I'd originally hoped to go to Savannah for birthday weekend a fortnight past, but it turns out they start their St. Patrick's Day festivities a whole week in advance. I wasn't feeling too keen on facing the gathering crowds, so instead we stayed in-state to visit Beaufort. (Despite there once being a French settlement near the city, the first syllable rhymes with hue, not hoe.)
On I-95 south we saw a
lot of Canadian cars. Apparently it was spring break for them up there. It was certainly the beginning of the
Canadian-American Days Festival in Myrtle Beach.
Beaufort is the second-oldest city in South Carolina. Right on the coast, it's connected by bridges to several of the state's Sea Islands, including Hunting Island, Lady's Island, and Parris Island. At the latter there was a short-lived French settlement, Charlesfort, in 1562, and later a Spanish one, Santa Elena. The islands have long been home to the Gullah community; the Penn School (now Penn Center) on St. Helena Island was one of the nation's first schools for freed slaves. The whole area has a rich and varied history, and distinctive Southern atmosphere.
Not far from Beaufort are the ruins of Old Sheldon Church, formerly the Prince William Parish Church. Surrounded by trees dripping with Spanish moss, the brick walls and columns could not be more picturesque if they had been planned. The first building was finished by the 1750s and burned by British troops during the Revolution. It was rebuilt around 1824, though in the 1860s it was again damaged, allegedly by Union troops, though the extent of the damage is in question. Whatever the case, the church was never restored, and stands among scattered tombs. It is gorgeous. Though there are no major signs marking the site, it's visible from the road, and opposite it is a dirt parking lot. It's worth stopping if you're passing, and I'd say it's worth driving out of the way to see.
Meanwhile, in the midst of Beaufort itself is the Parish Church of St. Helena. Established as a Church of England parish in 1712, its sanctuary was built twelve years later and enlarged in 1842; it's now one of the oldest churches in America. During the Civil War, the church's interior furnishings were nearly all destroyed, so Union troops stationed in Beaufort passed their time carving a new altar, which is still in use today. The churchyard is not predominantly grass, as I expected, and contains some historically and architecturally interesting graves.
One of those buried is Colonel John Barnwell, also known as Tuscarora Jack. Though he got his nickname by fighting Native Americans, it still sounds flippin' cool. Also cool is that Jack was born in Dublin in 1671 and came to the colonies in 1701; he died here in 1724. Imagine that: spend the first 30 years of your life in a city in Ireland, and then,
reportedly "out of a humor to goe and travel but for no other Reasson," move to the wild New World. The chutzpah of our early colonists is so astounding and inspiring.
If plain old sweet tea just isn't cutting it anymore, you can always try a sweet tea float at Scout Southern Market. The float is made with sweet tea and a few scoops of sorbet; Mom had mango, while I went with the classic lemon. On a warm day the float would be a perfect way to cool off as you strolled Bay Street.
The Visitors' Center and Museum are located in the old arsenal. The arsenal was built in the late 18th century, rebuilt in 1852, and renovated in 1934. The building's crenellations and pale yellow paint job vaguely reminded me of the
Alcazar in Sevilla; given that a Spanish colony, Santa Elena, was established nearby in 1566, the architectural style is not as terribly out of place as it might otherwise seem.
On Saturday evening one of us was really invested in having seafood for dinner--which makes sense, as we were in fact quite close to where sea creatures live. My crab cakes were good, but the she-crab soup was really excellent, so thanks, Dad.
There are lots of lovely old homes in Beaufort. Around the city there are little plots of undeveloped land, many with views of the Harbor River (though a few of them seem to be people's backyards...they must be used to visitors gawking, though). One house had a particularly fine gate, with ivy growing on the posts and real gas lanterns lit. With azaleas in bloom, Spanish moss hanging off everything, and grand little houses with porch ceilings painted pale blue, Beaufort really does exude that stereotypical elegance and charm that Southern cities are so known for. Though Saturday was clear and bright, Sunday was overcast; and the grey sky lent an otherworldly aura to the sights.
Parris Island is the site of the United States Marine Corps Recruit Depot. Male recruits from east of the Mississippi and all female recruits train at Parris Island. It's a really pretty island--likely less pretty for those whose stay includes slogging through mud and getting yelled at by drill instructors--and I couldn't help but wonder how much the land would go for if it were to be sold. Millions, definitely. Though there weren't many people around when we visited, we did see recruits being trained, marching and jogging around the base.
Visitors are welcome, and the depot is home to a good museum on the area and its use by the Corps. In one section visitors learn about the training that recruits go through, from arrival on the island to graduation; in another there are displays of uniforms and equipment from the wars in which Marines have fought, from the 18th century through the present. I would recommend the museum to any visitor to the area, regardless of whether they have ties to the Marine Corps or not.
Also scattered around the island are statues related to Marine history. One, known as Iron Mike, depicts a Marine from World War I, and is a memorial to fighters of that war. Out past the golf course is another, the Santa Elena memorial, which has something to do with the island's early use as a Spanish fort; unfortunately, the road to that was closed due to storm damage. The statue I got the best look at was the monument to the flag-raising at Iwo Jima, located right in front of the parade ground. A few years ago I learned that one of the Marines who helped raise the flag, Sergeant Michael Strank, was born in Slovakia (then Czechoslovakia) on November 10, the Marine Corps' birthday. By all accounts Sgt. Strank, who died not long after the iconic moment, was admired for his leadership and devotion to his men. That a Marine who shared the Corps' birthday was so highly regarded seems fitting, and his willingness to work in and fight for his new country typifies the immigrant experience. I'm very proud to share some of my background with such a hero.
While Beaufort hadn't been on my radar, much less my first choice, it was a satisfying trip. It may not have the cachet of its older sibling, but there's not much reason for that, in my opinion, and I'd certainly recommend Beaufort as a destination to visitors.
Rome: cats
Elizabeth Cady Stanton
