A Selection from Lowcountry Ghosts
Stories of Alice Flagg, Confederate Blockade Runners, and Haunted Beads
Read a selection from . . .
Genevieve Wilcox Chandler, one of the hostesses at South Carolina’s Brookgreen Gardens in the middle of the Twentieth Century, told this story about Wachesaw ghosts at an Indian burial ground excavation in Murrells Inlet, South Carolina in the 1930s . . .
“I won’t die for a few teeth and arrowheads. No, I won’t,” muttered James. Staring at the ground, he placed a bundle wrapped in a croaker sack at the feet of the archeologist supervising the dig.
The subdued laborer continued, his voice louder but his haunted eyes remaining downcast, “Boss, I’ve come to confess.”
The archeological dig where James worked had caused a lot of excitement around here that summer. Local workers, who were used to finding occasional arrowheads or broken pieces of pottery in the pinelands or along the beach, were not impressed with the finds at first. Their biggest concern appeared to be their uneasiness in digging up bones. Many would not work on the project because they believed that graves, whether white, black, or Indian, should never be disturbed. So it was only to be expected that when archeological work began, great distress arose among the local people that graves were being excavated.
Warnings of dire happenings were whispered from person to person. Stories circulated about loud wailings from Wachesaw Bluff echoing through the night. None of us ever heard any wailing, and I’m not sure what local people would have gotten close enough to the diggings at night to hear such wailings, but the stories grew. Every sickness and stubbed toe was blamed on disturbing the dead.
Many would not help with the excavations. Those who did must have been less fearful of the supernatural world, or been in greater need of the excellent wages paid by the museum scientists.
The men who did work soon caught the enthusiasm and excitement the archeologists displayed at each new discovery. The scientists’ excitement over a cache of small beads or a shell bracelet or a chipped stone ax quickly created awe among the workers for each seemingly plain object. There was much talk of how “valuable” each piece was. Of course, the scientists were referring to the value of knowledge about the past that each item imparted. No one realized workers had begun to believe that these items had great monetary value. They only began to understand as they listened to James’ unusual story.
~ ~ ~
Once James understood how valuable the artifacts were (he explained) it was hard to resist pocketing just a few. He had grinned to himself thinking about selling them for much-needed cash or supplies. He knew he would have to take them to a big town to make any real money but figured his brother, who worked for the railroad in Florence, could help the next time he came home on a visit.
Soon James had quite a collection of relicts in his small cabin: arrowheads, handfuls of beads, and several small axes. He had also collected a pocketful of odd-looking loose teeth. These he kept in a coffee can on his mantel.
James felt bad about taking objects but tried to look at it just as extra pay for a job no one else had the courage to take on. He also reasoned that money from the artifacts would be much more important to him than to Mr. Kimbel who owned the property. He already had more money than anyone needed!
Still, James’ conscience bothered him and he didn’t sleep well at night even though he was tired from the excavation work. Tossing and turning one night, he gradually realized that way off in the distance he could hear the wailing voices that everybody talked about, or was it just wind in the pines? Each successive night he slept more poorly, between worrying about his stealing (because that was what he was having to admit he was doing) and listening for wailing or other strange noises outside in the night.
One night the noises were no longer outside. They came from inside the cabin, right there with James! He awoke to rattling sounds from the coffee can on his mantel and strange low murmurs from shadows passing in front of the window. As James lay stark still, the noises grew fainter and the sound of his pounding heart grew louder. By the time the sun came up, he had convinced himself that he had just had a bad dream.
Still, it was even harder to get to sleep the next night and close to morning James again awakened with a start to the same rattling noises and moving shadows, only this time their voices were louder and their tone was angry. He could not make out any words but the shadows were clearly men and it looked like they were waving weapons at him! Fear clutched his heart. He could hardly breathe, much less move. The next thing James knew, sun was streaming in the window. Relieved to be awake, alive, and away from his horrible nightmare, he headed out to another day of digging.
That night James lay down to sleep with increasing trepidation in spite of his increasing exhaustion. Distant thunder signaled a building storm. In spite of his fears, James quickly fell asleep. A clap of thunder soon woke him to a frightening spectacle however.
Flashing lightning illuminated a group of angry Indian braves decked out in skins and feathers there in the room with him, shaking their spears and tomahawks at him! Frozen with fear, James could hear chanting and shouting as well as rattling and pounding, even over the thunderclaps. The Indian braves stomped and gestured directly at him ever more wildly!
Suddenly a gigantic flash of lightning and a thunderous crash shook the cabin! In that flash the braves in their regalia vanished but the coffee can hurtled off the mantel, scattering teeth all across the floor.
James sat bolt upright in bed, terrified. Thunder and lightning continued but the braves never returned. James lit a lamp and sat up the remainder of the night, wide-awake, but he was not visited again.
At dawn, James bundled up the artifacts, getting down on his hands and knees to search out every last tooth from under his sparse furniture. He took the bundle straight to the dig and presented it, along with his confession, to the scientist in charge that morning.
James begged to be allowed to continue working on the dig because he was in great need of money. The scientist accepted his confession, along with the return of the stolen items, and agreed to let James keep working. Here was one worker who certainly wasn’t going to carry off any more artifacts!
The excavations continued in the Carolina Lowcountry—but so did the mysterious happenings. Read more in . . .
Ghosts haunt the maze of marshes and ancient rice fields along the Carolina Coast. Find history, mystery, and romance in these three gentle ghost stories from South Carolina’s Brookgreen Gardens.
OR
Read all the stories from the Tales from Brookgreen Series in Lynn Michelsohn’s longer collection:
Folklore, Ghost Stories, and Gullah Folktales in the South Carolina Lowcountry
(The Complete Series)
return to the end of Chapter 1.