PHILIP NOLAN was as fine a young
 officer as there was in the "Legion of the West," as the Western division of our army was then
called. When Aaron Burr made his first dashing expedition down to New Orleans in 1805, at Fort
Massac, or somewhere above on the river, he met, as the Devil would have it, this gay, dashing,
bright young fellow, at some dinner-party, I think. Burr marked him, talked to him, walked with him,
took him a day or two's voyage in his flat-boat, and, in short, fascinated him. For the next year,
barrack-life was very tame to poor Nolan. He occasionally availed himself of the permission the
great man had given him to
 write to him. Long, high-worded, stilted letters the poor boy wrote and rewrote and copied. But
never a line did he have in reply from the gay deceiver. The other boys in the garrison sneered at
him, because he sacrificed in this unrequited affection for a politician the time which they devoted
to Monongahela, hazard, and high-low-jack. Bourbon, euchre, and poker were still unknown. But one
day Nolan had his revenge. This time Burr came down the river, not as an attorney seeking a place
for his office, but as a disguised conqueror. He had defeated I
 know not how many district-attorneys; he had dined at I know not how many public dinners; he had
been heralded in I know not how many Weekly Arguses, and it was rumored that he had an army behind
him and an empire before him. It was a great day—his arrival—to poor Nolan. Burr had not
been at the fort an hour before he sent for him. That evening he asked Nolan to take him out in his
skiff, to show him a canebrake or a cotton-wood tree, as he said,—really to seduce him; and by
the time the sail was over, Nolan was enlisted body and soul. From that time, though he did not yet
know it, he lived as A MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY.
THAT EVENING BURR ASKED NOLAN TO TAKE HIM OUT IN HIS SKIFF,
TO SHOW HIM A CANE-BRAKE OR A COTTON-WOOD TREE.
 What Burr meant to do I know no more than you, dear reader. It is none of our business just now.
Only, when the grand catastrophe came, and Jefferson and the House of Virginia of that day undertook
to break on the wheel all the possible Clarences of the then House of York, by the great
treason-trial at Richmond, some of the lesser fry in that distant Mississippi Valley, which was
farther from us than Puget's Sound is to-day, introduced the like novelty on their provincial stage,
and, to while away the monotony of the summer at Fort Adams, got up, for spectacles, a string
of court-martials on the
of-  ficers there. One and another of the colonels and majors were tried, and, to fill out the list,
little Nolan, against whom, Heaven knows, there was evidence enough,—that he was sick of the
service, had been willing to be false to it, and would have obeyed any order to march any-whither
with any one who would follow him had the order been signed, "By command of His Exc. A. Burr." The
courts dragged on. The big flies escaped,—rightly for all I know. Nolan was proved guilty
enough, as I say; yet you and I would never have heard of him, reader, but that, when the president
of the court asked him at
 the close, whether he wished to say anything to show that he had always been faithful to the United
States, he cried out, in a fit of frenzy,—
"D——n the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United States again!"
I suppose he did not know how the words shocked old Colonel Morgan, who was holding the court. Half
the officers who sat in it had served through the Revolution, and their lives, not to say their
necks, had been risked for the very idea which he so cavalierly cursed in his madness. He, on his
part, had grown up in the West of those
 days, in the midst of "Spanish plot," "Orleans plot," and all the rest. He had been educated on a
plantation where the finest company was a Spanish officer or a French merchant from Orleans. His
education, such as it was, had been perfected in commercial expeditions to Vera Cruz, and I think he
told me his father once hired an Englishman to be a private tutor for a winter on the plantation. He
had spent half his youth with an older brother, hunting horses in Texas; and, in a word, to him
"United States" was scarcely a reality. Yet he had been fed by "United States" for all the years
 since he had been in the army. He had sworn on his faith as a Christian to be true to "United
States." It was "United States" which gave him the uniform he wore, and the sword by his side. Nay,
my poor Nolan, it was only because "United States" had picked you out first as one of her own
confidential men of honor that "A. Burr" cared for you a straw more than for the flat-boat men who
sailed his ark for him. I do not excuse Nolan; I only explain to the reader why he damned his
country, and wished he might never hear her name again.
He never did hear her name but once again. From that moment,
 September 23, 1807, till the day he died, May 11, 1863, he never heard her name again. For that
half-century and more he was a man without a country.
"DAMN THE UNITED STATES! I WISH I MAY NEVER HEAR
OF THE UNITED STATES AGAIN!"
Old Morgan, as I said, was terribly shocked. If Nolan had compared George Washington to Benedict
Arnold, or had cried, "God save King George," Morgan would not have felt worse. He called the court
into his private room, and returned in fifteen minutes, with a face like a sheet, to say,—
"Prisoner, hear the sentence of the Court! The Court decides, subject to the approval of the
President, that you never hear the name of the United States again."
 Nolan laughed. But nobody else laughed. Old Morgan was too solemn, and the whole room was hushed
dead as night for a minute. Even Nolan lost his swagger in a moment. Then Morgan added,—
"Mr. Marshal, take the prisoner to Orleans in an armed boat, and deliver him to the naval commander
The Marshal gave his orders and the prisoner was taken out of court.
"Mr. Marshal," continued old Morgan, "see that no one mentions the United States to the prisoner.
Mr. Marshal, make my respects to Lieutenant Mitchell at Orleans, and request him to order that no
 one shall mention the United States to the prisoner while he is on board ship. You will receive your
written orders from the officer on duty here this evening. The court is adjourned without day."
I have always supposed that Colonel Morgan himself took the proceedings of the court to Washington
City, and explained them to Mr. Jefferson. Certain it is that the President approved
them,—certain, that is, if I may believe the men who say they have seen his signature. Before
the Nautilus got round from New Orleans to the Northern Atlantic coast with the prisoner on board
the sentence had
 been approved, and he was a man without a country.
The plan then adopted was substantially the same which was necessarily followed ever after. Perhaps
it was suggested by the necessity of sending him by water from Fort Adams and Orleans. The Secretary
of the Navy—it must have been the first Crowninshield, though he is a man I do not
remember—was requested to put Nolan on board a government vessel bound on a long cruise, and
to direct that he should be only so far confined there as to make it certain that he never saw or
heard of the country. We had few long cruises
 then, and the navy was very much out of favor; and as almost all of this story is traditional, as I
have explained, I do not know certainly what his first cruise was. But the commander to whom he was
intrusted,—perhaps it was Tingey or Shaw, though I think it was one of the younger
men,—we are all old enough now,—regulated the etiquette and the precautions of the
affair, and according to his scheme they were carried out, I suppose, till Nolan died.
When I was second officer of the "Intrepid," some thirty years after, I saw the original paper of
instructions. I have been sorry ever since
 that I did not copy the whole of it. It ran, however, much in this way:—
(with a date, which have been late in 1807).
"Sir,—You will receive from Lieutenant Neale the person of Philip Nolan, late a
Lieutenant in the United States Army.
"This person on his trial by court-martial expressed with an oath the wish that he might
'never hear of the United States again.'
"The Court sentenced him to have his wish fulfilled.
"For the present, the execution of the order is intrusted by the President to this
"You will take the prisoner on board your ship, and keep him there with such precautions as
shall prevent his escape.
 "You will provide him with such quarters, rations, and clothing as would be proper for an
officer of his late rank, if he were a passenger on your vessel on the business of his
"The gentlemen on board will make any arrangements agreeable to themselves regarding his
society. He is to be exposed to no indignity of any kind, nor is he ever unnecessarily to be
reminded that he is a prisoner.
"But under no circumstances is he ever to hear of his country or to see any information
regarding it, and you will specially caution all the officers under your command to take care,
that, in the various indulgences which may be granted, this rule, in which his punishment is
involved, shall not be broken.
 "It is the intention of the Government that he shall never again see the country which he has
disowned. Before the end of your cruise you will receive orders which will give effect to this
"For the Secretary of the Navy.
If I had only preserved the whole of this paper, there would be no break in the beginning of my
sketch of this story. For Captain Shaw, if it were he, handed it to his successor in the charge, and
he to his, and I suppose the commander of the Levant has it to-day as his authority for keeping this
man in this mild custody.
 The rule adopted on board the ships on which I have met "the man without a country" was, I think,
transmitted from the beginning. No mess liked to have him permanently, because his presence cut off
all talk of home or of the prospect of return, of politics or letters, of peace or of war,—cut
off more than half the talk men liked to have at sea. But it was always thought too hard that he
should never meet the rest of us, except to touch hats, and we finally sank into one system. He was
not permitted to talk with the men, unless an officer was by. With officers he had unrestrained
intercourse, as far as they and he chose.
 But he grew shy, though he had favorites: I was one. Then the captain always asked him to dinner on
Monday. Every mess in succession took up the invitation in its turn. According to the size of the
ship, you had him at your mess more or less often at dinner. His breakfast he ate in his own
state-room,—he always had a state-room,—which was where a sentinel or somebody on the
watch could see the door. And whatever else he ate or drank, he ate or drank alone. Sometimes, when
the marines or sailors had any special jollification, they were permitted to invite "Plain-Buttons,"
as they called
 him. Then Nolan was sent with some officer, and the men were forbidden to speak of home while he was
there. I believe the theory that the sight of his punishment did them good. They called him
"Plain-Buttons," because, while he always chose to wear a regulation army-uniform, he was not
permitted to wear the army-button, for the reason that it bore either the initials or the insignia
of the country he had disowned.
I remember, soon after I joined the navy, I was on shore with some of the older officers from our
ship and from the Brandywine, which we had met at Alexandria. We had
 leave to make a party and go up to Cairo and the Pyramids. As we jogged along (you went on donkeys
then), some of the gentlemen (we boys called them "Dons," but the phrase was long since changed)
fell to talking about Nolan, and some one told the system which was adopted from the first about his
books and other reading. As he was almost never permitted to go on shore, even though the vessel lay
in port for months, his time at the best hung heavy; and everybody was permitted to lend him books,
if they were not published in America and made no allusion to it. These were common enough in the
 days, when people in the other hemisphere talked of the United States as little as we do of
Paraguay. He had almost all the foreign papers that came into the ship, sooner or later; only
somebody must go over them first, and cut out any advertisement or stray paragraph that alluded to
America. This was a little cruel sometimes, when the back of what was cut out might be as innocent
as Hesiod. Right in the midst of one of Napoleon's battles, or one of Canning's speeches, poor Nolan
would find a great hole, because on the back of the page of that paper there had been an
advertisement of a packet
 for New York, or a scrap from the President's message. I say this was the first time I ever heard of
this plan, which afterwards I had enough and more than enough to do with. I remember it, because
poor Phillips, who was of the party, as soon as the allusion to reading was made, told a story of
something which happened at the Cape of Good Hope on Nolan's first voyage; and it is the only thing
I ever knew of that voyage. They had touched at the Cape, and had done the civil thing with the
English Admiral and the fleet, and then, leaving for a long cruise up the Indian Ocean, Phillips had
borrowed a lot
 of English books from an officer, which, in those days, as indeed in these, was quite a windfall.
Among them, as the Devil would order, was the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," which they had all of them
heard of, but which most of them had never seen. I think it could not have been published long.
Well, nobody thought there could be any risk of anything national in that, though Phillips swore old
Shaw had cut out the "Tempest" from Shakespeare before he let Nolan have it, because he said "the
Bermudas ought to be ours, and, by Jove, should be one day." So Nolan was permitted to join the
 circle one afternoon when a lot of them sat on deck smoking and reading aloud. People do not do such
things so often now, but when I was young we got rid of a great deal of time so. Well, so it
happened that in his turn Nolan took the book and read to the others; and he read very well, as I
know. Nobody in the circle knew a line of the poem, only it was all magic and Border chivalry, and
was ten thousand years ago. Poor Nolan read steadily through the fifth canto, stopped a minute and
drank something, and then began, without a thought of what was coming,—
"Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,—"
It seems impossible to us that anybody ever heard this for the first time; but all these fellows did
then, and poor Nolan himself went on, still unconsciously or mechanically,—
"This is my own, my native land!"
Then they all saw something was to pay; but he expected to get through, I suppose, turned a little
pale, but plunged on,—
"Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned,
As home his footsteps he hath turned
From wandering on a foreign strand?—
If such there breathe, go, mark him well,—"
By this time the men were all beside themselves, wishing there was any way to make him turn over two
pages; but he had not quite presence of mind for that; he gagged a little, colored crimson, and
"For him no minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,
Despite these titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,—"
and here the poor fellow choked, could not go on, but started up, swung the book into the sea,
vanished into his state-room, "And by Jove," said Phillips, "we did not see him for two months
again. And I had to make up some beggarly story to that English surgeon why I did not return his
Walter Scott to him."
NOLAN SWUNG THE BOOK INTO THE SEA, AND VANISHED INTO HIS STATE-ROOM.
That story shows about the time when Nolan's braggadocio must
 have broken down. At first, they said, he took a very high tone, considered his imprisonment a mere
farce, affected to enjoy the voyage, and all that; but Phillips said that after he came out of his
state-room he never was the same man again. He never read aloud again, unless it was the Bible or
Shakespeare, or something else he was sure of. But it was not that merely. He never entered in with
the other young men exactly as a companion again. He was always shy afterwards, when I knew
him,—very seldom spoke, unless he was spoken to, except to a very few friends. He lighted up
re-  member late in his life hearing him fairly eloquent on something which had been suggested to him by
one of Fléchier's sermons,—but generally he had the nervous, tired look of a heart-wounded
When Captain Shaw was coming home,—if, as I say, it was Shaw,—rather to the surprise of
every body they made one of the Windward Islands, and lay off and on for nearly a week. The boys
said the officers were sick of salt-junk, and meant to have turtle-soup before they came home. But
after several days the Warren came to the same rendezvous; they exchanged signals; she sent to
Phillips and these
 homeward-bound men letters and papers, and told them she was outward-bound, perhaps to the
Mediterranean, and took poor Nolan and his traps on the boat back to try his second cruise. He
looked very blank when he was told to get ready to join her. He had known enough of the signs of the
sky to know that till that moment he was going "home." But this was a distinct evidence of something
he had not thought of, perhaps,—that there was no going home for him, even to a prison. And
this was the first of some twenty such transfers, which brought him sooner or later into half our
best vessels, but
 which kept him all his life at least some hundred miles from the country he had hoped he might never
hear of again.
It may have been on that second cruise,—it was once when he was up the
Mediterranean,—that Mrs. Graff, the celebrated Southern beauty of those days, danced with him.
They had been lying a long time in the Bay of Naples, and the officers were very intimate in the
English fleet, and there had been great festivities, and our men thought they must give a great ball
on board the ship. How they ever did it on board the "Warren" I am sure I do not know. Perhaps it
 was not the "Warren," or perhaps ladies did not take up so much room as they do now. They wanted to
use Nolan's state-room for something, and they hated to do it without asking him to the ball; so the
captain said they might ask him, if they would be responsible that he did not talk with the wrong
people, "who would give him intelligence." So the dance went on, the finest party that had ever been
known, I dare say; for I never heard of a man-of-war ball that was not. For ladies they had the
family of the American consul, one or two travellers who had adventured so far, and a nice bevy of
 English girls and matrons, perhaps Lady Hamilton herself.
THERE WAS NO GOING HOME FOR HIM, EVEN TO A PRISON.
Well, different officers relieved each other in standing and talking with Nolan in a friendly way,
so as to be sure that nobody else spoke to him. The dancing went on with spirit, and after a while
even the fellows who took this honorary guard of Nolan ceased to fear any contretemps. Only
when some English lady—Lady Hamilton, as I said, perhaps—called for a set of "American
dances," an odd thing happened. Everybody then danced contra-dances. The black band, nothing loath,
conferred as to what "American dances" were, and
 started off with a "Virginia Reel," which they followed with "Money-Musk," which, in its turn in
those days, should have been followed by "The Old Thirteen." But just as Dick, the leader, tapped
for his fiddles to begin, and bent forward, about to say, in true negro state, "'The Old Thirteen,
gentlemen and ladies!" as he had said "'Virginny Reel,' if you please!" and "'Money-Musk,' if you
please!" the captain's boy tapped him on the shoulder, whispered to him, and he did not announce the
name of the dance; he merely bowed, began on the air, and they all fell to,—the officers
teaching the English girls
 the figure, but not telling them why it had no name.
But that is not the story I started to tell.—As the dancing went on, Nolan and our fellows all
got at ease, as I said,—so much so, that it seemed quite natural for him to bow to that
splendid Mrs. Graff, and say,—
"I hope you have not forgotten me, Miss Rutledge. Shall I have the honor of dancing?"
He did it so quickly, that
 Fellows, who was by him, could not hinder him. She laughed and said,—
"I am not Miss Rutledge any longer, Mr. Nolan; but I will dance all the same," just nodded to
Fellows, as if to say he must leave Mr. Nolan to her, and led him off to the place where the dance
Nolan thought he had got his chance. He had known her at Philadelphia, and at other places had met
her, and this was a Godsend. You could not talk in contra-dances, as you do in cotillons, or even in
the pauses of waltzing; but there were chances for tongues and sounds, as well as for eyes and
blushes. He began with her travels, and Europe, and Vesuvius, and the French; and then, when they
had worked down, and had that long talking-time at the bottom of the
 set, he said, boldly,—a little pale, she said, as she told me the story, years after,—
"And what do you hear from home, Mrs. Graff?"
And that splendid creature looked through him. Jove! how she must have looked through him!
"Home!! Mr. Nolan!!! I thought you were the man who never wanted to hear of home again!"—and
she walked directly up the deck to her husband, and left poor Nolan alone, as he always
was.—He did not dance again.
"HOME! MR. NOLAN! I THOUGHT YOU WERE THE MAN WHO NEVER
WANTED TO HEAR OF HOME AGAIN!"
I cannot give any history of him in order; nobody can now; and, indeed, I am not trying to.
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