The departure of Fitzgerald from New York was commended by his brother officers, but his long absence from the ship could not be satisfactorily accounted for, and he was dismissed by the navy department. Enquiries had been made in every section of the country for him by his almost distracted father; and at last a reward was offered in the newspapers for any information concerning him. The pilot who had left him wounded with the pirates, now came forward, and related the circumstances under which he and Fitzgerald had parted company. Fitzgerald’s father, an aged man of great wealth, and who had no other child to attract his love, now insisted upon Colonel Howard’s proceeding to ransom his son. Mary, whose health was rapidly declining, was directed by her physician to perform a sea voyage, and thus father and daughter were induced to brave the dangers of that sea, whose waves teemed with freebooters, and whose isles flashed with cutlasses and boarding-pikes.
The Rosalie had agreed, for a great sum of money, to land the Howards at New Providence: and then proceed on to New Orleans, her port of final destination. Once landed, they were to trust to opportunity for the means of transportation to their native land.
The norther brought them together as before related; and the warring elements of nature produced a reconciliation between the lovers.
Fitzgerald, when Mary had ceased speaking, raised his head. He had been singularly agitated during her narrative; he now calmly opened his soul to her. He kept nothing back; the catalogue of offences detailed to her was an exact copy of the dark list that had been registered against his name above. Twice she started as though an adder had stung her; but when he informed her that his hand had never been stained with blood; and that he had never appropriated to himself a dollar of the ill-gotten wealth, she breathed freer, and as he concluded, a smile lit up her heavenly countenance.
“Maurice,” said she, “I believe you—you have made a false move in life: and I have been the innocent cause of it. It is not too late to repair it—you must leave this bloody craft at the first port you make—the busy times—the deeds of blood—the privateering and the blustering of war will cover all, and in our little village we can peacefully linger out our lives, and rejoice that the day of our sorrow is over.”
Colonel Howard now entered the cabin. He approved of the plan suggested, and Fitzgerald joyfully consented to its being carried into execution.
The next day the brig made the land. The passengers of the foundered ship were immediately sent on shore, with the exception of Colonel Howard and his daughter; and upon the return of the last boat a letter of thanks, signed by the passengers, with a draft for ten thousand dollars, was handed to Fitzgerald.
He immediately sent an officer in disguise to New Orleans to get the money; and at twelve o’clock, accompanied by the Howards, left the King Fisher. He had left a letter in his signal book to the next in command, surrendering up the brig, renouncing the service of the bucaniers, and giving his portion of the spoils to the crew. His necessary clothing he had packed with Colonel Howard’s. Upon reaching the shore, he bade the officer of the boat to inform the second in command that he should be absent for a few days, and that if he found it necessary to move his berth he would find instructions for his guidance in his signal book. A house was near at hand, the little party soon changed their apparel, and procuring a conveyance, proceeded to a little village on the other side of the island, whence in a fast sailing clipper they stretched over to Pensacola. Having shaved off his ferocious whiskers and his long soap-locks, which gave him the appearance of a nondescript animal, somewhere between a man and a monkey, he dressed himself in the sober attire of a citizen of this glorious republic, and in company with his kind uncle and much loved cousin, proceeded by land to Belleview.
On the arrival of the party at the homestead, the fortunate Fitzgerald became the husband of the true-hearted Mary; and old Fitzgerald and Colonel Howard danced a hop waltz together, gout and all, on the occasion. The wedding broke up at a late hour, and old Fitzgerald went to bed tipsy, very much to the scandal of a total abstinence society, of which he was an honorary member.
Fitzgerald and his domestic wife settled down upon the homestead, and in a few months Colonel Howard and Major Fitzgerald were called to the dread muster of the dead.