Ahoy there, matey!

Let's just say right up front that the Charles Towne Few aren't real pirates.

"Well, that's your opinion," a whiskery Gary Dow says as he squints one eye, leaning over a spread of old coins on the counter in the circa 1600s The Tavern.

"What's this madness I have going on? I'm an honest and able bodied seaman," says C.J. Ohlandt from under his bandana, his fingers playing with the marlin spike sheathed at his fancy belt. Mitch Wyman doesn't say anything. He slips like a shadow around the rows of grog bottles until he stands under the display of cutlasses, and has the visitor surrounded.

"We haven't killed you; there's laws against that," Dow says, eyeing the two others. "We haven't stolen anything from you; there's laws against that. If we were pirates and you didn't move away in a few seconds you might find a dagger in the throat."

See? So, even though 50 or 60 assorted deserters, thieves, blackguards and comely wenches will be rattling sabers and blasting off powder this weekend, in a camp of ragged tents and lean-tos in Ansonborough Field across from the Charleston Maritime Center, right there in the civilized midsts of Charleston Harbor Fest 2008, well, there's no need for good folk to be alarmed.

Until Saturday morning.

Read more in tomorrow's The Post and Courier.