“John, I need to ask you about something and I’m sure you will tell me the truth. You know it is a sin to lie.”
“Most certainly, Master Josh, sir,” John agreed.
Captain Ward went on to detail the Overseer’s charges. He concluded with a direct question, “John, are you stealing my rice?”
Shocked, John drew himself up to his full height and looked Captain Ward straight in the eye.
“Stealing! I am not stealing!” John exclaimed! His exact words, in the Gullah language that he had spoken all his life, were “Tief! Ah don’t tief!”
“Master Josh, sir,” John went on to explain, “The rice is your property, isn’t it, sir?”
To this Captain Ward readily agreed.
“And I am your property, and all of us slaves are your property, aren’t we, sir?”
Again, Captain Ward agreed.
“Now how is it stealing?” John asked, staring earnestly at his master. “When we move your rice from your barnyard into your slaves, we are just moving one property into another property. You haven’t lost any property. It’s still your rice and your slaves.”
Captain Ward stared at John but had no answer for him.
Miss Bessie, Captain Ward’s wife, spoke up quickly in support of John. “That’s right!” she proclaimed emphatically with an amused smile, “My rice, my slaves!”
Captain Ward was never sure whether John was too clever for him in his use of words, or whether John was truly sincere in his understanding of the economics of the situation. Either way, Captain Ward felt compelled to forego any punishment for taking the rice. However, in the future he did keep a much closer eye on his most trusted worker: John, the Class Leader of Brookgreen Plantation!
That wasn’t quite the end of the story though. In front of the whole group gathered there on the porch that morning, Miss Bessie went on to insist that if workers were taking extra rice, it was because they weren’t getting enough to eat. With another smile, she ordered the Overseer to increase their weekly rations!
And over the years Miss Bessie always broke into that same smile as she recalled Captain Ward’s consternation on the mansion porch that morning.
“My rice, my slaves!” she always repeated, chuckling to herself whenever she told the story, as she often did in years to come.
“My rice, my slaves!”
Chapter 3. The White Lady of the Hermitage
(The ghost who shares Miss Genevieve’s family home)
“What can you tell us about the ghost of Alice Flagg?” a curious visitor asked Miss Genevieve one sweltering afternoon. Miss Genevieve rarely told this story in my hearing. Perhaps she considered it her brother’s story, as he still lived in Alice’s home. But when asked, she certainly complied.
“Alice’s Grave”
When I first came to this area with my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Clarke Wilcox Sr., in the early part of this century, we lived in a house called the Hermitage on the creek at Murrells Inlet. Some say it was built in the 1840s by Dr. Allard Belin Flagg, one of the grandsons of Rachel Moore Allston Flagg who entertained both Lord Cornwallis and President Washington here as the Mistress of Brookgreen (you remember her). Others say the Hermitage was built even earlier. Whatever its age, local people far and near declared to us that the Hermitage was haunted and had been for generations. And they were right. We came to know our resident ghost as a lovely and harmless apparition. We always called her the White Lady but my brother Clarke has done some research and says she is Alice Flagg.
In the mid-1800s Dr. Allard Belin Flagg (really “II,” because he had had an older brother of the same name who died as an infant, although no one ever used the “II” but called him “Dr. Allard” to distinguish him from the many other Flagg relatives who were physicians) was the owner of Wachesaw Plantation, just up the Waccamaw Neck from Brookgreen. In those days rice plantations along the Waccamaw River were the richest in the world. Rice planters considered themselves the aristocracy of the nation.
Like most rice plantations on the Waccamaw Neck, Wachesaw Plantation was narrow in the north-south direction but wide in the east-west direction. It stretched from low and swampy rice fields along the Waccamaw River, through higher pine lands, to the cool breezes of the seashore at Murrells Inlet, and on over to the sandy beaches of Flagg’s Landing, which we call Garden City Beach nowadays.
Dr. Allard built his home on a point of land surrounded by the saltwater creeks and marshes of Murrells Inlet. (By the way, the “creek” is the saltwater channel through the marsh that fills with ocean water twice a day as the tides rise and fall.) There, shaded by ancient live oaks hung with moss, surrounded by thickets of myrtle and sweet bay, Dr. Allard escaped the heat and pestilence of his swampy rice fields. Because of the much-desired solitude it provided him, Dr. Allard named his home the Hermitage.
Although most homes on the seashore were merely summer retreats, the Hermitage was large and gracious, especially by today’s standards. Rooms downstairs were light and airy with high ceilings and lovely polished pine floors. Upstairs bedrooms had lots of windows for cross ventilation. A large front porch facing the water caught sea breezes and afforded an ever-changing view of creeks and marshes that stretch to the two barrier islands of Flagg’s Landing and Magnolia Beach, separated by the narrow mouth of the inlet, and of vessels of all sorts that wound their way through those creeks, as they had for centuries.
Later in life Dr. Allard married and raised a family (Miss Dusenbury can tell you more about various members of his family another time. All of these stories are connected, don’t you know!), but at the time of this story he was still a bachelor. Dr. Allard’s widowed mother, Margaret Belin Flagg, and his younger sister, Alice, lived with him in the Hermitage under his support and protection.
Life at the Hermitage was isolated and sometimes lonely for Alice as she entered her teenage years. Although she loved the creatures of the creeks and marshes and the flowers and birds of the surrounding forests, she longed for human companionship. Sometimes Alice accompanied her mother on visits to relatives in other parts of the state that lasted several weeks, or on shopping trips to Georgetown or Charleston that lasted several days.
The family occasionally visited in other plantation homes on the Waccamaw Neck. On Sundays they often traveled down the Waccamaw River to attend services at All Saints Episcopal Church near Pawley’s Island. These were delightful day-long outings when Alice could socialize with young people from other aristocratic planter families who attended the services. Other Sundays the family remained at home and Dr. Allard simply read passages from his prayer book to the family and servants in his stern and somber voice.
No one can tell us exactly where and how Alice met her young man. That part of the story has not come down to us. Her family certainly did not arrange the meeting!
Now, this young man was handsome and healthy. He was educated, honest, and financially successful. But he was an Horry (pronounced “O-REE”) County turpentine operator and therefore not of the rice planter social class.
Horry County, the county just north of Brookgreen’s Georgetown County, produced many such men in the 1800s. Horry’s vast pine forests yielded timber as well as turpentine and other naval stores, such as pitch and tar, vital to building and maintaining ships. Fortunes were made in naval stores and timber shipped down the Waccamaw River from Horry County to worldwide markets. But these fortunes were paltry compared to the wealth of rice planters here in Georgetown County. Here, geography allowed for the raising of “Carolina Gold,” the long grain rice first discovered and grown right here on Brookgreen Plantation by old Colonel Joshua John Ward, Dr. Allard’s future father-in-law.
By Dr. Allard’s time, rice had been the source of fabulous wealth for the Georgetown County planters for one hundred and fifty years. Georgetown County rice planters dined off fine English porcelain and drank imported wines from French crystal glassware. They educated their sons in England and Europe. Their elegant wives and daughters, arrayed i
n their finest silks and delicate satins, entertained visitors in the ballrooms and libraries of their Georgetown County plantation mansions.
In contrast, the “ladies” of Conwayborough, Horry County’s courthouse town and largest community, were best known for smoking corncob pipes.
So, through some accident, Alice met and fell in love with a handsome young turpentine operator from Horry County. Some have even suggested that this young man could have been one of Miss Dusenbury’s grandfathers! Both of them were handsome and successful young turpentine operators in Horry County at that time.
Whoever he was, the relationship between Alice and her young turpentine operator grew, in spite of Dr. Allard’s attempts to discourage the romance. Evidently he was wise enough not to forbid contact with the “undesirable” young suitor completely.
In fact, one story tells of the young suitor appearing at the Hermitage one afternoon in a fancy buggy pulled by a beautiful bay mare. He formally requested Dr. Allard’s permission to take Miss Alice for a drive along the narrow trail known as the King’s Highway, which passed close to the Hermitage. Dr. Allard readily acquiesced in an equally polite and formal manner. Then, while the young suitor waited, Dr. Allard had his own horse saddled. Next, he escorted Alice out of the Hermitage and helped her into the buggy, climbing up beside her himself. Finally, he indicated to the young suitor that he might ride the saddled horse alongside the buggy and converse with Miss Alice while he, Dr. Allard, drove his sister along the shore road. And so the courtship proceeded.
As fall approached, Dr. Allard and his mother decided that the time had come to send Alice to Charleston to complete her education. It was also time to introduce her into society. In Charleston Alice would meet sons of other rice planters from whom she would eventually select her husband. The marriage would no doubt continue the tradition of alliances among Lowcountry planters that had kept lands and fortunes secure among a select few aristocratic families for the previous centuries.
Sending Alice to Charleston would have the added benefit of separating her from her undesirable suitor. Dr. Allard and his mother hoped that Alice would forget her childish infatuation with the turpentine operator once she was among her school companions and engaged in Charleston’s never-ending whirl of social activities.
Alice was excited about the prospect of going to school in Charleston but her heart belonged to her beloved young man from Horry County! They arranged one last meeting before Alice’s departure. There, under ancient live oaks along the shore, they pledged their love to each other. Both hoped that when Alice returned from Charleston the next summer and Dr. Allard saw that their feelings for each other remained strong, he would relent. If not, they would simply wait until Alice was old enough to marry without her family’s consent.
There along the creek, the young man presented Alice with a simple gold ring as a token of his love. They both understood that Alice would be unable to wear the ring,due to her family’s disapproval. But Alice would have a special keepsake during their long separation.
Under the oaks they embraced one last time, and perhaps even kissed, although times were quite different then than now. Finally they parted.
Charleston was an exciting city for Alice who was a beautiful, refined, and quite wealthy young woman. We know nothing of the school she attended or the details of her social life but we can imagine.
Perhaps Alice attended Madame Talavande’s School for Girls on Legare Street. Madame Talavande only took girls from the best families. She taught them French and music along with the social graces. Most importantly, Madame Talavande guaranteed close supervision of her pupils as they became polished young ladies. She had had a high brick wall built around her school after the unfortunate elopement of one of her charges several years earlier. She had even purchased an elaborate wrought iron gate depicting crossed swords and spears for the front entrance, designed to discourage unwanted visitors. The Sword Gate and high brick wall still protect her house today. (So does Madame Talavande’s ghost but that’s another story.)
Alice’s social life in Charleston was a whirlwind of teas, suppers, concerts, and balls, all carefully supervised of course. Race Week in February brought together society from all the best families, as did St. Cecilia’s Ball, the culmination of the social season. Alice delighted in the attention she received from dashing young men who flocked around her at every opportunity. However, her heart remained true to her young suitor from the turpentine forests. She always wore his ring on a thin satin ribbon around her neck. The ribbon was just long enough to allow the ring to rest over her heart, and to conceal it beneath her modest gown.
Still, Alice may have shared her story with her closest schoolmates. A secret love waiting for her in the wilds of Horry would have made a wonderfully romantic tale when moonlight filtered into darkened sleeping rooms at Madame Talavande’s.
And so the long months passed. But with the coming of spring, and the prospect of returning home, also came illness. Fevers of all types had always been common in the Carolina Lowcountry. Alice’s fevers grew worse and worse until finally the school sent a message to her family to come for Alice, as they could no longer care for her. Alice’s mother was away visiting relatives but Dr. Allard arrived to take his ill sister home.
Their trip took several days: by coastal schooner to Georgetown, then by plantation boat across the bay and up the Waccamaw River to Wachesaw Landing, and finally by buggy across the Waccamaw Neck to the Hermitage. Throughout the journey Alice grew steadily weaker.
Once she arrived home, loving servants carried Alice upstairs to her bedroom overlooking the creek. She was delirious with fever as they placed her in her own soft bed. There, as they arranged the bedclothes, the plain gold ring on its slim satin ribbon slipped into sight.
Dr. Allard stared coldly at the ring. Slowly he removed it from around his sister’s pale neck. Alice, again lucid but too weak to stop him, began to beg for the return of her precious ring, a present from her own true love.
As Alice pleaded with Dr. Allard, fury overtook him! Alice had persisted in her attachment to that unworthy youth! She had even accepted a ring from him!
Overcome by anger, Dr. Allard flung the ring through an open window toward the marsh with all his might! Alice’s eyes and heart followed the ring in its flight but her body was worn out by pleading. She sank back into delirium.
Dr. Allard’s fury subsided as he watched his frail sister suffer. He and the household servants remained with her throughout the night. At times she roused, pleading frantically for the return of her precious ring. At other times she seemed to sleep peacefully. But by daylight Alice was gone, another victim of Lowcountry fevers.
Alice’s mother was still absent but burial could not be delayed in the increasing heat. Servants dressed Alice in her beautiful white gown from the St. Cecilia’s Ball and arranged her lovingly on satin pillows in her finely crafted coffin. They laid her to rest temporarily in an earthen bank along the shore near the home of her uncle, James Belin, the local Methodist minister. Parson Belin spoke a few simple words over her temporary resting place as they covered it with white oyster shells.
Later when her mother returned, the family moved Alice’s body to the cemetery at All Saints Church and Reverend Glennie held the proper Episcopal funeral. One wonders if among the numerous planters and their families stood one lone mourner, somewhat out of place, a handsome young man, obviously well-to-do but clearly not “one-of-us,” who lingered under the live oaks in the church yard cemetery long after all others had left, saying good-bye to his one true love.
Alice’s grave can still be seen in All Saints Cemetery to this day. A marble slab engraved with only the name “Alice” covers it. Some people claim Alice can be seen there, too. There are lots of stories about it, and some silliness about walking around her grave thirteen times backward at midnight. It seems like a lot of work to summon a ghost but there is a pathway worn around the grave so people must try it.
At the Her
mitage where my brother Clarke still lives, our White Lady comes and goes as she pleases, not at anyone’s beck and call. Perhaps she is still looking for her lost ring. Some have seen her walking near the shell-covered bank that was her temporary resting place or along the shore closer to the Hermitage. Miss Dusenbury has seen her there.
At Miss Genevieve’s bidding, Cousin Corrie took up the story …
One evening at dusk my younger sister Dell and I walked over to the Hermitage to visit the Wilcox family. We were sitting on the front porch enjoying the sea breeze and waiting for Mr. and Mrs. Wilcox, Mrs. Chandler and her husband, and Mrs. Chandler’s brothers, Charlie and Dick, to finish eating supper. Suddenly the two Wilcox dogs that had been sleeping at our feet jumped up, growled, and scooted inside! We looked out and saw a glowing patch of light in the yard toward the water. At that point we followed the dogs inside! When we all returned to investigate, the light patch was gone. Perhaps it had just been the lamp shining through the dining room window but we asked ourselves, “What about the dogs?”
Miss Genevieve continued …
Most often, the White Lady appears in Alice’s upstairs bedroom, which my parents always used as a guest room. My brother Dick has seen her there a number of times and even walked right through her once. A little cousin staying in Alice’s bedroom one time described a beautiful Lady in White who had comforted him when he was crying. My mother’s sister occasionally saw her there in the dressing table mirror and finally told us that if we kept putting her in that bedroom to sleep, she would stop visiting us! She was tired of being startled by the apparition.
My mother started to sleep in Alice’s bedroom one night herself. She was tired from working in the flower garden all day and my father had wanted to read in bed so my mother moved across the hall to the guest room for a good night’s sleep. As she lay there in the dark, planning what she wanted to do with the flowerbeds the next day, she was surprised to see the securely latched door swing open. Then she saw a luminous white cloud the size and shape of a person glide into the room and out again. She doesn’t sleep in there anymore, either!
Tales from Brookgreen Page 4
