At a two-story house next to the chapel, occupants found that a heavy chest had been moved during the night and fireplace andirons rearranged. On other occasions, footsteps heard at night ceased each time a light was turned on, drawers seemed to be opened and shut by unseen hands, doors slammed and loud bangings and hammerings occurred. Even the post commander’s quarters has been affected. There, such items as a pedestal cake stand and a Dresden figurine have been discovered broken overnight, with no apparent cause.
The stories do abound at Fort Monroe. There is even an instance of a colonel who told of sighting a “monster” swimming about in the moat that encircles the fort. It was reported to be 60 to 150 feet wide and 8 feet deep at high tide. The colonel said that whatever he saw was pretty big. He followed it to an old footbridge, where it disappeared.
The thing about all of these happenings at the fort, aside from the sheer number of them, is the consistency with which they have been told and retold over the years, in most cases by more than one person and in some instances by many. The other thing is the durability of the incidents. Some are alleged to have occurred decades or even a century or more ago. Others are much more recent. The ghostly encounters continue to this day.
Workers at the Casemate Museum tell of the relatively recent visit of an obviously shaken wife of an officer. She had heard of the many paranormal tales at the fort and wanted to share her own unnerving experience. She said that she had been in a bedroom with her two teenagers watching television one night, while her husband was in the basement. Before their startled eyes, a bedside table lifted up and flew across the room, smashing into the fireplace and shattering the marble top. She and her children screamed, and their dog went wild, pawing at the floor. Oddly, a Waterford crystal lamp that had been on the table remained unscratched.
And finally, there was the officer and his wife who were living in the quarters where Robert E. Lee was once housed. The husband was in the kitchen one night when a wet dishcloth sailed across the room and smacked him soundly in the face. He yelled at his wife, asking her why she had done that. She didn’t answer. He discovered later that she was outside the house at the time.
The playful poltergeists at Fort Monroe apparently were at it again!
THE GHOST SOLDIER OF NELSON HOUSE
Had not fate intervened, chances are that relatively few Americans would ever have heard of the sleepy, peaceful little village of Yorktown, Virginia, located about fifteen miles northeast of Williamsburg. Destiny, however, stepped in more than two hundred years ago and indelibly inscribed it as a prominent name in American history. It was here, during a few days in October 1781, where General George Washington, commander of the American armies, outmaneuvered General George Cornwallis and defeated his once proud British forces during a furious siege that, for all practical purposes, ended the Revolutionary War.
Today, Yorktown remains a relatively quiet little community, its peacefulness interrupted each summer by thousands of tourists who walk the hallowed battlegrounds on which America’s independence was courageously secured. One of the most imposing landmarks here is a large brick house perched on a hill overlooking the York River. The personal history of the Nelson House is inexorably intertwined with the growing pangs of a young nation struggling for its freedom. It also played a dramatic part in the final battle at Yorktown, and therein lies a ghostly legend that has survived the centuries. The house is allegedly haunted by the spirit of a British soldier who was killed in the final fighting in 1781 by an ironic twist of luck.
A massive structure of red brick, with stone trim and ivy-covered walls, Nelson House dates to the early 1700s and has been called one of the best examples of Georgian architecture in Virginia. It was built by the ancestors of Thomas Nelson, a member of the Continental Congress, commanding general of the Virginia militia, a governor of Virginia and a signer of the Declaration of Independence. In the years preceding the war, Thomas Nelson and his bride, the former Lucy Grymes of Brandon, entertained all of the great dignitaries of the colony here. The family had to abandon the house when the British occupied the town.
On the morning of October 9, 1781, General George Washington’s men and their allied forces, including artillery, were strategically set in place to commence the final battle. The bombardment began about 3:00 p.m. General Nelson was asked to single out a good target toward which the cannon crews could direct their fire. Stoically, and without hesitation, he pointed to a large brick mansion on a hill, which he suggested might be serving as Cornwallis’s headquarters. The house Nelson indicated was his own!
Cannon fire was directed toward it, and several shells directly hit the target. One apparently penetrated a secret stairway hidden behind a panel in the dining room hall leading to a garret. According to the legend, it was here where a British soldier was hiding. He was killed by the blast, and it is his ghost that remains a sad and restless presence.
The Thomas Nelson House in Yorktown became famous during the last days of the Revolutionary War, when Nelson told George Washington to direct his cannon fire at Nelson’s own house. One of the shells is believed to have killed a British soldier hiding there, and his ghost occasionally makes its presence known.
The house remained in the Nelson family until 1907. A few years later, it was purchased by Captain George Preston Blow. The Blows entertained here in a manner reminiscent of the way the Nelsons had done so many years earlier. It was during one of these socials that the ghost made its most noted showing. Mrs. Blow was hosting a luncheon for several ladies. One of the guests asked her if the house was haunted. Mrs. Blow said, “Goodness, no.”
Apparently, this infuriated the spirit, because, according to eyewitness accounts, no sooner had she spoken than the secret door behind the panel in the dining room suddenly burst open with such terrific force that it shook the entire house and knocked against a sideboard with such violence that dishes crashed to the floor. There was a stony silence in the room, save for the muffled gasps of the obviously terrified guests. Finally, Mrs. Blow managed to say that the incident had been caused by a sudden downdraft of air. No one believed her. Fearful of a further display of psychic power, the ladies abruptly departed.
In 1968, Nelson House was acquired by the National Park Service and is open to the public. To this day, however, tour guides, when asked about the ghost, are unusually careful about their comments.
The Phantom Mourners
Thomas Nelson is buried in the little cemetery adjacent to Yorktown’s historic Grace Episcopal Church, built in 1697. Thousands of tourists visit this sacred site annually. Those who venture inside the building may happen upon a ghost. The figure of a woman, dressed in eighteenth-century clothing, has been seen by a number of witnesses over the years. She appears to be crying, her head buried in prayer. Some say that she is holding a lifeless child. Her identity and purpose have never been discovered.
There also are occasional sightings, dating back more than two centuries, of a spectral band of mourners in the graveyard, apparently gathered for a funeral. In 1791, Samuel Hawkins wrote in his journal:
As I walked past the old church yesterday morning, I witnessed the burial ceremony of a beloved citizen. I was uncertain of who it was, but the people in attendance were indeed upset over his passing. One of the women beside the grave fell to her knees with grief.
I thought it proper to offer my condolences, so I approached the grave site. It was then I saw the mournful group, draped in black costumes, dissolve into thin air! I now realize that I witnessed a funeral from days gone by.
Others have told of seeing the same phenomenon. In recent years, a resident jogging by the church one day said, “I saw a group of people gathered around one of the graves. I stopped to watch. The women wore black skirts that dragged to the ground, and the men wore pants which ended at the knee, with stockings that went from their knees to their feet. The men had shoes with buckles, and some had capes thrown around their necks…Something just wasn’t right with the scene.”
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PART VI
PORTSMOUTH/NORFOLK AREA
LEGENDS OF THE GREAT DISMAL SWAMP
Whoever named the Great Dismal Swamp knew exactly what he was doing. For the past four centuries, it has been described by those who have been there, both the famous and the infamous, in the darkest and most brooding terms. Colonel William Byrd II, dispatched there to help designate the line dividing Virginia and North Carolina in the seventeenth century, wrote: “It is a horrible desert, with foul damps ascending without ceasing, corrupting the air, and rendering it unfit for respiration…having vapours which infest the air and causing ague and other distempers to the neighboring inhabitants. Toward the center of it no beast or bird approaches, nor so much as an insect or reptile exists. Not even a turkey buzzard will venture to fly over it.”
Authors have painted the Great Dismal Swamp as alluring, capricious and contradictory. One wrote of the area that “[l]ike a beautiful woman, she tantalizes with her oft changing moods. She encourages recklessness, but metes out swift and cruel punishment to those whom she lures into her web of dangers. She sadistically sears their souls with wounds which never heal; wounds which forever must be soothed through distorted imaginations, tall tales, and uncontrolled enthusiasm for anything pertaining to the swamp.”
Legends of the Great Dismal Swamp in extreme southeastern Virginia include a wide variety of unexplained paranormal activity.
Another writer has said that Great Dismal was “an almost impenetrable wilderness, a treacherous bog, refuge of deadly snakes and every kind of wildlife. Here fled the wanted men and runaway slaves and those who would abandon the company of men. Many were never heard of again for the grim wilderness seldom gave of its secrets.”
There are indeed common tales of huge eastern black bears attacking human victims, cracking their skulls with a single swipe from their massive paws. Many people firmly believe that there are bats in the quagmire that suck people’s blood. In colonial days, Great Dismal teemed with wildlife. As one journalist put it: “Its tangled Juniper and canebrake were hung with snakes, and serpents fell without a warning hiss out of trees onto boats.”
Today, Great Dismal Swamp is a 120,000-acre reserve, about forty miles long and fifteen miles wide, on the Virginia–North Carolina line, which borders the cities of Suffolk and Chesapeake along its northern limits. At its heart is huge Lake Drummond, named for a colonial governor of North Carolina who discovered it while hunting.
Colorful legends of the swamp have been passed down for nearly four hundred years and have not only endured but thrived. Many originated with the Indians who once roamed here. Some told of “firebirds” abducting Indian maidens and of great battles by famous warriors to overcome these supernatural beings. Other tales undoubtedly were spawned by the many slaves and fugitives from justice who sought refuge in the swamp and by the hermits, recluses and eccentrics who have lived deep in the forest interiors. Also, countless thousands of hunters who come to the region each season have unquestionably embellished such stories and added their own as they cooked dinner around their campfires on dark nights.
Lake Drummond, in the midst of the Great Dismal Swamp in southeastern Virginia, has been the scene of a variety of psychic phenomena.
The swamp is supposedly inhabited by spirits, witches, dragons, ghouls and ghosts. There are weird sights of bizarre and mysterious lights in the dense jungles and around Lake Drummond, and all sorts of eerie sounds are heard at night throughout the swamp.
Here is a small sampling of some of the better-known legends that have survived the test of time.
The Fishing Bride
Captain Bill Crockett, a onetime merchant mariner who settled in Great Dismal Swamp after World War I, first as a lumberman and later as a hunting guide, often told the story of a beautiful maiden who lived at the edge of the swamp near Washington’s Ditch. On the morning of her wedding day, her fiancé, a fearless lumberjack, set off into the forest to kill a deer for the reception feast.
When he didn’t return at the wedding hour, the maiden assured the guests that he would be back, and as they continued partying, she slipped off into the swamp in her wedding gown to search for him. Neither was ever seen again.
Over the intervening years, numerous hunters and others have claimed to have seen a mysterious apparition on the south side of Lake Drummond. In the early morning, as the first pale shafts of light dart through the trees, a transparent beautiful maiden, resplendent in a white wedding gown, appears in the misty dawn and “glides” out onto a log several feet into the water, where she calmly baits her hook and casts her line out to catch a fresh fish for her lover’s breakfast.
The Ghosts that Speak French
There are several accounts about an ill-fated French treasure ship that allegedly was blown off course during a voyage in the seventeenth century. Chased by a British warship, the French vessel sought refuge in the Chesapeake Bay and then was followed up the Elizabeth River, where it ran aground in the mouth of Deep Creek.
Laden with a plundered cargo of Dutch and Spanish gold coins, the French sailors abandoned ship, hauling as much loot as they could carry, and headed into Great Dismal Swamp. They buried their treasure near the entrance, a theory strengthened by the fact that several caches of coins have been recovered there over the years. Soon after this, however, the pursuing English seamen caught up with them and killed them.
Since then, many swamp natives, hunters and visitors have reported hearing echoes of voices speaking in French near the entrance. The voices have been described as “having no earthly habitation.” The general belief is that they belong to the slain French sailors, who return to the swamp to eternally guard the remainder of their gold.
The Strange Death of Black Jack, the Hermit
Snow blanketed the swamp one Christmas Eve shortly after the turn of the twentieth century, cloaking the trees and vines in a pure white shroud. Late in the afternoon, a hermit who lived at the edge of the forest and was known only as “Black Jack” set out in his small boat with his faithful hunting dog, rowed across Lake Drummond and then went down Washington Ditch a few miles. Near White Marsh Road, they landed and walked into the thick woods in search of a deer for dinner.
The dog flushed the largest white buck Jack had ever seen. White deer are legendary in the swamp. Indians say that they are protected by “the spirits.” Perhaps so, because the buck froze in its tracks within a few feet of Jack, and he fired at near point-blank range. However, the deer didn’t even flinch. It turned and romped freely into the woods, and the dog immediately lost its trail. Jack was shaken.
Some time later, the dog chased a huge red buck, and this time the hunter’s shot rang true. By the time he got the deer into the boat and started home, it was almost dark. As he approached the center of the lake, a blue-green halo of light appeared in the sky just above the treetops. It first seemed to be the moon rising, but then the light moved rapidly toward the boat and hovered directly overhead, illuminating the whole lake like a giant spotlight. The grizzled old hermit was terribly frightened, and he rowed quickly to shore.
A ghostly tree guards the edge of the Great Dismal Swamp’s haunted Lake Drummond.
He carried the heavy buck to his cabin, dropped it outside the door and ordered his dog to stand watch while he prepared to clean and dress it. Inside, he started a fire, got out of his cold, wet clothes and sharpened his knife. When he opened the door, both the dog and the deer were gone. Odd, because the dog would have barked at any disturbance. The hermit got his lantern and began a search. He found small patches of blood in a snow trail that led back to the lake’s edge, where he had tied his boat. It appeared that the dog and the dead deer had entered the lake. Jack was stunned.
As he stood there, trying to figure things out, he heard a low moan. It grew louder and seemed to be coming from the center of the lake. As he looked out, the eerie blue-green halo of light seemed to rise out of the water and soar gracefully through the air to a spot just above a giant cypress.
It increased in brightness and lit the tree with its glow.
Jack stood entranced by the spectacle. His hypnotic state was finally broken by the bloodcurdling scream of a wildcat. Shivering in the cold, Jack jumped into his boat, rowed across the lake, entered the feeder ditch and raced downstream to the locks. He tied up his boat and took the trail down the south side of the canal at Arbuckle’s Landing, where he ran to Captain Crockett’s cottage. He arrived at midnight, so cold and frightened that he wasn’t able to talk for three hours. Finally, after being warmed by the fire and a liquid mixture of honey, swamp water and moonshine, he blurted out the story of what had happened.
Jack left the next morning in search of his lost dog and the missing deer. That night, Captain Crockett dreamed of the mysterious white deer and the halo of light. It came to him as a premonition that Jack was in danger, so the next morning he went to check on his friend. At the hermit’s cabin, he found the door open and the fire out. He then hurried to the edge of the lake, where Jack kept his boat. There, he saw some tracks. He traced them into the thicket, and there he found Jack, in a kneeling position, frozen to death! There were no signs of a struggle and no other tracks.
Captain Crockett said that since that time, on Christmas Eves between midnight and two o’clock in the morning, Jack can be heard gibbering about the white deer and the halo of light. And at the break of dawn on Christmas morning, the young red buck and Jack’s dog can be seen near where his body was found. Crockett’s story has been verified by many area hunters who claim that they have fired their guns at the deer but have never hit him. The dog and the buck then vanish in the underbrush.
Ghosts of Virginia's Tidewater Page 8
