Race Week in Charleston, as depict­ed in The Demon of Unrest, high­lights a peri­od of both fes­tiv­i­ty and under­ly­ing ten­sion. On Feb­ru­ary 6, 1861, the city’s social cal­en­dar was dom­i­nat­ed by this grand event, which was met with a mix of excite­ment and fear as the nation teetered on the brink of war. Gov­er­nor Pick­ens, aware of the del­i­cate sit­u­a­tion, chose to avoid direct con­fronta­tion with Fort Sumter, allow­ing the cel­e­bra­tions to unfold with lit­tle inter­fer­ence. The entire city seemed to halt its rou­tine, with schools, busi­ness­es, and courts clos­ing their doors to make way for the fes­tiv­i­ties. Crowds of spec­ta­tors, breed­ers, and wealthy fam­i­lies arrived from across the South, even from as far as New York, to wit­ness this sig­nif­i­cant occa­sion, a reflec­tion of the impor­tance that horse rac­ing and social events held with­in Charleston’s elite soci­ety.

Amid the exu­ber­ance of the rac­ing events, Charleston’s com­plex social struc­ture became even more appar­ent. The plan­ta­tion elite, accom­pa­nied by their enslaved work­ers, took part in lav­ish din­ners and dances, while also engag­ing in the buy­ing and sell­ing of slaves, which often coin­cid­ed with the events of Race Week. The hors­es, more than just com­peti­tors, rep­re­sent­ed the hon­or and pride of the South Car­oli­na aris­toc­ra­cy. Suc­cess in the races was more than a sport­ing achieve­ment; it was seen as a sym­bol of per­son­al val­or and a means to enhance one’s sta­tus with­in Charleston’s strict social hier­ar­chy. The event became an are­na for both pub­lic enter­tain­ment and pri­vate busi­ness, where hors­es sym­bol­ized a deep con­nec­tion to Carolina’s chival­ric ideals and the pros­per­i­ty of the planters.

The char­ac­ter of James Hen­ry Ham­mond adds anoth­er lay­er to the sto­ry of Race Week. Seek­ing to cement his social stand­ing, Ham­mond invest­ed heav­i­ly in a thor­ough­bred named Argyle, rec­og­niz­ing the horse as an impor­tant asset in his pur­suit of elite recog­ni­tion. The thor­ough­bred served as a sym­bol of sta­tus, and Hammond’s pur­chase of the horse would be cru­cial in his deal­ings at the Jock­ey Club’s events. The Jock­ey Club Ball, a piv­otal social event dur­ing Race Week, was an exclu­sive gath­er­ing where mar­riage prospects and polit­i­cal alliances were often shaped. How­ev­er, not all par­tic­i­pants in the social events were impressed by the spec­ta­cle. Mar­garet Hunter Hall, a for­eign observ­er, found the Charleston elite lack­ing in charm, crit­i­ciz­ing the men’s appear­ances and the women’s unre­mark­able looks. Despite such opin­ions, the ball remained an influ­en­tial gath­er­ing for Charleston’s social elite, pro­vid­ing oppor­tu­ni­ties for net­work­ing and social climb­ing.

At the heart of Race Week was the Jock­ey Club Purse, the day’s most antic­i­pat­ed event. On Feb­ru­ary 6, 1861, the race cul­mi­nat­ed in an unex­pect­ed vic­to­ry for Albine, a horse that had been con­sid­ered a poor invest­ment until the race. The horse defeat­ed the heav­i­ly favored Plan­et, a sur­pris­ing out­come that reflect­ed the unpre­dictable nature of horse rac­ing. The vic­to­ry was made pos­si­ble by the skill­ful guid­ance of Her­cules, an enslaved train­er hired by Albine’s own­er, Jack Cantey. This vic­to­ry added an intrigu­ing lay­er to the events, as it demon­strat­ed the exper­tise of an enslaved indi­vid­ual, some­thing rarely acknowl­edged in Charleston’s rigid social struc­ture. The suc­cess of Albine and the sub­se­quent cel­e­bra­tions that fol­lowed empha­sized the thrill of com­pe­ti­tion but also the com­plex­i­ties of the time.

While the vic­to­ry pro­vid­ed jubi­lant moments for the atten­dees, the under­ly­ing real­i­ty of the Civ­il War loomed large. Unbe­knownst to those at the race­track, this would be Charleston’s final Race Week for near­ly twen­ty years, with the onset of war over­shad­ow­ing future social events. As the Con­fed­er­ate States of Amer­i­ca solid­i­fied their posi­tion, Charleston’s soci­ety was about to under­go dra­mat­ic changes. The cel­e­bra­tion of horse rac­ing and social gath­er­ings would take a back­seat to the harsh real­i­ties of war. Race Week, with its dis­play of afflu­ence and old South­ern tra­di­tions, became a final, fleet­ing moment of leisure before the nation was for­ev­er altered by con­flict.