After initial wariness about a half-African with a Muslim name, Black voters fell for Mr. Obama. Hard. Mr. Clinton’s bulbous nose turned bloody red with rage. The young upstart challenging his wife for the Democratic nomination, he insisted, was nothing more than just another Black race-hustler from Chicago. “Jesse Jackson won South Carolina in ’84 and ’88. Jackson ran a good campaign. And Obama ran a good campaign here,” Mr. Clinton seethed to a throng of supporters and media not far from Charleston’s famous slave market. It was a gambit as stunning as it was desperate. In other words, vintage Bill Clinton.