Eighteenth Century Waifs

‘This was a poser for the poor admiral, who sat silent for a few seconds amidst the half-suppressed titter of the members. At length, joining in the laugh against himself, he exclaimed,

‘“Upon my soul, a pleasant job I’ve got into! D – n the fellow! No matter! I won’t go. Let the waiter tell him that there was one black ball, and that his name must be put up again if he wishes it.”

‘This plan appeared so judicious that all concurred in its propriety. Accordingly the waiter was a few minutes after despatched on the mission.

‘In the meantime Mr. Fitzgerald showed evident symptoms of impatience at being kept so long from his “dear friends” above stairs, and frequently rang the bell to know the state of the poll. On the first occasion he thus addressed the waiter who answered his summons:

‘“Come here, my tight little fellow. Do you know if I am chose yet?”

‘“I really can’t say, sir,” replied the young man, “but I’ll see.”

‘“There’s a nice little man; be quick, d’ye see, and I’ll give ye sixpence when ye come with the good news.”

‘Away went the little man; but he was in no hurry to come back, for he as well as his fellows was sufficiently aware of Fitzgerald’s violent temper, and wished to come in contact with him as seldom as possible.

‘The bell rang again, and to another waiter the impatient candidate put the same question:

‘“Am I chose yet, waither?”

‘“The balloting is not over yet, sir,” replied the man.

‘“Not over yet!” exclaimed Fitzgerald. “But, sure, there is no use of balloting at all when my dear friends are all unanimous for me to come in. Run, my man, and let me know how they are getting on.”

‘After the lapse of another quarter-of-an-hour, the bell was rung so violently as to produce a contest among the poor servants, as to whose turn it was to visit the lion in his den! and Mr. Brookes, seeing no alternative but resolution, took the message from the waiter, who was descending the staircase, and boldly entered the room with a coffee equipage in his hand.

‘“Did you call for coffee, sir?”

‘“D – n your coffee, sur! and you too,” answered Mr. Fitzgerald, in a voice which made the host’s blood curdle in his veins – “I want to know, sur, and that without a moment’s delay, sur, if I am chose yet.”

‘“Oh, sir!” replied Mr. Brookes, who trembled from head to foot, but attempted to smile away the appearance of fear, “I beg your pardon, sir; but I was just coming to announce to you, sir, with Admiral Stewart’s compliments, sir, that unfortunately there was one black ball in the box, sir; and, consequently, by the rules of the club, sir, no candidate can be admitted without a new election, sir; which cannot take place, by the standing regulations of the club, sir, until one month from this time, sir!”

‘During this address Fitzgerald’s irascibility appeared to undergo considerable mollification; and, at its conclusion, the terrified landlord was not a little surprised and pleased to find his guest shake him by the hand, which he squeezed heartily between his own two, saying,

‘“My dear Mr. Brookes, I’m chose; and I give ye much joy: for I’ll warrant ye’ll find me the best customer in your house! But there must be a small matter of mistake in my election; and, as I should not wish to be so ungenteel as to take my sate among my dear friends above-stairs, until that mistake is duly rectified, you’ll just step up and make my compliments to the gentlemen, and say, as it is only a mistake of one black ball, they will be so good as to waive all ceremony on my account, and proceed to re-elect their humble servant without any more delay at all; so now, my dear Mr. Brookes, you may put down the coffee, and I’ll be drinking it whilst the new election is going on!”

‘Away went Mr. Brookes, glad enough to escape with whole bones, for this time at least. On announcing the purport of his errand to the assembly above-stairs, many of the members were panic-struck, for they clearly foresaw that some disagreeable circumstance was likely to be the finale of the farce they had been playing. Mr. Brookes stood silent for some minutes, waiting for an answer, whilst several of the members whispered, and laughed, in groups, at the ludicrous figure which they all cut. At length the Earl of March (afterwards Duke of Queensbury) said aloud,

‘“Try the effect of two black balls; d – n his Irish impudence; if two balls don’t take effect upon him, I don’t know what will.” This proposition met with unanimous approbation, and Mr. Brookes was ordered to communicate accordingly.

‘On re-entering the waiting-room, Mr. Fitzgerald rose hastily from his chair, and, seizing him by the hand, eagerly inquired,

‘“Have they elected me right now, Mr. Brookes?”

‘“I hope no offence, Mr. Fitzgerald,” said the landlord, “but I am sorry to inform you that the result of the second balloting is – that two black balls were dropped in, sir.”

‘“By J – s, then,” exclaimed Fitzgerald, “there’s now two mistakes instead of one. Go back, my dear friend, and tell the honourable members that it is a very uncivil thing to keep a gentleman waiting below-stairs, with no one to keep him company but himself, whilst they are enjoying themselves with their champagne, and their cards, and their Tokay, up above. Tell them to try again, and I hope they will have better luck this time, and make no more mistakes, because it’s getting late, and I won’t be chose to-night at all. So now, Mr. Brookes, be off with yourself, and lave the door open till I see what despatch you make.”’

Away went Mr. Brookes for the last time. On announcing his unwelcome errand, everyone saw that palliative measures only prolonged the dilemma: and General Fitzpatrick proposed that Brookes should tell him: “His cause was hopeless, for that he was black-balled all over from head to foot, and it was hoped by all the members that Mr. Fitzgerald would not persist in thrusting himself into society where his company was declined.”

‘This message, it was generally believed, would prove a sickener, as it certainly would have done to any other candidate under similar circumstances. Not so, however, to Fitzgerald, who no sooner heard the purport of it, than he exclaimed,

‘“Oh, I perceive it is a mistake altogether, Mr. Brookes, and I must see to the rectifying of it myself; there’s nothing like dealing with principals, and so I’ll step up at once, and put the thing to rights, without any more unnecessary delay.”

‘In spite of Mr. Brookes’s remonstrance that his entrance into the club-room was against all rule and etiquette, Fitzgerald found his way up-stairs, threatening to throw the landlord over the bannisters for endeavouring to stop him. He entered the room without any further ceremony than a bow, saying to the members, who indignantly rose up at this most unexpected intrusion,

‘“Your servant, gentlemen! I beg ye will be sated.” Walking up to the fire-place, he thus addressed Admiral Stewart: “So, my dear admiral, Mr. Brookes informs me that I have been elected three times.”

‘“You have been balloted for, Mr. Fitzgerald, but I am sorry to say you have not been chosen,” said Stewart.

‘“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.

We next hear of him engaged in a duel with Captain Scawen of the Guards, which was fought at Lille, and twice he fired before his adversary. Luckily he missed him, and the second time the captain, having fired in the air, the affair ended.

He was concerned in another duel, which made some stir at the time (1775). There was a young fellow named Walker, the son of a plumber and painter, whose father left him a large fortune, and Daisy Walker, as he was called, became a cornet in Burgoyne’s Light Dragoons. His fortune soon went in gambling, and he had to retire from the service, whilst his guardians looked into his affairs. At that time Fitzgerald held a bill of his for three thousand pounds, and pressed for payment. It was ultimately compromised, and, on receipt of five hundred pounds, he gave up the bill. Subsequently Daisy Walker made some lucky bets, and Fitzgerald at once became clamourous for payment of two thousand five hundred pounds. Walker denied his liability, saying the matter was settled by the payment of five hundred pounds and the return of the bill; but this was not Fitzgerald’s view of the matter, and he dunned young Walker whenever he met him, and at last, at Ascot races, he cut him across the face with his cane.

Of course, in those days, there could be but one course to be taken, and a challenge was sent, and accepted. Walker, as being the insulted party, should fire first. They duly met, and the distance was fixed at ten paces, but the second who measured the ground took such strides that it was virtually twelve paces. Walker fired, and his antagonist was unhurt. Fitzgerald, who had the whole etiquette of the duello at his finger’s ends, then stepped forward and apologised for having struck Walker – which apology was accepted. But, as soon as this ceremony was finished, Fitzgerald again began dunning for his £2,500, and, when he was told that it was not owing, he prepared to take his shot, offering to bet £1,000 that he hit his adversary. The pistol missed fire, and he calmly chipped the flint, reiterating his offer to bet. He fired, and the ball grazed Walker in the arm just below the shoulder, but did not wound him, and they left the field. Subsequently, however, Fitzgerald declared that Walker was ‘papered,’ i. e., protected in some way, and published an account of the duel in a pamphlet, addressed to the Jockey Club. To this Walker replied, and Fitzgerald followed up with another pamphlet, in which he says: —

‘I should most certainly have fixed it at six instead of ten paces. My predilection for that admeasurement of ground is founded upon the strictest principles of humanity. For I know, from trials successively repeated, twenty times one after the other, I can, at that distance, hit any part of the human body to a line, which, possibly you may know, is only the twelfth part of an inch.’

And he again refers to his pistol-practice. ‘So, then, you had one Surtout on; are you certain you had not half-a-dozen? If no more than one Surtout, pray how many coats and waistcoats? You give us no account of your under-garments. I ask these questions, Sir, because, after reading your pamphlet, I took the same pistol, charged it with the same quantity of powder, used a bullet cast in the same mould, measured out twelve good paces with a yard wand, and then fired at a thick stick, which I had previously covered over with two waistcoats lined, one coat lined, and one double-milled drab Surtout. What think you, Sir, was the result? Why, Sir, the ball penetrated through the Surtout, the coat, two waistcoats, and lodged itself an inch deep in the stick. There is nothing like experimental philosophy for a fair proof, it beats your ipse dixits all halloo. You see how ingeniously I pass away my private hours – I am always hard at study.’

This affair made London too hot for him, and he went over to France with an old brother officer named Baggs, and they picked up a living by horse-racing and gambling – which led to a duel between the two, for Baggs had fleeced a young Englishman named Sandford, and there was a quarrel as to the division of the spoil, which ended in Fitzgerald drawing his gloves across Baggs’ face, and Baggs returning the compliment by dashing his hat in his partner’s face. Of course the outcome of this was a duel, which is graphically described by Hamilton Rowan in his ‘Autobiography.’

‘They fired together, and were in the act of levelling their second pistols, when Baggs fell on his side, saying,

‘“Sir, I am wounded.”

‘“But you are not dead!” said Fitzgerald.

‘At the same moment he discharged his second pistol at his fallen antagonist.