His hopes had risen when old Colonel Morgan, who presided, said that the charges of misappropriation and mutinous utterance had been dropped. Nolan’s heart sank just as quickly when Morgan pronounced that the court would consider the circumstances surrounding the death of Colonel Bell and render judgment on a charge of willful desertion.
A few minutes after one, Alden and Lorina entered through a door in the left-hand wall near the barrier. They found chairs two rows behind the defense table, and as they sat Lorina looked at Nolan. He was in physical pain, and a scowl lined his mouth; she had never seen him so dejected and resentful. For the rest of the morning Nolan sat with his back turned, frowning at the judges.
The prosecution put forward its arguments, and as Fitzgerald had predicted, they did their best to portray Nolan as a conspirator as vile as Burr himself. Some of it was bombastic stuff. The prosecutor, Major Teague, eventually realized that he was spinning a grand tale around a central character who was, after all, only a lieutenant of artillery. He quickly reverted to fact and summed his case: Nolan was assigned to Fort Massac and had been arrested seven hundred miles away on the Sabine River. Nolan had neither permission to travel nor lawful military business there: eo ipso, he was a deserter.
Fitzgerald had intended to call Major Giloughly, Nolan’s commander at Fort Massac, to testify that Nolan had verbal permission to leave his post. These hopes collapsed when it was announced from the bench that Giloughly himself had pled guilty to conspiracy at Nacogdoches in the Mississippi Territory.
Nolan was furious; in a choked, bitter voice he blurted out: “Then I shall be happy to wait upon the major’s arrival. I was given leave, and he can confirm it!”
The gavel banged and Colonel Morgan glowered. “Mister Fitzgerald, does the defendant wish to take the stand?”
Wendell stood, pressing his hand down on Nolan’s shoulder. “No, sir, he does not.” As he returned to his seat, Fitzgerald hissed to Nolan, “Hold your tongue, Philip.”
Had Nolan taken an oath to testify he would have opened himself to Major Teague’s cross-examination. It would not take much dexterity to lead Nolan to admit the damning fact that he had volunteered to carry a ciphered letter for Burr. Close questioning would also confirm that Nolan had publicly stated that he was proud to have joined the expedition. None of these facts would accrue to his favor; nor could Fitzgerald trust his friend to remain even-tempered under questioning. It was certain that nothing further in the way of outbursts would be tolerated.
Fitzgerald arranged some papers on his desk and stood. “If it pleases the court, a written deposition has been prepared regarding the circumstances of Lieutenant Nolan’s interview with Colonel Bell.” Fitzgerald walked forward and placed the document in front of Colonel Morgan. “With your permission, the affidavit is submitted in lieu of testimony.”
“Any objections, Major Teague?”
The major glanced at Fitzgerald and shook his head. Teague, long ago as a corporal, had served as a color bearer at Camden and survived honorably. He was no admirer of Colonel Bell. “We have no objections, sir,” he said.
The gavel banged again, the provost marshal intoned, “All rise,” and the court adjourned to consider the evidence.
As they sat at the table Fitzgerald drummed his fingers. “You are not doing yourself any favors, Philip.”
“I expect none.”
“It doesn’t help to be petulant. You are not a child.”
No man is quick to think himself a pawn or an expendable thing; it is even harder for a common person to understand the schemes of men who intend to make history. Nolan had no appreciation of politics, and understood even less the manners of great men. His own relations had been governed by scrupulous, even credulous, honesty, but he understood now that he had been used, and that he stood on the brink of being made a scapegoat for it. Burr’s acquittal and Wilkinson’s perjury had made Nolan sure that his own charges would be dismissed. Even as the case against Burr collapsed, the prosecution remained dogged; failing to convict the prime movers, Jefferson’s adherents were determined to make an example of whomever they could. At first, Nolan could not comprehend that futures were to be made by bringing the president as many convictions as possible. Could that be true?
Until this moment, patriotism had brought into Nolan’s life a sense of belonging and confidence. Now, as that devotion crumbled, he saw how precariously he had trusted and how unrequited was his loyalty. Had Nolan possessed some other anchor besides love of country, some other faith or belief in a greater purpose, he might not have been so resentful. But he did not believe in anything greater than his duty, and since his days as a cadet he had believed that the obligation he felt for his nation had somehow been reciprocated. Nolan adored his country as Burr never had; Nolan’s love had been unquestioning, and now it was turning into an equally irrational and unreasoning disgust. Believing he had been wronged, Nolan recoiled with heartbroken anguish.
Nolan stared at the flags gathered behind the bench; the colors had once been living things to him, totems of duty and even glory. Now it was as though the meaning had been wrung from them—water from a dishrag. It was excruciating and humiliating for him to sit before the emblems of his country and be made to feel that he was alien to them and somehow unworthy of their mercy. The tremendous consequence of this emotion blossomed in him like a poisonous flower.
The wound in his chest was suddenly an agony and with every breath Nolan could feel the bandage growing wet under his shirt. His fists clenched, his heart throbbed, and the room swam before his eyes. Exhausted and in great pain, Nolan’s thoughts became the empty shadows of his feelings, roiling and black. No outward sign did he show; he did not shed tears or curse, but it was there, in an armory made into a place of judgment, that Philip Nolan failed as a man. Pouting at the defendant’s table, awaiting verdict, Nolan’s virtues were eclipsed by bitterness and self-pity.
A lieutenant of dragoons entered the court and bid all to rise. Fitzgerald helped Nolan to his feet and the judges entered. As they took their places, news that the verdict was at hand passed through the town. Shadows loomed into the courtroom as people took places to gawk through the long windows.
Fitzgerald whispered, “Please friend, if you are asked to speak, contain yourself.”
Nolan’s tongue rattled in his dry mouth. “I’ll do what I can.”
“Do the best you can, Philip.”
Fitzgerald noticed that Nolan was trembling rigidly as he stood. At the bench Colonel Morgan arranged papers in front of him. Nolan could hear voices from the street outside; in one of the close windows, a man held a little boy on his shoulders so he could see.
Colonel Morgan said, “The court has reached an opinion regarding the death of Colonel Randolph Creel Bell of the First Virginia Regiment of Light Infantry.”
Nolan’s face twitched.
“Regarding the death of Colonel Bell, the court finds the defendant no es factum.”
There was a murmur among the gallery. As it subsided, Fitzgerald said quietly, “It’s less than an acquittal—but they hold you not responsible.”
From beyond the windows there were whistles and jeers. Colonel Morgan pretended