I have spent the last decade-plus examining why Georgia’s First City is forever associated with the supernatural. This study has forced me to go beyond the normal discussions of the tragic circumstances of yellow fever, bad medical care, and the violence implied with any Colonial seaport city. Don’t get me wrong: Savannah’s history is full of some truly tragic happenings, but I’d like to look a little deeper into the backstory of the American Deep South as a whole, going back to a time long before Savannah was even established as a grubby border outpost in 1733 (this theory expounds on one I first postulated in my second book, The Haunted History of New Orleans: Ghosts of the French Quarter. I have borrowed some thoughts from that book for this revised section, in the interests of full-disclosure).
Much further into the past, there were Native American tribes occupying present-day Georgia. These tribes, whose exact numbers we can only guess at today (but perhaps numbered in the hundreds of thousands), were almost completely eradicated by their contact with the Spanish, specifically the conquistador Hernando De Soto. This Spanish leader and his men, on their swing through the South from 1539 to 1541, first introduced to the Native American populace (in addition to horses, firearms, and pigs) a variety of lethal diseases. De Soto’s small band of conquerors inadvertently exposed the Native Americans to smallpox, chicken pox, measles and other maladies for which the natives had little or no immunity. The effect was as startling as it was horrific. According to Jared Diamond in his book Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies, up to 70% of the Native Americans who contracted these diseases died. Those epidemics, combined with the all-out war that the conquistadors waged on the native population, led to the fall of those Native American societies. The fracture of those Native American tribes into a plethora of almost disconnected sub-groups, such as the Creek Indians, ultimately made it possible for the later-arriving English to place colonies in Charleston and Beaufort, and eventually Savannah. And this was a story that was repeated, with very little variation, all over the American continent, but particularly in the Deep South. So the very existence of these Spanish, French and English seaports in the Deep South is due to the fact that almost a full two hundred years before their founding there was an epidemic of disease which eradicated an entire way of life. History works this way much of the time: if those Native Americans had just a little more resistance to smallpox, seaports like the present-day city of Savannah would likely not exist, since taking the American continent away from the hostile natives would have been difficult (if not impossible).
If it is true that one murder can forever psychically stain a particular location, then what is the result of eradicating an entire society and culture? If the dust of the soil could speak, then what would this particular patch of Lowcountry ground have to say about the ethnic genocide of the post-De Soto years in the American South? How can there be no repercussions for such a horrific tragedy, one which played out on an unthinkable scale? Well, perhaps there are consequences. If we’re still using the soil metaphor, imagine a loamy earth that starts with genocide, then adds a mix of further disease, wars, hurricanes, murder, great fires, dueling, insurrection and slavery, just to name a few of the many instances of tragedy. What dark seed would take root in such a disturbed and twisted soil? It is possible that this land, which has been soaked in innocent blood, has indeed borne some strange fruit.
So my answer to the question Why is Savannah so haunted? is more complicated than most people in my business care to get into. The city of Savannah is so haunted because we have dual forces at work in our history, both the post-De Soto epidemics which caused the genocide I referenced above, and then the post-1733-founding violence associated (and inherent) with being an English colonial seaport caught in the crossfire of nearly every armed conflict this continent has ever known. Primed in innocent blood before we were ever even conceived, we inherited land which was already cursed by forces we cannot, even now, begin to understand. The Deep South is reaping what has been sown, and Savannah has experienced a particularly dark harvest.
Tragedy is Savannah’s calling-card; and as you can now see, it was with us before the city’s beginning, and now haunts us after the end. Both the historical and even prehistorical record of Georgia’s First City are full of violent death tempered with an ironic spin. Savannah has a dark and twisted nature, and she certainly has a sense of humor. We look so hard at our post-founding history, searching for the reasons we’re so haunted, when the answer predates us by at least two hundred years.
The Forsyth Park fountain.
A Personal History
My first introduction to what I would deem the paranormal occurred when I was a young child. My family was at a restaurant in my hometown of DeLand, Florida, and my mother was sitting with a very odd expression on her face. She couldn’t seem to stop staring at a man across the room at another table. When asked if she was all right, she commented that she was fine but she had a very funny feeling about the man, who in all respects appeared normal. She even described a dark veil descending around him. I remember that my mother endured some good-natured teasing about blatantly staring at this poor diner in the restaurant. But the teasing abruptly stopped when halfway through the meal, the man suddenly flopped out of his chair. He had dropped dead of a heart attack, literally mid-bite. Needless to say, this left a deep impression on me at that early age.
Even so, when I moved to Savannah I would have still classified myself as a skeptic when it came to ghosts. I have had that attitude challenged over and over again, as first seen in the chapter ‘Tybee Island Bed and Breakfast Inn’ (formerly Fort Screven Inn, in previous editions). When people learn of my interest in the paranormal, they are often quickly telling their own ghost tale. It feels at times like a Catholic confession. Their stories usually start the same way: “You’re going to think I’m crazy, but...” These same people usually seem comforted when I confirm that they are not alone—in fact it is my belief that people, as a general rule, experience at least one unexplainable (if not paranormal) incident in the course of their life.
So what are ghosts? And am I trying to prove their existence in these pages? I don’t know how to answer the first question without writing a novel-length treatise. But the short answer is: I don’t know for certain. Anyone who claims that they know definitively what ghosts are is trying to sell you some expensive piece of hardware you don’t really need (no, my book is not an expensive piece of hardware). There are a million different theories as to what spurs a haunting in a particular spot. But as far as evidence goes, I prefer to keep these matters more in the realm of faith. You, the reader, either already believe in ghosts, or disbelieve. So my answer to the second question is that it isn’t my job to convince you, and that’s not really what this book is about. I personally don’t need an EMF detector or an ‘orb photograph’ to tell me that ghosts exist, because I have experienced them first-hand. I have seen objects moving on their own with my own eyes, and have even once witnessed the shadowy form of a person which I knew was not there, and yet I saw a silhouette step across a doorway. Recorded in this volume are encounters with the paranormal that I personally have had, occurrences which I cannot easily explain away. But let’s be clear: we’re talking about belief, not proof. Regardless of my assurances that I have accurately recorded these instances in this volume, belief is up to you. You as a reader may find fault with my assessment of history (it has happened), you may disagree with my conclusions (which is common for this genre), but I hope that I faithfully convey the pains I have taken to make sure that my book is honest on the subject of ghosts.
I consider myself a history buff who also happens to have a strong interest in the paranormal. And I usually find that the real history of these famous locations is usually much more interesting and relevant than the usually made-up nonsense folklore I read in a lot of other publications. So I’m here to set the record straight in a lot of cases, and I’m here to tell a good story
. Does that sound like a plan? Then come into the dark with me, if you’re not scared. I’ve got some stories to tell, and there’s someone you need to meet. Her name is Savannah…
Hampton Lillibridge House
507 East St. Julian Street
The Hampton Lillibridge House is a beautiful light blue three-story structure tucked close to the river in one of the oldest parts of the Historic District. But its beautiful exterior belies the strange, and even malevolent spirits within. It has what is referred to as a ‘widow’s walk’ along the roof, and the roof itself is a gambrel-style more commonly found in the seacoast towns of New England. This wonderful example of 18th century architecture was built in 1799 by Hampton Lillibridge, and was originally constructed about three blocks away from its present location on St. Julian Street. Over the years it has been the private residence of the Lillibridge family, a boarding house, and spent the 20th century as a tenement before being bought by Jim Williams, of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil fame, who moved it in 1963 to the present location. The house, which had deteriorated greatly during the 20th century, was moved to save it from the wrecking ball.
“... he found himself walking very much against his will towards the hole for the shaft in the floor.”
“We’re Leaving!”
Once the house was moved, the brick masons began to complain that they could hear the sounds of people walking around or even running on the upper floors of the house. This was impossible, since the upper floors didn’t even have stairs. Jim Williams lived across the street at the time, and he was confronted by a group of these workers one night. They had been frightened by the strange noises coming from the house, and they explained to him, “Mr. Williams, there are some people in your house over yonder and those people do not work for you! We’re leaving.” Williams himself described that the sounds were not simply the noises of an old house settling—instead sounding like doors being slammed, furniture broken, and unseen people were laughing, stomping and yelling.
One night when Williams was out of town, the masons once again threw down their tools and refused to work because of all the strange noises. Three of Williams’ friends were out on the street when this occurred, and one of the friends, who was a non-believer, went inside to prove that the masons were simply being ridiculous. After a couple of minutes, the two friends outside the house heard a scream which came from the top floor, so they ran inside. There they found their friend on the top floor, lying on his back near an open chimney shaft. He claimed that an unseen force had surrounded him on the top floor, feeling like he had walked into a pool of cold water, and he found himself walking very much against his will towards the hole for the shaft in the floor. The only way he could escape this urge to pitch himself headfirst down the shaft was to fall instead to the floor.
While the three of them knelt there on the floor, one of the men said, “The only thing I know that Jim Williams could do is to have the house exorcised,” and at that moment the men heard a woman’s scream—and the scream came from in between them! One of them jumped to his feet and asked, “What on earth was that?!” and the scream was heard once again. The three men ran for their lives. Once out on the street, they saw the figure of a man standing at the top middle window, reportedly wearing a white suit and a silk cravat. He glared at them for a moment, and then he vanished.
Amazingly, Williams wasn’t told this story until after he had moved into the Lillibridge House some weeks later. He complained to friends that he was often awakened by the sound of footsteps in an empty house, and once had a dark figure appear in the doorway, which then approached his bed. Williams was about to cry out in terror, when suddenly the figure vanished a few feet from him.
Protection From Ghosts?
Williams took steps to protect himself: he began keeping a loaded Luger pistol within easy reach on his bedside table, presumably to shoot the ghost if it ever came back. He also brought in an Episcopalian bishop to perform the rite of exorcism. The bishop performed both a blessing ceremony and an exorcism on the house, but it apparently didn’t work. Within ten days, the phenomena were back. In one instance, Williams was awakened by strange noises. He then chased his spectral intruder from room to room until finally a door slammed directly in his path, which then locked itself, ending the chase.
One night Williams was at an auction. He came home to find the maid standing in the carport, afraid to go back inside despite the fact that it was raining. She reported feeling a “masculine presence” that made her uneasy; she had also heard the sound of rattling, grinding chains coming from somewhere in the house. On many occasions, neighbors reported the sight of strange lights in the windows, and the sounds of parties heard out on the street below. These were seen on nights that the house was empty, and Williams was out of town. He eventually sold the house, and purchased the Mercer House on Monterey Square.
The subsequent owners have reported strange sounds, and have a hard time keeping maids or babysitters for any length of time. A downstairs door was found pried open—from the inside. One couple living in the house became so curious about the strange activity in the house that they called in a team from Duke University, who studied the house at length. It was the determination of the team from Duke that this was the most haunted house they had ever encountered.
The couple that currently lives in the house doesn’t talk of ghosts, and the reason is because they value their privacy. This is a popular spot for ghost tours, and they simply want to be left alone. A plaque on the side of the house announces that this is a private residence, a clear indication that the current residents find ghosts less disturbing than being interrupted by curiosity seekers.
Underneath the front porch, there is a light shade of blue. This is called ‘Haint Blue’ by the Geechee people, which is our Island culture in the area. It is a culture that is, even today, involved in Voodoo and the occult. This term ‘haint’ translates into ‘ghost’. This color symbolizes water, which in the same superstitions an evil spirit will not cross. Outside of the supernatural benefit to this color, there is a practical one, as well. Any shade of sky blue underneath a front porch overhang will keep wasps away. Wasps, according to Southern tradition, are fooled into believing that anything painted a sky-blue color is actually the sky.
Around the property is a brick wall, and lining the wall is a row of broken glass. This is something done since Colonial days to discourage intruders, and it has the added benefit of being a little more attractive than barbed wire. But a close look at the wall will reveal something surprising: one corner of the wall is directly touching another house adjacent to the property. Why would broken glass be needed to keep intruders from jumping a wall that they would have no way of crossing? It makes no sense until you consider that another belief of that superstitious Island culture is that a row of broken glass will keep all intruders away—earthly or otherwise. Broken glass lining walls to keep spirits away is something you’ll find in Cuba, New Orleans, and up and down the Lowcountry area.
507 E. St. Julian St. is a private residence. The owners do no open their house to tours. Please respect their privacy.
The Hampton Lillibridge House by day.
Olde Pink House
23 Abercorn Street
On Reynolds Square, the Olde Pink House restaurant sits as both a standard for Southern cuisine and 18th century Georgian architecture. It was originally the home of James Habersham Junior. To tell James Jr.’s story is to tell the tale of so many Savannah families in the late 18th century: families divided, caught between Old World allegiances and emerging New World nations.
James Jr. was one of the three sons of James Habersham Senior, who was a colonial planter and merchant, as well as one of the wealthiest men in the colony. The senior Habersham was the first one to send bales of cotton from Georgia to England. He was the headmaster of the school at Bethesda Orphanage, the first orphanage in America. He was al
so a fierce British Loyalist. He was nearing the end of his life as colonists began to talk of revolution against English rule. Habersham Sr. was dismayed to find that all three of his sons were sympathetic to the Colonial cause, and were involved with the Sons of Liberty. It broke his heart that his boys would rebel against the Crown he had spent his life serving, and they would find themselves arrayed “father against son, and son against father.”
While eldest brother James Jr. supported the American cause, it was the middle Habersham brother, Joseph, who would achieve lasting fame. On January 18th, 1776, in what could be the boldest act of the Revolution, Joseph and a small group of men literally walked into the Governor’s residence on Telfair Square and arrested him. Joseph, aged twenty-four years, put his hand upon the shoulder of Sir James Wright, the most powerful man in Georgia, and said, “Sir James, you are my prisoner.”
James Habersham Jr. for his part, is much harder to get a handle on than his more flamboyant brothers, historically-speaking. He did not join the military like Joseph and his youngest brother John, preferring to use his considerable commercial ties as a merchant to finance the war. Although it is much easier for a storyteller like me to construct a gripping narrative for those who actually did the fighting, it is incredibly important to remember that if men like James Habersham had not funded the Revolutionary War effort, then the conflict would have been assuredly lost. After the war, he served as Speaker of the General Assembly of Georgia in 1782 and in 1784. University of Georgia fans should take note that he served on the board of Trustees created in 1785 which established that prestigious school.
Haunted Savannah: America's Most Spectral City Page 2
