by Bruce Orr
All bravado left Peigler in an instant. He began begging for his life. Captain Theus ignored him and walked out the front door, where he sounded his horn. Instantly, a grinning servant appeared with a rope and tied Peigler’s feet. He then took the pistol and kept guard as Captain Theus and the other colonist returned to their dinner. Neither ever spoke a word to Peigler.
Having heard the horn, Theus’s men returned to the plantation. They took control of the prisoner and placed him on a horse. They also placed the rope that had secured his feet on the same horse. They had coiled it up very nicely and secured it behind the prisoner.
As they rode away from the plantation, Peigler thought long and hard about the rope and his fate. He decided that it was better to be shot or stabbed through with a saber than to be hanged. As they traveled along, he decided to take his chances. He leapt from the horse and ran into the woods, his hands still secured with the buckskin cord.
“Take him alive!” shouted Captain Theus, and the men began to circle the area into which he had ran. Peigler might have actually been successful in his escape had he not caught his foot in some vines and fallen. He could do very little to free himself since his hands were tied behind his back. He was soon recaptured and dragged back to the road. The captain began to inspect the trees and located a sturdy cypress. There were very little formalities; the rope was introduced to the tree and the prisoner was introduced to the rope. The colonists removed the saddle from the horse and placed Dave Peigler on it. They placed the rope around his neck, and as they were making final adjustments, they noticed a cloud of dust about a quarter mile up the road. As the men watched, they noticed the sun reflecting off the metal equipment and realized that this was a British unit heading in their direction. Captain Theus quickly cut a switch and struck the horse on which Peigler sat. The startled creature darted off into the woods, leaving Peigler twisting and turning at the end of the rope. All of the colonists mounted their horses and fled into the woods, leaving Peigler dangling from the limb.
It was not long after that Captain Theus’s slaves and others began to report they had seen the ghost of Dave Peigler sitting on the church steps in St. Stephen’s churchyard. He was said to have a rope around his neck, a bottle of rum in one hand and a pistol in the other. He was seen both night and day, and the slaves reported that he looked as real as he did when he was living.
Eventually the war ended. Dave’s brother, Dan Peigler, had met his death during a horse race in which he fell and broke his neck. This occurred on his wedding day. When he did not show up, the wedding party waited for three hours. Eventually, they received word of his death. One man in the crowd, a friend of both the bride and groom, offered himself as a substitute for the recently deceased. Apparently, he was a lot closer to the bride because she readily accepted and they were married. Everyone was quite happy that day and even happier when they got rip-roaring drunk after Dan Peigler’s funeral the next day.
About ten years after Dave Peigler’s hanging, Captain Theus entered Boinest’s Tavern while on a trip. As he entered, he was astonished to see the late Dave Peigler tending bar. Captain Theus walked up and asked the man, “Are you not the Dave Peigler whom I hanged ten years ago?” He noted that he was and then told him that had the British been more interested in Theus and his crew things might have been different. He said that it took a lot of rubbing and a pint of liquor to bring him back around. He said that the British captured Joe Edie, one of Theus’s men, and hanged him with the same rope with which Peigler had been hanged (ironically Joe Edie was the man who saved Francis Marion and caused Jack Sprat to be hanged in that same tree in the previous story). With that, Dave Peigler stated, “I reckon, Captain, that clears the score between us, and you and I mays well be friends.” Peigler then poured the astonished captain a drink. The captain paid for his drink and never returned to the bar again.
Hangman’s Tree had many more victims over the centuries. Many of the condemned are alleged to still haunt the tree. It is also said that at times even the long-removed branch returns. The phantom limb can be seen stretching over the roadway as if it has returned to await the arrival of its next victim.
HAGS, HANTS, BOO-DADDIES AND ROOT MAGIC
As stated in the earlier tale concerning the town of Childsbury, the slave population brought with it its own culture and folklore, which eventually combined with the others in Berkeley County. The slaves formed what would be known as the Gullah or Geechee culture of the Lowcountry of South Carolina and the state of Georgia. With the culture came its own group of spirits, demons, ghouls and magic, as well as a vast array of entities and an equally vast array of methods to deal with them. Some entities were mere nuisances, while others could be quite deadly. The latter usually required the help of a conjurer or root doctor to assist the victims in ridding themselves of the entity. Root magic was, and still is, considered to be a very powerful form of magic throughout the Lowcountry.
In the Gullah culture, there were the simple ghosts known as “hants” or “haints.” They were the ghosts of deceased people who refused to move on. They were considered nuisance spirits and were said to be more prevalent at the time of a new moon.
“Hags” were a little more dangerous. They would creep up on you while you slept and ride you like a horse. The victim would be unable to move, and sometimes the hag would beat the victim and suck the life from them as it rode them. Oftentimes a conjurer had to be called in to catch the hag. The hag catcher consisted of a mason jar filled with pins and needles. The conjurer would sit in the room with the sleeping victim, and upon seeing the first signs of trouble he would grasp the jar and wave the trap above the victim while speaking a conjuring spell. The hag would be captured in the jar, and the jar would then be sealed and buried. Hags could be demonic entities, but they could also be the spirits of the living. The spirits of the living that intended to do harm to the victim often left the evildoer at night while they slept and inflicted harm on the victim as he or she slept. These spirits were known as “boo-daddies.” When a boo-daddie of a living owner was captured in a hag trap and buried, the owner would inevitably suffer a very painful and horrific death due to the fact their soul had been trapped in a jar and buried, and they would be forced to sit on pins and needles for eternity.
The slaves who were brought to the area also brought with them their own skills, beliefs and customs. Courtesy of Library of Congress Archives.
“Plat-eyes” were shape-shifters and could turn themselves into any form. They were often witches or conjurers, and similar beings—such as the Cherokee witch Spear Finger—can be found in Native American folklore.
“Money lights” were named after the light that the slave Money carried through Childsbury. These lights or balls of flame are also known as “jack-o-lantern lights” and also “spook lights.” The slave Money had created this light as a means to frighten off those curious about his comings and goings. You will soon learn about a few such lights that were not man-made and about those who encountered them.
“Drolls” were the spirits of children who had died painful deaths. They were also the spirits of children who had drowned in the swamps and could be heard crying at night in the marshlands. The children were often the victims of the Cymbees, a race of spiritual entities that resided in the pools and marshes of the Lowcountry. The Cymbees would often entice unruly children to the edge of the water and then drag them in and drown them.
In the St. John’s Parish of Berkeley County, the Cymbees were believed to dwell in the limestone sinkholes that were once predominant in the area. This area consisted of what is now Santee State Park, Lake Moultrie, Lake Marion and the Santee Canal.
In 1860, Henry Ravenel published an essay entitled “The Limestone Springs of St. John’s Berkeley.” He visited the springs on the majority of the plantations that have since been destroyed and are now covered by the waters of Lake Moultrie. Another source of information regarding the limestone springs of the area comes from the documentation of
the travels of Edmund Ruffin.
A spring similar to those believed by the slaves to be inhabited by the Cymbee. Courtesy of author.
Pooshee Plantation was said to harbor a Cymbee in its spring. Courtesy of Library of Congress Archives.
On March 25, 1843, Ruffin documented that he had visited Woodboo Plantation. It was there where he first noticed the limestone springs that he referred to as fountains. It was at the plantation that he first heard about the belief among the slaves regarding the Cymbees. Every fountain of any considerable size was said to be inhabited by one of these spirits. Each fountain was different, and each had a different and unique Cymbee. A slave driver who accompanied Ruffin said that he had never seen the Woodboo Cymbee but had been told that it was web-footed like a goose. An elderly slave had also told him that he had never seen the Woodboo Cymbee but had seen another at a different fountain. He said that he had seen the Cymbee sitting on a plank that had been laid across the water. She had long brown hair that hung down and covered her face, body and limbs. After seeing her, she glided off the plank and disappeared into the water. The old man had seen her when he was a youth and admitted that he had been quite frightened by the encounter.
At nearby Pooshee Plantation, Ruffin heard the tale of a young slave boy who had encountered a Cymbee there. The creature was running around and around the fountain. He learned that the Cymbees were usually seen at night and were usually found sitting on a low bridge or plank crossing the water. They also could be found on the edge of the steepest side of the water. Ruffin noted that sometimes the fountains stopped and dried up and that new ones took its place. The slaves explained this as the Cymbee dying or having been offended and having moved on elsewhere. When the Ravenels enclosed the fountain at Pooshee Plantation, the slaves protested in fear of offending the Cymbee.
In documents belonging to Henry Ravenel, he states that the Cymbees were often described as part human female and part fish, much like a mermaid. He also concluded that the word “Cymbee” was of African origin.
In a paper presented at the 2000 fall meeting of the Southeastern Regional Seminar in African Studies, historian Ras Michael Brown agreed with Ravenel’s conclusion as to the word’s origin. Brown contended that “West-Central African nature deities, called simbi spirits in Kikongo, served the enslaved people of the early Lowcountry as spiritual benefactors around which captives of diverse African origins and those born in the Low country built their communities.”
Brown specifically pointed to a Kongo proverb: “Where your ancestors do not live, you cannot build your house.” He went on to argue that nature spirits allowed those who were either strangers to the area or lacked ties with named ancestors to “still have access to the agents of Other Worldly powers and to feel attached to the land where they lived.” Brown stated he believes that “cymbee” was an attempt to represent the pronunciation of the Kikongo word simbi. The words match in not only their sound but also their meaning. He further stated that nature spirits known as the bisimbi (plural of simbi) often take the form of water spirits, and he believed that the Lowcountry example is unmistakably derived from West-Central African understanding of simbi spirits.
Many rituals of these beliefs involved making sacrifices of some sort or another. Fruit would often be offered to appease angry spirits. Often sacrifices such as these were placed in the Colonoware pottery created by the slaves. The sacrifices and the pottery would then be cast into the waters of these springs, ponds and rivers to satisfy the spirits. Fragments of such pottery and sometimes even whole artifacts can often be located on dives in these waters.
As a young jailer in Berkeley County during 1985, I was introduced to the “root magic” of the local culture. Root magic is a conglomeration of many beliefs, including that of Haitian voodoo, African hoodoo and Native American witchcraft. I would often search incoming prisoners and find small bags containing sticks, bones, rocks and other assorted paraphernalia. The prisoners would become upset and tell me that I was basically contaminating their magic. I was informed that the bag was a talisman prepared by a root doctor to protect its owner from harm. I cannot attest to its effectiveness based on the fact that it did not prevent the owner from being incarcerated, but I can tell you that the owners believed in their power and that one had better respect their beliefs.
My very first encounter with root magic involved a man who refused to remove a small quantity of Spanish moss from his ears. That’s right—the man had stuffed Spanish moss into his ears. He advised us that he had been told to do so by a conjurer. The root doctor had told him that this would keep evil spirits from whispering in his ears and telling him to do bad things. I do not know if the man suffered from a medical condition that created the delusions of voices in his head or if a hant or boo-daddie was actually communicating with him. It did not matter. One thing I did realize was the fact that the man believed so strongly in the root magic that he was willing to fight to keep the moss from being removed from his ears. The head jailer, an older black gentleman from the area, knew far more about root magic than I did and asked the man if he could examine the conjurer’s work because he had experienced the same issue with evil spirits. The ruse worked, and the old man examined the homemade fungal earplugs. Satisfied that they were not illegal or dangerous contraband by any means, the wise jailer allowed the man to keep them in place and thus avoided a violent confrontation for all of us. As he explained to me, “The spirits may or may not exist and may or may not hurt you. I will take my chance with the spirits. A man who believes in the spirits and is afraid will kill you. Never take a chance with a man like that.”
The author covered in duckweed while investigating a spring similar to those believed to be inhabited by Cymbees. Courtesy of Swamp Fox Diving.
Piece of Colonoware pottery located underwater by the author during a dive in Berkeley County. Courtesy of Swamp Fox Diving.
DICKEY WANTS A RIDE
Legend has it that the British officer, Lord Charles Cornwallis referred to the swamps between Berkeley and Georgetown Counties as a “a hell of a hole” in a letter written to King George. It was the hiding place of the Swamp Fox, Francis Marion, during the American Revolutionary War. He was said to have known those swamps like the back of his hand. As a rebelling colonist leading troops against the Crown, it paid to know the area inside and out. He would strike and then escape into the cover of dense swamp and the national forest that now bears his name.
Others also used the swamp as an escape. Runaway slaves and chain gang prisoners often fled to the swamp to escape pursuers. Bootleggers during the days of prohibition also sought refuge in those swamps. They made their corn whiskey known as moonshine there, hid it there and often fled from the law into that very swamp. In fact, notorious gangster Al Capone was said to have had relatives in the area, and the Hell Hole Swamp area may have been one of the biggest, if not the biggest, suppliers of illegal liquor to the Chicago area and the entire country in those days.
As you can imagine, with gangsters came violence. The headline in the local paper read, “Murder and Mayhem in Moncks Corner,” after a shootout between rivals left three men dead in the area. In fact, in just a short period between May 19 and July 24 in 1930, there was so much violence that the area earned the nickname “Bloody Berkeley.” On May 19, one man was killed and another wounded; on May 31, a man was shot on his doorstep; on June 3, a man was fortunate to survive being shot at; and on July 24, a man was gunned down on Main Street in Moncks Corner.
According to local author William Schuler, “In the old days in Berkeley County, you did one of two things: you worked on a farm or you made corn whiskey.” My grandfather grew up during that time, and he was a farmer—I think.
My uncle Thomas and my mother use to tell me a tale regarding my grandfather and the swamps between Georgetown County and Berkeley County known as Hell Hole Swamp. It seems that quite a number of the folks who escaped into the swamp never came out. If the gangsters did not get you, then the gators, s
nakes and swamp bogs would. Bogs are like quicksand, only nastier. Maybe the Cymbees might get you, or maybe old lady Spear Finger (a later chapter) might get you. Right now, let’s focus on my grandpa and the night he met “Dickey.”
In those days, most common folk traveled by horse or mule. If you went to work, you often went in a group in a wagon pulled by some worn-out four-legged creature such as a horse or mule. I do know that there were even carts made for children that were pulled by goats. People were quite creative in those days.
One night, my grandfather was traveling with a group of men through the swamps. Darkness had crept up on the weary “farmers” and caught them by surprise. The last thing any of them wanted was to be in that swamp after dark. There were things in that swamp that came out after dark that no one wanted to encounter. There were gators, snakes, bear and an assortment of wildcats of all shapes and sizes. There were also other things.
Along their path was a rather long and narrow wooden bridge that covered one of the nasty little aforementioned bogs. All of the men had heard stories of things attacking people as they crossed this bridge at night. Anyone of those men would have given everything they owned to be anywhere other than where they were that very moment. As they were approaching the bridge, the men grew more and more apprehensive. Whether it was the horse sensing the men’s fear and apprehension or something else, it chose to stop dead in its tracks as it rounded the corner and saw the bridge. Its ears moved forward and its mane stood on end as if electrified. The men felt something, too.
The driver urged the horse forward, but the most he could get was a few steps forward and a few steps back. This little dance was repeated several times, which only increased the men’s anxiety. They were getting nowhere fast, and it was only getting darker in the swamp. They did not want to chance losing what little moonlight they had.
