Ghosts of Virginia's Tidewater

by L. B. Taylor Jr.

  Published by Haunted America A Division of

  The History Press

  Charleston, SC 29403

  www.historypress.net

  Copyright © 2011 by L.B. Taylor Jr.

  All rights reserved

  Cover images: Front cover of lighthouse at Old Point Comfort on Fort Monroe, photo by Michael Westfall.

  First published 2011

  e-book edition 2013

  Manufactured in the United States

  ISBN 978.1.62584.169.8

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Taylor, L. B.

  Ghosts of Virginia’s Tidewater / L.B. Taylor, Jr.

  p. cm.

  Includes bibliographical references.

  print edition ISBN 978-1-60949-226-7

  1. Ghosts--Virginia--Tidewater Region. 2. Haunted places--Virginia--Tidewater Region. I. Title.

  BF1472.U6T387 2011

  133.109755’1--dc22

  2011009163

  Notice: The information in this book is true and complete to the best of our knowledge. It is offered without guarantee on the part of the author or The History Press. The author and The History Press disclaim all liability in connection with the use of this book.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form whatsoever without prior written permission from the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  CONTENTS

  Introduction

  Part I: Northern Area

  Tragic Teardrops in the Snow

  The Psychic Wonders of White Marsh

  The Resplendent Ruins of Rosewell

  The Multiple Mysteries of Old House Woods

  Part II: Eastern Shore Area

  The Ghost Samaritan that Saved a Ship

  The Mystery of the Bloody Millstone

  The “Ordeal of Touch”

  Part III: Western Area

  Strange Lights in the Night

  The Haunted Portrait

  The Sad Spirit of Westover

  A Tragic Toast at Brandon

  Bizarre Twists at Bacon’s Castle

  The “Curse Tree” of Jamestown Island

  A Colonial Time Warp

  Part IV: Colonial Williamsburg

  “Mad Lucy” of Ludwell-Paradise House

  The Puzzling Riddle of the “Refusal Room”

  Part V: River Areas

  The Rapping Friend of the Oystermen

  The Revenge of “Dolly Mammy”

  The Celebrity Spirits of Fort Monroe

  The Ghost Soldier of Nelson House

  Part VI: Portsmouth/Norfolk Area

  Legends of the Great Dismal Swamp

  An Omnibus of Olde Towne Haunts

  The Mad Poltergeist of Portsmouth

  A Mother’s Last Goodbye

  A Case of Crisis Apparition

  Part VII: Virginia Beach Area

  The Legend of the Norwegian Lady

  An Obsession Named Melanie

  The Non-Ghosts of Thoroughgood House

  Edgar Cayce’s Ghosts

  Part VIII: Tidewater Miscellany

  Tidewater Ticklers

  The Mystery of the Pink Rose Petals

  Bibliography

  About the Author

  INTRODUCTION

  Ask Virginians what the Tidewater section of the state is, and most will say that it is the southeastern area running from Chesapeake, Portsmouth and Virginia Beach on the south end to Gloucester and Mathews Counties northward, moving west through Hampton, Newport News and Williamsburg, halfway to Richmond. Technically, however, the name “Tidewater” may correctly be applied to all portions of the commonwealth where the water level is affected by the tides.

  When it comes to metaphysical activity, Tidewater Virginia ranks as one of the richest in the country. Edgar Cayce, arguably the greatest American psychic, believed that because two large bodies of water (the Chesapeake Bay and the Atlantic Ocean) were involved, the area was particularly conducive to paranormal forces. Add to this the fact that in Virginia’s more than four hundred years of civilized settlement, there has been more trauma and tragedy here than in any other state in the union—elements, experts contend, that create fertile spawning grounds for spectral phenomena.

  The hauntings here date from the earliest days of Jamestown in the seventeenth century to the present and range from “traditional” ghosts to overactive poltergeists and unexplained mysteries that have withstood the test of time. Tidewater is a land laden with legends and lore, all part of its unmatched cultural heritage. Enjoy!

  PART I

  NORTHERN AREA

  TRAGIC TEARDROPS IN THE SNOW

  Church Hill is a large frame house that stands on an elevation just above the Ware River in Gloucester. It is here where one of Virginia’s most tragic stories occurred. In the 1700s, when the Throckmorton family owned the place, they had a beautiful young daughter, Elizabeth. Her father once took her to London, where she met a handsome English gentleman with whom she fell deeply in love. The couple vowed eternal faithfulness to each other and arranged to complete plans for their wedding by correspondence. Elizabeth’s father, however, was staunchly against the match and intercepted the letters so that neither ever again heard from the other after Elizabeth returned to Gloucester.

  In time, as Elizabeth longed for her lost love, she fell ill and apparently died. Friends contended that she had lost the will to live and pined away. On a blustery November afternoon, near sunset, they buried her in the family graveyard at the foot of the garden.

  According to longstanding legend, an evil butler, angered by some slight accorded him by the family, dug up the grave site that night and opened the coffin to steal valuable jewelry that had been buried with Elizabeth. One particular ring would not slip off her stiffened finger, so in his haste the servant severed the finger. To his horror, he suddenly found that the girl was not dead. She had lapsed into a deep cataleptic coma and had been presumed dead. The shock of having her finger cut off roused her. The terrified butler ran off into the night and was never heard from again.

  Somehow, the frail girl, barefoot and thinly dressed, managed to climb out of the grave, crawl past the last dead stalks of the garden and drag herself through a driving snowstorm to the front of the house. There, in a weakened condition, she scratched feebly at the door. If her father, sitting inside before a roaring fire, heard her, he dismissed it as one of the dogs trying to come in out of the storm. Lost in his grief, he ignored the sound.

  The next morning, Elizabeth’s body was found at the doorstep beneath a blanket of snow. She had frozen to death. There was a trail of bloody footprints leading from the garden.

  For years afterward, succeeding generations of Throckmortons swore that the spirit of Elizabeth remained in the house. Whenever the first snow fell each year, there would be sounds of a rustling skirt ascending the staircase, followed by the distinct sounds of the placing of logs in fireplaces and the crackling of a hearty fire in various rooms. Investigations would find no such logs and no fires. There also would be traces of blood in the snow following the route that Elizabeth had taken from the graveyard to the house. Such sounds and sights were experienced not once but rather many times and were attested to by various members of the family and their servants.

  Church Hill in Gloucester County is the site where the spirit of a young girl, who froze to death on the front doorstep, returns each winter to stoke the flames in fireplaces.

  On one noteworthy occasion, generations later in 1879, Professor Warner Taliaferro, then head of the house, left home one evening to spend the night at a friend’s house. Neighbors reported that
in the midst of a fierce storm they saw Church Hill ablaze with lights. Junius Brown, passing by on horseback, rode up to the house to see if his sisters, visiting in the neighborhood, had sought shelter from the storm there. There was no one home. Servants, living in their quarters on the property, also saw the lights and assumed that Mr. Taliaferro had returned. He had not. The mystery was never explained.

  The most telling psychic phenomenon, though, concerns the violets that grow in lush profusion near the steps to Church Hill. They are finer and more beautiful here than those in any other section of the grounds. It is said that they are watered by the tears of a dying girl seeking refuge from the season’s first snow.

  THE PSYCHIC WONDERS OF WHITE MARSH

  You have probably seen White Marsh in the movies and not realized it. This magnificent white-portico mansion, described as the epitome of southern plantations and known as the “Queen of Tidewater,” has, in fact, been the exterior setting for a number of major films over the years. Situated strategically back from the Ware River in Gloucester, White Marsh stands amid a grant of land originally made in the 1640s. The Georgian Colonial house itself was built about a century later.

  At one time, the estate included more than three thousand acres and was worked by 300 to 500 slaves. There are 1,500 slaves buried in a graveyard near the peach orchard. This vast expanse included forests, farmland, manicured lawns and gardens and rich fruit orchards, plus excellent crops of corn and soybeans. Eventually, the land passed to Evelina Matilda Prosser, who married John Tabb. After adding his wife’s fortune to his own, Tabb was said to have been the richest man in Gloucester. Evelina has been described as a woman of great dignity, often gowned in black moiré antique.

  Despite all of this splendor, however, Mrs. Tabb was not happy with the bucolic life. She had lost two of her children in infancy and wanted to move to Norfolk or Williamsburg to enjoy a gayer social life. Mr. Tabb did not want to move, and he told his wife that if she would make herself content and remain in the country, he would create the finest garden in Virginia for her. It was then that the splendid terraced gardens were built, and many rare trees were planted in the park. The house also was remodeled, and wings and a pillared portico were added.

  The perfect setting for an antebellum movie scene, White Marsh in Gloucester County is allegedly haunted by the wife of a former owner whose pride was a paranormal rosebush.

  While Evelina, also affectionately known as “Mother Tabb,” was pleased, there are indications that she was never totally happy at White Marsh. The deaths of her two infant children sent her into long periods of mourning. It was shortly after she and John died that the strange “occurrences” began. Phillip Tabb inherited the plantation from his parents, and as he lived in Baltimore, he placed it under the care of James Sinclair, returning only occasionally, with guests, during the fox hunting season.

  Late one evening, Sinclair, returning to the house from town on horseback, was astonished to find every window ablaze with light. Fearing that his boss had come back without notice, he stabled his horse and rushed up the steps. The house was now dark and no one was inside. Curiously, the next year, the same thing happened to a caretaker named Franklin Dabney. He, too, approached White Marsh after being away one night, and he not only found every window lit but also clearly heard music and the sound of dancing. A bachelor, he bounded up the porch steps to participate in the merrymaking, but when he opened the door, there was only darkness and silence.

  Years later, Reverend William Byrd Lee, then rector emeritus of Ware Church, and his wife paid a call to the mansion and were greeted by Catherine Tabb, granddaughter of Evelina. As they prepared to leave, the reverend went to bring his buggy to the door, and Mrs. Lee was seated alone in the hall. She happened to glance up the staircase, and her heart froze. She saw an elderly lady of stately and distinguished appearance descending the stairs. She was dressed in an old-fashioned costume of black moiré antique! The woman crossed the hall and disappeared into the dining room. It was then that Mrs. Lee suddenly realized that the figure was “not that of a mortal.”

  She called to her hostess and excitedly told her what she had witnessed. To her surprise, Catherine Tabb laughed and then explained that it was just Mother Tabb, who was often seen by members of the family. They also reported occasionally seeing Evelina enter a certain bedroom, open the lowest drawer of a bureau and remove all of the infant clothes inside it. Ever so carefully, she would take each article, shake it, refold it, place it back in the bureau and then slip quietly out of the room.

  The Psychic Rosebush

  Finally, there was the resistant rosebush. This occurred some years later, after the home had passed from the Tabbs to Mr. and Mrs. Hughes from New York. The pride of the garden was the proliferation of magnificent rosebushes. One May, they were full of buds, and on the second terrace was an especially luxuriant bush on which Mrs. Hughes found a full-blown rose with rich, creamy petals.

  As she reached out to pick it, a most extraordinary thing happened. The bush began swaying violently, as if whipped by a strong wind. Mrs. Hughes looked around in dismay. There was not a breeze stirring. She tried again and again, but the bush trembled as if being shaken by unseen hands. Perturbed, she grabbed the stem firmly, but the bush was snatched from her hand and began swaying again. At that moment, the shutters of the house commenced banging sharply.

  She fled to the house in terror and told her husband about it. He confidently approached the bush, but the same thing happened. A prudent man, he left it alone, fearing that if he did pluck the rose something disagreeable might happen. In time, the story of the incident spread throughout the county, and many visitors came to see the reluctant bush. Servants contended that it was the hand of Mother Tabb that had intervened. They said that it had been her favorite rose and that she allowed no one to snip it. Mrs. Hughes eventually grew nervous over the phenomenon, coupled with the banging of the shutters, and she ordered that the bush be destroyed.

  Soon after, as she was making her rounds of the garden one morning, she found the rosebush gone, roots and all. She asked the gardener if he had dug it up as she had commanded. He told her, “No!”

  THE RESPLENDENT RUINS OF ROSEWELL

  Today, nearly three centuries after its construction began just off the northern shore of the York River in Gloucester County, the name Rosewell still evokes excitement, even though it has stood in ruins since being gutted in a 1916 fire. The accolades of this once magnificent mansion continue to ring true. Says Claude Lanciano, author of Rosewell, Garland of Virginia: “This masterpiece at the height of its glory in the mid-eighteenth century knew few rivals and has been called the finest example of colonial architecture in the country.” Possibly the finest tribute was paid by noted American artist and author James Reynolds, who said, “I regard Rosewell as the finest house in Palladian style I have ever seen. I would rather own it, ruinous as it stands, than any other in the United States.”

  Construction on this palatial brick masterpiece began in 1725 under its landowner, Mann Page. It stood four stories high, with white marble casements and two turrets on the roof, inside of which were little rooms. The interior had five rooms on the first floor and a huge apartment used as a ballroom on the second. In all, the house consisted of thirty-five rooms, three wide halls and nine passageways. It was full of beautifully carved staircases, mantels and paneling that was said to have been exquisite beyond description.

  Unfortunately, Mann Page never lived to see his great house finished. His son, Mann Page II, completed it in 1744. A generation later, Thomas Jefferson spent a great deal of time at Rosewell as the guest of his friend, John Page. Some historians believe that Jefferson may have penned a draft of the Declaration of Independence here.

  The ruins of Rosewell in Gloucester County, once one of the most majestic manor homes in Virginia, have been the scene of a number of disturbing psychic encounters.

  In its time, Rosewell was known throughout Virginia and the East Coast for its l
avish parties and balls, attended by aristocratic gentlemen and hoop-skirted, velvet-dressed southern belles. Casks of the finest French wines and magnums of champagne were brought in by boat to wash down gourmet meals fit for a king. Scores of garlands of flowers, especially roses, richly decorated every room, and dances lasted until dawn. It was a grand time.

  But Rosewell has its dark side, too. Many Gloucester natives have told stories of strange sightings and noises emanating from the rose-red brick foundation ruins. Some claim to have seen young servant boys standing beside the great pediment doorway at night, lighting the way for arriving phantom guests, who vanish ascending the Corinthian pilaster stairwell. Others swear that they hear violin and harpsichord music rising above the towering, still-standing chimneys.

  Ronnie Miles, a native of neighboring Mathews County, had two scary psychic experiences at Rosewell about forty years ago. Once, he and a friend were exploring the ruins at night when they stumbled onto what may have been an old entrance to a wine cellar. Miles’s friend lit a match to see better, only to have a flung brick knock the match out of his hand. “I have to admit, it frightened the hell out of us,” Miles said. “We had always heard a slave had been buried in the walls.”

  On the second occasion, Miles, another friend and two girls were all walking through the old Rosewell cemetery at night. He and his friend saw what appeared to be a light coming from the house ruins. Not wanting to scare the girls, they walked back to the site alone to investigate. “As we reached the perimeter of the ruins,” Miles recalls, “we both were overcome by the most all-powerful stench I have ever smelled. It was potent. It literally drove us away.”

  Another chilling encounter was experienced by John Gulbranson—an amateur psychic investigator—his sister and some friends. One night about thirty years ago, they decided to go to the ruins. They drove down to the edge of two cornfields near the entrance road and got out there because the road had been blocked with a chain to discourage visitors. They had two guard dogs with them, but the dogs immediately began howling wildly and refused to budge. Previously, the dogs had never exhibited fear.