There were two Texan officers at the table.  The reason he had never heard of Texas was that Texas and her affairs had been painfully cut out of his newspapers since Austin began his settlements; so that, while he read of Honduras and Tamaulipas, and, till quite lately, of California—­this virgin province, in which his brother had travelled so far, and I believe, had died, had ceased to be to him.  Waters and Williams, the two Texas men, looked grimly at each other and tried not to laugh.  Edward Morris had his attention attracted by the third link in the chain of the captain’s chandelier.  Watrous was seized with a convulsion of sneezing.  Nolan himself saw that something was to pay, he did not know what.  And I, as master of the feast, had to say: 

“Texas is out of the map, Mr. Nolan.  Have you seen Captain Back’s curious account of Sir Thomas Roe’s Welcome?”

After that cruise I never saw Nolan again.  I wrote to him at least twice a year, for in that voyage we became even confidentially intimate; but he never wrote to me.  The other men tell me that in those fifteen years he aged very fast, as well he might indeed, but that he was still the same gentle, uncomplaining, silent sufferer that he ever was, bearing as best he could his self-appointed punishment—­rather less social, perhaps, with new men whom he did not know, but more anxious, apparently, than ever to serve and befriend and teach the boys, some of whom fairly seemed to worship him.  And now it seems the dear old fellow is dead.  He has found a home at last, and a country.

Since writing this, and while considering whether or not I would print it, as a warning to the young Nolans and Vallandighams and Tatnalls of to-day of what it is to throw away a country, I have received from Danforth, who is on board the Levant, a letter which gives an account of Nolan’s last hours.  It removes all my doubts about telling this story.

The reader will understand Danforth’s letter, or the beginning of it, if he will remember that after ten years of Nolan’s exile everyone who had him in charge was in a very delicate position.  The government had failed to renew the order of 1807 regarding him.  What was a man to do?  Should he let him go?  What, then, if he were called to account by the Department for violating the order of 1807?  Should he keep him?  What, then, if Nolan should be liberated some day, and should bring an action of false imprisonment or kidnapping against every man who had had him in charge?  I urged and pressed this upon Southard, and I have reason to think that other officers did the same thing.  But the Secretary always said, as they so often do at Washington, that there were no special orders to give, and that we must act on our own judgment.  That means, “If you succeed, you will be sustained; if you fail, you will be disavowed.”  Well, as Danforth says, all that is over now, though I do not know but I expose myself to a criminal prosecution on the evidence of the very revelation I am making.