Carolina Chansons: Legends of the Low Country — The Sewees of Sewee Bay; La Fayette Lands

THE SEWEES OF SEWEE BAY[3]

_"And these squaws, waiting in vain the return of their husbands, sought out braves among the other tribes, and so men say the Sewees have become Wandos."

_ "One flask of rum for fifty muskrat skins!

A horn of powder for a bear's is not enough;

A whole winter's hunting for some blanket stuff-- Ugh!"

said the Sewee Chief, "The pale-face is a thief!"

Ever, from the north-north-east, The great winged canoes Swept landward from the shining water Into Bull's Bay, Where the poor Sewees trapped the otter, Or took the giant oysters for their feast-- Ever the ships came from the north and east.

Surely, at morning, when they walked the beaches, Over the smoky-silver, whispering reaches, Where the ships came from, loomed a land, Far-off, one mountain-top, away Where the great camp-fire sun made day: "There are the pale-face lodges," they would say.

So all one winter Was great hunting on that shore;

Much maize was pounded, And of acorn oil great store Was tried;

And collops of smoked deer meat set aside, And skins and furs, And furs and skins, And bales of furs beside.

And all that winter, too, The smoke eddied From many a huge canoe, Hollowed by flame from cypress trees That with stone ax and fire The Sewee shaped to the good shape Of his desire.

So when next spring The traders came from Charles Town, Bringing a gift of blankets from the king, The Sewees would not trade a pelt-- Saying, "We go to see The Great White Father in his own tepee-- Heap, heap much rum!"

And then they passed the pipe of peace, And puffed it, and looked glum.

The traders thought the redskins must be daft;

They saw the huge canoes, And, wondering at their use, Asked, "What will you do with these?"

And the chief pointed east across the seas;

And then the pale-face laughed.

And yet-- There was a story told By one of Black Beard's men Who had done evil things for gold, That one morning, out at sea, The fog made a sudden lift, And from the high poop, looking through the rift, He saw Twenty canoes, each with six warriors, Paddling straight toward the rising sun, Where the wind made a flaw-- He swore he saw And counted twenty hulls, Circled about by screaming gulls-- Then such a storm came down That some prayed on that hellion ship, But he did not-- He was not born to drown.

This was the tale Told with much bluster, Over ale And oaths, At Charles Town.

He _swore_ he saw the Indians in the dawn, And _he'd be danged!

_ _And by Christ's Mother--_ _Take his rings in pawn!

_ But he was hanged With poor Stede Bonnet, later on.

H.

A.

[3] See the note at the back of the book.

LA FAYETTE LANDS[4]

That evening, gathered on the vessel's poop, They saw the glimmering land, And far lights moved there, As once Columbus saw them, winking, strange;

Around the ship two darkies in a small canoe Paddled and grinned, and held up silver fish.

Over the high ship's tumble-home A pinnace slid, Slow, lowered from the squealing davit-ropes, And from a port a-square with lantern light, The little, leather trunks were passed, Ironbound and quaint; while down the vessel's side With voluble advice, _bon voyage_ and _au revoir_, The chatting Frenchmen came-- Click-clap of rapiers clipping on hard boots, Cocked hats and merry eyes.

The great ship backs its yards, With drooping sails, await, A spider-web of spars and lantern-lights, While like a pilot shark, the slim canoe, A V-shaped ripple wrinkling from its jaws, Slides noiselessly across the swells, Leading the swinging boat's crew to the beach;

And all the world slides up-- And then the stars slide down-- As ocean breathes; while evening falls, And destiny is being rowed ashore.

The twilight-muffled bells of town, the bark of dogs, The distant shouts, and smell of burning wood, Fall graciously upon their sea-tired sense.

Wide-trousered, barefoot sailors carry them to land, Tho' snake-voiced waves flaunt frothing up the beach;

The horse-hide trunks are piled upon a dune;

And there a little Frenchman takes his stand, Hawk-faced and ardent, While his brown cloak droops about him Like young falcon plumes.

Gray beach, gray twilight, and gray sea-- How strange the scrub palmettoes down the coast!

No purple-castled heights, like dear Auvergne, Against the background of the _Puy de Dome_, But land as level as the sea, a sandy road That twists through myrtle thickets Where the black boys lead.

Far down a moss-draped avenue of oaks There is a flash of torches, and the lights Go flitting past the bottle panes;

A cracked plantation bell dull-clangs;

The beagles bay, Black faces swarm, with ivory eyeballs glazed-- Court dwarfs that served thick chocolate, on their knees In damasked, perfumed rooms at grand Versailles, Were all the blacks the French had ever seen.

Major Huger, lace-ruffled shirt, knee-breeks, A saddle-pistol in his hand, Waits on the terrace, Ready for "hospitality" to British privateers;

But now no London accent takes his ears, No English bow so low, "Good evening, _sair_;

I am de la Fayette, and these, monsieur, My friends, and this, le Baron Kalb."

Welcome's the custom of the time and land-- And these are noblemen of France!

Now is Bartholomew for turkeycocks, Old wines decant, the chandeliers flare up, The slave row brims with lights;

And horses gallop off to summon guests.

After the ship--how good the spacious rooms!

How strange mosquito canopies on beds!

Knights of St. Louis sniff the frying yams, Venison, and turtle,-- The old green turtle died tonight-- The children's eyes grow wider on the stairs.

Down in the library, The Marquis, writing back to old Auvergne, Has sanded down the ink;

Again the quill pen squeaks: "A ship will sail tomorrow back to France, By special providence for you, dear wife;

Tonight there will be toasts to Washington, To our good Louis and his Antoinette-- There will be toasts tonight for la Fayette...."

He melts the wax;

Look, how the candle gutters at the flame!

And now he seals the letter with his ring.

H.

A.

[4] See the note at the back of the book.