High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,—
Despite those titles, power and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self”——
Here the poor fellow choked, and could not go on, but started up and flung the book into the sea and fled to his stateroom. It was two months before he dared join the men again.
There was a change in Nolan after this. He never read aloud again, unless it was the Bible or Shakespeare, or something else he was sure of. He was always shy afterwards and very seldom spoke unless spoken to, except to a very few friends. He generally had the nervous, tired look of a heart-wounded man. Sometimes he tried to trap people into mentioning his country, but he never succeeded; his sentence was too well known among the men who had him in charge.
There was only one day on which, perhaps, he was really happy, except when he knew his lonely life was closing. Once, during the war of 1812, the ship on which he was staying had a fight with an English frigate. A round shot from the enemy entered one of the ports and killed the officer of the gun himself and many of the gun’s crew. Now you may say what you choose about courage, but that is not a nice thing to see. But, as the men who were not killed picked themselves up, and as they and the surgeon’s people were carrying off the bodies, there appeared Nolan, in his shirt sleeves, with the rammer in his hand, and, just as if he had been the officer, told them off with authority—who should go to the cock-pit with the wounded men, who should stay with him—perfectly cheery, and with that way which makes men feel sure all is right and is going to be right. And he finished loading the gun with his own hands, aimed it, and bade the men fire. And there he stayed, captain of that gun, keeping those fellows in spirits, till the enemy struck—sitting on the carriage while the gun was cooling, though he was exposed all the time,—showing them easier ways to handle heavy shot—making the raw hands laugh at their own blunders—and when the gun cooled again, getting it loaded and fired twice as often as any other gun on the ship. The commodore walked forward by way of encouraging the men, and Nolan touched his hat and said:
“I am showing them how we do this in the artillery, sir.”
“I see you are, and I thank you, sir,” the commodore said; “and I shall never forget this day, sir, and you never shall, sir.”
And after the whole thing was over, and he had the Englishman’s sword, in the midst of the state and ceremony of the quarter-deck, he said: