I suppose he did not know how the words shocked old Colonel Morgan, who was holding the court.  Half the officers who sat in it had served through the Revolution, and their lives, not to say their necks, had been risked for the very idea which he so cavalierly cursed in his madness.  He, on his part, had grown up in the West of those days, in the midst of “Spanish plot,” “Orleans plot,” and all the rest.  He had been educated on a plantation where the finest company was a Spanish officer or a French merchant from Orleans.  His education, such as it was, had been perfected in commercial expeditions to Vera Cruz, and I think he told me his father once hired an Englishman to be a private tutor for a winter on the plantation.  He had spent half his youth with an older brother, hunting horses in Texas; and, in a word, to him “United States” was scarcely a reality.  Yet he had been fed by “United States” for all the years since he had been in the army.  He had sworn on his faith as a Christian to be true to “United States.”  It was “United States” which gave him the uniform he wore, and the sword by his side.  Nay, my poor Nolan, it was only because “United States” had picked you out first as one of her own confidential men of honour that “A.  Burr” cared for you a straw more than for the flat-boat men who sailed his ark for him.  I do not excuse Nolan; I only explain to the reader why he damned his country, and wished he might never hear her name again.

He never did hear her name but once again.  From that moment, Sept. 23, 1807, till the day he died, May 11, 1863, he never heard her name again.  For that half-century and more he was a man without a country.

Old Morgan, as I said, was terribly shocked.  If Nolan had compared George Washington to Benedict Arnold, or had cried, “God save King George,” Morgan would not have felt worse.  He called the court into his private room, and returned in fifteen minutes, with a face like a sheet, to say: 

“Prisoner, hear the sentence of the Court!  The Court decides, subject to the approval of the President, that you never hear the name of the United States again.”

Nolan laughed.  But nobody else laughed.  Old Morgan was too solemn, and the whole room was hushed dead as night for a minute.  Even Nolan lost his swagger in a moment.  Then Morgan added: 

“Mr. Marshal, take the prisoner to Orleans in an armed boat, and deliver him to the naval commander there.”

The marshal gave his orders and the prisoner was taken out of court.

“Mr. Marshal,” continued old Morgan, “see that no one mentions the United States to the prisoner.  Mr. Marshal, make my respects to Lieutenant Mitchell at Orleans, and request him to order that no one shall mention the United States to the prisoner while he is on board ship.  You will receive your written orders from the officer on duty here this evening.  The Court is adjourned without day.”

I have always supposed that Colonel Morgan himself took the proceedings of the court to Washington city, and explained them to Mr. Jefferson.  Certain it is that the President approved them—­certain, that is, if I may believe the men who say they have seen his signature.  Before the Nautilus got round from New Orleans to the Northern Atlantic coast with the prisoner on board, the sentence had been approved, and he was a man without a country.