"A Privilege We enjoy," 1747
Freedom of the press afirmed, by friends in high places
When Peter Timothy turned twenty-one, Elizabeth handed him the keys to the shop and turned him loose. He immediately started poking the lion and didn’t stop until he was rounded up with other South Carolina radicals and shipped to a dungeon in St. Augustine.
An edict from Governor James Glen appeared in the first issue of the South-Carolina Gazette after Elizabeth retired. Glen had been appointed governor as reward for being the husband of the illegitimate daughter of the president of the Privy Council and the brother of Sir Hugh Walpole’s mistress. The edict looked official, but it was a little bit askew:
By his Excellency's Order, Sentinels are now placed at the Town Gates every Sunday, to prevent as much as possible the Profanation of the Lord's Day, to restrain all loose and idle Persons from going a’pleasuring on that Day during the Time of Divine Service, and to stop all Drovers, Butchers and their servants with their Carts or Horses from coming to Market on that Day, as hitherto been too much practiced, in manifest Defiance of the Law of God, and the Laws of the Province. And we hear that for the future, no Person will be allowed to cry, expose to Sale, on that Day, any Merchandise, Meat, Fish, Fruit, or Herbage; and that all Vintners, Innholders, or Keepers of publick Houses, who shall transgress the Act, entitled, Act for the better Observation of the Lord's Day commonly called Sunday ratified the 12th of December, 1712, will be prosecuted with Rigour…
In the next issue, a “letter from a reader” complained that the printer had implied that his Excellency had previously allowed profanation of the Sabbath. The letter ordered him to repent: “Down, down therefore on your Knees good Mr. Timothy, take Shame to yourself and beg Pardon for this unjust Slander.” Never had there been any selling or crying for sale on Sundays, “tho' perhaps a few Instances may be given of Milk and Fish being carried, but not cryed, about the Town on that Day before or after but not in the Time of divine Service.”
A letter the next week built on the theme that profanation of the Sabbath could never have taken place under the governor. But the writer’s “neighbors in the country” had been worrying about the precise meaning of the word “Sentinels.” Some thought it meant “watchers.” But that didn’t make sense, because church wardens already performed that duty. “I think [it] must be understood in the most plain and obvious Sense Soldiers, of which there are now many in that Town.” The writer called that “an evil Suggestion.”
After all, the governor had taken an oath to uphold the “laws of this Country,” which levied only a five-shilling fine for profaning the Sabbath. What if some ignorant country neighbor were to set out on a Sunday on some necessary business, willing to forfeit the fine, push pass the Sentinels “and be killed or kill the other … ?”
Again Mr. Timothy was ordered to kneel and beg forgiveness “if your knees are not too sore.”
The governor had enough. He or his surrogate demanded that the Grand Jury present Timothy for putting Glen “into great Contempt.” The jury refused, stating that to do so would “be destructive of LIBERTY OF THE PRESS, a Privilege We enjoy, and has been Justified for by our Ancestors, and we hope will be preserved to our latest Posterity.” Instead, the jury scolded the governor for “… an intolerable GRIEVANCE, the illegal Practice of placing armed SOLDIERS (every Sunday), at the Avenues of this Metropolis.” It called that practice “an Attempt toward introducing MILITARY Government into this FREE Province.”
As the only printer in the colony, tasked with producing copies of laws and official government communications, Timothy had some leverage. But it is doubtful he would have mocked and insulted the governor unless he thought powerful people would have his back. And indeed they did. The foreman of the grand jury was Gabriel Manigault, a merchant rich enough to bail out the state when it nearly defaulted on its debts in 1752.
Peter Timothy launched his career with a signature style of satire, sarcasm and contempt for royal placemen and their supporters. It aligned him, for a time, with the real ruling class of South Carolina, the wealthy merchants and planters who had been clashing with the ministry for a generation.