This did not answer so well.  Cape Palmas was practically as far from the homes of most of them as New Orleans or Rio Janeiro was; that is, they would be eternally separated from home there.  And their interpreters, as we could understand, instantly said, “Ah, non Palmas” and began to propose infinite other expedients in most voluble language.  Vaughan was rather disappointed at this result of his liberality, and asked Nolan eagerly what they said.  The drops stood on poor Nolan’s white forehead, as he hushed the men down, and said:—­

“He says, ‘Not Palmas.’  He says, ’Take us home, take us to our own country, take us to our own house, take us to our own pickaninnies and our own women.’  He says he has an old father and mother who will die if they do not see him.  And this one says he left his people all sick, and paddled down to Fernando to beg the white doctor to come and help them, and that these devils caught him in the bay just in sight of home, and that he has never seen anybody from home since then.  And this one says,” choked out Nolan, “that he has not heard a word from his home in six months, while he has been locked up in an infernal barracoon.”

Vaughan always said he grew gray himself while Nolan struggled through this interpretation.  I, who did not understand anything of the passion involved in it, saw that the very elements were melting with fervent heat, and that something was to pay somewhere.  Even the negroes themselves stopped howling, as they saw Nolan’s agony, and Vaughan’s almost equal agony of sympathy.  As quick as he could get words, he said:—­

“Tell them yes, yes, yes; tell them they shall go to the Mountains of the Moon, if they will.  If I sail the schooner through the Great White Desert, they shall go home!”

And after some fashion Nolan said so.  And then they all fell to kissing him again, and wanted to rub his nose with theirs.

But he could not stand it long; and getting Vaughan to say he might go back, he beckoned me down into our boat.  As we lay back in the stern-sheets and the men gave way, he said to me:  “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 to 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.  Stick by your family, boy; forget you have a self, while you do everything for them.  Think of your home, boy; write and send, and talk about it.  Let it be nearer and nearer to your thought, the farther you have to travel from it; and rush back to it, when you are free, as that poor black slave is doing now.  And for your country, boy,” and the words rattled in his throat, “and for that flag,” and he pointed to the ship, “never dream a dream but of serving her as she bids you, though the service carry you through a thousand hells.  No matter