Ghosts of Berkeley County, South Carolina Read online

  Published by Haunted America

  A Division of The History Press

  Charleston, SC 29403

  www.historypress.net

  Copyright © 2011 by Bruce Orr

  All rights reserved

  First published 2011

  e-book edition 2013

  Manufactured in the United States

  ISBN 978.1.62584.172.8

  Orr, Bruce.

  Ghosts of Berkeley County, South Carolina / Bruce Orr.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references.

  print edition ISBN 978-1-60949-417-9

  1. Ghosts--South Carolina--Berkeley County. I. Title.

  BF1472.U6O73 2011

  133.109757’93--dc23

  2011030453

  Notice: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. It is offered without guarantee on the part of the author or The History Press. The author and The History Press disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  For “Chief” Orr, my late father,

  For “Skip,” my stepfather,

  For my brothers,

  and

  For my Uncle Thomas, the man who taught me how to tell a tale.

  “Life’s a journey, not a destination.”

  –Ralph Waldo Emerson

  Then perhaps death in itself is just another part of the journey.

  CONTENTS

  Acknowledgements

  Introduction

  The Town of Childsbury and the Tale of Strawberry Chapel

  Biggin Church of St. John’s Parish

  The Ghosts of Quenby Bridge

  The Grave Robber and Benjamin Blackmon’s Wife

  Medway Plantation

  The Old Goose Creek Church of St. James Parish

  Captain “Mad Archie” Campbell’s Wager

  Hangman’s Tree

  Hags, Hants, Boo-daddies and Root Magic

  Dickey Wants a Ride

  Sheep Island Road and the Summerville Light

  The Nazareth Cemetery and Headless Annie

  The Plantation House at Wampee

  Kecleh-Kudleh: The Cherokees’ Hairy Savage

  The Cherokee Legend of Spear Finger

  The Ghosts of Camp Low Country and Richmond Plantation

  Loch Dhu Plantation

  Conclusion

  Appendix: A Word to Would-be Ghost Hunters and Artifact Collectors

  Bibliography

  About the Author and Photographer

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I would like to take this opportunity to thank those people who helped me along the way in this endeavor:

  The late M.C. Cannon, former sheriff of Berkeley County.

  The late Johnny Richardson, former deputy sheriff with Berkeley County.

  Sheriff Wayne Dewitt and my friends and associates with the Berkeley County Sheriff’s Office.

  The Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Archives.

  Kayla Orr and KOP (Kayla Orr Photography) Shots.

  The Berkeley County Public Library.

  The Dorchester County Public Library.

  The Charleston County Public Library.

  The Henry Timrod Library.

  The Berkeley County Museum.

  Ray Bayless.

  Rachel Bayless Smith.

  Rick Presnell, owner of Swamp Fox Diving, and his sons, Erik and Alex.

  Brooke and Jodie Haynie of Charleston Collegiate School.

  Finally, the men, both those still here and those passed on, with whom I have had the privilege of hunting and fishing in my youth and who took the time to share a tale or two.

  INTRODUCTION

  Berkeley County, South Carolina, was established in 1682. It was named after John and William Berkeley, co-owners of the Province of South Carolina. It is the largest county in size in the state, covering a total area of 1,228 square miles. As of the Census of 2000, the population of the county was 142,651.

  Often overshadowed by the city of Charleston, located in neighboring Charleston County, Berkeley County and its towns are often forgotten as historical landmarks. It has great historical significance, and its contributions helped form the nation in which we now reside. While historic Charleston was occupied by the British and under British rule, rural Berkeley County was the location of many skirmishes and battles in the fight for this country’s independence. The swamps and wetlands of Berkeley County were ideal for hiding and concealment, and colonial leaders such as Francis Marion utilized them for “hit and run” tactics that they had learned from their interaction with the Native American tribes in the area. These types of attacks surprised and baffled the British forces. Francis Marion and his troops, dressed in drab woodland colors, would hide and ambush the British forces. In stark contrast, the British forces were easily spotted. The flash of highly polished metal on their uniforms and the sound of it clanking against itself alerted colonial troops of their presence. The bright white trousers and brighter red coats did not help them much either. It should not come as much of a surprise that this attire earned the British troops the nickname “Redcoats.” Francis Marion’s type of attacks and his ability to rapidly disappear into the dense swamplands of Berkeley County likewise earned him a nickname from his British adversaries: the “Swamp Fox.”

  In later years, after South Carolina seceded from the Union, the Confederacy also recognized the value of Berkeley County as a secluded location for covert operations. The Confederacy used Stony Landing in Moncks Corner to secretly build the “Little David,” the first submarine in history to be successful in battle and to utilize a successful torpedo attack. While the CSS Hunley attracts attention in Charleston, the fact remains that if it had not been for its predecessor in Berkeley County, the CSS Hunley would have never existed. It is stories such as these that are often overlooked and more often overshadowed by Charleston. The same is true in regards to Berkeley County’s ghost tales, folklore and legends.

  My father was a retired chief in the U.S. Navy. We resided inside the boundaries of Berkeley County, just outside the town of Goose Creek. Throughout Berkeley County, my father was known simply as “the Chief.” People who were unfamiliar with his naval background often asked him what he was chief of. His dark skin confused some, I am sure, and perhaps they thought he was referring to some Native American title that had been bestowed on him. At first my dad would often explain the naval connection, but as the inquiries continued (and failed to diminish), he became weary and developed a new response. He would simply respond, “I’m chief of the whole damn Creek!” He laid claim to being chief of the entire town of Goose Creek, and by the time he passed away in 1998 he was the “Chief of the Creek” to many in the area.

  I often spent my springs fishing with him, summers working for him and falls and winters hunting with him. This allowed me to meet many interesting individuals who shared the tales of the area with a scrawny young boy who would one day be able to put them in a book for future generations.

  In the early 1980s, I chose to enter the field of law enforcement. My father worked on and maintained the patrol vehicles for the Berkeley County Sheriff’s Office. When I told him of my intentions, he took me to see Sheriff M.C. Cannon, and together they spent more than an hour trying to talk me out of it. I was twenty years old. In the end, they were unable to sway me, and M.C. told my father that he would make me a jailer inside the jail and that if I survived until I
was twenty-one, the age required by the state for certification, he would make me a deputy.

  I survived and M.C. kept his word. When I turned twenty-one, he made me a deputy, and his captain, future sheriff Wayne Dewitt, presented me with my first badge as I was sworn in. It was the beginning of a long and rewarding career, and although I finished my career in another county under another sheriff, named Cannon, I never forgot that hour in M.C.’s office or where I came from.

  I have since retired from law enforcement and returned to Moncks Corner and Berkeley County, where I reside. They say you can never go home again. That, my friends, is a lie. I have returned home, where I will live out the remainder of my life. Perhaps after I am dead and gone I will stay a little while longer. I would love to stomp about and slam doors at 3:00 a.m. I would pay my children back for all the door slamming that they did in their teenage years.

  Speaking of teenagers, I recently had the pleasure of assisting my good friend Rick Presnell on a scuba diving trip to Florida. He was certifying a group of high school students from Charleston Collegiate, and I attended as a safety diver. After diving all day, we would gather together at night around the campfire and share our experiences of the day, as well as an occasional ghost tale or two. As the students expressed their excitement at seeing American bald eagles and Florida manatees, I could not help but think about the fact that these creatures have been brought to the brink of extinction and, without preservation efforts, would be lost to future generations. Rick and I also discussed the fact that many of the places we hunted and fished as kids have now been lost to residential and commercial construction. As kids we took for granted that they would always be there. Sadly we were wrong.

  I greatly admire the two teachers, Brooke and Jodie Haynie, who worked so hard at creating a program that allowed their students to have such a unique and wonderful experience above and below the water. The students diligently worked toward their scuba certification under the guidance of the Haynies. It is an experience that they will take with them for a lifetime.

  I also thank the two teachers for a lesson that they taught me on this trip. Through this trip and all of our interaction during this excursion, it created a realization in all of us that without preservation many things we take for granted would be lost—like folklore and legends, for example.

  Ghosts of Berkeley County, South Carolina is a collection of the tales indigenous to the area in which I grew up. You may find some of these tales scattered throughout other ghost books of South Carolina, but you will not find another collection dedicated solely to this area. These are the stories that were told to me by my family and also by the people my father introduced to me. Also included with those tales are some newer legends that I have located in additional sources through the years. As I have stated in my previous books, I am not here to convince you that ghosts, goblins and ghouls do exist. I am also not here to dissuade you from your beliefs if you do believe in them. I am simply presenting a compilation of local legends and tales for your entertainment and the entertainment of future generations. You the reader can draw your own conclusions as to what you choose to believe.

  I mentioned Rick Presnell earlier. When I was a sergeant assigned to the Homicide and Violent Crimes Division, he was the sergeant over the Technical Service Unit and Crime Scene. We both have since retired and spend a great deal of time scuba diving together. It is a drastic contrast to what our careers brought us together to face. We know a great deal about death—perhaps far more than we care to. The other day, as Rick and I were relaxing after another brief dive trip, the song “Amazing” by Aerosmith popped up, and as Steven Tyler sang the lyrics, one line stuck with us and taught us a lesson about death we never considered: “Life’s a journey, not a destination.”

  Perhaps death in itself is not the ending of life that we once thought it. Maybe death is, quite simply, another part of the journey.

  THE TOWN OF CHILDSBURY AND THE TALE OF STRAWBERRY CHAPEL

  Perhaps the most famous legend from Berkeley County is that of Strawberry Chapel and Catherine Chicken. James Child founded the town, along with French Huguenots, in 1707. The Huguenots were members of the Protestant Reformed Church of France. The town has been described as an apex of commerce along the Cooper River. It was once a thriving and bustling community and a historic example of the interactions between Native American, African American and Euro-American cultures. Strawberry Ferry had been built two years earlier at this strategic location and served to connect the communities by creating a means of shipping and transportation. The Carolina colony had only been in existence for twenty-five years before the ferry was built, and then, two years later, James Child mapped out 185 lots on one hundred acres and created a town that would eventually consist of the ferry, a free school, a tavern, a general store, a chapel and a racetrack. The location also contained the wrecks of two British ships that were captured along with a large number of British soldiers by Colonel Wade Hampton during the Revolutionary War. The military sloops were plundered and then burned and scuttled. They sank near Strawberry Ferry. Underwater archaeological artifacts can still be located under the Cooper River in the surrounding area. The diversity of the evidence shows that many different cultures had an influence on the town of Childsbury.

  Archaeological evidence shows that Native Americans also resided in the town and traded deerskin with the settlers. The Cherokees were believed to have traded the skins that were transported down the Cooper River and sold in Charles Towne. Colonoware, pottery made by African American slaves found at the site, also illustrates the influence of African culture on the community. We know that from 1708 through the eighteenth century, the majority of South Carolina’s population (outside Native Americans) was black. St. James Parish in Goose Creek alone had 2,027 African slaves to 535 whites. The town, as stated earlier, had quite a diversity.

  Map of the town of Childsbury, hand drawn by its founder. Courtesy of KOP Shots.

  A brick believed to have been used as ballast in one of two British sloops burned during the Revolutionary War. Courtesy of Swamp Fox Diving.

  The Strawberry Chapel was constructed about 1725 as a chapel of ease to give the town a place of worship without the parishioners having to travel ten miles away to Biggin Church. There is also a small brick pit covered with an arched roof that was built adjacent to the church. This pit was used to store and give shelter to coffins and their occupants during inclement weather while waiting to be interred there or moved down the river to Biggin Church. The town continued to be used until the 1750s, when a malaria epidemic is believed to have wiped out the remaining population of the town. The little brick and stucco chapel is all that remains of the settlement.

  The only remaining story is that of Little Mistress Chicken. It has been retold throughout the centuries but was fortunately recorded in book from about 1913 by Mrs. Arthur Gordon Rose.

  Strawberry Chapel, the last remaining structure of the town of Childsbury. Courtesy of KOP Shots.

  The author examining a covered pit used to protect coffins from inclement weather prior to burial. Courtesy of KOP Shots.

  Catherine Chicken was the grandchild of Childsbury founder James Child. Her mother was Lydia Chicken, and her father was the late Captain George Chicken. He had been the commissioner on Indian affairs for the province and a member of the Goose Creek militia. He had been involved in driving the hostile Yemasse Indians out of Carolina and down into the Everglades of Florida.

  Catherine’s mother had remarried the year before to Elias Ball of Kensington Plantation. Catherine had been sent to boarding school at Childsbury and placed into the care of Monsieur and Madame Dutarque. The move had been extremely hard on the child, and the separation from her mother after the loss of her father was even worse on the seven-year-old girl. The fact that she now had a baby sister, Elizabeth, whom she had never met, was even worse.

  The Dutarques were extremely harsh individuals. One day, Madame Dutarque gave the child a garment to sew as pu
nishment. What by today’s standards would be considered normal separation anxiety and taken into consideration by school administrators was deemed to be laziness by Catherine’s educators.

  The child missed her mother and grandfather. She had been raised on Luckins Plantation, several miles away. She missed the animals and the pets she left behind. She missed her kittens and puppies. She missed the Chickasaw pony she left behind. She had pleaded to be able to bring them with her but was told that Monsieur Dutarque despised pets. She did manage, however, to conceal a small turtle and bring him with her. Her stepfather had named the little turtle Flying Childers after a very fast local racehorse. He thought it was amusing because the turtle was so slow.

  The day of her punishment, Catherine was extremely homesick. She placed the turtle on the ground, and he began to take off as fast as a turtle can. She dropped the linen that she was supposed to sew and chased after the turtle in a game of cat and mouse in the grass and underbrush. She eventually wandered away from the schoolhouse and down through the town. With the tiny turtle in hand, she sat down under a very large live oak tree and forgot all about the linen she was to sew and the Dutarques. She was caught up in memories and thoughts of her family and home, and she watched the boats moving in and around the ferry.

  Eventually, she remembered the linen and her punishment for being lazy. She searched for it, and when she saw that it was missing, she came to the realization that she would get in trouble again. She thought about running away and finding her way back to Luckins Plantation, but the fear of getting lost, eaten by a bear, scalped by an Indian or attacked by a ghost kept her from carrying out any escape attempts. She also realized that it would soon be dark. She had not meant to be away this long from the schoolhouse and actually had not meant to leave it at all. She had been so caught up in her thoughts that she did not even realize that she had wandered off until it was too late. She rose from her place under the tree and turned to walk back to the schoolhouse. She was startled as she looked up and saw the face of the one person she did not want to see: Monsieur Dutarque.