More Ghosts of Georgetown Read online

  More Ghosts

  of

  Georgetown

  ALSO BY ELIZABETH ROBERTSON HUNTSINGER

  Ghosts of Georgetown

  Copyright © 1998 by Elizabeth Robertson Huntsinger

  Printed in the United States of America

  All Rights Reserved

  The paper in this book meets

  the guidelines for permanence and durability

  of the Committee on Production Guidelines

  for Book Longevity of the

  Council on Library Resources

  DESIGN BY DEBRA LONG HAMPTON

  PRINTED AND BOUND BY R. R. DONNELLEY & SONS

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Huntsinger, Elizabeth Robertson, 1958–

  More ghosts of Georgetown / Elizabeth Robertson Huntsinger.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 0-89587-209-9 (alk. paper)

  1. Ghosts—South Carolina—Georgetown County. 2. Haunted houses—South Carolina—Georgetown County. 3. Georgetown County (S.C.)—History. I. Title.

  GR110.S6H87 1998

  398.2'09757'8905—dc2197–46354

  For Virginia Lee

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Woodlands

  Sunnyside

  Wachesaw

  Pawleys Island Terriers

  Prospect Hill

  Bellefield

  Hemingway House

  Lucas Bay

  Bucksville and Bucksport

  Wedgefield

  Bolem House

  The Rice Museum

  Keith House

  Hags and Plat-Eyes

  The Hanging Tree

  Kinloch

  The Harvest Moon

  Cape Romain Lighthouse

  Spirits of the Chicoras

  Acknowledgments

  I owe a great debt of gratitude to Captain Sandy Vermont, Phil Adams, Larry Williams, Leta Cribb Stearns, Chief Gene Martin of the Chicora Indian tribe, Ruthie Thompson, Eileen Weaver, William Baldwin, Bruce Mayer, Kathy Hemingway, Eleanor Moody, Mary Helen Yarborough, Glenda Collins, John Bellamy, Elma Moore, Catherine Lewis, Marguerite Assey, the staff of the Georgetown Times, the staff of the Georgetown Library, the staff of the South Carolina Historical Society, the Georgetown County Arts Commission, and my fellow members of the Huguenot Society of South Carolina.

  For their skillful rendering of the More Ghosts of Georgetown manuscript into polished book form, I would like to thank Carolyn Sakowski, Steve Kirk, and Debra Hampton.

  For his immense patience, love, and a wealth of knowledge about technical details, I am grateful to my husband, Lee Huntsinger.

  Prologue

  Though my first book, Ghosts of Georgetown, was filled to the brim with ghostly legends, there are so many hauntings in Georgetown County, South Carolina, that I could not keep my chronicles from spilling over into another volume.

  After that first book’s publication, a number of Georgetonians came up to me and said, “Did you know there is a ghost at ———?” They then proceeded to tell me firsthand—or to put me in touch with someone who could tell me—about another local ghost. It is the kindness of these Georgetonians, who cordially invited me into their homes or places of business and graciously spent time answering my questions and telling me about their experiences, that made a number of these stories possible.

  After hearing about some of the twenty ghostly presences chronicled in Ghosts of Georgetown, many visitors to the towns historic district have asked me, “Why does Georgetown have so many ghosts?” The answer lies in the long and colorful history of Georgetown and the surrounding low country, in the vibrant nature of the people whose lives comprise this history, and in the area’s vast expanses of water.

  Water has been a hallmark in the diverse and fascinating story of Georgetown and its people. Indeed, Georgetown was founded in the early 1700s because it was an ideal site for a port. Water was also the reason six tribes of Indians thrived here, along the rivers and bay, for hundreds of years before the town came into existence.

  Many of the ghostly legends of Georgetown are water-oriented, taking place on or near water. In some cases, the events leading up to a haunting were caused by perilous seas or fierce thunderstorms bringing torrential rain.

  Georgetown is located on a peninsula where numerous rivers meet to form Winyah Bay, which opens into the Atlantic. The ocean also bathes the county’s sea islands and mainland ocean-front property. The surrounding countryside is water-bound also. The Waccamaw, Black, Pee Dee, Sampit, and North and South Santee Rivers all flow eastward through the county toward the sea.

  It is this proximity to water, coupled with the vital nature of many long-ago Georgetonians, that is responsible for the unusual number of hauntings and ghostly presences, I believe.

  The ghosts chronicled in this volume all have legendary or historic reasons for haunting the places they do.

  Some of these stories—such as those of the Pawleys Island terriers and the ghosts of Prospect Hill, Sunnyside, Woodlands, Keith House, Bellefield, Wedgefield, and Wachesaw—are well known and often told throughout the area.

  Others are household legends that have scarcely been heard outside the immediate area where they took place. For example, nearly everyone in the small community of Lucas Bay has heard of the Lucas Bay light. Many of the older residents have even seen the phenomenon. Beyond Lucas Bay, however, mention of the light rarely brings recognition. Many Georgetown County residents know where the Hanging Tree is or have heard of it, but except for natives of Lamberttown and the nearby towns of Andrews and Jamestown, few know much about it. Residents of the fishing village of McClellanville have thrilled since childhood to the story of the ghost of the Cape Romain Lighthouse. But despite the occasional mentions of the towers ghostly presence that appear in newspaper and magazine articles, most people are unaware of it. The many ghosts haunting Kinloch, while not exactly taken for granted, have long been considered a part of everyday plantation life by the people who live and work there. The Kinloch ghosts, however, have never before been written about. This, too, is the case with Bolem and Hemingway Houses, where family and friends have until now been the only people aware of the ghostly presences within their homes.

  Many other Georgetown ghosts will never be chronicled, as they are presences that haunt without showing themselves. Others are viable ghosts with visible, audible manifestations, but no one can seem to find out who they were in life or what their reasons are for haunting. Still other ghostly presences are the deep, dark, well-guarded secrets of individuals who will not divulge their experiences. Sadly, their stories may never be told.

  Elizabeth Robertson Huntsinger

  September 16, 1997

  More Ghosts

  of

  Georgetown

  Woodlands

  _____________________On the northern end of the Georgetown County coast lies the old fishing village of Murrells Inlet, a charming hamlet steeped in the history and romance of seagoing vessels.

  From the creek, where the aroma of fresh seafood prepared by third- and fourth-generation chefs drifts out of time-honored restaurants, to the wharves, where commercial fishing boats unload the treasures of the deep, Murrells Inlet is a distinct blend of the culinary and the nautical. Many rambling restaurants line the inlet, blending easily into the rustic panorama of weathered wharves.

  In the evenings, seafood lovers savoring fresh oysters, shrimp, scallops, and fish gaze over the tidal marshes to the Atlantic and the horizon. Venerable live oak trees, their storm-gnarled limbs reaching over the water, spread their huge, knobby roots across the creek-side land where buccaneers once walked.


  There are many legends about the wary pirates who sought to avoid patrolling privateers by hiding in the labyrinth of Murrells Inlet’s creeks. Edward Teach, better known as Blackbeard, is purported to have buried a cache of treasure somewhere in Murrells Inlet before meeting his fate off the North Carolina coast. Drunken Jack Island, located off Murrells Inlet, is named for a poor pirate accidentally left behind with a booty of rum stolen from a merchant ship. Surrounded by countless spent rum bottles, his bleached bones were found by his fellow crew members when they returned to the uninhabited island months later.

  Named for Captain John Morall, who bought 610 acres here in 1731, Murrells Inlet has long been a haven for seagoing vessels and those who care for them.

  The Civil War brought clandestine nautical activity to rival that of pirate days. When the Confederate commander in Charleston, General P. G. T. Beauregard, was in need of a seaport deep enough to get supplies into South Carolina when both Georgetown and Charleston were blockaded by the Federal navy, General James H. Trapier of Georgetown informed him that, at high tide, Murrells Inlet had nine feet of water over the bar. Blockade runners from Bermuda and Nassau were thus able to slip undetected into quiet Murrells Inlet and unload medical supplies and ammunition at Buck’s Landing or Woodlands.

  Built before the Revolutionary War, Woodlands was located on a low bluff above Woodlands Creek. It commanded a striking view of Murrells Inlet, the glistening stretch of beach across the inlet, and the ocean beyond.

  Woodlands was a quintessential inlet home with clapboard siding and a wide, columned, wraparound veranda. Since most transportation was by water rather than by land in those days, the house was built facing the creek and the cooling breezes of the Atlantic. A narrow third story with a high window under the roofline gave Woodlands its lofty view.

  A Murrells Inlet sea captain and his family lived at Woodlands during the years preceding the Civil War. This captain had no ship of his own and made a living piloting vessels for others. He was very experienced, having made voyages all over the world in extremes of weather. His judgment was considered excellent; he knew when to ride a storm out and when to take shelter. After sailing a vessel only a few days, he could tell how rough a sea or fierce a gale she could withstand.

  On one occasion, the captain contracted with a wealthy low country plantation owner to sail a newly purchased schooner from England to Georgetown. The planter had bought the exquisite three-masted vessel from the estate of a British earl, who had spared no expense in building the schooner. Constructed in Aberdeen, Scotland, she was fitted out with every conceivable appointment.

  After obtaining passage to Britain and locating the schooner, the captain realized he had never seen such a lovely vessel. From the finely carved captain’s wheel to the well-appointed galley below, she was a study in shipbuilding detail. Copper and brass adorned the glowing, golden oak and the rich, deep-red Honduran mahogany of the interior. In the saloon, a small fireplace hosted a cheerily burning fire, before which a mahogany map table stood. The captain’s stateroom was elegantly crafted with a mahogany dressing table built into the bulkhead and a trim mahogany bunk. In the galley, solid mahogany sideboards were built into the bulkheads flanking the companionway.

  The most striking of all the vessel’s exquisite appointments were her running and signal lights. Through handcrafted Venetian lenses, her lights glowed in brilliant shades of burgundy, emerald, and crystalline white.

  After sailing the schooner to its new Georgetown berth, the captain understood that this was the vessel he had always dreamed of. As the rice planter paid him the handsome delivery fee they had agreed upon, the captain told him that if there was ever any reason to sell the vessel, he would like the first chance to buy her.

  Several years later, the planter died, and the captain was able to buy the schooner from his estate. The day he brought his beloved vessel home to Murrells Inlet was one of the grandest he had ever known. His wife and children traveled to Georgetown with him to board the schooner for the ocean trip up the coast. Late in the afternoon, they made Murrells Inlet and at last secured the beautiful schooner at her anchorage in Woodlands Creek.

  The captain was soon busy in the way he had always wanted, running charters with his own fine vessel after years of captaining ships for others. He took wealthy planters on long fishing trips to the Gulf Stream, returning after several adventurous days of hauling in king mackerel and swordfish and watching dolphins dance out of the ocean and chortle merrily to the fishermen. He took a load of fine Carolina lumber to New England, where it was awaited by master shipbuilders.

  After a delightful spring and summer of owning, caring for, and captaining charters on the vessel, the captain refrained from taking charters of more than one night’s duration. He watched the sea and sky constantly, for the gale season had arrived. During that time of year, devastating tropical storms could sweep out of the Atlantic with no warning whatsoever.

  In late September, a fierce gale began to blow. With every hour, the wind grew stronger, causing the captain’s immaculate schooner to dance at her mooring and repeatedly scrape her hull against the barnacle- and shell-covered pilings. At that point, the captain decided to anchor his vessel away from any pilings. But Woodlands Creek was too narrow to anchor her midcreek. And the captain was reluctant to anchor her anywhere that he could not have access to her as the gale grew worse.

  As the howling winds increased, he made ready to take his beautiful schooner to sea in the face of what he recognized was a full-blown hurricane. Before casting off, he spoke urgently and passionately with his wife. They both knew he was taking a tremendous risk by heading the schooner out to sea for the duration of the storm. Trusting her husband’s skill and knowing there was no other way to save the beloved ship, his wife tearfully agreed to give the captain a bearing by keeping a lamp burning in the third-story window of their creek-side home until his return.

  The captain kissed her good-bye and several minutes later headed into the raging inlet with confidence, knowing that even when he was out in the roiling waters of the Atlantic, he would not lose sight of Murrells Inlet, that his beloved wife would keep the lamp burning in the third-story window of Woodlands so he would have a fix even during the height of the tempest.

  The captain and his three crew members attempted to leave the creek with the jib and one sail, but even this made managing the vessel in the vicious wind too dangerous. The tide was falling as the crew hauled down the sail and jib and struggled to secure them. Rather than take further risks attempting to sail the schooner, the captain decided to let the outgoing tide carry her through the inlet and out to sea.

  As the schooner tossed toward the raging Atlantic, the captain’s wife strained to see her. Reaching for her brass telescope, she focused on the vessel’s vivid running lights. From that moment, she kept the telescope trained on them as if her vigil would keep the captain, his crew, and his ship safe.

  Hours later, she lost sight of the running lights when the sea grew heavier during the darkest part of the night. She spotted the lights once again on the horizon, only to lose sight of them once more during torrential rains several hours before dawn.

  As the first grey light of day edged over the now eerily calm Atlantic, search vessels were already headed toward the place on the horizon where the schooner’s lights had last been seen. No trace of the vessel or her small crew was found floating in the ocean or cast up on the beaches, although search parties stayed out all that day and the next and the next.

  The captain’s wife remained hopeful. She knew a storm as fierce as the one just past could drive a ship to distant places. In years past, typhoon season on the Pacific had caused her husband to be more than a month overdue.

  As months passed with no sighting of the schooner, it was gradually and sorrowfully assumed in Murrells Inlet that she and her crew were lost. No one voiced this to the captain’s wife, though she may have thought the same herself. Still, she kept a light burning in t
he upper window of Woodlands at all times. Often, she sat by the light, wistfully scanning the horizon with her brass telescope, as had become her habit.

  She did not see the lights of the schooner again until one year later, on the anniversary of the night of the hurricane. She quickly called her family members from downstairs. After seeing the lights, they called neighbors and friends closely familiar with the schooner. Though everyone agreed that the lights on the horizon were uncannily like those of the missing vessel, they were quick to add that they were undoubtedly those of a passing ship.

  For the lights of a passing ship, however, these behaved curiously. They lingered long in the same spot on the horizon, not fading away until a few hours before dawn. It was at that time exactly one year ago, the captain’s wife remembered vividly, when she had last seen the schooner’s lights.

  In the years thereafter, the captain’s wife never failed to see the phantom lights on the anniversary of the storm, and she always kept a lamp burning in the upstairs window, as she had promised.

  After her death, Woodlands lay vacant. As the decades passed, the yearly sighting of the schooner’s lights on the anniversary of the hurricane and the lonely vigil of the captain’s wife in the lamp-lit window became a fading legend.

  Yet one September night many years later, a fishing boat carrying a party of men who were not from Murrells Inlet was lost in the ocean during a fierce storm. Having put out from the inlet that morning, they were unable to find their way back in the darkness until they fixed on a single bright pinpoint of light that helped them maneuver to safety. As the rain abated and the men came nearer to the source of the light, they saw that it emanated from the upper window of an old house on the creek.

  Upon arriving safely but very overdue at the dock, they told the men in the rescue boats that had been out looking for them that, but for the light in the window of the old house, they would have been unable to find their way into Murrells Inlet until daylight. The rescuers, intimately familiar with the inlet, were quick to question which light and which old house the fishing party was referring to. When the fishermen pointed to the long-vacant Woodlands, sure enough, there was a light glowing in the upper-story window, a light none of the local men had ever seen before.