University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
BEN BACKSTAY AT BOGGY QUARTER.

The tide, which affects the Ashley nearly to its sources, was
falling, and it required but moderate effort of the oarsmen to
send the boat down the river. It reached the precincts of the
little town, an hour after midnight; ran into one of the numerous
creeks which perforated the land on every side; and we may
mention, in order to more precision, that she took shelter in one
of those little arms of the river, which, pursuing a sinuous progress,
finally terminated in the neighborhood of the spot now occupied
by the statehouse, on Meeting street. At that early day,
this region was skirted by a marsh along the water, and by a dense
shrubbery upon the higher lands. This afforded ample covering
for so small a craft; and as the station chosen was out of the ordinary
routes of the citizen, and, by reason of strips of marsh and
beds of ooze, was not easy of approach, the chances were that,
except to a casual eye, she might lie in the snug basin which she
occupied for days, or even weeks, without discovery.

We must take for granted, at all events, not only that such was
the opinion of our cruiser, but that it was one well justified by his
experience. He had found this harborage a safe one on previous
occasions, and the boatmen seemed to know what was requisite to
make it so. They took care that the cover should be as complete
as possible. The tall marshes of the creek sufficed for this;
while the channel had always sufficient depth of water to enable
them to emerge into the river without waiting for the tide.

The English settlements of South Carolina were, as we have
said, begun only some twenty years before; at first, at Port Royal,
upon a noble port, famous in colonial chronicle, but where the
very facility of access, and the excellence of the harborage, proved
at that period, because of these very advantages, the greatest discouragements
to the colony. These characteristics, which would
commend such a region now to a commercial people, were then
obstacles to the success of a commercial settlement, planted in
such close propinquity to such powerful maritime enemies as
French and Spaniard. Easily assailed, they were difficult of defence;
and some early experience of harm, very soon after his
arrival at Port Royal, prompted Sayle to remove his infant colony
to the western side of Ashley river.

Here Sayle died. In the hands of his successors the settlement
pined in feeble condition. If, here, they found themselves more
safe from invasion of French or Spaniard, they were yet even
more liable to danger from the redmen by whom they were everywhere
surrounded. The obstacles in the way of their maritime
enemies were, also, obstacles to the approach of their European
friends; and gradually, between 1670 and 1680, the settlers, individuals
first, and groups afterward, passed from the west bank
of the Ashley, or Kiawah, to the west bank of the Cooper, or
Etiwan; until the government, nearly left alone on the west side
of the Ashley, was compelled to follow its people to the east.

After this remove, the colonists received a considerable addition
to their numbers from various sources, and accordingly a new
impulse to their energies. There was, for a time, some such rush
toward the new establishment, as we note daily in present times,
when, under the arts of the speculator, the wanderers from the old
states crowd to the competition for lots, in fancy cities of the western
territories. People came in from North Carolina, and from
other colonies still more remote, to the Ashley river establishment;
and the mother-state, taking an interest in a settlement
which was founded under the patronge of its chief nobility, contributed
the help of government to this new impulse. The protestant
French were sent out, at the cost of the crown, to manufacture
wines, and cultivate the mulberry, and rear the silkworm.
Already the foreign visiter to Carolina had reported “five kinds
of grape as already distinguished,” making good wine, which has

met with British approval at home; — approved by the “best
palates” — by “mouths of wisest censure,” even at this very
early period; leading to the prediction, even then, that “Carolina
will, in a little time, prove a magazine and a staple for wines to
the whole West Indies” — a prediction which we are now disposed
to carry to still farther height of fortune, by substituting
Britain herself for the West Indies. In no very distant time, she
will probably receive her very best wines from the same and contiguous
regions. But our purpose now affords little time for
prophecy. Enough that we show what was the promise in 1684.
Not only does the vine grow here in a native and peculiarly appropriate
soil, but the olive, brought from Fayal, has been planted,
and is flourishing also, to the great delight of the prophetic settlers
and proprietors. These prophecies and prospects, with actual
exports of furs and hides, of lumber, tar, pitch, turpentine, &c.,
to England, and these same commodities, as well as pickled beef
and other marketable productions, to the West India islands, suffice
to show that the track has been blazed out sufficiently to beguile
the discontents and fugitives of Europe, and that they have
begun their march, from various quarters, to the new port of
promise in the west.

But the colony, in spite of sudden influx of people, and prophetic
gleams of promise, is still in its merest infancy. Instead
of twelve hundred people (as Calvert estimates) in Charleston,
then newly christened — being, nearly up to this period, “Oyster-Point
town” — the whole colony scarcely numbers twelve hundred
whites, distributed sparsely about the Ashley and Cooper, the
Edistow, Winyah, Santee, and Savannah; and these, thus scattered,
are enforted in block-houses, having mortal dread of their
red neighbors, who are too powerful still not to inspire fear.
Charleston has its fort also, mounting two big guns; and you may
note in its precincts certain convenient block-houses, designed as
places of refuge. We have shown, besides, that the island, at
the entrance of the harbor, mounts its block-house and its big
gun also. This is meant simply as an alarm gun, to be fired
when mousing pirates, or Frenchmen, or Spaniards, show their
whiskered visages along the coast.

As a thing of course, there is no city. Charleston is but a scattered
hamlet of probably eight hundred inhabitants, all told —

white, black, and equivocal. The grand plan of a city has just
been received from the lord's proprietors, but not yet put in execution.
The town, as far as settled, possesses avenues and paths,
rather than streets. It occupies but a small cantlet of the present
city, lying pretty much within the limits comprehended by Tradd
and Church streets on the south and west, and Bay and Market
streets on the east and north; and these streets have, as yet, received
no names. Above, and in the rear — that is, north and
west — the land is perforated by creeks, ponds, and marshes; an
occasional wigwam marks one of the ridges between, and the
abode of some one of the surliest or poorest of the settlers. There
are, properly, no churches, no marketplaces, no places of amusement,
religion, pleasure, trade; all being individual, though but
little of it, as yet, has been the fruit of individual enterprise. The
community has scarcely begun yet to work together as a whole.

Of course, there are lusts, and vanities, and human passions;
many vices, and perhaps some goodly virtues, scattered broadcast
among the goodly people of the town, even as at the present
day. And of this stuff, we must even make what we can in our
present history. But, also, almost of course, there was a struggling
upward of individuals and circles, just as now; striving feebly,
according to a poor idiotic fashion, after wisdom, virtue, religion,
and money. And these, too, will have their uses in our
sober narrative. These are just the very elements, mixed and
warring, of which all worlds are made; and, whatever moralists
and philosophers may think, it is not for the artist to quarrel with
the very material out of which his proper wares are to be fabricated;
and he surely is not to challenge that wisdom which has
provided him with his proper means of manufacture.

From this rude sketch of the first beginnings of the Palmetto
city, you may easily conjecture many things; — that the dwellings
generally, for example, are very rude; that there is little
real wealth accumulated, whatever the promise in the future; that
the avenues from place to place are not always in travelling condition;
that piles of lumber obstruct the pathways; that you
sometimes get from point to point by means of trees thrown
sprawling over creeks; that “corduroyed” causeways help you over
mudflats; that, on dark nights, and after heavy rains, the streets
are literally impassable, unless with the aid of guides and lanterns;

that a large proportion of the people are quite as rude as street
and dwelling; and that the assortment of character among them
is such as will afford you any variety for selection. Though not
yet infested with drones, the town has a few specimens of the idle
gentleman; chevaliers d'industrie are to be met at certain well-known
reunions; there are two or more proverbial places where
you will meet “white gizzards” and “blacklegs” — sots and
gamesters; already the precincts of Elliott street, then the “Boggy
Quarter,” are known as a sort of Snug-Harbor for sailors; and
among these you will find whiskered bandits who have wrung the
noses of the Spanish dons, and levied heavy assessments upon the
galleons of Panama and Vera Cruz; and lost no credit with the
British world by the exercise of the peculiar virtues of the flibustier.

Well, it is to this very precinct, called “Boggy Quarter,” that
our hero made his way, stepping out from his boat at the head of a
creek which continued its progress sinuously up through portions
of Queen and Broad streets, till it spread out in ooze just in the
wake of Courthouse and Mill's House. Supposing St. Michael's
to have been existing in that day, you might almost have hurled
a pebble from its galleries into the pinnace of our cruiser, where
she lay concealed in marsh and myrtle. And could you now dig
down some twenty feet, you might gather any quantity of this ooze
from beneath the foundations of the Roper hospital, on one hand,
and the Catholic cathedral on the other. Whether church and
hospital are better fortified on a muddy than a sandy foundation,
is a question in morals and masonry which we leave to the dealers
in such precious commodities as souls and stone.

Well, stepping out of his boat on a cypress trunk that spanned
a hundred feet of bog, our captain of the “Happy-go-Lucky”
made his way into the town, pursuing an eastwardly course, a
point or two to the south, which took him, after no long period, to
that Boggy Quarter, Snug-Harbor, Pirate-Hold, which, in more
civilized times, and within the recollection of decent people had
scarcely a higher reputation, under the more innocent appellation
of Elliott street. There may have been twenty dwellings of all
sorts and sizes in and about this precinct, chiefly in that part of it
where Elliott enters Church street. The latter was the more
choice and courtly region. Here dwelt the governor; here, Land-graves

Morton and Marshall, Middleton, and other prominent
men of the colony, maintained a sort of state in their mansions,
and were comfortably lodged according to the standards of the
place. It was the court end of the town, and almost its west end
also. A block-house stood very near the spot occupied by St.
Philip's, and closed up the street in that northern quarter. Another
might be seen at the opposite or southern extremity, which
fell a long ways short of its present handsome terminus in “the
Battery.” And — but we must not suffer details of this sort further
to interfere with the progress of Captain Calvert. We may
have to conduct him and the reader to others before we have
done, but sufficient for the scene should be the action thereof, and
the approach to the event will necessarily imply such description
of the locality as will serve for its proper comprehension. It
contents us now to accompany Captain Calvert to one of the habitations
of Boggy Quarter, Elliott street, a nest of rookeries; two
or three frame houses huddled together around a square fabric of
logs, which in process of time ceased altogether to appear upon
the street, and formed a sort of donjon, or keep, to an otherwise
innocent-looking habitation, of very rude and ungainly structure.
It lay now in perfect silence and utter darkness; doors shut, windows
fast; everything secure without, as becomes the caution of a
householder who well knows that night-hawks range about new
settlements as impudently as about those which have been made
venerable by the knaveries of a thousand years.

Calvert, armed with an oyster-shell, made himself heard against
an upper window.

A head, covered with a red flannel nightcap, was thrust forth.

“Happy” was the single word spoken by the cruiser.

“Go-Lucky” was the countersign, promptly answered, and the
head was instantly withdrawn. In a few moments after the door
was opened, no word was spoken, the captain entered, and the
house was made fast as before.

We must follow the two into the log-house, which was originally
built as a block-house, commanding a creek, and was, by the
way, the very first dwelling raised in the Palmetto city, by that
race whose generations have reared it to its present goodly
dimensions.

Following our guide and companion, we find ourselves in a rude

chamber twenty feet square. A lantern burns dimly upon a pine
table in the centre of the room. There are shelves around the
apartment, on which you see kegs, boxes, jugs; these may contain
pipes, tobacco, bacon, sugar, and Jamaica rum. We need not inquire
more particularly. You see weapons, too, such as were
familiar to the brawny muscles of that day. There are a few cutlasses
which hang against the walls; a blunderbuss rests upon
yonder shelf; you see a pair of huge pistol-butts protruding from
a corner in the same quarter, and a couple of long fowling-pieces
lean up below them. Evidently, a clever squad of flibustiers
might equip themselves for sudden action from this rude armory
in Boggy Quarter.

The host who has welcomed our captain, is clearly one who
has been upon the high seas in some professional capacity. He
yaws about with the natural motion of a sea-dog. He wears the
hard, sun-browned cheeks of Jack Tar; you see that his hair is
twisted all over into “pigtails,” such as constituted, at an early
day, a sort of proper style of marine headdress. A coarse flannel
shirt, red as his nightcap, makes his only upper garment, which a
riband secures at the throat. The bosom is open, the muscular
breast seeming to have burst all such small obstacles as a score of
buttons might present; and his arms are bare, the sleeves rolled
up, showing the maritime tokens, ships, anchors, and other cabalistic
insignia, deeply ingrained with gunpowder, from elbow down
to wrist. Jack is clearly one who, if he has left the profession, is
not ashamed of it. He is probably on furlough only.

He receives the captain with some warmth, but quite as much
reverence, as he draws out a chair of wick er-work from the corner,
brushes it carefully with some garment hastily snatched up,
and places it before the captain.

“Glad to see your honor. Been looking for you now three
weeks. Glad you did n't come before, though; you might have
missed stays getting out or in; we 've had a smart showing of
king's ships on the station. But Belcher told your honor all!”

“Yes; but king's cruisers have n't troubled us much, Ben, up
to this time. What makes you all so scary about them now?”

“Why, for that matter, sir, so long as you 're in the `Happy-go-Lucky,'
I do n't see as how kings' ships could do you hurt at any
time. She 's got the heels of the best of them; and I know you

can fling a shot just as close as the best gunner that ever sighted
a Long Tom. But it 's here, when you git into port, that the breakers
git worst. That 's the say now. There 's new orders come
out from council that do n't suffer any more fair trading.”

“Well, Ben, we 've been used to orders from council for a long
time already: and these gave us no great concern, so long as we
had staunch British hearts, here and about, to give cheer at the
smashing of a Spaniard's deadlights.”

“That 's true, your honor; but they say, now, there 's a change
in the great folks here. There 's to be better pay to keep 'em
vartuous.”

“Not such good pay as ours, I fancy.”

“Well, I should think not, your honor; but there 's no telling,
when men begin to git vartuous, what pay will satisfy them; and
when they 're a-gitting religious, as well as vartuous, they 're monstrous
strong in their ixpectations.”

“But are there any among our friends who are thus raising
their prices to the virtuous and religious standard?”

“Why, yes, sir; it 's a sort of fight now twixt the puritans and
the cavaliers, I 'm a thinking, which shall git the first places in
heaven. The cavaliers did n't always make a business of it; did n't
set up for it; wa' n't no ways ambitious; but now that they see
that the puritans are a-gitting on so well, they sort o' begrudges
them the advantage; and tho' they drinks the Jamaica out of a
silver mug, jist as they always did afore, yet they 've learned to
look over the cup, into heaven, as I may say, jist to see, at least, if
they can 't make a reckoning for the promised land. The puritans,
they sticks to the pewter mug, and they says just as long a prayer
over their sinnings as they ever did; but there 's signs enough in the
land that they only wants a chance to snatch the silver mug from
the hands of the cavaliers, and go to hell, by the way of heaven,
if it 's only to get a look at the country passing. Landgrave Morton's
a getting religious, and Landgrave Bill Owen, he's working
hard for it; and Colonel Rafe Marshall, and a few more of our
big men in authority; but whether it 's a working for hell or
heaven, there 's no telling, in the short reckoning we 're allowed
here. Your man here, Joe Sylvester, that 's been such a fast trader,
and if you believes him, sich a friend of yourn, he 's a sort of pillar
of fire; he calls himself so — a pillar of fire by night, and of

cloud by day; and it 's amazing to see how he fattens on his vartues
and religion. He weighs, I 'm thinking, a full forty pounds
more than he did when you was here afore, and he 's thriving
worse than ever in worldly goods.”

“Does he preach?” This was spoken with a sort of holy
horror.

“He hardly does nothing else. He 's at the conventicles, who
but he, as proud as the proudest for humility. But the preaching
brings in the profit.”

“Then I must beware of him.”

“Better,” said the other, dryly; “for though he 's willing, no
doubt, to carry on the bad business, jist as before, yet he 'll be
always asking himself what speculation he can make out of God,
jist by giving up all the secrets of the devil. You 'll jist have to
calculate for him beforehand, as to the time when he can drive a
trade for your neck in the halter, with the saints and Pharisees.”

“Why, Ben, you speak in such goodly phrase, that I am half
inclined to suspect you of a part in the service of the puritans.”

“And you 've got reason, your honor. Soon as I found out
that Joe Sylvester had got religion and was turned preacher, I
regilarly attended sarvice, p'rticlarly if I knowed he was gwine to
preach; for when a man 's a rogue, or I thinks him so, to find out,
I jist wants to see the white of his eye, and to hear how he brings
out his sentiments. Ef he 's slow, I knows he 's calkilating and a
rogue; for a new convart, in his old age, is bound to be fast, if
he's honest; and he won't think of rolling up his eyes when, all
the time, he 's thinking of s'arching you to the very soul, through
your daylights.”

“Why, Ben, you 're a philosopher.”

“No, your honor, only a sailor, and a great rogue of a sinner;
but I can 't h'ist false colors, your honor — except in the lawful
sarvice of religion and aginst the Spaniards; and that 's a part of
good seamanship in privateer life. When I 'm gwine to turn
against your honor, I'll show you a flag, and give you fair warning
to stand off.”

“What you tell me of Sylvester certainly needs some watchfulness;
but you say nothing of the governor. Has he been
imbibing religion also? Is he really disposed to show himself
zealous under these new orders of council?”

“Not a bit of it, your honor, only as he 's watched by them
that 's got it in charge to see after him.”

“Ah! is he suspected?”

“I 'm a thinking that 's his difficulty, sir. There 's a new council,
there 's new men, and you know what the song says —

There 's new masters come out for the governor as well as smaller
people. As I tell ye, there 's Landgrave Morton, who 's got active
agin of late, and talks strong agin piracy, as he calls it;
though, when you will make a British sailor, or British folk generally,
believe that there is any law agin licking the Spaniards
when you kin, and emptying their galleons, I shall think the day
of judgment is mighty close upon our quarters. It 's all lee-shore
and no water. Then there 's Mr. Arthur Middleton, he sings to
the same tune with Morton; and worse than all, there 's a new
cassique one Major Edward Berkeley—”

“Ah! Well?”

“He 's got something of a special commission, they say, for
overhauling all cargoes, whether silks or silver of the Spaniards,
or Injin slaves for the West Indies. He 's to wind up both them
trades if he kin do it, and they say he carries a pretty high hand
with the governor. It 's the watch they keeps on him, these
three, that 's making him squeamish; otherwise, I reckon, he 'd
show jist as blind an eye, now, to the running of a cargo as we
knows he did last September, when you brought in that fine cargo
of the Santa Maria — and a better chance of pretty things never
come to this market, and a pretty trade we drove of it.”

“Well, I must see the governor and Sylvester both, Ben.”

“Ef must is the word, captain, then you 'll keep close hauled on
the wind, ready for any weather. Sylvester's a rogue — about
the worst, since he 's h'isted the flag of religion. He 'll do the
thing secret, but you 'll jist be sure never to let him guess when
all the cargo 's out. Keep him to the guess that there 's a good
deal more to come. In the matter of Governor Quarry, you 'll
have to see him to himself. You can 't walk the town with him
now, arm-in-arm, as you did a year ago. But I kin git you into
his quarters, and nobody the wiser; and if we can blink the moon
we kin run the cargo, and nobody to take offence. As for the

officers, they might as well be owls for what they see, and crows
for all the fighting they'll do. But you must fight shy of the
landgraves and cassiques — Morton and Berkeley, and Middleton;
they 're a most too scrup'lous for safety, 'less we manage
with blankets.”

“That we can do. The ship 's up the river.”

“There 's the danger, ef a king's ship should be coming round.
Do n't for the whole cargo let Joe Sylvester know where the
beauty lies.”

“No! surely not; or the governor either.'

“Should they find out, they 'd have a king's cruiser upon you
before you could say `Jack Robinson;' and where would you be,
should she run up the river after you?”

“They 'd find us prepared, Ben. They can hardly find a king's
ship strong enough, single-handed, to cripple the `Happy-go-Lucky;'
and I shall take care they do not catch us napping.
How many men can you get together at the signal?”

“Enough for camels.” (Burden-bearers.)

“The boat will be at Shell bluff when they come. You shall
have the signals beforehand. If we have reason to change the
ground, you shall know. I will see you again by daylight, when
we must get into the governor's quarters without stirring his sentries.
I must go now and see Sylvester.”

“Why should he have a hand in the job at all?”

“Only to shut his mouth. He would be sure to get from some
of your people that you had camels at work—”

“Maybe so, but—”

“I shall assign him the Hobcaw landing, bringing the boat
round. He shall be taught to believe that the vessel lies below,
behind the island.”

“He 'll put a watch on you.”

“First, you shall put a watch on him, and so muzzle his watch,
if you have to ship him. But we must venture something.”

“Well, I reckon so.”

“This Major Berkeley, Ben — this new-comer, cassique or
what d' ye call him — have you seen him? What sort of person
is he?”

“Well, sir, yes; and he 's a much of a man, I tell you, judging
by his looks. He 's about your height and heft; a leetle fuller

round about the girdle; a leetle fuller in the face, I think, and he
wears no sign of a brush. I should think him about thirty-five
or thereabouts. He 's got grayish eyes, and a good roof to his
head, and he carries himself rather grand and stiff; and you kin
see he means something, and is somebody. I do n't reckon him a
person to be free and familiar, but you see he 's quite a gentleman
born. And so they say he is; some of the talk makes him out to
be a nevy or cousin to Sir John Barkeley, one of the lords proprietors,
you know.”

Calvert heard this description in silence. When it was finished
he rose and walked the apartment for a few minutes without
speaking. Ben Backstay rose at the same time, drew forth a jug,
placed pitcher and tumbler upon the table, and got out a silver
bowl heaped with loaf sugar.

“Something after the talk, your honor?”

Without answering, Calvert drew nigh the table, poured out a
moderate stoup of the Jamaica, and, dashing it with water, drank
it off, resuming his silent progress around the apartment. Ben
Backstay just as silently followed his example in the matter of the
Jamaica. Then, after a brief pause, seemingly accorded to his
superior's humor, Ben Backstay ventured to intrude upon it:—

“I 've been thinking, your honor, that, considering the squeamishness
of the governor, and the strict watch of the council, and
the vartuous inclinations of Sylvester, that 't would be better if we
did n't use my camels or hisn at all in running the cargo.”

“How can we do it otherwise?”

“Let the crew shoulder the cargo, and nobody else, and then
one man kin receive it. Governor and council, and camels, and
the vartuous Joe, need n't know nothing about it, or even guess
that sich a witch as the `Happy-go-Lucky' had ever been within
soundings for a month of Sundays. You 've got a full complemen
of men for fighting, as well as working the vessel; and when
they 've neither fighting nor working, why should n't they take a
take a hand at camelling?”

“I 've thought of it, Ben, but dare not trust 'em. We've got
some doubtful fellows aboardship this cruise, and I 've reason to
suspect mischief a-brewing even now, on the part of those whom,
for the present, I am yet compelled to trust. If I bring the doubtful
fellows down to this work, they would be surrounded here by

temptations to betray me. If I brought the trustworthy, I should
leave the ship to the mercy of the rest, who would be then encouraged
to attempts which they will hardly venture on as yet.
The case is one of embarrassments all round, and I see no process
but the one that we have agreed upon. Wind serving, I may
may make midnight runs, down and up, of the vessel herself, and
so empty cargo the sooner. But, if there should seem to be any
skylarking along our lines of watch, you have only to make the
old signal, and we can caché in the woods, find a storehouse in the
thickets of Accabee, as we did once before; you remember?”

“You know, captain, it 's a'most time for the Injins to be coming
down to the salts. Parties were in town yesterday, and there 's a
report that they 're gwine to be troublesome. Them Westos, and
Stonos, and Savannas, that gin us such trouble in Governor West's
time, they 're a-waking up agin. You may look to find painted
faces about Accabee pretty soon now, any how, as the fishing season
is begun.”

“We must risk the redmen, keeping our watch as close as possible.
If we meet with any, we must only bribe and send 'em off.”

“Jamaica 'll do it, sir. Ef you kin only show 'em a pipe of
that good stuff somewhere along the Santee, they 'll be off at the
long trot before daylight. But, if you mean to see Joe Sylvester
and the governor both to-night, captain, it 's time to be moving.”

“No!” said the other, abruptly. “I have thought better of it.
I will see neither of them to-night. We will run a boat-load, at
least, before they shall know of my presence. And, whether I
suffer Sylvester to know at all, will depend upon the conclusion I
come to after I sleep on it. We have some very valuable articles
in the cargo, upon which there need be no black mail paid to anybody
but yourself, Ben. These I will have at the long cypress at
midnight, to-morrow. For these I can bring a sufficient force of
my own sea-dogs — the most trusty — for camelling.”

“Best way that, sir.”

“We 'll see how it works. After that I can see the governor
or Sylvester — one, both, or neither, as I please.”

And so they parted.