ch gives an account of
Nolan's last hours. It removes all my doubts about telling this story.

To understand the first words of the letter, the non-professional reader
should remember that after 1817 the position of every officer who had
Nolan in charge was one of the greatest delicacy. 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
for 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.

Here is the letter:--

"_Levant_, 2 deg. 2' S. @ 131 deg. W.

"DEAR FRED,--I try to find heart and life to tell you that it is all
over with dear old Nolan. I have been with him on this voyage more than
I ever was, and I can understand wholly now the way in which you used to
speak of the dear old fellow. I could see that he was not strong, but I
had no idea the end was so near. The doctor had been watching him very
carefully, and yesterday morning came to me and told me that Nolan was
not so well, and had not left his state-room,--a thing I never remember
before. He had let the doctor come and see him as he lay there,--the
first time the doctor had been in the state-room,--and he said he should
like to see me. Oh, dear! do you remember the mysteries we boys used to
invent about his room, in the old Intrepid days? Well, I went in, and
there, to be sure, the poor fellow lay in his berth, smiling pleasantly
as he gave me his hand, but looking very frail. I could not help a
glance round, which showed me what a little shrine he had made of the
box he was lying in. The stars and stripes were triced up above and
around a picture of Washington, and he had painted a majestic eagle,
with lightnings blazing from his beak and his foot just clasping the
whole globe,