A TRIP TO CHARLESTON
My ankle improved rapidly and in another week I was able to walk and
still another to dance. I had been patience itself, so my friends
declared, and I am glad they thought so. I had really been impatience
itself but had kept it to myself.
"Girls, I've got a scheme!" exclaimed Zebedee one evening after dinner.
"I want to send a special correspondent to South Carolina to write up
the political situation and I am thinking about sending myself. If I do,
I am going to take all of you. I have written your father, Page, and an
answer came from him today. He says you may go, as he knows it would do
you good. I haven't said anything about it to you girls until I was sure
I could work it."
"Oh goody, goody, goody! Where will we go first?"
"Charleston first! I may leave you there awhile, as I have to do some
knocking around, but it will not be for very long, not more than a day
at a time."
We plunged into shopping the very next day. Father had sent me a check
for necessary clothes, and the all-important matter had to be attended
to speedily.
"Let's get all of our things exactly alike and pass for triplets! It
would be such a scream on Zebedee," suggested Dee.
"Triplets, much! We'd just look like a blooming orphan asylum and get in
a book. It seems to me that every book I pick up lately is about orphan
asylums. Chauffeurs and orphans and aviators form the theme for every
book or magazine story I read. No, indeed! Let's get our clothes just as
different as possible," said Dum, rapidly turning the pages in _Vogue_.
"All right. Then we can wear each other's. I'm going to get brown."
"I'm crazy for dark green, if you don't think it will make my freckles
show on my nose too much. My nose and its freckles are a great trial to
me."
"Nonsense! You've got the cutest nose in Virginia and Zebedee says he
likes freckles," said Dee, always tactful.
"Well, he can have them, I'm sure I don't want them. What color are you
going to get, Dum?"
"Anything but blue. There is a refinement about blue that I can't stand
right now. I want something dashing and indicative of my sentiments of
its being my bounden duty to have a good time."
"Red?"
"No, red's too obvious! I think I'll get lavender or mauve. Then I can
wear violets (when I can get them). I think lavender suits my mood all
right. It is kind of widowish and widows when they get into lavender are
always out for a good time. I tell you when widows get to widding they
are mighty attractive. I don't see why they don't stay in their pretty
white crepe linings, though. They are so terribly becoming. I mean to
make a stunning widow some day."
"First catch your flea before you kill him," taunted Dee.
"Well, I can't see the use in having your hair grow in a widow's peak on
your forehead if you can't ever be a widow. It seems such a waste."
"There's time yet! You are only seventeen," I laughed.
"Seventeen is old enough to know what style suits me best. Weeds are my
proper environment."
In spite of Dum's conviction about weeds she purchased a most becoming
and suitably youthful suit in a soft mauve. Dee got exactly the same
style in brown and I in green. We deviated in hats, however, and each
girl thought her own was the prettiest, which is a great test of hats.
Hats are like treats at soda fountains: you usually wish you had ordered
something you didn't order and something your neighbor did.
Spring was late in making its appearance in Virginia that year, but
since we were going to South Carolina we bravely donned our new suits
and hats. Zebedee declared he was proud of us, we were so stylish.
"I have a great mind to grow some whiskers so people won't think I am
your little nephew," he said as he settled us in our section. The three
of us girls were to occupy one section, two below and one above, lots to
be cast how we were to dispose ourselves.
"Nephew, much! You've got three gray hairs in your part now," declared
Dee.
"Each of you is responsible for one of them." Mr. Tucker often classed
me with his own girls and really when I was with them I seemed to be a
member of the family. He treated me with a little more deference than he
did Tweedles because he said I seemed to be older. I was really a few
days younger.
Dee got the upper berth in the casting of lots and Dum and I slept in
the lower, at least, Dum slept. I was conscious of much jerking and
bumping of the train, and Dum seemed to be demonstrating the batty-cake
flipflapper all night.
We had left Richmond with a belated sprinkling of snow, but as we were
nearing Charleston at about five-thirty in the morning we ran through a
fine big thunder storm, and then torrents of rain descended, beating
against the windows. Of course some bromide who got off the train with
us, said something about "the back-bone of winter."
What a rain! It seemed to be coming down in sheets, and such a thing as
keeping dry was out of the question. Tweedles and I regretted our new
spring suits and straw hats, but since we had been so foolhardy as to
travel in them we had to make the best of it and trust to luck that they
would not spot.
The train had reached Charleston at six and by rights it should have
been dawn, but it was as dark as pitch owing to the thunder clouds that
hung low over the city.
Zebedee hustled us into a creaking, swaying bus that reminded us
somewhat of the one at Gresham. Other travelers were there ahead of us
and as everyone was rather damp the odor of the closed vehicle was
somewhat wet-doggish.
We rattled over the cobblestones through narrow streets, every now
and then glimpsing some picturesque bit of wall when we came to one
of the few and far between lamp posts. But it was generally very dim
and would have been dreary had we not been in a frame of mind to
enjoy everything we saw and to look at life with what Dee called
"Behind-the-clouds-the-sun's-still-shining" spirit.
The bus turned into better lighted streets with smoother paving.
"Meeting Street," read Dum from a sign. "Doesn't that sound romantic? Do
you reckon it means lovers meet here?"
"It may, but I am very much afraid it just means the many churches that
abound on this street," laughed Zebedee.
I wondered who the people were in the bus with us, but they seemed to
take no interest at all in us. There were two pale old ladies in black
crepe veils drawn partly over their faces; a dignified old gentleman in
a low-cut vest and a very high collar with turned-down flaps that seemed
especially designed to ease his double chin; and a young girl about
sixteen or seventeen who had evidently been in a day coach all night and
was much rumpled and tousled therefrom. She seemed to belong to the
pompous old gentleman, at least I gathered as much, as I had seen him
meet her at the station and noticed he gave her a fatherly peck of
greeting. Not a word did they utter however on that bumpy bus ride, and
although the two pale old ladies in crepe veils had stiffly inclined
their shrouded heads as father and daughter entered the vehicle and they
in turn had acknowledged the bow, not one word passed their lips.
Evidently a public conveyance was not the proper place for
Charlestonians to converse. The girl, who was very pretty in spite of
being so tired and dishevelled, smiled a sympathetic smile when Dum
enthused over Meeting Street. I had a feeling if we could get her by
herself she would chatter away like any other girl.
Perhaps the old man won't be so stiff when he gets his breakfast. It is
hard to be limber on a wet morning and an empty stomach. When one has so
much stomach it must be especially hard to have it empty, I thought.
It seemed very impertinent of the omnibus to bump this dignified old
gentleman so unmercifully. He held on to his stomach with both hands, an
expression of indignation on his pompous countenance, while his double
chin wobbled in a manner that must have been very trying to his dignity.
The pale old ladies in crepe veils took their bumping with great
elegance and composure. When the sudden turning of a corner hurled one
of them from her seat plump into Zebedee's arms, if she was the least
disconcerted she did not show it. A crisp "I beg your pardon!" was all
she said as she resumed her seat. She did pull the crepe veil entirely
over her face, however, as though to conceal from the vulgar gaze any
emotion that she might have felt. Of course we giggled. We always
giggled at any excuse, fancied or real. The pretty girl giggled, too,
but turned it into a cough as her father pivoted his fat little person
around and looked at her in evident astonishment.
The bus backed up to our hotel where a grinning porter was in readiness
to capture our bags. Our fellow travelers were evidently relieved at our
departure. I saw through the window that both ladies put back their
stuffy veils and that the old gentleman relaxed his dignified bearing
somewhat and entered into conversation with them. The young girl,
however, peered rather wistfully through the drenched pane at us as we
gaily took possession of the hotel lobby.
"Wasn't she sweet! Maybe we will see her again sometime," said Dee.
"I couldn't see her at all from where I sat," declared Zebedee. "Her old
father's embonpoint obstructed my view."
The hotel where Zebedee had decided to take us was not the newest and
most fashionable in Charleston, but he had heard it was the most typical
and that the cooking was quite good. It had been built years before the
famous earthquake, and had still marks of that calamity. The floors,
many of them, had a down-hill tendency, and there were cracks under the
doors and I believe not one right angle in a single wall of the house.
The room we girls were to occupy was a great square chamber with a large
window looking out on a cobbled street. There were picturesque doors,
and walls with mysterious shuttered windows, where one could
occasionally see eyes peering forth. It is against the Charleston code
of manners to open shutters or raise the blinds of windows that look out
on the street.
The floor of our room was on a decided slant and this caused a very
amusing accident. There was a large armchair with broad substantial
rockers into which Dum sank to rest her weary bones until breakfast. The
chair was pointed down-hill and over Dum went backwards, and nothing in
the world but her fine new spring hat saved her from getting a terrible
bump on her head.
"It's like living in the Tower of Pisa!" she exclaimed as we pulled her
up.
"You had better remember to rock up-hill next time," admonished Dee. "I
bet you, we will all develop a mountain leg living on such a slant. But
isn't it fascinating? As soon as breakfast is over, let's go out and
explore. I want to peep in the shutters all along the way and see what
everybody is having for breakfast and going to have for dinner."
"That's just the way I feel! If anything is shut, I want to peep in. If
it is locked, I want to get in."
Our hotel was run on the American plan and our grinning waiter insisted
upon bringing us everything on the bill of fare. I think he saw in
Zebedee the possibilities of a liberal tip. In South Carolina there is a
law against tipping. In all of the rooms of hotels the guests are
reminded of this by large printed placards, but like most laws of the
kind it seems made only to be broken.
"The tight-wads who kicked against tipping the poor colored servants now
have the law on their side and can get out of it gracefully, but the
people who tip because they feel that the servants have earned some
little acknowledgment of their faithful services, go on tipping just as
though no law had been made," said Zebedee, as he slipped some silver
under the side of his plate in view of the watching darky, who pounced
upon it with a practiced hand, while making a feint of removing finger
bowls.
"I am going to turn you girls loose now to find your way around and seek
out the wonders of Charleston. I have work to do and politicians to
see."
"All right! Don't worry about us!" tweedled the twins.
"I want to get a map of the city first," said Dee, "so we can get our
bearings," but Dum and I cried down this project.
"Let's find out things for ourselves and then get a map and guide book
to verify us. It's lots more fun to go at it that way."
"Well, all I know is that this hotel is on Meeting Street, and on our
right is Church Street and on our left King. The street under your
window is Queen, and if you walk south down Meeting you come to the
Battery. You can't get lost and can't get in any trouble unless you try
to climb the spiked fences or get over the walls covered with broken
bottles. I'll meet you at luncheon at one," and Zebedee took himself off
to find out things from some of the political lights of the city.
We were left to our own devices. The sun had come out and if we had not
been in the rain we would not have believed it could have come down in
such torrents only a short while ago. Our dresses did not spot.
"Let's not go in any place this morning but just walk around and see
from the outside. It would be low of us to do the graveyards and things
without Zebedee. He loves those things and will want to see them," said
Dee.
It was a strange taste for one so cheerful, but it was the truth that
Mr. Tucker was especially fond of poking around musty old churches and
reading epitaphs on tombstones.
We walked to St. Michael's, looking longingly through the iron gates at
the quaint old tombstones, but refrained from going in for Zebedee's
sake. We passed many beautiful old houses, some of them in perfect
repair, brave in fresh paint, with trimmed hedges and gravel walks in
their lovely old gardens that we could see by peering through the
wrought-iron gates. Some of the houses, though, looked as though they
had not been painted since the Revolution, and their gardens were grown
up with weeds, with ragged, untrimmed hedges and neglected paths.
Almost every house, big or little, boasts a southern gallery or porch.
The houses are built right on the street, but the large door opens from
the street to the porch and not to the house. The gardens are to the
side and back, and, as a rule, are surrounded by great brick walls with
either iron spikes across the top or ferocious broken bottles cemented
to the bricks. The windows, opening on the street, are kept shuttered
closely, and iron bars give you to understand that there is no breaking
into Charleston society by night or day. The corners of the houses,
where the porches are, also are protected from possible interlopers by
great iron spikes, a foot long and sharp enough to pierce the hide of a
rhinoceros. The porches are also shuttered, partly to protect the
inmates from the rude gaze of the passer-by and partly to protect them
from the ruder gaze of the southern sun.
There was almost no one on the street. The Charleston men had gone to
their places of business, leisurely to pursue a desultory living, and
Charleston ladies do not go on the street in the morning, so we were
afterwards told. We met several darkies crying their wares and saw an
occasional housewife making a furtive purchase from some of these
hucksters. These ladies, we judged, only came out because their
establishments did not boast servants. As a rule, however, the old cooks
seemed to do the buying.
The Charleston darky has a very peculiar lingo, so peculiar, in fact,
that Tweedles and I found it difficult to understand. It is very
different from the speech of our Virginia negroes. They seem to clip
the words off very short, and their voices are lighter and higher than
our colored people's.
A shrimp seller was very interesting to us. We did not know what he had
or what he was calling, and followed him down the street trying to find
out. He held up high on his open hand a great flat basket and he sounded
as though he were trying to give a college yell:
"Rah, rah, rah, Shrimpy! Rah, rah, Shrimpy! Rah!"
"What on earth are you selling?" asked Dum.
"Rah shrimp! Rah shrimp! Buysome, Missy! Buysome, Missy!"
Then we saw his squirming wares and understood.
"But we couldn't do anything with raw shrimps," we declared regretfully.
"Well den, Missy lak nig sing fer heh?"
"Why, yes, that would be fine," and the boy held high his basket of
squirming raw shrimps and sang in a strange falsetto the following
song:
"Shrimpy, Shrimpy; rah, rah, Shrimpy!
Who wants Shrimp ter-day?
When you hear de Shrimp man holler,
Better come dis way.
"Shrimpy, Shrimpy; rah, rah, Shrimpy!
Sho' I'll heap de plate.
Ain't I see my gal dere waitin'
Stannin' by de gate?
"Shrimpy, Shrimpy; rah, rah, Shrimpy!
All de cooks in town,
When I holler 'I got Shrimpy'
Mus' be tunnin' roun'."
We applauded him vigorously and each one gave him a dime, thereby doing
a very foolish thing, as ever after during our stay in Charleston we
were pursued by the little darkies who wanted to sing to us.