This lurking evil lies only in the one direction of the city; on the other side and extending round the harbour are some delightful summer resorts, Mount Pleasant and Sullivan Island being among the most prominent, both being easily reached by a pleasant river trip. The Ferry Company’s boats make the journey in about an hour, and make it many times in the day; but perhaps the loveliest of all Charleston’s surroundings is Summerville, which is reached by the South Carolina railway. It is situated in the heart of the pine woods, on a ridge which extends from the Ashley to the Cooper river; the climate is health-giving and invigorating, and in summer, though the days are warm, there is always a deliciously cool breeze in the evening, and there are no mosquitoes to make night horrible to the sleeper; it is serene and peaceful as a corner of the original paradise.
On our way to Fort Sumter we have to pass through the market, which is quite unique of its kind. It is a remarkably fine building in the form of a temple; the front faces Meeting Street, the most picturesque of all Charleston thoroughfares. Passing through a handsome lofty archway with a carved stone front and iron gates--now open, as the marketing operations are in full swing--we find ourselves in a long narrow corridor with groined roof and wide windows and doors on either side, where gawky, ill-looking buzzards are gathered, flapping their wings and feeding upon refuse.
As we walk up this narrow aisle piles of rich luscious fruit rise to the right and the left of us; there are hills of pine-apples, and yellow and red bananas, festoons of purple grapes, and mountains of strawberries, bushels of black and white currants, pumpkins, and that arch impostor, the great green water-melon, all artistically arranged, and forming a perfect mosaic of nature’s own colouring--only the rough red face of the honest British gooseberry is nowhere to be seen.
Next comes the vegetable department, where everything green looks crisp and fresh, with the diamond dew-drops still decorating the folded leaves, and everything coloured seems painted in Nature’s brightest hues. Dainty young carrots, and tiny turnips, looking like baby snowballs, are nestling among the sedate old cabbages, whose great white hearts seem enlarged almost to bursting; and the oyster and egg plant, unknown in European markets, are hiding among the common but useful rough-coated potato; and the delicate asparagus, with its purple tips and straight white stems, bound up in big bundles, the large and well-proportioned rallying round and covering up the crippled weaklings of their kind, and performing this manœuvre so artfully that the most Argus-eyed housekeeper is sometimes taken in by the false pretence. The scarlet runners and fine marrowfat peas seem bursting out of their skins with joy at being gathered at last; from the very moment when they first unfolded their pink and purple buds they have been forced to creep up and cling to those tormenting sticks, twisting and twining and working so hard, night and day, till they were tired of living, and would really have gone soon to seed, and once more hidden themselves in their native earth. Now they are at rest--they don’t know they are going to be boiled in an hour.