‘“Well, then,” replied the duellist, “did you black-ball me?”
‘“My good sir,” answered the admiral, “how could you suppose such a thing?”
‘“Oh, I supposed no such thing, my dear fellow, I only want to know who it was dropped the black balls in by accident, as it were.”
‘Fitzgerald now went up to each individual member, and put the same question seriatim, “Did you black-ball me, sir?” until he made the round of the whole club; and it may well be supposed that in every case he obtained similar answers to that of the admiral. When he had finished his inquisition, he thus addressed the whole body, who preserved as dread and dead a silence as the urchins at a parish school do on a Saturday when the pedagogue orders half-a-score of them to be horsed for neglecting their catechism, which they have to repeat to the parson on Sunday:
‘“You see, gentlemen, that as none of ye have black-balled me, I must be chose; and it is Misthur Brookes that has made the mistake. But I was convinced of it from the beginning, and I am only sorry that so much time has been lost as to prevent honourable gentlemen from enjoying each other’s good company sooner. Waither! Come here, you rascal, and bring me a bottle of champagne, till I drink long life to the club, and wish them joy of their unanimous election of a raal gentleman by father and mother, and—” this part of Fitzgerald’s address excited the risible muscles of everyone present; but he soon restored them to their former lugubrious position by casting around him a ferocious look, and saying, in a voice of thunder—“and who never missed his man! Go for the champagne, waithur; and, d’ye hear, sur, tell your masthur—Misthur Brookes, that is—not to make any more mistakes about black balls, for, though it is below a gentleman to call him out, I will find other means of giving him a bagful of broken bones.”
‘The members now saw that there was nothing for it but to send the intruder to Coventry, which they appeared to do by tacit agreement; for when Admiral Stewart departed, which he did almost immediately, Mr. Fitzgerald found himself completely cut by all “his dear friends.” The gentlemen now found themselves in groups at the several whist-tables, and no one chose to reply to his observations, nor to return even a nod to the toasts and healths which he drank whilst discussing three bottles of the sparkling liquor which the terrified waiter placed before him in succession. At length, finding that no one would communicate with him in either kind, either for drinking or for fighting, he arose, and, making a low bow, took his leave as follows:
‘“Gentlemen, I bid you all good night; I am glad to find ye so sociable. I’ll take care to come earlier next night, and we’ll have a little more of it, please G—d.”
‘The departure of this bully was a great relief to everyone present, for the restraint caused by his vapouring and insolent behaviour was intolerable. The conversation immediately became general, and it was unanimously agreed that half-a-dozen stout constables should be in waiting the next evening to lay him by the heels and bear him off to the watch-house if he attempted again to intrude. Of some such measure Fitzgerald seemed to be aware, for he never showed himself at “Brookes’s” again, though he boasted everywhere that he had been unanimously chosen a member of the club.’
He lived the life of a man about town, and not a very reputable one, either a bully whom everyone feared and no one liked, until the summer of 1773, when he appeared before the public in a dispute of which there is a long account in a contemporary pamphlet, ‘The Vauxhall Affray, or Macaronies defeated.’ The Rev. Henry Bate (afterwards Sir H. B. Dudley), the proprietor and editor of the Morning Post, was at Vauxhall in company with Mrs. Hartley, the actress, her husband, Mr. Colman, and a friend, when Fitzgerald, accompanied by the Hon. Thomas Lyttleton, Captain Croftes, and some others, all more or less intoxicated, behaved so rudely to Mrs. Hartley that she could stand it no longer, and complained. Parson Bate was a notable ‘bruiser,’ and he took her part, and struck Croftes a blow. Cards were exchanged, and next morning an interview was arranged, at which the clergyman and officer were reconciled, when in bounced Fitzgerald, and declared, in a most insolent manner, that Mr. Bate should give immediate satisfaction to his friend, Captain Miles, whom, he said, the former had grossly insulted the evening before. Miles was introduced, and declared that he had been affronted by the clergyman, and if he did not immediately strip and fight with him, he (Miles) would post him as a coward, and cane him wherever he met him.
Mindful of his cloth, Mr. Bate hesitated; but Miles, saying something about cowardice, the parson threw all consideration of his calling to the winds, a ring was formed, and Captain Miles received the handsomest thrashing he ever had. Soon afterwards it transpired that Captain Miles was Fitzgerald’s own servant, who had been compelled by his master so to behave. Mr. Bate very properly exposed the affair in the Morning Post.