American Vampires

by Bob Curran

  The legends of the Indians and the stories of the white Celtic settlers who came to the hills of North Carolina often blended together very easily. The idea of the Famine Well, which could drive those who drank from it mad with the Famine hunger, and perhaps draw their very energies from them, soon meshed with the Cherokee notion of dangerous spirits and blood-drinking folk who lived far underground and used such places as a means of access to our surface world.

  Wells, of course, held a special significance to both sets of peoples. They were the reason why Indians constructed their villages in certain areas and also why the settlers put down roots in a certain place. The availability of fresh water was essential to life and settlement, and in the remote hill country of North Carolina, this was even more important. But they now could be a source of terror as well, harboring strange beings and forces that might be supernaturally dangerous to human life. Certain wells had to be avoided, particularly those among the North Carolina balds. With their strict religious viewpoint, the Presbyterian settlers in the hills soon attached the name of the Devil and other evil entities to some of these Indian places.

  One of the most striking is a small well that exists on the side of Whiteside Mountain near the The Devil’s Courthouse. The site, which is 10 miles northwest of Brevard and 28 miles southwest of Asheville, is well named, for it is a great slatey-gray area of rock on which nothing will grow and on which the devil is said to sit from time to time. Its name reflects the preoccupations of the original Presbyterian settlers in the countryside. The well is said to be the one from which the Evil One drinks during the course of his malicious ponderings.

  The site is also not all that far away from Judaculla’s Rock, and it is said that the well is also the haunt of the Cherokee monster, who subsists on both human flesh and fresh blood. In fact, in some Cherokee myths, the being squats on top of Whiteside Mountain watching all that is going on in the world below with a squinting, toad-like eye. Like the Devil, Judaculla drinks from the well and often lurks, invisibly, close by, ready to attack anyone who might be tempted to sample the water there. Similar to the Famine Wells back in Ireland and Scotland, the well has vampiric qualities and can draw the energies of those who bend down to drink there into itself. Those who press its water to their lips will soon feel a strange lethargy creeping over them, which will last for some time. Again, they will feel a need to return to the place and drink from the well as the vampiric site works its magic upon them. Whether this is the result of the Devil’s influence or whether it is that of Judaculla is unclear. It is even said to be the unquiet spirit of a dead Cherokee who was condemned to remain by the well, where he had committed the offense of eating dog meat, and, subsequently will attack anyone who comes there in order to eat their flesh and drink their blood. Whatever the story, the Cherokee (and the later Celtic-European settlers as well) stayed away from the place. There have also been a number of disquieting stories concerning it, which have come to us from more recent times.

  One such tale concerns a hunter named Ira Wallace. It is said that he was a man to be avoided; from time to time he was seized by unholy appetites and often drank the blood of the animals that he killed. It was also alleged that, given half a chance, he would have drunk human blood as well. This terrible craving was attributed to him using the well on Whiteside Mountain and being somehow “infected” by the spirit there. Descriptions of him, such as they are, suggest that he was gaunt and pale, with long and stringy hair—a bit like a wild animal. Periodically, he would come into places to buy meager provisions (it was noted that he never seemed to buy much food and it was speculated that he lived on other things up in the mountains). People would try to avoid him as best they could. Then, he would vanish up into the hills again and would not be seen for months. There was evidence of his presence though: the dead carcasses of animals that were sometimes found by other hunters, creatures with their throats torn out, and the savage marks of a hunter’s knife on their dead bodies. It was said the travelers had sometimes glimpsed him in his awful work of viciously killing the animal down in some hollow or along a river track. This, some people said, was the work of the well upon him, and as long as he drank from its tainted waters, he would be like this. It was also said that it was the well that had somehow claimed him in the end, though no one knows what happened to him for sure.

  Another such well is to be found on the slopes of Cold Mountain, located in the Shining Rock Wilderness about 15 miles southeast of Waynesville. The mountain and the surrounding wilderness was once part of the Biltmore Estate, owned by George Washington Vanderbilt II and, after his death, his widow turned the region over to the United States Forestry Service as the basis of the National Forest Park. The Wilderness is uninhabited and comprises a beautiful landscape of mountain and forest. On the property was said to be a particular well, which had all the attributes of that on White-side Mountain and which was avoided by local Indian tribes. Local Indians passing through the region might have used this well, and were seized with a dreadful lethargy that would prove fatal if they succumbed to it. In fact, there are several stories concerning the site in both Cherokee and settler lore.

  At the end of the 19th century, a settler and trapper named Eli Ross supposedly lived with an Indian woman somewhere in the Cold Mountain area. He was found inexplicably dead out in the wilds around the beginning of this century. His death always was regarded as a strange one, as there was not a mark on his body, and it could not have been the result of an Indian attack or that of a wild beast. The body, however, seemed rather emaciated and the skin was a papery yellow, as though Ross had been drained of all his goodness and vitality. It was assumed that he had died of some form of fatal heart seizure or something similar, but there are those who say that he died with a queer look of horror on his face, and his death might have been caused by drinking from the well or from some connection to it.

  Just as mysterious, and perhaps just as deadly, is a water source on Cling-mans Dome on the North Carolina-Tennessee border. It is one of the highest points on the Appalachian Trail, east of the Mississippi River, and is part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park—only Mount Mitchell and Mount Craig are higher points. The Dome is named after Colonel Thomas Lanier Clingman, a celebrated fighter in the American Civil War (when he commanded the 25th North Carolina Infantry), who also explored the area extensively in 1850. It was named in Clingman’s honor by the geographer Arnold Goyot in his maps of the area.

  Clingman was not the only surveyor of the region, and several other maps of the Dome (also known as the Black Dome) exist, compiled by other explorers, showing old Indian trails across the region. The Cherokee called the place “Kuwahi,” which means “the place of mulberries,” and they believed that the Dome was hollow and stretched over a hidden land. On some of the maps, a well is marked, which the Cherokee believed led down to this land where unseen forces lived. Such forces, it was said, could also come to the surface world, although they could not stray too far from the well, but lingered invisibly in its vicinity. Some early maps purport to show the location of the well, although, confusingly, they all show different locations for it. No one is exactly sure where it is, but it is said that one will certainly know when he or she has drunk the water from it.

  According to Cherokee folklore, the well is haunted by a spirit or force that has its home in the underground world somewhere under Clingman’s Dome, but which comes to the surface on numerous occasions. The force is vampiric in nature and can “draw the good” out of anyone who uses the well. Doubtless, some of the later settlers in the area adapted the story in their own way, adding to its malignancy and to the potency of the tale. The being is also said to have the power to carry small children, the old, and the weak down into the well and deeper into its own dark world where it can hold them captive and feed on them. There is said to be no escape from the underground lair, and those who vanish around the Dome are never seen again, although sometimes on quiet, still nights their voices are heard cryin
g for help from somewhere deep inside the height. Consequently, hunters and settlers have stayed away from the area in the past, though hikers along the walking trails might still be at risk. Through the years, there have been stories of hikers vanishing in strange circumstances. This may be just an old and possibly false belief, but perhaps it is better to avoid venturing from such trails altogether.

  These are some of the major wells in the North Carolina region, but they are not the only ones. There are smaller, unrecorded places that have existed since the early days of the Spanish, French, and English colonists. It is suspected, however, that the stories concerning them might be of slightly later origin. In all probability, they are the fusion of old Cherokee legends with the myths of the incoming settlers to the region, and they have blended together to form a part of the folkloric tapestry of the North Carolina landscape. Combined with the stories concerning the surrounding balds, they give an eerie character to the area and create a developed, but quite mysterious mythology there. And although the idea of a vampire might seem strange, they are the legends of the North Carolina people.

  So when hiking through the balds or through the wider Smokey Mountain region, it is extremely wise to take note of the wells that lie along the route. If you are caught thirsty out along the trail and are forced to look for water, who knows what might be lurking in the shadows of some remote waterhole? Maybe the well in County Fermanagh should serve as a warning!

  SOUTH CAROLINA

  Arguably no other region in America is as beautiful and as eerie as the Tidewater Country along the coasts of the Carolinas. Intercut with rivers such as the Waccamaw and the Great Pee Dee, the area abounds in deep and mysterious swamplands. Is it any wonder that such a region has drawn tales of pirates, smugglers, and lost treasure? There are fearful tales of runaway slaves who fled far into the marshes, never to be seen again. Although some undoubtedly drowned in the quicksands and swampy ground, legends say that some survived and turned feral in the wilderness. These individuals might have turned vampiric and cannibalistic and preyed along some of the small coastal settlements of the Tidewater Country. Others mated with queer creatures living in the deep swamps to produce hideous offspring that continue to dwell there today. But there are other elements to the eerie swampland atmosphere than vanished slaves and lost treasure.

  From around the late 1600s, settlers in the Low Country found that rice imported from Asia grew extremely well in the valley swamps along the rivers. During the 1700s, rice became the economic basis of South Carolina, mainly for export to England where demand for it was high. The area thrived, making the Low Country one of the most prosperous colonies in all of the United States. They initially began experimenting with various strains of the crop, but the damp climate of the region frustrated them and all experiments failed. However, they began to recognize the advantages of importing slaves from the traditional rice-growing areas of West Africa, who were used to working with the crop. For obvious reasons, the Rice Kings showed more of an interest in the origins of the slaves they purchased than did many other American colonists. The Rice Kings were willing to pay high prices for slaves from the “Rice Coast” or the “Windward Coast” of Africa or from Sierra Leone.

  Most of these slaves were Gullah people. The origin of the word gullah is uncertain, but it referred to a distinct type of people found along the “Rice Coast” of West Africa. Some ethnographers have argued that it refers to Angola, an area from where at least some of these people might have originated. Other state that it refers to a tribe of people known as the Gola, who came from a region between Sierra Leone and neighboring Liberia. Another name for such slaves, “Geechee,” might come from the Kissi, a people found in both Guinea and Sierra Leone. Other have suggested that their name might be American-Spanish, as the Spanish often referred to the Carolina people as Guale. Whatever the origin of the name, the Gullah made the ports of Charleston, South Carolina, and Savannah, Georgia, into two of the busiest and wealthiest ports in the South. They imported slaves mostly from Sierra Leone who came by way of Brazil, however, the trade was growing and more direct routes were being established.

  In 1750, two Englishmen named Henry Laurens and Richard Oswald opened a “slave castle” (slave-holding enclosure and trading post) on an island in the Sierra Leone River, known as Bance or Bunce Island, trading directly with America. With them, the Gullah brought their own culture, which thrived and expanded all through the Low Country region.

  White rice planters built grand houses for themselves on the islands and along the rivers, leaving the running of their plantations to “rice drivers” or black overseers. Gradually, a new Afro-American culture began to develop in the area—one that had a strong African basis, which was reinforced by the numbers of new slaves coming in from the Rice Coast. This feeling of “Africanness” was perhaps more pronounced than among the slaves in, say, Virginia or North Carolina, where the settlements were smaller and where contact with white overseers and white owners was much more frequent. This, of course, helped to preserve many of the traditions and beliefs that had been brought from Africa on the slave ships. These mingled with some of the more white perceptions, which many of the slaves had picked up from the planters; thus, Low Country traditions, although primarily African in tone, also held elements of white Christian traditions.

  The great rice plantations were sprawling affairs. Many of these dwellings were splendid antebellum mansions, standing in their own well-manicured grounds, a number of them reflecting the histories and aspirations of their owners. For instance, the beautiful Litchfield Plantation was established by the Simon family, who came from Litchfield, England, in the early 1700s. They purchased more than 2,000 acres of land around Pawley’s Island from Thomas Hepworth as their estate. The plantation house was built around 1740. The sprawling estate was divided around 1794, with one half (now called Willowbrook) being retained by the Simons and the other (which kept the name Litchfield) passing into the hands of the Tucker family of Georgetown, who had recently arrived from Bermuda. The Tuckers were to prosper on their new property, and by the 1850s, the plantation produced almost one million tons of rice per year with freighters sailing up the Waccamaw to the Litchfield landing to take on cargoes bound for Europe. Nowadays, as the river mist wraps itself around the edges of the old plantation, the faint sound of a gate bell continually ringing and demanding admission calls can be heard, even though the bell and clapper have long since been removed. And on the roads along the Neck, a spectral horseman still thunders through the mist in the direction of the plantation house, not pausing in its headlong flight.

  All this is thought to be connected to the unquiet spirit of Dr. Henry Massingbird Tucker, who owned Litchfield between 1859 and 1897. Medically trained, he served for four years as a volunteer surgeon in the Confederate forces. He was an exceedingly complex man, showing great individual acts of kindness to the slaves on his land, who called him “the Ol’ Doctor,” yet capable of great cruelty toward them as well. A great Episcopalian, he severely punished those who did not attend his church, depriving them of food and allowing several of them to starve to death. After the Civil War, he served as a local doctor in the lands along the Waccamaw Neck. He died in 1904, and is buried in Georgetown Cemetery. However, his restless spirit refuses to leave Litchfield, and on foggy evenings, the vampiric form of the doctor returns to its former home, demanding admittance by ringing the ghostly bell, just as when he was alive.

  At Wambaw Creek, on the swift-flowing South Santee River, stands the elegant Hampton Plantation founded by the French Huguenot Horry family during the 1730s. However, it is not a Horry phantom that is seen in the grounds of the house, but rather the ghost of John Henry Routledge (or Rutledge), a later owner who committed suicide there after being slighted in love. His spectre is said to haunt both the house and the grounds, looking mournful and dejected as if brooding on his past misfortunes.

  And on the North Santee lies the overgrown ruins of the once-elegant Peachtree Pl
antation. Built by Thomas Lynch in 1762, it was burned to the ground in 1840 when it was leased by Stephen Duval Doar. It is said to be haunted by several ghosts. One of these is said to be the daughter of Thomas Lynch, Jr. (who was a signee of the Declaration of Independence), who died of yellow fever; her overgrown earthen funeral marker still stands in the ruinous grounds. The spirit of Lynch, who went mad with grief at her demise also haunts the grounds.

  The American Civil War hit the Rice Kings extremely hard. As an important Confederate port, Charleston was blockaded by the Union navy, preventing a great deal of its trade. Blockade ships, known as the Stone Fleet, were brought close to the port with the intention of sinking them. Although some of them were driven off course, some actually did sink and prevent entry to Charleston Harbor. Moreover, Union forces conducted attacks all along the coastline, burning and pillaging where they could, sometimes along the edges of the great plantations.

  After the War was over, exports of rice from South Carolina never really recovered. The cultivation and shipping of rice was becoming far too expensive and many of the big plantations faced bankruptcy. The era of the Carolina Rice Kings had passed, and many of the big estates were forced to sell.

  Today, many of these grand houses have been restored and are now museums, hotels, or conference centers owned by the state or by private companies. But there are still said to be a few, abandoned and hidden away in the swamplands, perhaps along some half-forgotten creek, lost in both mist and memories. These give off a mouldering grandeur, together with an air of vampire lore and mystery, which is hard to dismiss. There are, of course, stories of travelers through South Carolina who have come upon them by accident, and have often been unable to find their way back to them once they’ve returned to civilization once more.