The Man Without a Country | Page 9

fellows who
took this honorary guard of Nolan ceased to fear any contretemps. Only
when some English lady--Lady Hamilton, as I said, perhaps--called for
a set of "American dances," an odd thing happened. Everybody then
danced contra-dances. The black band, nothing loath, conferred as to
what "American dances" were, and started off with "Virginia Reel,"
which they followed with "Money-Musk," which, in its turn in those
days, should have been followed by "The Old Thirteen." But just as
Dick, the leader, tapped for his fiddles to begin, and bent forward,
about to say, in true negro state, "'The Old Thirteen,' gentlemen and
ladies!" as he had said "'Virginny Reel,' if you please!" and
"'Money-Musk,' if you please!" the captain's boy tapped him on the
shoulder, whispered to him, and he did not announce the name of the
dance; he merely bowed, began on the air, and they all fell to,--the
officers teaching the English girls the figure, but not telling them why it
had no name.
But that is not the story I started to tell. As the dancing went on, Nolan
and our fellows all got at ease, as I said,--so much so, that it seemed
quite natural for him to bow to that splendid Mrs. Graff, and say,--
"I hope you have not forgotten me, Miss Rutledge. Shall I have the
honor of dancing?"
He did it so quickly, that Fellows, who was with him, could not hinder
him. She laughed and said,--
"I am not Miss Rutledge any longer, Mr. Nolan; but I will dance all the
same," just nodded to Fellows, as if to say he must leave Mr. Nolan to
her, and led him off to the place where the dance was forming.
Nolan thought he had got his chance. He had known her at Philadelphia,
and at other places had met her, and this was a Godsend. You could not
talk in contra-dances, as you do in cotillions, or even in the pauses of
waltzing; but there were chances for tongues and sounds, as well as for
eyes and blushes. He began with her travels, and Europe, and Vesuvius,
and the French; and then, when they had worked down, and had that
long talking time at the bottom of the set, he said boldly,--a little pale,

she said, as she told me the story years after,--
"And what do you hear from home, Mrs. Graff?"
And that splendid creature looked through him. Jove! how she must
have looked through him!
"Home!! Mr. Nolan!!! I thought you were the man who never wanted
to hear of home again!"--and she walked directly up the deck to her
husband, and left poor Nolan alone, as he always was.--He did not
dance again. I cannot give any history of him in order; nobody can now;
and, indeed, I am not trying to.
These are the traditions, which I sort out, as I believe them, from the
myths which have been told about this man for forty years. The lies that
have been told about him are legion. The fellows used to say he was the
"Iron Mask;" and poor George Pons went to his grave in the belief that
this was the author of "Junius," who was being punished for his
celebrated libel on Thomas Jefferson. Pons was not very strong in the
historical line.
A happier story than either of these I have told is of the war. That came
along soon after. I have heard this affair told in three or four ways,--and,
indeed, it may have happened more than once. But which ship it was on
I cannot tell. However, in one, at least, of the great frigate-duels with
the English, in which the navy was really baptized, [Note 8] it
happened that a round-shot from the enemy entered one of our ports
square, and took right down the officer of the gun himself, and almost
every man 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