University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
SOMETHING OF THE POLITICIAN.

Governor Robert Quarry, of whom our Carolina chronicles
speak in very meagre phraseology, was a courtier; had a fine
person — one of the necessities of the courtier — a good face, a
graceful, insinuating manner, and certain accomplishments of mind
and training, which had conducted him to a certain degree of
success in worldly acquisitions. It was through his merits, as a
courtier, that he had reached the governorship of the infant colony
of South Carolina, a remote and feeble settlement on the borders
of a heathen country, and in near proximity to the Spaniards of
Florida, always the relentless enemies of the English. Such a
position required other abilities than those of the simple courtier;
but competence to office was no more the requisite in those
days than in ours; and the chief merit in office then, as the chief
object in its pursuit, was the capacity to fatten fast upon fortune,
and to make as rapid stretches as possible toward its attainment.
No long time was allowed to anybody; the tenure of office being
usually too short, in those periods, to suffer the politician to dilly-dally
with opportunity. He had to feather his nest as rapidly as
any other bird of passage. Whether the courtier before us was
properly doing his duty to himself, we shall perhaps see as we
proceed. In what concerns his character, we prefer to let Governor
Quarry speak for himself.

His person, we have said, was good; his manners those of a courtier;
easy, deliberate; rather staid, perhaps — rather too courtly,
as was the etiquette in those days — too nice and mincing, but
ever according to the rules. As you see him now, in a private
chamber of his own dwelling (low down in Church street), habited
“point device,” with a pleasant half smile upon his lips, and
that partly stooping attitude which is so natural to a tall man, and
so proper in a courtier; he shows well enough. We see that he
would show well in the ballroom; at a royal levée; in any situation
which makes ease of deportment, and flexibility of movement,
and a gentle self-complaisance, essential elements of the morale in
society.

But, showing well as a courtier, he shows at disadvantage in
contrast with the Herculean proportions, and the lofty freedom,
the manly, almost brusque carriage, the brave simplicity and dignity,
of the rover, Calvert, captain of the “Happy-go-Lucky,”
whom we find closeted with him at this moment.

The costume of our rover has undergone some changes since
we made his acquaintance. He, too, recognises the necessity of a
more courtier-like, a more pacific appearance. Accordingly, he
figures in a rich black suit, such as was worn by the gentlemen of
the day. He has great ruffles at his shirt bosom and wrists. He
wears knee-breeches and silk stockings. He carries a rapier at
his side. His hat is steeple-crowned, but of felt or beaver, no
longer of straw or Panama. And, though it may lessen his freedom
of carriage, we are constrained to admit that the costume of
“King Charles's cavaliers,” sets off his fine figure to advantage.
He has, we may mention here, been accustomed to appear in it,
and in high places

How he has found his way into the private apartments of the
governor of Carolina, we may easily conjecture from previous
portions of this history. He has probably been conducted thither
by Backstay, and in secresy, under cover of the night. He is now,
at all events, an inmate of the governor's mansion; and that governor
holds in his escritoire an order from the English lords in
council for his arrest and execution — “short shrift and sudden
cord” — as a pirate of the high seas!

Calvert has reason to suspect the fact. The governor has not
yet permitted him to know it. But he knows the governor, and

finds his securities in the character of the man, rather than the
commission of the official.

That he suspects, has the effect of lifting his proportions.
There is a lofty superiority in his manner. His eye searches
keenly into that of the governor for the secret of his soul. You
are not to suppose our rover a pirate, in our ordinary sense of the
character, because the British government has declared him so.
The British government has been more of a pirate than its officials.
He has had a British commission for his authority, issued
at a time when such commissions were frequent enough; when
the British people welcomed every injury done to Spain, or
France, as good service to the nation; and the then monarch of
England, himself, has knighted the most brutal of all the piratical
captains who ever preyed upon Spanish property, life, and
commerce.

“You do not tell me all, Governor Quarry,” said our captain,
quite abruptly; “but I can conjecture what you conceal. You
hold a commission for arresting me. Speak out, sir, like a man,
and let us understand each other at the outset.”

“The fact is, my dear captain, that affair of the `Donna Maria
del Occidente' has caused a precious stir at court. It was a terrible
affair, you will admit. A Spanish man-of-war sunk, her
captain slain, her crew cut to pieces!”

“It was a fair fight; she was of superior size and mettle, and
fired the first gun, the flag of England all the while flying at our
masthead. There was no slaughter save what took place in
actual battle.”

“Very true. I believe it all. But it happened, unfortunately,
that Don Jose de—something—”

“Salvador,” interposed the captain.

“Yes, Salvador, her commander, who fell under your own cutlass,
proves to have been the nephew to the Spanish embassador
at our court, and he has been kicking up the very devil on the
subject; and, just at this time, it is the policy of our sovereign to
maintain a good understanding with the court of Spain.”

“Policy! — Ay! policy! The rogue's argument always. But
no policy can be proper to the English nation, at the expense of
English honor.”

“`Ah! my friend” — with a shrug of the shoulder, which would

have been recognised as quite courtly even at Versailles — “this
national honor is very good capital in a speech at the opening of
parliament, but must not be allowed to interfere with those nice
little arrangements which are found to be essential to individual
interests. The king, like the lords, and even such poor commoners
and courtiers as ourselves, needs sometimes to make a waiver
of the national credit for the better keeping of his own.”

“Ay, he would sell the nation, as he sold Dunkirk. Oh, for a
year of old Oliver once more!”

“Fie! fie! my dear fellow — this is rank heresy and treason!
This will never do. Remember, if only in regard to my honor,
that I am the king's official, though under the creation only of the
lords-proprietors. I do not object to your treasonable sentiments
at all. Indulge them if you please. But, spare my ears! I
must not hear. We are good friends to-day, but what we shall be
to-morrow is another matter; and I will not suffer my neck to be
perilled with a halter because you have a loose sort of eloquence
in respect to the rights of the crown.”

The rover uttered an exclamation of impatience, and strode the
floor, as if to subdue a still further expression of offence. Then
turning quickly about, he said:—

“But you do not answer my question, Governor Quarry.”

“Which of them, captain? If I remember rightly, you have
done me the honor to propound several.”

“Pshaw! there was but one. Have you any authority for my
arrest?”

The governor smiled pleasantly, went to his escritoir, opened it,
and handed our rover a heavy piece of parchment. He read the
title as he handed the instrument to the rover —

“For the better putting down of piracy in the colonies, &c.”

Seals and signatures attested the validity of the document.
Captain Calvert gave it but a glance, then threw it back to the
official.

“Well, you have your order, Governor Quarry; and — I am
here!”

And Calvert folded his arms upon his bosom, and planted himself
before the governor.

“May be so, captain. But, unless you proclaim it from the
housetops, I am not to know that you are here. To me you do

not appear a pirate. I do not know you as the person mentioned
in this instrument.”

“You know that I am no pirate; that, for all that I have done,
I have a commission under the very sanction of those by whom
that paper has been signed. I am willing to be tried for the
offences alleged against me. I will confront kings, lords, and commons,
equally, in the assertion of my honor.”

“My dear captain, hear to reason. Such a proceeding would
involve a very great scandal. The treaty with Spain, which we
are all bound to respect as the law of the land, is of date anterior
to your commission. That treaty declares all those to be pirates
who prey upon Spanish commerce or dominion in America.”

“Of that treaty,” replied our sturdy rover, “I knew not a syllable.
I only knew that the people of England regarded the
power and the people of Spain as enemies of man and God —
of all things and objects which are held sacred and becoming.
They were the enemies of nations. They were outlawed by our
nation. If that treaty was on record when my commission was
given to me, then kings, and lords-proprietors, and governors,
were the criminals. I am none. Shall I passively submit to be
the scapegoat for such rogues as these?”

“Patiently, my dear captain, and hear me for a moment. Do
you not see that the same policy which conferred your commission,
while that treaty was in existence, is still present to maintain
you in your course, provided you do not force yourself upon
the notice of your judges. The governor, who is not made to
see you, while the world is looking on, has no motive for your
arrest. He need not suppose for a moment that you are within
his jurisdiction.”

“But this will not suit me, Governor Quarry. I have no wish
to violate law or treaty; have no desire to screen my deeds from
the world's examination. I have fought with Frenchman and
Spaniard — would fight with them to the crack of doom — even
as Drake and Cavendish did, and glory in the danger; but only
while my country claps hands and looks on applaudingly. If we
are to be sold to Frenchman or Spaniard, I wash my hands of
the business. I have no wish to fight merely on sufferance, and
to be seized and hung at the caprice of a treacherous court.”

“Do not be rash, my dear captain. The treacheries of court

are like those of love and lovers. They are supposed to plead
their own excuse, by reason of their pleasantries. And yours is
a very pretty business, captain, that somewhat compensates for
all its risks. A very pretty business, I assure you.”

“You have some reason to say so, Governor Quarry. By the
way, there are a thousand pieces of eight [dollars] in yonder canvass-sack,
which I brought hither for you.”

“Of course, my dear captain, I can not accept them! That
would be bribery. You are entirely too direct in your approaches,
sapping human virtue: as direct as if assaulting the Spaniard.
You are no courtier, captain.”

“Thank God for it!”

“That is as you please. It is, after all, a mere matter of taste.
Now, were I, by simple accident, unassisted, to happen upon that
sack, with a thousand pieces of eight — nay, were it two thousand
— it would hardly occasion any difference; were I to find it,
I say, in a corner of my chamber, I should possibly, at first, wonder
whence it came; but, having no information on the subject, I
should, after a while, come to the conclusion that it was some odd
sum that I had set aside for a special purpose, and forgotten in
the press of other affairs. The novelty of such a discovery would
not diminish the satisfaction that I should feel on the occasion.
It would only provoke certain reflections upon the singular indifference
which courtiers, particularly when in official station, feel
in respect to money! How little do we value, how we waste,
spend, consume it, utterly regardless of the source of supply!
It is, certainly, a very profligate life, this of the courtier and
official.”

“As you please. Find it when you please. Enough that the
sack lies in your chamber. You will be so good as to appropriate
it; suppose that you are fortunate in unexpected supplies — and
that I have not spoken!”

“Exactly. You are quick in idea. It is refreshing to think
that one is always in the way of discovery; that there are guardian
genii, ever watchful, with lamp and ring, so that we shall
happen, every now and then, upon unsunned treasures. And
now, let me tell you, my dear captain, that you will simply need
to pursue your walks, while in Carolina, with the same circumspection
which you have thus far practised. You need not show

yourself unnecessarily about town. You will not expect our recognition,
unless you specially force yourself upon our official memories.
Our people do not so far sympathize with French or
Spaniard as to approve of treaties which cut off a profitable trade;
and Heaven forbid that I should quarrel with a fortune that lays
a sack of Spanish dollars occasionally in a corner of my chamber.”

“We understand each other, governor. So far, so good! But,
under existing conditions, it will be hardly wise or proper for me
to pursue a vocation which has been put under the ban of law.
It is quite enough of peril to face death at the mouth of Spanish
cannon. To confront him again at the hands of my own people,
and through the agency of a public executioner, is a prospect
which the bravest man may well refuse to contemplate. This is
probably the last of the cruises that the `Happy-go-Lucky' will
make — at least under her present commander.”

“What! the gallant Captain Calvert, the terror of the Spanish
seas and dons, frightened by false fires? Why, my dear fellow,
do you not see that this treaty is all a sham — a pretence — dust
in the eyes of Europe? Here, I tell you, that patriotism which
takes the Spaniard by the beard is the very first of virtues!”

“Yet, you caution me how I show myself in the streets.”

“Oh! we have to keep up appearances. But this means nothing;
all we insist upon is modesty. No one is required to publish
his virtues unnecessarily. With this forbearance on your part,
no one asks whence the broad gold pieces come which finally find
their way into the pockets of the citizen. We hate the Spaniards,
but take their onzas to our pockets, and him who brings them to
our hearts; and neither see the red blood on their faces nor on
his hands! All we ask of you is caution, my dear captain; and
suffer your friends to see you only in private, as at present.”

“But is it so sure that there is no prying curiosity, which will
be at some pains to pluck the mask from the face of secrecy?
They tell me of fresh counsellors among you who have been seized
with a sudden fit of zeal, under an overwhelming flood of piety,
and who are for searching out all the sore places of society — all
its tender places, at least.”

“And you have been told the truth. The council is changed,
and such is the fervor of certain of its members. Middleton and
Morton have had a new impulse, in this direction, in consequence

of the presence of Colonel Edward Berkeley, a nephew of one of
our lords-proprietors, who has lately moved out to Carolina. He
has bought his twenty-four thousand acres of land on the Kiawah,
and has been made a cassique of that precinct. As a nephew of
Sir William, he is understood to be more in the confidence of the
lords-proprietors than any of the rest; and the good lords, specially
enlivened, if not enlightened, on the subject themselves,
have been at pains to egg him on to a degree of activity which
keeps the whole council in a fidget. The king, it seems, has
sought to excuse the crown to the Spaniard, by insisting upon the
quasi independent character of the proprietary governments. He
flings from his own shoulders the imputation of sheltering the
cruisers against Spanish property, by fastening the offence upon
the colonies. And the proprietors have had to undergo the rebuke,
in the very presence of the Spanish embassador — and bear
it in silence — though they knew, all the while, that nobody had
ever given so much sanction to the practice as the crown itself.
But that would n't do to say, you know; and so our good lords
had to curse in secret — had to writhe in passion, with their dumb
mouths — while our gracious master read them a very proper lesson
touching the laws of nations, the singular love and sympathy
which England should entertain for Spain especially, the peculiar
vice of piracy, the peculiar beauty of holiness, and the great necessity
which existed for compelling the loose and licentious society
of the colonies to emulate, in all respects, the virtues of the court
and the piety of king and people. Nobody laughed but the Spaniard
at this homily, and he only in his court-sleeves, which are
made capacious, for the due concealment of honest sentiments.
And thereafter his most sacred majesty was to be seen on all-fours,
with Louise de Querouaille and the other dames of the
seraglio in the same comely attitude, hunting a poor butterfly, who
might have been pirating on bosoms that were sufficiently open to
all sorts of invaders. But, ridiculous as was the sermon to all those
who knew the king, our worthy lords-proprietors were not permitted
to defend themselves. It is not allowed at court that truth
shall save the subject, to the scandal of the crown or the courtiers;
and the rule is a good one. So you see what stimulates
the sudden zeal of our council, in this matter of piracy, just at this
moment. You also see, I doubt not, that no one need give it further
heed than simply to forbear all unnecessary publicity in what
is properly a very private practice.”

The captain shook his head.

“This will hardly suit me, Governor Quarry.”

“Pooh! pooh! why not? What need of further scruples? See
this commission. It instructs me to seize, and try, and hang you
— nay, to hang you without trial, as soon as I can catch you; but
I fling it into my drawer, and there it lies harmless! While no
one sees that I see you, and knows that I know you, and can assert
that I have had you in my power, I feel no necessity for
looking up the commission, nor need you feel any apprehension
because you happen to know that there is any such document in
existence.”

Calvert was about to answer, but arrested himself, and walked
slowly for awhile up and down the chamber. His meditations,
during this interval, we shall deliver hereafter. When he did
speak again, it was with an abrupt change of subject.

“What sort of man is this Colonel Berkeley? I fancy I have
seen him.”

“Very likely. He was a man of fashion about London for a
few seasons. He is a man of wealth — has bought, as I told you,
twenty-four thousand acres on the Kiawah, some fifteen miles up
on the western banks, and is preparing to put up a baronial establishment.
He is a handsome fellow, but cold and stern — not
exactly repelling, but standing much upon his dignity; affects
state and authority, but seems a discontent. Something has soured
him. He is, accordingly — probably — ambitious.”

“Has he a family — wife, and — children?”

“Wife and one child, I think.”

“Are they — here?”

“Not in town. He has built log-cabins, for temporary use;
and, except when business calls him here, or on council-meetings,
we seldom see him. He lives well, though in seclusion; is perpetually
doing something, will make his establishment a grand one,
and, if he carries out his plans, the barony of Kiawah will be a
model family-seat.”

Calvert asked, seemingly without caring for the answer, in respect
to the actual locality of the contemplated barony, and other
matters relating to the habits of the proprietor, and the character

and condition of the family; to all of which the governor replied,
without supposing that the querist had any interest in the answer.
The questions of the rover were put with an abrupt carelessness,
as if for the satisfaction of a mere momentary curiosity. Had the
interest of Quarry been greater in the subject-matter, he would
have seen that this abrupt manner of the questioner covered
deeper emotions than belonged to simple curiosity. He would
have detected, in the slight tremor of his voice, in the utterances
of his last words, and in its deeper tones — always deep and sonorous,
but more so now, as if with effort at suppression — that the
subject stirred some of his sensibilities more thoroughly than any
other which had been discussed between them, not excepting that
which would seem to be the most important of all — that which
threatened his safety.

They were yet speaking, when a carriage was heard at the
entrance. Quarry peeped through the window, and said:—

“It is Berkeley now! We must put you out of sight for
awhile, my dear fellow. This way. You will be snug here, and
in safety.”

And he led him to the adjoining chamber, and closed the door
upon him.

“I am in a trap now, should that man prove treacherous,” was
the soliloquy of Calvert. “But he will hardly prove so, so long
as it is profitable to keep faith. No! I must only not suffer him
to know that my occupation ends with the present cruise. He
must still be kept in expectation of other canvass-bags, to be found
unexpectedly in the corner of his chamber.”

His soliloquy was interrupted by the sudden reappearance of
the governor, dragging after him the sack of dollars. With a
pleasant chuckle, he said:—

“Suffer this to remain with you a space. It is a waif — something
I have found; I should not wonder if it turns out to be
Spanish pieces of eight — possibly something still more precious!
It is right pleasant, certainly, to be in the way of fortune! But
the world need not know that one is lucky; nothing so much
offends it. The `happy' are those only who `go lucky,' my dear
fellow; and the world envies the happy man, as if he were perpetually
in the way of other people. — But Berkeley enters. You
may listen, and hear all that is said. Pray, do so. It may somewhat

concern your own fortunes. Listen for another reason. He
is something of a curiosity; is antiquated in his notions of virtue;
believes in human perfectibility, and speaks of humanizing the
Indians, and putting them in the small-clothes of civilization, as
if it were any concern of his, yours, or mine, whether men go to
the devil or not! We are wiser, and know that the best way to
take care of a race is to see that one does not himself go bare!”