I let my family live.

Furthermore, it was not my family's fault.
I never whimpered.

I never let on.

I melted the last of my silver spoon--South Sea cotton, an' it please you, cacao in Tonga, rubber and mahogany in Yucatan.

And do you know, at the end, I slept in Bowery lodging-houses and ate scrapple in East-Side feeding-dens, and, on more than one occasion, stood in the bread-line at midnight and pondered whether or not I should faint before I fed." "And you never squealed to your family," Dag Daughtry murmured admiringly in the pause.
The Ancient Mariner straightened up his shoulders, threw his head back, then bowed it and repeated, "No, I never squealed.