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  While the venerable Sunnyside continued to offer cheerful respite to others, it held no comfort for the two murderers. Neither Avant, during the brief and tortured remainder of his life, nor Cleveland, during the long, clandestine years before his death, ever attempted to revisit the scene of the crime. They may not even have been aware that, shortly after Ruth Bigham’s death, her ghost began to appear along the creek. Her eerie presence, first noted by fishermen and later by surprised neighbors, was whispered to have a purpose: she was seeking her murderers.

  The lovely, innocent woman whose death was never truly avenged has not departed Sunnyside. Although her remains were buried many miles inland, the spirit of the pure-hearted Ruth, who died because she refused to lie and allow a young man’s murderer to go free, continues to wander the creek where she was shot. Still clad in her swimsuit, with Cleveland’s long grey raincoat modestly draped over her shoulders, her ghost appears at twilight.

  For years, her mortal blood stained the steps leading down from the Sunnyside veranda where she died, a dark and tangible link to the fair spirit roaming the shore below.

  Wachesaw

  _____________________From Boston, Massachusetts, to the southern tip of Florida flows the East Coast’s inland maritime passage, the Atlantic Intracoastal Waterway.

  This two-thousand-mile route, built by the United States Army Corps of Engineers, is made up of natural inlets, sounds, bays, estuaries, and rivers linked by man-made canals. Venturing into the open Atlantic for a total of less than ninety miles, the Waterway is highlighted by twenty-two lighthouses and breathtaking, diverse passages.

  Just above the Georgetown County line, the Waterway becomes one with the Waccamaw River. From there, river and Waterway flow to the port of Georgetown, where the Waccamaw ends at the harbor town’s peninsula and the Waterway continues its path southward through Winyah Bay.

  This Waccamaw River section has long been heralded by some as the most enchanting on the entire inland passage.

  The dark, almost inky Waccamaw flows past miles of high riverbanks lined by ancient, moss-laden live oaks and long-fallen algae-covered logs where turtles sun themselves. Massive cypress trees grow in and tower over the swift-flowing river, the tannic acid of their bark and fallen leaves giving the fresh water its dark hue. Many of the cypresses bear huge, lofty nests in which ospreys—graceful, eaglelike raptors—raise their young.

  The high riverbanks give way to lower sections where swamps stretch interminably under the sun-dappled green canopy. Here, great and small alligators, lazy in appearance but prepared for lightning-fast movement, lie motionless and watchful.

  These swampy areas give way to miles of golden rice fields, where nineteenth-century floodgates lead into canals cut during antebellum days. Once carefully cultivated among the labyrinth of canals, the grain now grows wild, a delicacy enjoyed by migrating ducks, geese, and other wildfowl.

  Wacca Wache Marina, a charming overnight stop for many yachts on their Waterway pilgrimages south in the fall and north in the spring, is part of the Waccamaw River’s splendor. Many local craft and a colorful selection of “live-aboards” call Wacca Wache home. Other boats are launched into the Waccamaw at adjacent Wachesaw Landing.

  Wachesaw Landing has long been the name of the village at the end of Wachesaw Road. The village derived its name from Wachesaw Plantation, the vast rice barony that began the commercial use of the landing as a loading place for rice.

  But where did Wachesaw Plantation get its name? Many say Wachesaw is the Waccamaw Indian name for “Place of Great Weeping,” while others claim that its translation is “Happy Hunting Ground.” No matter which is correct, both suggest a revered status. In fact, Wachesaw was an Indian burial ground long before the days of the rice plantations. On a high bluff overlooking the landing, undiscovered for two centuries by a succession of Wachesaw Plantation owners, lies hallowed—and haunted—ground.

  The earliest Wachesaw owner of European descent is believed to have been John Allston, who received the tract as a Royal grant from the king of England around 1733. In 1748, Allston married his second wife, the widow Sarah Torquett Belin. After Allston’s death, ownership of Wachesaw stayed in the Belin family until the early years of the twentieth century.

  The Reverend James L. Belin was born in 1788. By 1825, he was the owner of Wachesaw. The plantation reached its pinnacle during his lifetime, producing six hundred thousand pounds of rice in 1850. Remembered best not as a plantation owner but as a distinguished Methodist clergyman, Belin preached to Indians and slaves. A circuit-riding minister overseeing five mission churches, he was en route to one of them at the time of his sudden death in 1859. This tragedy occurred as he was driving along Wachesaw Road, which ran the length of the plantation, then as now connecting Wachesaw on the Waccamaw River with Murrells Inlet on the Atlantic. Belin was killed when the horse pulling his buggy ran out of control, throwing him to his death.

  Wachesaw was next owned by the Reverend Belin’s nephew, Dr. Allard Belin Flagg. Dr. Flagg is infamous for being indirectly responsible for the death of his sister, the legendary young antebellum lady Alice Belin Flagg of Murrells Inlet’s Hermitage.

  After the Civil War, Dr. Flagg decided to tear down the Church of St. John the Evangelist, located on Wachesaw. As the church had fallen into disrepair, he wanted to dismantle it and use the lumber to build himself a summer cottage on the ocean at Flagg’s Landing, now known as Garden City. Former slaves warned him of the impropriety of tearing down a church and using the lumber for a house. They then looked on skeptically as Dr. Flagg did just that. He had the cottage nearly completed when a fierce September storm blew it down. No sooner had he rebuilt the house than an October gale destroyed it.

  The original Wachesaw plantation house, located in a grove of live oaks near the river, burned in 1890. The plantation was sold out of the Belin family in 1904.

  In 1930, New York architect, designer, and industrialist William A. Kimbel, later an adviser to the Eisenhower administration, bought Wachesaw. In May of that year, while they were unearthing part of the riverbank in preparation for building a hunting lodge, workers made an amazing discovery. There, on the bluff overlooking Wachesaw Landing, was a hallowed Waccamaw Indian burial ground that had lain undisturbed for centuries.

  The burial ground was excavated to reveal countless vividly hued Spanish beads and thirteen skeletons arranged in a circle. All the remains were of women and children except for two adult male skeletons of remarkable stature. The feet and legs of the skeletons pointed to the outside like the spokes of a great wheel, the skulls forming the innermost part of the circle.

  In February 1937, during preliminary work on the site of Kimbel’s permanent Wachesaw residence, another circular grave site was unearthed on the riverbank. A number of enormous burial urns were found. Inside each urn was a skeleton, painstakingly interred in a crouching position. According to Indian lore, this allowed the deceased to leap into the hereafter.

  Excavations continued under the direction of the Charleston Museum. Other burial urns were soon found. They had been carefully buried in circles like the other urns, but in layers of three, with the top two layers in tighter circles, so that they formed a kind of pyramid toward the surface of the ground. Also discovered was a skull full of the type of beads brought by early Europeans to trade with the Indians. These relics indicated that the burial ground was probably used during the time of early Spanish exploration.

  Some burial mounds held only the skeletons of children. What could have caused the demise of so many Indian children at once? During the excavations, case after case of diphtheria was diagnosed in the local community, until the number of those stricken reached epidemic proportions. Many believed that the germs had lain for centuries at Wachesaw, only to be unearthed during excavation of the Indian graves. Although others refused to believe this, it is a fact that many germs can survive for hundreds of years. It is also a fact that untold numbers of Indians, particularly children, died after
coming into contact with European diseases such as diphtheria, for which they had no resistance.

  Relics were carefully removed to the Charleston Museum. A flint sharpener, stones for grinding corn, spoons, and bracelets were among the many small items unearthed.

  Some workers, however, were unable to resist the temptation to steal ancient artifacts.

  One man decided to keep some small Indian relics to treasure privately at home. Four arrowheads and three spearheads found their way into his deep pockets.

  In bed that night, he was awakened by deep, mournful cries and wails, but he managed to go back to sleep. The same cries woke him the following night, but sleep was a long time in coming again, for he saw two unusually tall and muscular Indian braves looking through the stolen arrowheads and spearheads. For four more nights, the worker’s sleep was interrupted by wailing and the appearance of one brave or another. On the sixth night, he was so frightened by the appearance of several braves at once that he remained awake until dawn. At first light, he gathered up the arrowheads and spearheads and took them to the excavation site to wait for the archaeologists from the museum. He presented them with the relics and was not awakened from his sleep again.

  Another worker pocketed several beads, planning to sell them for a tidy profit. He also stole other revered relics from the graves: the beautifully preserved teeth of Indian children. Pleased with his stealth and greedily planning how to spend the profits of his thievery—for he had heard the museum workers discussing the value of Indian antiquities—the worker hid the beads and teeth in a closet in his home. However, he was kept from sleep that night by wailing and the voices of children speaking in a tongue he had never before heard. After a few sleepless, fearful nights, he, too, returned the relics and was visited by the voices no more.

  Despite the care the archaeologists took in removing the Indian skeletons, burial urns, and relics to the Charleston Museum, nothing could erase the fact that the sacred burial site had been defiled. Many Murrells Inlet residents will attest that moans and wails still emanate from the site of the old Waccamaw Indian burial ground on the bluff high above the river.

  Pawleys Island Terriers

  _____________________Many summer visitors return to Pawleys Island year after year to enjoy the blissful ambiance of this diminutive sea island linked to the mainland by two narrow causeways. Some have been making an annual pilgrimage since they were children, as their parents, grandparents, great-grandparents and great-great-grandparents did before them.

  For a century, two tiny dogs have returned summer after summer to frolic with happy abandon on the seashore of this four-mile-long, half-mile-wide island, where they spent their happiest hours. Devoted to each other in life, these little terriers who died long ago still cavort at the edge of the Atlantic. Often mistaken for lost dogs by those seeing them for the first time, they are well familiar to longtime residents, who know why the terriers appear for such a short time, then disappear without a trace.

  Once the seasonal haven of antebellum rice planters, Pawleys Island saw an increase in summer visitors each decade after the Civil War. During the late 1800s, many Georgetonians spent a portion of the long, hot summer on Pawleys savoring the cool sea breeze coming off the Atlantic.

  As the turn of the century neared, steamships stayed busy plying the Waccamaw River between Georgetown and the island, bringing boatloads of cheerful beachgoers from town as well as from other parts of the state. Most travelers from outside Georgetown journeyed into town by train and were taken from the station to the steamship dock by horse-drawn buggy. From there, they boarded the Janie, the Ruth, the Madge, the Pelican, or other local steamers. Often, the steamships were filled to capacity with island-bound passengers. Hearts soared and spirits lifted, for the travelers would soon be at Pawleys!

  Though a number of families owned homes on the island and moved there for the summer, many visitors rented houses during the season. Still more stayed at seashore hotels and boardinghouses. Though the Ocean View Hotel and the Pawleys Island Hotel hosted many turn-of-the-century guests, perhaps the most popular destination was the Winyah Inn and the accompanying Winyah Inn Cottages, known simply as “Mrs. Butler’s,” after the hospitable owner and operator.

  Once ensconced on the island, the summer people spent their days bathing in the ocean, fishing, shrimping, and crabbing. Their nights were filled with social and sporting activities. The evening itinerary at Mrs. Butler’s during the first week of August 1898 included an oyster roast on Monday, a library party ending in a dance with live guitar and violin music on Tuesday, a literary and social night on Thursday, and a crabbing party on Friday. Dances were held at Mrs. Butler’s and various island residences on Saturday night. In one such home, the lanterns had to be hung on hooks, since the force of so many people dancing caused lanterns placed on the mantels to be vibrated onto the floor.

  Other evenings were spent gigging flounder in the creek between the island and the mainland. Night gigging involved patiently plying a slow-moving rowboat as the light of a wood torch burning in a flat metal pan attached to the side of the boat illuminated the dark creek bottom. Sharp-pointed gig poles were poised expectantly above the water, waiting for the second that an elusive, flat-bodied flounder was spotted.

  Lunches and suppers were usually highlighted by the fresh seafood that abounded. A typical menu at Mrs. Butler’s consisted of an immense smorgasbord including turtle soup, oysters on the half shell, clam soup, and summer duck. Breakfast often featured a highly coveted delicacy: sea-turtle eggs. Morning beachcombers delighted in discovering the distinctive tracks of a mother loggerhead turtle and would follow the trail to the nest of precious eggs laid during the night. Before the eggs had a chance to mature and hatch, the nest would be robbed bare of its dozens of distinctively shaped eggs.

  Many children were among the seasonal islanders. They stayed in summer homes or boardinghouses with their parents. A July 1897 edition of the Georgetown Semi-Weekly Times mentioned that there were twenty-five children staying at Mrs. Butler’s.

  In the family atmosphere that prevailed on the island, many youngsters were allowed to play in the sand and at the surf’s edge with little supervision save that of older children. This carefree summer practice resulted in a near-tragedy that brought heartfelt praise and grateful attention to two heroic little turn-of-the-century terrier dogs.

  One balmy Saturday afternoon, as the salty breeze cooled the blazing sand of the wide Pawleys Island beach, a group of children was busy just below the high-tide line digging and piling sand to construct an elaborate castle. Conditions were perfect. The tide was about halfway out, assuring that the castle would not be washed away before evening. Enough water was left in the sand from the high tide that, by digging the castle’s moat deep enough, water would appear at the bottom of the trough. The sand was damp and easy to form into walls, bridges, and turrets.

  The older children, more expert and serious about sand-castle construction than the younger ones, commanded the project. Smaller children were allowed to participate as serfs, following orders of where to dig, where to put more sand, and when to haul water for the moat.

  The youngest was a cheerful toddler boy more interested in knocking over the older children’s carefully constructed walls than in helping make them. It was the well-understood duty of the little boy’s older siblings and companions that they were responsible for his safety when playing on the seashore. To keep him busy and to prevent him from destroying their growing sand castle, the older children gave the toddler a little bucket and shovel and persuaded him to dig in the sand on his own near where they were working.

  Happy at first to have his own project, the little boy soon lost interest in digging and decided to wade into the surf and get some water in his bucket, as he had seen the older children do. Treading determinedly across the sloping beach toward the foamy tidal flow, he was unnoticed by the older children.

  Never having walked in the pull and tug of the surf without h
is hand firmly held by someone larger, the little boy became unsteady on his feet as the outgoing water sucked the sand from under them. The receding tide and the heavier-than-usual surf soon combined to pull the toddler’s feet out from under him. Within seconds, he was rolling helplessly. Despite the shallow depth of the water he was in, each outward roll of the surf pulled him several feet farther, until it seemed he would be lost in the ocean. An older person would have simply fought to sit up and then risen out of the rough surf, but the bewildered toddler was rolled like a piece of driftwood.

  More than likely, no one would have ever been sure of his fate had not two terriers intervened. Mildly curious at the little boy’s trek to the ocean’s edge but razor-sharp alert as he lost his footing and fell, the dogs began barking furiously as he was rolled to and fro in the shallow surf. They rushed to the group of children working on the sand castle and barked with all their might. The children, familiar with the terriers, paid little attention until the wildly barking dogs ran into their midst, wrecking part of the castle. The youngsters leaped up, aghast at the destruction of their labor and surprised, too, for these terriers were not usually disruptive.

  One of the older boys, his focus now averted from the sand castle, spied the toddler rolling helplessly in the surf. Crying out, he rushed to the water, followed by his playmates and the frantic terriers. The oldest children soon had him safely clasped. Realizing that the little boy could have been pulled out to sea without their knowledge was very sobering to the children, who had not known a care in the world just moments earlier. Overwhelmed with relief, they cuddled the toddler and praised and petted the terriers, which had ceased barking the second the child was out of the water. They now wriggled with delight, reveling in the attention they were receiving for their lifesaving deed.