leaving me alone.

I could hear the ripple of the water against the side of the boat, and
once in a while a gentle lift as we passed another boat; but there was
nothing much in these things to cheer me up. I was leaving John Rucker
behind, it was true, but I was also getting farther and farther from my
mother every minute. What would she do without me? What should I do
without her? I should be free of the slavery of the factory; but I did
not think of that. I should have been glad to the bottom of my heart if
I could have blotted out of my life all this new tragedy and gone back
to the looms and spindles. The factory seemed an awful place now that I
was free, but it was familiar; and being free was awful, too; but I
never once thought of going back. I knew I could learn to drive the
horses, and I knew I should stay with the captain who had flogged John
Rucker. I who had never thought of running away was just as much
committed to the new life as if I had planned for it for years. Inside
my spirit I suppose I had been running away every time I had gone down
and watched the boats float by; and something stronger than my conscious
will floated me along, also. I fought myself to keep from crying; but I
never thought of running up on deck, jumping ashore and going home, as I
could easily have done at any time within an hour of boarding the boat.
I buried my face in the dirty pillow with no pillow-case on it, and
filled my mouth with the patchwork quilt. It seemed as though I should
die of weeping. My breath came in long spasmodic draughts, as much
deeper and bitterer than sighs as sighs are sadder and more pitiful than
laughter. My whipped back pained and smarted me, but that was not what
made me cry so dreadfully; I was in the depths of despair; I was
humiliated; I was suffering from injustice; I had lost my mother--and at
this thought my breath almost refused to come at all. Presently I opened
my eyes and found the captain throwing water in my face. He never