“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 Department.

“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 Government.

“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 especially 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 intention.

“Respectfully yours,
“W.  Southard, 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