According to local lore, sometime in the early 1700s, a member of Stede Bonnet’s crew—an overconfident fellow named Red Tom Mallory—stumbled out of the waterfront taverns in search of more rum. He was loud, unsteady, and accompanied by a parrot with a vocabulary so colorful it could make a sailor blush. The bird, named Captain Pickles, was said to have been trained to mimic Bonnet’s voice with uncanny accuracy.
Red Tom swaggered into the liquor shop demanding a private cask “on the authority of Captain Bonnet himself.” The shopkeeper, unimpressed and entirely sober, refused. But Captain Pickles, perched on Tom’s shoulder, suddenly squawked in a perfect imitation of Bonnet’s clipped Barbadian accent: “Give the man the rum, you scurvy‑minded barnacle!”
The shopkeeper froze. The voice was unmistakable. Bonnet had been in Charleston only days earlier, and no one wanted to risk crossing a pirate captain with a reputation for unpredictable moods. So, the cask was handed over.
Red Tom strutted out triumphantly—only to be immediately intercepted by the city watch. They had been tracking him since he’d knocked over a fishmonger’s stall earlier that morning. As the watchmen hauled him away, Captain Pickles flapped to a nearby balcony and began loudly repeating the phrase: “Give the man the rum, you scurvy‑minded barnacle!”
The parrot’s performance drew such a crowd that the watchmen lost their grip on Red Tom, who slipped away into the maze of alleys behind East Bay Street. Captain Pickles, however, remained on his balcony perch, where he was adopted by the family living there. For years afterward, the bird would shout pirate insults at unsuspecting passersby, startling tourists, merchants, and even a few dignitaries.
Some say the parrot lived to a venerable age, long enough to greet the first wave of artists who began painting Rainbow Row in the early 20th century. Others insist the whole tale is nonsense. But if you ask the right Charlestonian—preferably one who’s had a drink or two—they’ll tell you that on quiet mornings, when the tide is low and the breeze comes off the Cooper River just so, you can still hear a faint voice echoing between the pastel walls: “Give the man the rum!”
The Tavern at Rainbow Row dates as far back as 1686, according to documents and maps discovered in Scotland and the Netherlands. Quite possibly, Captain William Carse and the crew of the Magdalen from Edinburgh purchased liquor here in August of 1743 after unloading their cargo of salt, sailcloth, and, among other items, ninety‑six mashies (golf clubs) and four hundred thirty‑two featheries (golf balls) consigned to David Deas, a Scottish emigrant who had become a successful Charleston merchant.
Through its three centuries of business, The Tavern has endured the test of time—sometimes unstoppable, sometimes hard‑pressed. It survived the Revolutionary War and the incessant pummeling from Federal cannons during the Civil War, not to mention numerous historic fires and the catastrophic earthquake of 1886 that brought down hundreds of Charleston’s buildings.
Thomas Coates apparently purchased or constructed this group of commercial buildings by 1806. It served as the meeting place of Charleston's Jacobin Club in the 1790s, a group largely made up of French immigrants who wholeheartedly embraced the spirit of the French Revolution. This group of commercial buildings was also known as Coates's Row.
The Blind Tiger Pub building on Broad Street has such an underground tunnel, which can also be entered through a latched door at the back of the building. Those wanting a drink would have had to sneak one in one of the tunnel’s many dark nooks. Whether the two tunnels connected is open to question. At this point, I must insert a bit of caution: like many stories from Charleston’s past, you must measure its factuality with a grain of Carolina Gold. Following Repeal, the Tavern returned to legal status. It has been the nation’s oldest spirits store in continuous operation. Now that bit of information is as bona fide as its Bluffton Whiskey.
The original building is divided into three separate addresses. By law, spirits must be sold separately from wine and beer. The middle section, which sells wine and beer, is the most fascinating of the three. Its brick front exterior at 118 East Bay Street features an arched double door flanked by two arched windows, and, directly above it, a double‑window second‑floor extension—added by Coates in the early 1840s—all painted in dark green. Inside, the current owners have preserved the shop’s legacy by restoring its interior, showcasing original hardwood floors and brick walls alongside antique furnishings from around the world—a bookshelf from the Library of Congress and an artisan’s worktable from France. In one of the adjoining rooms is the mysterious latched door leading to the underground.
The third section of the building is unused—once a gallery. Future plans include opening the wall where the beer taps are currently located and converting the unused section into a drinking space with a garden patio outside.
The Tavern specializes in local and rare spirits, including a five‑grain bourbon made with a Carolina rice variety (Seashore Black Rye) once thought to be extinct, and Carolina Gold; a black tea liqueur produced by the only large‑scale tea plantation in the U.S. (the Charleston Tea Plantation); and a vodka distilled from rye grown on South Carolina’s Edisto Island. To acquaint visitors with the unfamiliar, the shop also offers weekly tastings.
The Tavern at Rainbow Row has been featured on Southern Charm, Moonshiners, History’s Most Haunted, and Atlas Obscura. With a multifaceted history and a singular focus, The Tavern has stayed true to its reason for being and has never stopped distributing booze. Now that makes for one happy sailor.
120 E Bay St, next door to the Old Exchange and Provost Dungeon.
