The Watcher

Long ago, I lived alone in my mountain shanty beside my lake in Maine. The lake provided fish. The forest provided small game and berries. I had my books. I had solitude. I avoided contact with the outside world in Bar Harbor except as I needed food, clothing, some few tools, and more books...all of which I borrowed from those in the town. Eventually, each of the books was returned.
I didn't dislike people. I just did not need or want their company. At eighteen, I was a hermit and happy to be so. My life was simple and uncomplicated by the needs of others or of the outside world. I spent each day absorbed in the wonders of the wildlife and of nature around me and the world of my books. It was enough for me. I was in control as much as the forest and weather around me would allow.
It all changed in a single day. I was caught borrowing food from the market. I had a possibles sack with me that contained two books that I "borrowed" from the library. There was also a pair of boots that I "borrowed" from the general store.
The constable and his deputy took me to the dock and placed me on the whaling ship that waited there. There was no discussion. There were no questions from the first mate. They locked me in the hold. I raged. I cried. I begged. No one cared.
That was my life until the day the Watcher arrived on the ship. My life changed in ten seconds. I began the journey to become what I am now. This journal records that journey of 116 years. The journey has just begun. I am not now what I have been or what I have yet to become.