Haunted Savannah: America's Most Spectral City

by Caskey, James

  A Dark Turn

  One other story told by the former owner about the space sent chills down my spine—possibly because of the subject matter, or the fact that it had such a profound impact on my friend’s life. In fact, it nearly killed him.

  “So the renovations are complete, and the bar opens,” he continued. “The problem is, people that worked there were having accidents or medical problems. I worked behind the bar, and one day I keeled over and had to go to the emergency room. Turns out, I had an aneurism and almost died. I still have a soft spot in my skull from the surgery, want to feel it?” At this point he offered to let me touch his soft spot, an honor I declined. “It wasn’t just me. In eight weeks we had ten people nearly die or had emergency-room-type injuries. We had a broken leg and an auto accident, that sort of thing. My brother nearly wound up in the same room as me at the hospital. There were others.

  “One day I’m back behind the bar, still not really recovered from my surgery, and I’m talking to my brother, just basically saying how weird it is that so many people have been hurt in such a short amount of time. And my brother, real casual, says, ‘Do you think maybe that pentagram drawn in the upstairs has anything to do with it?’

  “I nearly fell over. I said, ‘WHAAAT?’ and he showed me. There was a big Satanic symbol, a pentagram drawn in black on the upstairs floor—and it was right above the bar! Everyone who had been hurt was working right underneath that big ‘hex’ sign, and didn’t even know it. A big symbol, and black candles, the whole bit. My brother and I erased the drawing, and the problems stopped right away.”

  The symbol, most associated with black magic or Satanism today, has roots in many religions, but I was not about to quibble semantics with my friend. After all, he was the one with a soft spot in his skull, not I. It does stand to reason that the symbol above the bar was used in some sort of dark, forbidden, malevolent ritual, as opposed to a Wiccan ceremony, or even the Freemasons.

  The ghost stories regarding the bar are not unusual, but the Occult symbol and what was possibly a Satanic ritual by persons unknown is an extraordinary and disturbing twist. Were the owners and staff the target of a curse? And what was the motivation? These questions remain unanswered. He ended his association with the property in question, and has reported being very happy. A reasonable person might ask: Why does he not want the story to be told? It’s speculation on my part, but I believe that he cut all ties and moved in a different direction to protect the ones he loves.

  Is it a coincidence that all the stories associated with the bar involve fire? The block has been destroyed by fire numerous times in the early days of Savannah—quite possibly spurring a haunting—and now the owners and staff have had to deal with a different sort of incident, also involving fiery torment. It has now been over ten years since I first heard this story and have nothing new to report, so I sincerely hope that all such flames have been extinguished at this location.

  Scarbrough House

  41 Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard

  The beautiful Regency mansion on Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard, which now houses the Ships of the Sea Maritime Museum, was built for William Scarbrough in 1818. The historic home was built by William Jay for perhaps the leading Savannah merchant of the time period.

  The house has a historic past: U.S. President James Monroe was entertained here in 1819, when he had made a special trip to witness the launching of the S.S. Savannah, the world’s first oceangoing steamship. Scarbrough was a principal investor in the venture. Scarbrough proudly invited Monroe and other dignitaries to his newly completed home before the ship set sail to England. The voyage of the S.S. Savannah was a rousing success on the high seas, where she set a record for fastest journey across the Atlantic. Unfortunately, she was an abject failure where it really mattered: the bottom line of the ledger. The steamship was not a financial success and the investors lost a fortune. Scarbrough was ruined in the fallout, and he was forced to sell his lovely home at auction. It was bought by William’s son-in-law, who allowed William to continue to live at the residence.

  Perhaps contributing to the financial debacle was the fact that William’s wife, Julia, was especially fond of parties, or ‘blowouts,’ as she called them. She was dubbed ‘The Countess.’ She once sent out five hundred invitations for a single party—a party that three hundred people wound up attending. These ‘blowouts’ were nearly unending. One lady visitor to Savannah wrote: “We hear ladies with families of small children boast of having been out to parties ten nights in succession until after midnight, and sometimes until 3 o’clock in the morning; and that they had not seen their husbands in a week.” Robert Mackay, a friend of Julia’s, did warn that her skill as a hostess did nothing for her skill as a singer, and that she not be asked to sing lest she “frighten the good people of England.”

  In intervening years between the Scarbrough (and extended) family’s ownership and 1997, when the Maritime Museum began occupying the structure, the mansion was used as an orphanage, a school for African-American children, and as a museum by the Historic Savannah Foundation. The house, for years, was allowed to slide into disrepair and then ruin before the Foundation restored it over many years.

  Even though the blowouts thrown by Julia Scarbrough had ended years before, that doesn’t stop many longtime Savannahians from talking about the house. Some claim to have seen the windows ablaze in the mid-1960’s, when the house was unoccupied. According to these accounts, the sound of laughter and raucuous piano music have been heard coming from the house in the wee hours of the morning. Perhaps ‘The Countess’ was so fond of parties that she continued to throw her grand ‘blowouts’ well into the next century.

  “...the sound of laughter and raucous piano music have been heard coming from the house in the wee hours of the morning.”

  Brothers, & Armed?

  A family legend that involves the younger Julia Scarbrough, daughter of William and Julia, is one in which her eventual husband, Godfrey Barnsley, fought an unusual duel with his own brother, Gartrelle. It seems that they both loved the same woman, a young lady named Chessie Scarlett. Unable to settle who sould have her hand in marriage, the two siblings decided the fight a ‘poison duel’ to decide the matter. They arranged for an impartial friend to pour two glasses of wine, and into one was added a lethal dose of poison. The appearance and character of the wine was unchanged, so neither had any way of telling which glass held just the spirits, and which might make them a spirit. Both brothers drank deeply, and Gartrelle fell dead.

  Godfrey Barnsley survived, but didn’t truly win. It turned out that Chessie had been in love with Gartrelle, the brother who died.

  This tradition of bloodshed between brothers unfortunately ran in the family. Years later, Godfrey Barnsley’s great-grandson, Preston Saylor, feared that his sibling Harry was conspiring to have him committed to a mental asylum. Preston shot his brother, who collapsed into the arms of his mother and died.

  Today, the Scarbrough House operates as The Ships of the Sea Maritime Museum, and is available for touring.

  The Foley House Inn

  14 West Hull Street

  The Foley House Inn, located on Hull Street between Bull and Whitaker Streets, is considered one of the most romantic bed & breakfasts in Savannah. In actuality the luxury inn is contained within two joined structures right off of Chippewa Square. The easternmost of the two was built in 1896—it contains the original inn—and the westernmost was built in 1870.

  The Foley House Inn has a bit of strange history associated with it, and it has spawned some folklore. An interview with Charles, a former manager, was an insightful and amusing glimpse at not only the house’s history but also the attitude of some residents of the city towards Savannah’s haunted reputation. Charles confirmed the pertinent information, which is of a forensic nature contained in the story below, and when asked the veracity of the stories told abo
ut the Foley House and the city in general, he chuckled.

  “I’ve always thought that Savannah has her reputation because we are a drinking town,” he said. “Does the Foley House have a reputation for being haunted? Sure. Have I ever had an experience? No, but then again, I don’t drink on the job, either. I’ve long suspected the housekeepers of taking a nip or two while on the clock—they’re the ones always talking about ghosts.” He related some of the stories that they have told, including seeing a woman in a white 19th century period-style robe in the hallways.

  Charles, who thinks the tours in Savannah are often unintentionally funny, related an amusing story in which a carriage tour guide referred to the cast-iron ‘dolphin’ downspouts as ‘mahi mahi spouts’, erroneously naming them after the tasty tropical fish instead of the marine mammal. “The guide nearly kicked me off the carriage because I was laughing so hard,” he explained.

  Charles made it plain that he believed the ghost story was a bit of folklore, and it is recounted here under that condition. Like most folklore, though, there are bits of fact mixed in—after all, legends must come from somewhere. The following version is one of several told about the Foley House Inn, with the true facts revealed below.

  “...after all, legends must come from somewhere.”

  Honora’s Loss

  The structure which would become the Foley House Inn was built in 1896 by Honora Foley, who had recently suffered the loss of her husband, Owen. Her society friends urged her to remarry quickly, since during that time period, a woman supposedly needed a man to take care of her. But Honora refused to entertain thoughts of remarriage simply because of public pressure by well-meaning friends, deciding instead to grieve for her husband until she felt she was ready to love again. During those days there was little a widow could do to support herself, so she built this home as a boarding house to alleviate the financial burden of being single. She promised herself to be very careful to whom she rented a room, because it would be easy to rent a room to the wrong sort of fellow.

  One of the first boarders she took in was a gentleman from Tybee Island, whose house had been damaged by a hurricane. Her new renter, Matthew, was a brickmason by trade, and he proved very useful and helpful with many repairs and tasks around the boarding house. The two quickly became friends. Matthew began to volunteer for work, free of charge, around the house where they’d be working side by side, and it became clear that he was attracted to her. He never spoke of it or declared his intentions, being a perfect gentleman, but it was obvious to all that Matthew assisted her with odd jobs simply to spend time with her.

  Honora for her part was torn because of his low station in life, and her society friends disapproved. Matthew had none of the wealth or stability that custom deemed right for her. Her relationship with Matthew was never going to progress past friendship unless circumstances changed.

  Her next boarder was a gentleman quite different from the first. We’ll call him ‘Wally.’ He was a very attractive man in his early fifties, yet he made her a little uneasy. Honora noticed the way his eyes followed her when she passed in front of him, and she also noticed that he was not such a gentleman as her friend the brickmason. Some of Wally’s remarks could be taken in a way that would be inappropriate. Yet, he was a very wealthy man from an even wealthier family. Some of her friends remarked that he would be a much more suitable choice than the brickmason. Still, she felt uncomfortable around him.

  Honora spent many days pondering how to reconcile this situation. Wally made his intentions towards her very clear—he wanted a quick courtship and then marriage. He was very attractive, but something about his manner troubled her. He was very unlike her first husband, who had been kind, caring and cautious regarding their finances. It was one of the reasons she still loved her departed dearly: he had cared for her so much that he had made careful investments, explaining that she would be taken care of if something was to ever happen to him. Wally, in contrast, spent money recklessly. He never referenced a job or title, making vague statements or ignoring the question when asked what he did for a living. He also made several casual inquiries about how much she was worth and whether or not she held any titles to valuable property. But he was charming and flattering, and her friends were smitten with him.

  One night Honora woke up from a sound sleep and realized that someone was in her room. She felt herself pinned down to the mattress by strong hands, and then a terrible weight on top of her. Reaching out blindly, she picked up the first object she could grasp—a heavy candlestick holder—and swung it with all of her might. She heard a satisfying thud when it hit home, a grunt, and then the weight fell off of her. When she finally got her senses, she found Wally crumpled by the side of the bed. Wally was very much deceased, his skull dented in at the temple from the candleholder. This is when she realized that her problems had just begun.

  Honora had managed to avoid a terrible fate at the hands of Wally, but now she would have to deal with the public inquiry, and worse, lawsuits from Wally’s wealthy family. She could even go to prison for murder. Honora’s life as she knew it, as well as her fledgling business, was now over. Unless she did something drastic.

  A Foley House Secret

  The secret of what happened to Wally took eighty years to spill. The house next door was purchased in the 1960’s to expand the Foley House, and a hole was knocked into the wall separating the two structures. As the wall came down, Wally literally spilled out at the feet of the workmen. They had uncovered a false wall, expertly built, added into the Foley House to conceal the body. Honora Foley had apparently had one more odd-job for her brickmason, which he obviously carried out with all the skill of a master builder. The addition was so artfully done, no one suspected a thing for eight decades.

  Of course, Wally was not his real name, but what better name to call a man who spent so many years sealed in a wall? Women often report a chill when standing near where the false wall used to stand. Wally apparently still makes his unwelcome presence known in this fashion.

  Our mason, Matthew, apparently had a fee for his services: he and Honora were married and lived in perfect harmony, as best we can tell, for over thirty years. Nothing like a shared secret to cement a romance. Matthew had sealed the deal. However, it could be argued that Honora exchanged one ball and chain for another.

  The folklore fills in the story surrounding the facts, and does so in an amusing way, like so many legends. The pertinent facts are these: Honora Foley, recent widow, did indeed build the Foley House in 1896. Years later, when the B&B was being expanded, the wall separating the structures was torn down, and a body was found, in the words of the manager Charles, “Very dead.” However, no clue has emerged as to the man’s identity, but the remains dated to close to when the property was being built.

  Is the elaborate story of Honora, Wally and Matthew true? Probably not. But it is one more legend that really should be true, and no one in Savannah would be surprised if it were.

  Savannah Theatre

  222 Bull Street

  The Savannah Theatre on Chippewa Square is the oldest continuously operating theatre in the United States. It opened in December of 1818, and has been going strong ever since. Originally designed by William Jay as a Regency style structure, the theatre has burned several times during its history, which explains the theatre’s current Art Deco façade. Enough of the original theatre remains even after the fires that the theatre can still lay claim to the title of America’s oldest operating playhouse.

  The opening night featured a double bill, with the comedy ‘The Soldier’s Daughter’ and the farce ‘Raise the Wind’ playing to a sold-out crowd. Many complaints were made about the ladies in the audience having hairstyles so tall that they blocked the view of the action. The Georgian newspaper reported the next morning that the ladies’ piled-high hair “might be mistaken for steeple of the new brick church,” a reference to the newly-complet
ed Independent Presbyterian Church on nearby Oglethorpe Avenue.

  Police officers have reported strange noises coming from the old theatre in the wee hours of the morning.

  A Revealing Ghost

  The theatre also has its share of unscheduled performances of the spectral kind. A Savannah Morning News article from 1895 relates several fantastic accounts of ghosts in the old playhouse. In one instance, a mysterious fire burned a hole in the floor of one of the dressing rooms, but singed nothing else and, just as curiously, put itself out.

  The paper goes on to say that several police officers on various occasions, both on foot patrol and on horseback, reported hearing a strange noise in the wee hours of the morning near the old theatre. Even though the theatre was clearly deserted, the officers claimed to hear applause coming from inside. None of these officers appeared brave enough to investigate, because no official report was ever made about the strange sounds of merriment coming from the old theatre.

  By far the strangest account of hauntings occurred in the Green Room, which is a rehearsal room near the McDonough Street side of the theatre. A group of female dancers who were using this room to change into their costumes suddenly felt a sensation of being watched by someone or something unseen. They described this presence as unspeakably malevolent and evil. So strong was this overpowering feeling of dread that they fled the dressing room in various stages of undress! One can only imagine the incredible sight of a gaggle of screaming, scantily-clad ladies running for the exit—and one also wonders if the show in which they were performing could possibly approach the unbelievable scene of the near-naked cast fleeing en mass to McDonough Street. So this is one case where the ghost’s performance—and the reaction of the ‘co-stars’—surely overshadowed the real production.