snapped something that was not really an answer; the work was his, a private matter, and he would explain it all in good time.
Saville himself was treated with but little better courtesy. On this point Frankenstein was not to be bullied, bought, or moved.
For my part, I would not have cared at all to be an observer of his activities, had not so much of my future depended on the result. What little I could glimpse of the process, in my comings and goings through the laboratory, was not pretty: the selection of limbs and other parts from the stock available; the grafting of two limb bones to make one of the desired length; the sewing, gluing and splicing of parts together; the preliminary stimulation with Leyden jars and other apparatus.
And, through and over and under it all, the continual struggle against decay. Despite the chemicals and electricity, my nose offered me subtle evidence that the struggle was being slowly lost. How then was it to be finally won? Avidly I followed my creator's progress, and studied the arrangements of his equipment each time I was admitted to the sacred room. But the secret of his success eluded me.
Saville and Clerval, and Walton when he was present, cast impatient glances at the work, and then concentrated their attention peevishly upon the experimenter. I could see that they were hoping almost as intently as I was for indications of success. But the only real indication was the continued confident attitude of Frankenstein himself.
At long last came the day, the night, when Victor announced that he was ready for the final test. The air was chilly with the onset of autumn, and wet, as are most nights in those islands, with intermittent rain, and thunder grumbling in the distance.
Oil lamps were burning brightly in all four corners of the laboratory, and a peat fire smoldered on the hearth. A few candles had been placed closer to the worktable on which the object of our attention lay, giving it something of the aspect of a bier.