My
dear
Sister, I
write
a
few
lines
in
haste
to
say
that
I
am
safe—and
well
advanced
on
my voyage.
This
letter
will
reach
England
by
a merchantman
now
on
its
homeward
voyage
from
Archangel;
more
fortunate
than
I,
who
may
not
see
my
native
land, perhaps,
for
many
years. I am, however,
in
good
spirits: my men
are
bold
and
apparently
firm
of
purpose,
nor
do
the
floating
sheets
of
ice
that
continually
pass us,
indicating
the
dangers
of
the
region
towards
which
we
are
advancing,
appear
to
dismay them.
We
have
already
reached a
very
high latitude;
but
it
is
the
height
of
summer,
and
although
not
so
warm
as
in
England,
the
southern
gales,
which
blow
us
speedily
towards
those
shores
which
I
so
ardently
desire
to
attain,
breathe
a
degree
of
renovating
warmth
which
I had
not
expected.
No
incidents
have
hitherto
befallen
us
that
would
make
a
figure
in
a letter.
One
or
two
stiff
gales
and
the
springing
of
a
leak
are
accidents
which
experienced
navigators
scarcely
remember
to
record,
and
I
shall
be
well
content
if
nothing
worse
happen
to
us
during
our
voyage. Adieu, my
dear
Margaret.
Be
assured
that
for
my
own
sake,
as
well
as
yours, I
will
not
rashly
encounter
danger. I
will
be
cool, persevering,
and
prudent.
But
success
SHALL
crown
my endeavours.
Wherefore
not?
Thus
far
I
have
gone,
tracing
a secure
way
over
the
pathless seas,
the
very
stars
themselves
being witnesses
and
testimonies
of
my triumph.
Why
not
still
proceed
over
the
untamed
yet
obedient
element?
What
can
stop
the
determined
heart
and
resolved
will
of
man? My
swelling
heart
involuntarily
pours
itself
out
thus.
But
I
must
finish.
Heaven
bless
my beloved sister! R.W.