He told the crew this was done in pursuance of an arrangement made with me the day previous to the hurricane.

He reached the brig with his "plunder" just as the anchor was hauled to the cathead, and the brig was hanging by a single line attached to a neighboring vessel until the topsails were sheeted home.
My chest was transferred to the deck of the clipper, and five minutes afterwards the brig was leaving the harbor under full sail, bound home.
It was some time before I could realize the extent of my misfortune, and persuade myself of the melancholy fact that I was a stranger in a foreign port, without friends, while every item of my goods and chattels consisted of an old pair of patched canvas trousers, a checked shirt, and a dilapidated straw hat; I had not even a pair of shoes, a kerchief, a jack-knife, or the value of a stiver in cash.
I stood a moment gazing earnestly at the brig as she was rapidly sinking beneath the horizon.

I was more disappointed and shocked at the ingratitude of Strictland than grieved at the loss of my goods and chattels.

And when I saw that I had been deceived, cajoled, and swindled by an unprincipled adventurer, so far from rejoicing at such an opportunity to "come out strong," as Mark Tapley would have done under similar circumstances, I could hardly control my indignation.

But conscious that my wrongs could neither be remedied nor avenged, I repressed my feelings, and amid the well-meaning condolence of my friends in the Gustavus, entered my boat and returned to the sloop.
I was rejoiced to find Bohun on board.