had suffered. I knew I was the object of unkind and sarcastic
comments.

The following morning at sunrise, just as our stern-fasts had been
let go and the tug plucked us out from between the buoys, I saw
Jacobus standing up in his boat. The nigger was pulling hard;
several baskets of provisions for ships were stowed between the
thwarts. The father of Alice was going his morning round. His
countenance was tranquil and friendly. He raised his arm and
shouted something with great heartiness. But his voice was of the
sort that doesn't carry any distance; all I could catch faintly, or
rather guess at, were the words "next time" and "quite correct."
And it was only of these last that I was certain. Raising my arm
perfunctorily for all response, I turned away. I rather resented
the familiarity of the thing. Hadn't I settled accounts finally
with him by means of that potato bargain?

This being a harbour story it is not my purpose to speak of our
passage. I was glad enough to be at sea, but not with the gladness
of old days. Formerly I had no memories to take away with me. I
shared in the blessed forgetfulness of sailors, that forgetfulness
natural and invincible, which resembles innocence in so far that it
prevents self-examination. Now however I remembered the girl.
During the first few days I was for ever questioning myself as to
the nature of facts and sensations connected with her person and
with my conduct.

And I must say also that Mr. Burns' intolerable fussing with those
potatoes was not calculated to make me forget the part which I had
played. He looked upon it as a purely commercial transaction of a