Ghosts of Virginia's Tidewater

by L. B. Taylor Jr.

  “It just appeared all of a sudden out of the trees,” says Raleigh Isaacs Jr., who lives about two miles from the site. “It was big and bright and moved up and down beside the rails, as if someone was waving it. We watched it once for about an hour before it blinked out.” The light is most often sighted in late summer or early fall.

  The prevalent rumors pertaining to the origin of the light swirl around an unidentified railroad brakeman who, long ago, during a heavy storm, tried to signal the engineer that a tree had fallen across the tracks. Unseen in the rain and fog, the man was struck and his head was decapitated.

  According to Brad Rock, a Suffolk native and a member of the Tidewater Chapter of the National Railway Historical Society, “That brakeman has been doomed to wander the tracks forever searching for his head.”

  THE HAUNTED PORTRAIT

  It is unquestionably one of the most magnificent original colonial mansions in the United States. Architectural historians believe that parts of its impressive design were inspired by the governor’s palace in Williamsburg. The site on which the great house sits is steeped in early Virginia history and tradition. It was, in fact, built in 1613, just six years after the first settlers landed at nearby Jamestown and a full seven years before the pilgrims arrived at Plymouth Rock.

  This is Shirley Plantation, located at a point overlooking a scenic bend in the James River about halfway between Williamsburg and Richmond. It was originally owned by Sir Thomas West, the first royal governor of the Colony of Virginia. He named it in honor of his wife’s father, Sir Thomas Sherley of Whitson, England. The estate later gained eminence as the home of Colonel Edward Hill, who held many high offices in the colony through the mid-seventeenth century. The property has been in the Hill and Carter families for more than three hundred years.

  Historic Shirley Plantation in Charles City County, west of Williamsburg, is the house in which the haunted portrait of “Aunt Pratt” hangs.

  The present house was begun in 1723 by the third Edward Hill. It took nearly fifty years to complete the construction and was done, as one author described it, “with a lavish disregard for cost seldom displayed in the building of great mansions.” This handsome brick house stands three stories, with rows of dormer windows projecting from the roof on all sides. It has huge twin chimneys, which flank a large carved pineapple, the symbol of colonial hospitality. Two splendid two-story porticos, each with four white pillars, set off the front of the building with stylish grace.

  Inside, eighteenth-century artisans fashioned superb paneling and delicate carvings. A major design feature is an elegant carved walnut staircase that rises for three stories without visible support, the only one of its kind in America. The entire house is filled with exquisite furnishings, crested silver and interesting memorabilia assembled from the many generations of the families who have lived here.

  Shirley was a well-known center of hospitality a century before and during the Revolutionary War. George Washington and Thomas Jefferson were guests, as were numerous other prominent Virginians. One of the most charming anecdotes that took place in the house occurred late in the eighteenth century when a young and beautiful Anne Hill Carter was carrying a punchbowl across the dining room, and it began to slip from her fingers. She was rescued by a dashing young military officer, “Light Horse” Harry Lee. Not long afterward they were married at Shirley. Their son became one of the most famous of all Virginians: Robert E. Lee.

  Perhaps the most intriguing legend at the plantation revolves around the ghost of a former resident and family member, a woman known as “Aunt Pratt.” She reportedly was a sister of Edward Hill and was born late in the seventeenth century. Little is known of her, but it is said that there always was a certain air of mystery about the woman. One of the things Shirley is noted for is its fine collection of family portraits. Aunt Pratt’s picture occupied a prominent place in a downstairs bedroom for a number of years after her death. Then, in the 1960s, as a new generation of the family took over occupancy and decided to redecorate, her portrait was taken down and banished to the obscurity of the attic.

  Aunt Pratt, or rather her spirit, did not take kindly to this. In fact, she made what household members described as a “mighty disturbance.” This usually took the form of the sound of a woman crying and rocking in the attic late at night. A number of guests, as well as the Hills and Carters, told of hearing the incessant rocking on certain nights. Yet when they summoned courage to check the attic, all was still and quiet. Nothing was amiss. Eventually, the restlessness of her spirit proved too much for the residents, and they prudently brought the portrait back down and hung it in its rightful place. Once this was done, the strange sounds were never heard again.

  This, however, did not end Aunt Pratt’s troubles. In 1971, and this is documented, the Virginia State Travel Council scoured the commonwealth in search of relics, antiques and other items associated with psychic phenomena for a tourist promotion it was assembling in New York City. Council officials, having heard the story of Aunt Pratt’s ghostly rocking, asked if they might borrow the portrait for the exhibit. And so “she” was crated and shipped north. But no sooner had she been hung on a wall when she once again “came to life,” openly venting her displeasures at being so far away from home.

  According to credible witness accounts, the portrait was once observed “swinging” in its display case. Then, one morning, workmen found the portrait lying on the floor, several feet away from the case and, in their words, “heading toward the exit.” As a security measure, officials had Aunt Pratt locked up in a closet when not on exhibit. One night, a maintenance crew became unnerved when they heard “knocking and crying” coming from the locked closet. No one was inside. The next morning, the portrait mysteriously had escaped from the closet and was lying on the floor outside.

  Psychic experts are in general agreement that spirits that manifest themselves in the manner Aunt Pratt did are actually ghosts of residents who believe, even though they are long dead and gone, that the house they lived in still belongs to them. This seems to be the most plausible explanation in Aunt Pratt’s case. Subsequent events added credence to this theory. On its way back south from the New York showing, the portrait was taken to a shop in Richmond, Virginia, so that repairs could be made on the now battered frame. When it was picked up later, the shop owner said that ever since Aunt Pratt had been in his care he heard bells ringing. This he deemed at best odd and at worst eerily haunting because, he added, there were no bells of any kind in his shop.

  The portrait was then restored once more to its proper place on a wall in the downstairs bedroom, and Aunt Pratt has not been heard from again—with one startling exception.

  The portrait of “Aunt Pratt” at Shirley Plantation is said to be haunted whenever it is removed from its preferred place on the wall of a bedroom.

  A few years ago, the author was called by one of Shirley’s historical interpreters. She said that she had been telling the story of Aunt Pratt to a group of tourists. One man who was standing in front of a large chest right beneath the portrait said, “That the biggest bunch of baloney I ever heard.” At that precise instant, the doors of the chest suddenly sprang open and banged him sharply on his backside! The interpreter said that the room emptied in ten seconds.

  THE SAD SPIRIT OF WESTOVER

  Two large metallic eagles adorn the gateposts leading into Westover Plantation, in Charles City County, set majestically along a beautiful stretch of the James River about halfway between Williamsburg and Richmond. Westover is considered an outstanding example of Georgian architecture in America. Built early in the eighteenth century, it was, for generations, the ancestral home of the William Byrd family, one of the most powerful and influential clans in the colonies.

  Westover Plantation in Charles City County was the home of Evelyn Byrd more than two centuries ago. Her ghost, roaming the grounds, has been seen over the years by multiple witnesses.

  Westover was the scene of lavish social entertainm
ent among the more affluent colonists during the 1700s. Great parties were held here, with the rich and famous as frequent guests. But the house is also associated with a history of loneliness, sadness and tragedy and for centuries has earned a reputation for being haunted.

  If there is such a thing as a benevolent ghost, or at least one that is dedicated not to frighten those who encounter it, then there is perhaps no better example than the gentle, fragile spirit of Evelyn Byrd of Westover. Though she has been dead for more than 250 years, her apparition continues to occasionally reappear in the house and on the grounds: a wraithlike figure most often dressed in white, sad and haunting, as if still seeking the happiness that eluded her in life.

  Born in 1707, she was a bright child, a bit spoiled, precocious and high spirited. She was the daughter of William Byrd II—master of Westover, one of the most prominent statesmen of his time, secretary of the Virginia colony, founder of the city of Richmond, wealthy landowner and country squire.

  When Evelyn was just ten, her father took her to England so she could be properly schooled. There, she flowered into a beautiful young woman with porcelain-white skin; shining chestnut hair; slanting, almost Oriental blue-green eyes; and an enigmatic, Mona Lisa–like smile. It is told that when she was presented at court at age sixteen, the king of England remarked: “I am not surprised why our young men are going to Virginia if there are so many pretty Byrds there.”

  It was in London where Evelyn fell deeply in love with a handsome Englishman. Most historians believe that he was Charles Morduant, the grandson of Lord Peterborough. Her father violently objected to the romance, telling her that if she proceeded with it, “[a]s to any expectation you may fondly entertain of a fortune from me, you are not to look for one brass farthing. Nay, beside all that, I will avoid the sight of you as a creature detested.”

  And so, against the desires of her heart, Evelyn Byrd returned to Westover in 1726 a changed young woman. The spark of her personality was diminished, and she spent long hours by herself, withdrawn and reclusive. A number of potential suitors from nearby plantations paid her visits over the next few years, but she spurned them all, much to the chagrin of her father. He referred to her as the “antique virgin.”

  She confided only in her close friend, Anne Carter Harrison, of neighboring Berkeley Plantation. They would walk in the formal gardens and talk among the giant boxwoods, passing the afternoons away. It was amid a poplar grove one day that the two young ladies made a secret pact: whoever died first would try to return to visit “in such a fashion not to frighten anyone.” Did Evelyn have a premonition? Soon after, she passed away, some say of a broken heart.

  On her tombstone was inscribed the following:

  Here in the sleep of peace reposes the body of Evelyn Byrd, daughter of the Honorable William Byrd. The various and excellent endowments of nature: improved and perfected by an accomplished education formed her, for the happiness of her friends; for the ornament of her country. Alas Reader! We can detain nothing, however valued, from unrelenting death. Beauty, fortune, or valued honour! So here a proof! And be reminded by this awful tomb that every worldly comfort fleets away. Excepting only, what arises from imitating the virtues of our friends and the contemplation of their happiness. To which, God was pleased to call this Lady on the 13th day of November, 1737, in the 29th year of her age.

  For months, the saddened Anne Harrison did not venture among the trails and trees that she and Evelyn had so often walked together. But one day, she finally did go to the poplar grove and felt “a presence.” She turned and saw a figure approaching. It was Evelyn. It is said that she was “dressed in white, dazzling in ethereal loveliness. She drifted a few steps, kissed her hand to the beholder, smiled happily, and vanished.”

  A portrait of Miss Evelyn Byrd of Westover Plantation in Charles City County. Though she died nearly three centuries ago, her spirit is still occasionally sighted roaming the estate grounds.

  Over the intervening generations, others have caught fleeting glimpses of Evelyn, among them former Westover owners and guests. In 1856, for example, one woman told the family of John Selden, who then lived at the mansion, that she had awakened in the night and found a young lady standing in the room who quickly went out the door. She described the lady and her dress. “Oh, yes,” Mr. Selden remarked, “that was Evelyn Byrd.” In the early 1900s, a craftsman was dispatched to do some repair work in the same bedroom. Minutes later, he came running down the stairs, saying to the owner, “You didn’t tell me there was a young lady up there.” He had seen her combing her hair before a mirror. When they went back upstairs, there was no one there.

  In December 1929, a guest of the family of Richard Crane, who then owned the plantation, reported seeing the “filmy, nebulous and cloudy figure of a woman, so transparent no features could be distinguished, only the gauzy texture of a woman’s form.” It seemed, the guest said, “to be floating a little above the lawn.” When the Cranes bought Westover in about 1920, Mrs. Crane said, “Oh dear, we’ll never get any help because of the ghost.” But they had no trouble, because even though the legend of Evelyn’s reappearances was well known throughout the county, servants believed her to be a friendly spirit.

  More recently, Mr. Bagby, who lived in a small house between the mansion and the cemetery where Evelyn is buried, was in his kitchen one evening when he saw a woman at eye level outside on the lawn. Thinking that it was Mrs. Bruce Crane Fisher, then mistress of Westover, he went outside to say hello. There was no one there. Then, remembering that his kitchen is raised, he realized that if he had seen the woman at eye level, she would have had to be at least ten feet tall!

  Of all who have claimed sightings of Evelyn, though, no one yet has offered a reasonable explanation as to why her restless spirit would want to periodically return to a place that apparently had caused her so much unhappiness in life. Could it possibly be that Evelyn comes back to let it be known that she has been reunited with her English lover—that she has found in death the bliss she had been denied in life?

  A TRAGIC TOAST AT BRANDON

  It has been written about Brandon Plantation that “[i]t does not seem possible that so much loveliness can belong to one old house.” Boxwood hedges, more than two centuries old, flank this superb manor home on a 4,500-acre farm located in Prince George County on the south side of the James River between Surry and Hopewell. The estate actually dates to 1616, when a vast grant of land was made to Captain William Martin, who accompanied John Smith on the first voyage to Virginia in 1607. The main part of the house was built about 1765 by Nathaniel Harrison II as a wedding present for his son, Benjamin, who was a friend of Thomas Jefferson. It is believed that Jefferson designed the center structure.

  Brandon Plantation, on the south side of the James River, southwest of Surry, was the site of the tragic death of a young bride long ago, whose spirit still haunts the grounds.

  During the latter part of the eighteenth century, and for most of the nineteenth, Brandon was a prime site for the gala social life enjoyed by wealthy plantation owners of the times. Lavish parties, dances and weddings were held here, and the well-known gentlemen and ladies arrived in ornate coaches and by boat from the north side of the river from such great mansions as Shirley, Berkeley and Westover. It was from such an aura of refined gaiety that the main character in what evolved into a haunting tragedy emerged.

  Her name was Jane Evelyn Harrison, the eighteen-year-old daughter of William Byrd Harrison of Williamsburg. She has been described as a charming heiress endowed with position and beauty. According to Hubert Davis, who documented the era, she “used her capricious blue eyes, winning smile, and every feminine wile she could summon to entrap and smash the hearts of young men.” She was, in a sense, a real-life Scarlett O’Hara.

  It was at a typically jubilant spring dance at Brandon that Jane met and immediately entranced a young Frenchman named Pierre Bondurant. He instantly fell hopelessly in love with the fickle belle and repeatedly proposed marriage to h
er. By applying an intriguing feminine mystique beyond her years, she left Pierre more or less dangling. She told him, as he was leaving for a lengthy trip to Paris, that such a union would only be possible with the expressed approval of her father, knowing full well that this would be all but impossible. Pierre was persistent, suggesting that they elope to France, but Jane demurred, saying that she planned to spend the summer at Brandon, partying with friends.

  Saddened but ever hopeful, Pierre departed for Paris. He had hardly been there a month when he received a letter from a friend, the news of which devastatingly tore at his very fiber. William Byrd Harrison had announced the engagement of Jane. She was to wed Ralph Fitzhugh Cocke of Bacon’s Castle in late November. The wedding was to be held at Brandon so as to accommodate more than one hundred guests, ironically including Pierre Bondurant. And so, on the last day of November, a sumptuous feast was held, featuring the finest foods and the best wines and liquors in the commonwealth.

  The wedding took place at 4:00 p.m. and was followed by an extravagant reception. At some point during the festivities, Pierre, curiously, pulled Jane aside, handed her a glass of champagne and asked her to exchange toasts with him. Delighted that he seemed to show no lingering bitterness from their past fling, she agreed, and they each drank to the other’s happiness. Just then, the groom walked up, unnoticed by the couple, and overheard Pierre offer a strange poem to Jane. “Twas you I loved when we first met, I loved you then and I love you yet; ’Tis vain for me to try to forget, Lo! Both of us could die before sunset!”