III
At another time Nolan went with a young officer named Vaughan to overhaul a dirty little schooner which had slaves on board. Nolan was the only one who could speak Portuguese, the language used by the slavers. There were but few of the negroes. Vaughan had their hand-cuffs and ankle-cuffs knocked off and put these on the rascals of the schooner’s crew. Then Nolan told the blacks that they were free and that Vaughan would take them to Cape Palmas.
Now, Cape Palmas was a long way from their native land, and they said, “Not Palmas. Take us home, take us to our own country, take us to our own pickaninnies and our own women.” One complained that he had not heard from home for more than six months. It was terribly hard for Nolan, but he translated these speeches, and told the negroes Vaughan’s answer in some fashion.
As they were rowing back he said to a young midshipman of whom he was fond, “Youngster, let that show you what it is to be without a family, without a home, and without a country. And if you are ever tempted to say a word or do a thing that shall put a bar between you and your family, your home and your country, pray God in His mercy to take you that instant home to His own heaven.
“And for your country, boy, and for that flag, never dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you, though the service carry you through a thousand hells. No matter what happens to you, no matter who flatters you or who abuses you, never look at another flag, never let a night pass but you pray God to bless that flag. Remember, boy, that behind all these men you have to do with, behind officers, and government, and people even, there is the Country Herself, your Country, and that you belong to Her as you belong to your own mother.”
And then Nolan added, almost in a whisper, “Oh, if anybody had said so to me when I was of your age!”
Years passed on, and Nolan’s sentence was unrevoked, though his friends had once asked for a pardon.
The end came when he had been nearly fifty years at sea, and he asked the ship’s doctor for a visit from another midshipman, Danforth, whom he liked. Danforth tells us about Nolan’s last hours and calls him “dear old Nolan,” so we know his love was returned.
The boy saw what a little shrine poor Nolan had made of his stateroom. Up above were the stars and stripes, and around a portrait of Washington he had painted a majestic eagle with lightnings blazing from his beak, and his foot just clasping the whole globe. Nolan said, with a sad smile, “Here, you see, I have a country.” Over the foot of the bed was a great map of the United States, drawn from memory. Queer old names were on it, names such as he had learned, like “Indian Territory” and “Louisiana Territory.”
“Danforth,” he said, “I know I am dying. I am sure that you know that there is not in America,—God bless her!—a more loyal man than I. There cannot be a man who loves the old flag as I do, or hopes for it as I do. Tell me something,—tell me everything before I die!”