A few weeks later I landed in England, I, who no longer desired to
set foot on any land again.

At nine-and-twenty I was gaunt and gray; my nerves were shattered,
my heart was broken; and my face showed it without let or hindrance
from the spirit that was broken too. Pride, will, courage, and
endurance, all these had expired in my long and lonely battle with
the sea. They had kept me alive-for this. And now they left me
naked to mine enemies.

For every hand seemed raised against me, though in reality it was
the hand of fellowship that the world stretched out, and the other
was the reading of a jaundiced eye. I could not help it: there was
a poison in my veins that made me all ingratitude and perversity.
The world welcomed me back, and I returned the compliment by sulking
like the recaptured runaway I was at heart. The world showed a
sudden interest in me; so I took no further interest in the world,
but, on the contrary, resented its attentions with unreasonable
warmth and obduracy; and my would-be friends I regarded as my very
worst enemies. The majority, I feel sure, meant but well and
kindly by the poor survivor. But the survivor could not forget that
his name was still in the newspapers, nor blink the fact that he was
an unworthy hero of the passing hour. And he suffered enough from
brazenly meddlesome and self-seeking folk, from impudent and
inquisitive intruders, to justify some suspicion of old acquaintances
suddenly styling themselves old friends, and of distant connections
newly and unduly eager to claim relationship. Many I misjudged, and
have long known it. On the whole, however, I wonder at that attitude
of mine as little as I approve of it.