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One of my greatest treats as a child was to spend the day with Cousin Corrie at Brookgreen Gardens in Murrells Inlet, South Carolina. It was here in the warm Carolina Lowcountry that Archer and Anna Hyatt Huntington had created the first American sculpture garden among the ancient moss-draped live oak trees of four historic rice plantations: Brookgreen, Springfield, Laurel Hill, and The Oaks.

In those simpler days, visitors to Brookgreen Gardens turned off the narrow pavement of Highway 17, the King’s Highway, onto two parallel ribbons of concrete spaced far enough apart to support the wheels of a car. Visitors drove slowly along those concrete ribbons through the wooded deer park and past the island of Youth Taming the Wild to a sandy parking lot near the Diana Pool. There they left their cars in as shady a spot as possible and entered the Gardens on foot, with no admission fee or gatekeeper.

After a leisurely stroll through the Live Oak Allee, with perhaps a detour into the Palmetto Garden, a peek inside the Old Kitchen, and a dip of the fingers into the cool water of the Alligator Bender Pool, visitors arrived at the low wide porch of a simple gray-brick building. This structure had once housed the overseer when Brookgreen was a thriving rice plantation. Now it served as the Museum and the entranceway to two open-air galleries for small sculpture. Inside the Museum, steady sounds of splashing water from the Frog Baby Fountain in the first gallery created a feeling of sanctuary from summer heat that grew oppressive by mid-morning in the Lowcountry.

This Museum was the Visitors’ Center of its day. Here two “sixty-ish” Southern ladies in sturdy shoes welcomed visitors. These two Hostesses were the only staff in evidence throughout the Gardens, other than the occasional groundskeeper trimming ivy. In the cool dim interior of the Museum, Miss Genevieve and Cousin Corrie sold postcards, gave directions, and told stories to visitors interested enough to ask questions about the Gardens.

Boxy glass display cases formed a counter along the front wall of the Museum. Mostly, these cases held stacks of picture postcards. Black-and-white cards sold for five cents, sepia cards for ten cents, and colored cards for twenty-five cents each. Books and pamphlets about the Gardens were also available. Intermixed with this literature stood other items, not for sale, that stimulated frequent questions and often led to Miss Genevieve and Cousin Corrie’s stories.

Cousin Corrie, my first cousin one generation removed, was born Cornelia Sarvis Dusenbury in 1888 as her home state of South Carolina emerged from the chaos of Reconstruction. She spent much of her childhood at Murrells Inlet on the Carolina coast and then worked for many years as a schoolteacher and librarian in Florence, South Carolina. In retirement, Cousin Corrie returned to Murrells Inlet and joined Genevieve Wilcox Chandler, a writer, artist, and local historian, to become a Hostess at Brookgreen Gardens.

Miss Genevieve was just a bit younger than Cousin Corrie. She had come to Murrells Inlet with her family from Marion, South Carolina but stayed, married, and raised five children here. She often supported them by writing articles on local subjects after the early death of her husband. When the Huntingtons created Brookgreen Gardens, they asked Miss Genevieve to become its Hostess.

During my visits to Brookgreen Gardens, Cousin Corrie and Miss Genevieve (as I called her, using the traditional Southern form of address for a grown-up family friend) let me help them with their hostess duties, much to my delight. I also enjoyed playing hide-and-seek among sun-dappled sculptures and looking for painted river turtles sleeping on logs that floated in the old rice field swamps. I loved darting from the shelter of one live oak canopy to the next during summer showers. I especially thrilled at wading in out-of-the-way sculpture pools when no one was looking. But my very favorite activity was listening to Miss Genevieve and Cousin Corrie tell stories of Brookgreen and the Carolina Lowcountry to spellbound Garden visitors, me included.

Each Hostess had her own distinct repertoire. One never encroached on the other’s territory. “Now you will have to ask Mrs. Chandler about that,” or “Miss Dusenbury can tell you that story,” were common responses to visitors’ queries. If one or the other of the ladies were absent that day, then the unlucky visitor left without hearing her special tales.

Miss Genevieve tended to cover historical figures and folktales. She had collected local stories for “Mr. Roosevelt” and the 1930s WPA. Cousin Corrie focused on hurricanes, family tales, and accounts of Confederate and Yankee conflicts on the Carolina coast. Her stories related more to her own personal experiences. Of course each had her own unique collection of ghost stories.

I heard some of these stories repeated to countless visitors. The tale of the haunted Wachesaw beads was a frequent favorite. Other stories I only heard once or twice and remember only in snippets, although I have often been able to fill in gaps from other sources. All these stories excited my interest in the historical figures and everyday people who came here before us to the broad rice fields and wooded uplands that became Brookgreen Gardens.

These are stories Miss Genevieve and Cousin Corrie told, as best I remember them. In my mind, these tales weave themselves together with swaying Spanish moss, sparkling splashing fountains, and winding gray-brick latticework of Brookgreen Gardens to create visions of a timeless spirit forever living in the heart of the Carolina Lowcountry.

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Chapter 1. The Mistress of Brookgreen

(Rachel Moore Allston Flagg’s romantic and adventurous history)

Miss Genevieve always liked to tell visitors about the famous American painter, Washington Allston, called “the American Titian” and “the first great American Romantic painter,” who was born at Brookgreen Plantation during the American Revolution. I much preferred her stories about his mother, Rachel, whose long, dramatic, and often romantic life stirred my young imagination.

“Plantations that became Brookgreen Gardens”

Rain and wind increased steadily throughout the afternoon and evening along the Carolina coast that fall day in the year 1778. Wealthy Waccamaw Neck rice planter Gentleman Billy Allston and his young wife Rachel had been enjoying their summer on Allston Island but when the weather began to worsen they grew apprehensive. A storm was coming. Horrible September storms sometimes ravaged the Carolina coast. Should they flee inland or brave the gale?

Gentleman Billy and Rachel decided to remain at their summerhouse on the beach that night and luck was with them. The next morning dawned bright and sunny, al-though debris carried ashore by the still crashing waves told of a shipwreck off the coast. Servants sent to search along the strand found one lone survivor among the disarray of wreckage. As they carried the exhausted man to the nearby Allston beach house, Rachel came out onto the front porch to meet the rescue party. Was the poor man badly injured? She bent over the battered figure gently, then cried out sharply and swooned to the floor! Fearful servants rushed to revive their young mistress, as she was in a delicate condition. Gradually, as she regained her composure, an amazing story emerged.

~ ~ ~

Rachel had been born in the middle of the 1700s on a rice plantation a little north of Charleston, the daughter of John and Elizabeth Vander Horst Moore. They raised her to marry well and within her own social circle, like any other daughter of a wealthy rice planter. She learned to read, write, and understand the simple arithmetic needed to manage a plantation household. She dutifully studied the Church of England’s catechism, as well as her obligations to God, King, and family, as she attended services in the small brick church of St. Thomas and St. Denis Parish. Most importantly however, she learned to dance prettily and speak entertainingly of music and the arts as her family spent evenings entertaining other aristocratic rice planter families. Yet Rachel also developed a remarkably independent spirit, unusual for a woman living in those times when a lady was expected to make charming conversation and smile sweetly in submission to the wishes of first her father and then her husband.

In addition to managing his plantation, Rachel’s father carried on a successful mercantile business in Charleston and kept a house there. Every year he brought his family to town for the winter social season. It was there that Rachel became engaged to a wealthy and socially prominent young man of Charleston’s French Huguenot Neufville family when she was just sixteen years old. Both families blessed the match. However, the wonderful and amazing thing about this engagement, and something that was also unusual for those times, was that these two young people were actually in love with each other! Yet both were still young, and marriage would take place only after Mr. Neufville completed his education in Europe, as was the custom for aristocratic young men of the Lowcountry.

Rachel always enjoyed the social festivities in Charleston but her pleasure in them increased with her engagement. The whirl of parties and balls was exciting for the young couple but the shadow of Mr. Neufville’s upcoming departure clouded their happiness. Life was never certain in those times of sudden fevers and stormy seas.

At last the day came when they had to part. Mr. Neufville sailed for Europe and Rachel returned to her family plantation. During the first months of their separation Rachel and her fiancé corresponded regularly in letters filled with promises of undying love. Then his letters ceased. Rachel was at first bewildered and then became anxious. At last came the feared reports of Mr. Neufville’s death in a duel in far-off France.

Rachel mourned for many months. Even when new suitors began to present themselves to the charming and wealthy young lady, she could think of little but her lost love. She rejected all who courted her. At first Rachel’s family was understanding but then they became impatient and began pressing her to select one of these eligible young men as her husband. Finally, when an extremely wealthy rice planter from that strip of land in South Carolina between the Waccamaw River and the Atlantic Ocean, called the Waccamaw Neck, approached her, she bowed to family pressure and accepted his proposal of marriage. In January 1776, the year of the Declaration of Independence, Rachel married William Allston, a widower with two young children.

Like most rice planters, “Gentleman Billy,” as Mr. Allston was often called, owned a house in Charleston where he spent the January and February social season. Most of the year he lived on the Waccamaw Neck as the proprietor of Brookgreen and Springfield Plantations, both of which later became part of Brookgreen Gardens. Each had hundreds of acres of rice lands and hundreds of slaves to tend crops.

Rachel and her new husband made their home at Brookgreen Plantation, named for holdings of the Allston ancestors in England. Heading home after the wedding, the newlyweds took a coastal schooner from Charleston to Georgetown. After crossing Winyah Bay on the ferry to the Waccamaw Neck they elected the land route from there on, their carriage following the narrow King’s Highway. About halfway up the Neck they turned off the sandy trail approximately where we do today for Brookgreen Gardens. Soon they entered a lovely avenue bordered by live oaks that Gentleman Billy had created as the final portion of the carriage road leading to his plantation home. Of course, the giant oaks we see today in the Live Oak Allee of Brookgreen Gardens would have been mere saplings in that era.

At the end of the avenue the large but simple plantation mansion built of heart pine and cypress appeared among lush shrubbery, where today the Alligator Bender Pool stands. A formal boxwood garden framed the front entrance to the mansion. A broad path behind the mansion led down brick steps to miles of rice islands among the swamps and to the boat dock on a small tidal creek that provided access to the Waccamaw River, the real highway for travel throughout the Lowcountry. Outbuildings circled the barnyard off through the trees in one direction. In the other direction, small cabins for numerous field workers and house servants lined the Street, as that area of slave quarters was called.

Gentleman Billy spent his days at Brookgreen directing the operations of his vast rice empire. He made decisions about financing, planting, harvesting, and selling the crop, as well as handling other administrative matters, while his overseers and drivers directed day-to-day activities on the plantations.

Rachel’s marriage had brought her a large household to manage. She took over these duties with enthusiasm, supervising preparation of food for storage as well as day-to-day preparation of meals, work that took place in the separate kitchen building still standing today at Brookgreen Gardens. She also supervised, and sometimes assisted with, making clothing for the workers from cloth spun and woven on the plantation, and making garments for her own family from finer material purchased from Charleston importers. Nursing, gardening, child rearing, and early education were also usual duties of the plantation mistress. Of course, when friends, relatives, or dignitaries occasionally visited, Rachel made a lively and charming hostess. During the first years of her marriage she developed into one of the most gracious hostesses on the Waccamaw Neck.

Sundays were devoted to religious activities. The family, accompanied by favored servants, often attended morning worship at the official Church of England All Saints Parish Church, just a few miles south of Brookgreen Plantation. They spent the remainder of the day in rest, religious study, or other quiet activities suitable to the Sabbath.

Rachel and Gentleman Billy were happy together, although their relationship was described as more respectful than passionate. Rachel mothered William’s young children as her own. One wonders however, how often her thoughts might have strayed to Mr. Neufville, her first love.

Each year the Allston family spent the midwinter social season at their house in Charleston. There Rachel had the opportunity to renew her friendships, visit with relatives, and rejoin the social whirl. Gentleman Billy devoted a great deal of his time to both political discussion and horse racing activities. The Allston family still owns a silver bowl, beautifully engraved by Paul Revere, won by one of Gentleman Billy’s racehorses during the Charleston race meets.

Each February at the close of the Charleston social season, Rachel and Gentleman Billy returned to Brookgreen Plantation. They remained here until warming weather signaled the need to leave the rice lands for a healthier location. Some planter families maintained homes in the cool mountains but Gentleman Billy built a summerhouse high in the dunes toward the northern end of their own barrier island just across the King’s Highway from the main body of Brookgreen Plantation. This area was known then as Allston Island and later called Theaville, then Magnolia Beach. Today it is known as Huntington Beach.

Each year in late spring Rachel would supervise the move of her household from the plantation mansion to the summerhouse, only a few miles away. Servants packed clothing, mattresses, bedding, sewing materials, and medicines from the upstairs; cooking utensils, pots, pans, and washing equipment from the kitchen; china, glassware, linens, and silverware from the dining room; food, wine, and liquors from the cellars; books, papers, pens, and inks from the library; musical instruments, toys, and games from the drawing room; and hunting and fishing gear from the storage room. They transported everything they needed for several months by wagon to the seashore.

At the beach, life continued on as usual in the Allston household throughout the summer and early fall, although the manner was slightly less formal. The close distance allowed them easy access to the main part of the plantation. Gentleman Billy was able to ride over to the rice fields during the day to check on the progress of the crops and to attend to other business when necessary. He could still return to the beach to escape the deadly “mal-arias” that arose from the swamps every evening.

Fresh fish, crabs, and shrimp were readily available on Allston Island. Fresh vegetables arrived regularly from plantation gardens. Sea breezes were wonderfully cooling, and while sea bathing was not yet in vogue, long strolls along the strand provided delightful entertainment, as did watching the never ceasing waves and the soaring diving shore birds. It was only in the fall that sea breezes turned into worrisome gales that sometimes devastated the coast.

And this September, there on Allston Island, one of these storms had brought Rachel something unimaginable! Mr. Neufville lay at her feet. Was this a ghost? Or had her long lost fiancé returned from the dead? Mr. Neufville had certainly come back to Rachel, but too late. She was now the Mistress of William Allston’s Brookgreen Plantation, and she was expecting his child.

History does not tell us anything further about the reunion of the two former sweethearts or about what happened to Mr. Neufville after his recovery. Presumably he returned to his life in Charleston. Perhaps he married another planter’s daughter. After his dramatic return to the Lowcountry he passed out of our story. Rachel’s adventures continued, however.

~ ~ ~

Rachel and Gentleman Billy remained happily at Brookgreen Plantation and soon celebrated the birth of their daughter, Mary. As the American Revolution gained momentum in the South they supported the Revolutionary cause with great conviction. Gentleman Billy contributed money for the relief of Boston following the Tea Party and loaned money to the state of South Carolina for its war effort. His Brookgreen Plantation served as a transfer point for gunpowder that local Patriots shipped from Georgetown to Rebel forces in Wilmington, North Carolina. When their next child was born in 1779, Rachel and Gentleman Billy named him Washington Allston, in honor of the Commander in Chief of the American forces.

But the War was not going well for the Americans. When Charleston fell to the British, the spirits of South Carolina Patriots fell as well. Georgetown was the most important city in South Carolina still in Patriot hands and the British soon threatened it. Gentleman Billy sent workers from Brookgreen Plantation to help with fortifications at Georgetown but Lord Cornwallis’ superior forces soon captured that city too. Prospects for American Patriots looked grim.

Fortunately, new hope soon began to stir as Rebels in South Carolina shifted their fighting tactics. Although they could no longer confront the superior British forces on the formal field of battle, General Francis Marion, who had barely escaped capture at the fall of Charleston, organized bands of guerilla fighters to harass the British along the South Carolina coast. Marion’s men would strike unexpectedly, then disappear into Lowcountry swamps, earning him the nickname of “The Swamp Fox” from frustrated British generals.

Many local Patriots, including our Miss Dusenbury’s relatives, joined his guerilla bands. Gentleman Billy, who happened to be General Marion’s brother in law, soon became a Captain in the Swamp Fox’s command and led several successful raids on British troops in our area.

Although Gentleman Billy was often able to return home to Brookgreen Plantation between raids, Rachel was forced to take on more day-to-day management of both Brookgreen and Springfield Plantations. Her spirit and her intelligence enabled her to keep the vast plantations operating successfully in spite of military and economic disruptions of the period.

Once Lord Cornwallis became commander of British forces in the South and captured both Charleston and Georgetown, he contemplated his next step toward victory in the American colonies. His plan was to march his troops northward to Virginia to crush George Washington’s poorly prepared forces gathering there. Much to Lord Cornwallis’ annoyance however, General Marion’s guerrilla attacks forced him to keep his troops in South Carolina attempting to control the countryside. Frequent skirmishes and several larger battles continually delayed his plans. It took another year before Lord Cornwallis could finally advance his troops northward to Yorktown to meet General Washington’s army, an army that was ready for the British by that time. And we all know how that turned out.

During the time Lord Cornwallis remained in South Carolina, fighting was fierce, even if it only occurred in brief spurts. Not only were American soldiers fighting British soldiers but more often, South Carolina Patriots were fighting South Carolina Tories who were usually neighbors and often even relatives. Atrocities occurred on both sides but one of Lord Cornwallis’ officers, Colonel Banastre Tarleton, became infamous for particularly nasty treatment of captured troops and of Patriot supporters and their families.

Thus it was with horror that Rachel received news one morning while Gentleman Billy was away with the American forces that Lord Cornwallis had selected Brookgreen Plantation as his temporary headquarters. Everyone knew that “Bloody Banastre” had recently slaughtered American soldiers who surrendered to him and had burned the family home of another South Carolina Patriot, General Thomas Sumter, “The Fighting Gamecock.” Rachel feared what Lord Cornwallis’ troops might do to her plantation. Even more, she feared what they might do to herself and to her children, the family of one of General Marion’s well-known officers.

In spite of her fears, Rachel bravely and graciously welcomed Lord Cornwallis and his staff as they rode up the Live Oak Allee to take up residence in her home. To her surprise and relief, Lord Cornwallis and his officers conducted themselves with equal courtesy. They behaved more like gentlemen staying in the home of a friend than enemies occupying a requisitioned household. All were extremely kind and courteous to Rachel and encouraged her to continue running the household and plantation without disruption.

While playing gracious hostess to her unwelcome visitors, Rachel made every effort to keep her children out of sight of Lord Cornwallis and his staff. This was especially true for her young son, Washington, named for the commander of the American forces. In spite of her best efforts however, the British learned of this Washington’s existence from servants.

One day at dinner, to Rachel’s sudden terror, Lord Cornwallis announced that he had heard that a young Washington resided in the household and commanded his hostess to present her son to the company. Inwardly trembling with fear, she could not help but comply with his demand. With outward calm she sent for the toddler. When he arrived Rachel formally introduced Washington to Lord Cornwallis and then carried him around the dining room, presenting him to each officer. To her surprise and delight, Lord Cornwallis and his officers “oohed” and “aahed” over the boy, playfully tweaking the cheeks of “The Little General.”

Later, Lord Cornwallis and his troops moved on northward leaving Brookgreen Plantation entirely intact. Nothing was stolen or damaged. Perhaps this was because of their respect for Rachel Moore Allston, the spirited but gracious young Mistress of Brookgreen Plantation. Rachel had once again weathered a challenging encounter . . . and her story continued.

~ ~ ~

As the war wore on, Gentleman Billy and his troops moved north, joining the larger body of General Nathaniel Greene’s Continental Army. The despair of the American forces in the South that had come with the British occupation of Charleston and Georgetown gradually turned to joy with decisive American victories at the Battles of Kings Mountain and Cowpens along the border of North and South Carolina.

Gentleman Billy, now Captain Allston, fought bravely and successfully in the Battle of Cowpens but difficult living conditions in the swamps and on the march had taken their toll. As the battle ended, fever wracked his body. Gentleman Billy bid farewell to his men and started the long ride back to his home on the Waccamaw Neck. After several days his horse at last turned off the King’s Highway into the familiar oak-lined avenue of his Brookgreen Plantation. As Rachel and the house servants rushed out to meet him, Gentleman Billy dismounted and then collapsed onto the front steps of his plantation mansion, too weak to stand. Servants carried him inside to his bed where he died in Rachel’s arms before nightfall.

~ ~ ~

Once again grief filled Rachel’s heart. But now she was alone with five children: Billy’s son and daughter from his first marriage and her own three young children, including a newborn son. Nevertheless, Rachel took over management of Brookgreen and Springfield Plantations, this time on her own. Although family members helped when they could, primary responsibility for plantation operations fell on her.

Months passed. Lord Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown and America had won its independence. Soldiers began returning to their homes and families. The disrupted life and economy of South Carolina started to return to normal.

One day an unknown gentleman unexpectedly rode up the Live Oak Allee of Brookgreen Plantation and presented himself at the plantation mansion, asking for Captain Allston. He introduced himself as Dr. Henry Collins Flagg, most recently, head surgeon with General Nathaniel Greene’s Continental Army. Dr. Flagg explained that he was originally from Rhode Island but had come south to seek his fortune before the war. When Americans began raising troops, he had joined General Greene’s army as a surgeon and had met Captain Allston during General Greene’s Southern Campaigns. Captain Allston had described the beauty of his Waccamaw homeland and had invited Dr. Flagg to visit him at Brookgreen Plantation after the war.

Rachel welcomed Dr. Flagg graciously, as ever, but informed him sadly of the death of her husband. Dr. Flagg was grieved to hear of the loss of his friend and did everything he could to comfort and assist the widow, extending his stay to help Rachel manage day-to-day affairs of the plantations. He took special interest in the Allston children, and they readily enjoyed the interest and kindness of their new friend. As weeks and months passed, Rachel and Henry fell in love and talked of marriage.

Rachel was happy at last after so much heartache and strife but an obstacle to this happiness quickly arose. Rachel’s family in Charleston adamantly opposed her marriage to Dr. Flagg. They called him a “Yankee adventurer” who was only interested in her fortune. Rachel’s father threatened to disinherit her if she proceeded with the marriage. But Rachel, true to her nature, determined to marry him anyway! She told friends, “I married to please my family the first time but this time I will marry to please myself.” And she did.

~ ~ ~

Rachel and Henry Flagg settled down to married life on Brookgreen Plantation. The marriage was a long and loving one. Dr. Flagg took a fatherly interest in his stepchildren and was especially close to young Washington Allston, who became one of the first world-renowned American painters (but that’s another story).

Rachel and Henry Flagg had three additional children together. Their grandchildren included Dr. Allard Belin Flagg, who lived in the Hermitage, and his sister Alice, who still may (another story). They also included Dr. Allard’s brother, Dr. Arthur Belin Flagg, who, along with most of his family, suffered terribly in The Flagg Flood of 1893 (but that is yet another story).

It was from their home at Brookgreen Plantation that Dr. Flagg set out on a special mission one fine June afternoon in the year 1791. Exciting news had traveled down the Waccamaw Neck: President George Washington was passing through this area on his tour of the southern states. Dr. Flagg hoped for a chance to meet him, or at least for a chance to see the hero of the Revolution and the “Father of our Country.”

Early in his presidency George Washington had vowed to tour the entire country, seeing the land, gauging the prosperity, and getting to know the thoughts of the people. (Remember, there were only thirteen states to visit back then!) He had already made a New England Tour in 1889 and had begun planning his Southern Tour as soon as he returned home, which was in Philadelphia at that time. (The official capital of the United States was there until they built a capital city from scratch in the District of Columbia.)

President Washington planned his route carefully, intending to visit cities along the coast as he headed south and then to include more inland cities on his return north. He determined just how long each part of the journey would take and corresponded with officials in every city along the route, letting each know exactly when he planned to arrive. Officials thus had time to plan welcoming celebrations, some of which were amazingly elaborate.

As soon as Congress adjourned in March 1791 President Washington began his Southern Tour. He left Philadelphia on March 21st preferring to face bad weather in the early weeks of the trip rather than be caught during the summer “sickly season” in the South when many died of malaria and yellow fever.

President Washington’s plan was to stay at inns and hotels so that he would not inconvenience, or become beholden to, private citizens, although he had numerous offers of lodging from wealthy supporters. This plan had worked well during his New England Tour but in the sparsely populated South the only lodging he could find was often in a private home. That was certainly the case along the many desolate miles of the sandy King’s Highway here on the Waccamaw Neck.

As Dr. Flagg rode north along the King’s Highway that day he first heard clatter, then saw an amazing sight coming around a bend. Four beautifully matched white horses emerged from behind the trees. Red leather harnesses with golden hardware linked them to a white coach driven by an imposing man in red and white livery. Beside him perched a footman in a similar outfit.

The coachman reined the team to a stop as he saw Dr. Flagg. Dr. Flagg also stopped, gazing in wonder at the splendid carriage, as well he should. George Washington had ordered one of his own coaches refurbished magnificently for the tour. Paintings of the four seasons adorned the side doors, front, and back of the carriage. The Washington coat of arms gleamed within ovals on the quarter panels and glass windows shaded by Venetian blinds faced forward. The framework, springs, moldings, and door handles were all golden, not an every-day sight even among wealthy rice planters of the Waccamaw Neck.

After they exchanged greetings President Washington explained to Dr. Flagg that he and his party had entered South Carolina from North Carolina the day before and had spent the night at Jeremiah Vareen’s Boundary House. That morning they had crossed Singleton Swash (near today’s Windy Hill Beach) at low tide and rolled along the hard-packed sand of what is now Myrtle Beach for sixteen miles. Five miles along (about where Myrtle Beach State Park is located today) they had eaten their midday meal with rice planter George Pauley III, who had fought in the Revolution. From there they had continued on south along the beach, then followed the King’s Highway through thick forest when it turned inland to avoid marshes. Now they were unsure as to where they would spend their next night.

Dr. Flagg graciously invited the President and his entourage to stay at Brookgreen. They accepted gratefully and followed Dr. Flagg on down the sandy trail to Brookgreen Plantation. The fabulous coach, which President Washington called his “chariot,” was soon rolling through the Live Oak Allee up to the plantation mansion. A baggage wagon with additional servants and several saddle horses followed behind. There, by today’s Alligator Bender Pool, President Washington alighted to be greeted by Rachel Moore Allston Flagg, the Mistress of Brookgreen, and her children including “The Little General,” Washington Allston.

It was in this way that President Washington spent his first night on the Waccamaw Neck at Brookgreen Plantation before heading on south to glorious celebrations at Clifford Plantation on the lower Waccamaw Neck, then to Georgetown, Charleston, and Savannah. No doubt, as she entertained the President at dinner, Rachel Flagg told him the story of Lord Cornwallis’ introduction to young Washington Allston.

~ ~ ~

Gentleman Billy Allston had left Brookgreen Plantation to his eldest son, Benjamin (from his first marriage), and Springfield Plantation to his second son, Washington. Rachel and Henry Flagg continued to live at Brookgreen until the boys were old enough to manage the plantations themselves.

Benjamin and Washington Allston reached adulthood and took over their plantations around the turn of the century. Each quickly disposed of his inheritance (again, another story; there are so many tales connected to Brookgreen Gardens). At that time Rachel and Henry Flagg left Brookgreen Plantation for the home near Charleston that Rachel’s father had willed to her, in spite of his threats of disinheritance. There, Rachel and Henry lived out their days enjoying each other’s company and that of their children and grandchildren. They were buried next to each other at Rachel’s childhood St. Thomas and St. Denis Parish Church, forever together.

~ ~ ~

And so ends the story of the plucky Mistress of Brookgreen Plantation and the man she finally married for love: a romantic ending to a long and dramatic story, and to a long and dramatic life.

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Chapter 2. Don’t Tief!

(A different perspective on property)

Cousin Corrie occasionally recounted stories that old “Dr. Wardie,” beloved physician of Brookgreen Plantation (and a great-grandson of Rachel and Henry Flagg) had told her many years previously. This was a story Dr. Wardie had heard from his aunt, “Miss Bessie.” He, Cousin Corrie, and Miss Bessie all enjoyed the story because it revealed that high and mighty rice planters of olden times didn’t always have everything their own way.

“In the Night”

Although the rice harvest was bountiful that year in the mid-1800s on Brookgreen Plantation the plantation Overseer was troubled. The yield in rice didn’t seem to be as large as he had expected. The Overseer thought and thought about this and finally became convinced that someone was stealing rice from the barn where they stored it after threshing.

But who could be taking the rice, and how? No one could steal rice during the day with so many people about, yet how could anyone get into the rice barn at night? It was locked carefully each evening and there were no signs of break-in.

Suddenly the Overseer realized who locked the barn each evening! Devine, the head slave on the plantation, held the keys. Old stories began to recall themselves to the Overseer, stories about Devine stealing rice and selling it to buy liquor (and of how Devine had gotten caught but I won’t go into that right now).

“So!” mused the Overseer to himself, “Devine is sneaking into the barn at night and stealing rice again! And he is probably bringing other slaves with him because a lot of rice seemed to be missing. Now how can I catch Devine and his accomplices in their act of thievery?”

The Overseer thought, and thought some more, and finally devised a plan. He would hide in the rice barn at night and surprise Devine when he and the others came in to steal rice. And he would put his plan into effect that very evening!

After the day’s work was completed the workers all went home to the Street, as the community of slave cabins was called. The Overseer also went home to his cottage near the Street but after dark he crept back to the rice barn, which was located where the Dogwood Garden stands today at Brookgreen Gardens, just behind us here in the Museum. The Overseer looked around stealthily but all was still. He unlocked the door, slipped into the barn, and carefully relocked the door from the inside.

The rice barn was not a very inviting place to spend the night but the Overseer made himself a pallet out of rice straw and curled up near the door to wait. He didn’t bother to stay awake because he knew that anyone entering the barn would rouse him.

The next morning the Overseer awoke nicely rested. His sleep had not been disturbed by anyone coming into the barn. Disappointed but undaunted, he slept in the barn again the next night, with the same results.

This puzzled the Overseer greatly. Why wasn’t his plan working? He thought some more and decided that Devine must have known somehow that he was sleeping in the rice barn. Of course Devine and the others would avoid coming in to steal rice with him there. So that evening the Overseer made a big show of moving his pallet out of the barn and giving up his attempt to catch anyone coming into the barn at night. But as soon as it was dark he sneaked out of his cottage and crept back to the rice barn. This time he hid himself in the trees along the edge of the barnyard where he could keep close watch on the barn without being seen.

The Overseer sat for hours watching in the dark, again with no results. No moon or stars shone through the cloudy skies and night noises made him uneasy at times but he was determined to catch his thief.

Suddenly a faint light appeared at the far edge of the barnyard. The Overseer’s initial thrill quickly turned to apprehension. This was a very strange looking light. It was not a torch but a faint, eerie glow. Gradually his apprehension turned to terror. All the stories he had ever heard about haunts and plat eyes came rushing back to him as the faint glow bobbed slowly along the far tree line. What manner of horrifying specter was coming from the miasmic swamps to threaten him? At least it wasn’t coming any closer!

Slowly the glow moved toward one of the outbuildings in the barnyard, the one where workers stored rice straw after they threshed the rice grains out of it. Nothing was wasted on the plantation and even worthless rice straw made good animal bedding or compost for cornfields.

In another moment a light flared inside the outbuilding as if someone had lit a torch. Suddenly the explanation came to the shaken Overseer: the faint glow that he had watched bob along the tree line had come from a glowing ember carried hidden in a pot. Now someone had used that ember to light a torch inside the building.

Fear drained from the Overseer, to be replaced by curiosity. What was anyone doing sneaking into the shed where they stored rice straw? The Overseer moved closer until he could see inside the building. A large muscular slave stood with his back to the doorway holding a small “fat light’erd,” a splinter of pine heartwood saturated with pine resin that served as a torch, illuminating the inside of the building. Under his direction three field hands dug down into the piles of straw and pulled out seagrass baskets. From the baskets they poured rice into sacks.

When the sacks were full and tied closed the workers hoisted them over their shoulders. The man with the torch then turned to lead them out and the Overseer could see him clearly. It was not Devine. It was John! One of Captain Ward’s most trusted field hands, and the plantation Class Leader!

As the Overseer watched, John extinguished his torch. He and the others stole back out into the night and headed toward their homes in the Street. The Overseer understood that later they would pound the rice in homemade mortars hidden in the swamps to remove the outer hulls, then boil it up for dinner in their cabins in the Street. Not only would they have extra rice to stretch their weekly rations, but fancy whole grain rice even better than the midlins, which are the broken grains that could not be sold on the international market, that Captain Ward and his family ate, and certainly better than the small broken pieces the slaves usually got in their weekly food ration.

Now the whole situation became clear. No wonder he hadn’t caught his rice thief by sleeping in the barn. Devine was not stealing rice from the barn. Nobody was stealing rice from the barn! And Devine was not involved at all. The thief was John!

Each day as field workers threshed the rice and scooped it into baskets, they hid some of the baskets in bundles of straw instead of taking them to the rice barn. Then when they carried the bundles of rice straw into the outbuilding for storage they were also carrying away hidden baskets of the newly threshed grain. Later they easily returned during the night to collect the hidden rice from under the straw in the unlocked shed. There was no need to steal rice from the carefully locked rice barn!

The Overseer had discovered his thieves at last. And the biggest shock was that John, the plantation Class Leader, was leading them in their thievery!

>>> <<<

A Brief Historical Digression

Cousin Corrie explains Class Leaders, Parson Belin, and the Methodist Mission to the Slaves

Now I should tell you something about what it meant to be a Class Leader and why it was so shocking that a Class Leader would be involved in stealing.

For you to really understand about Class Leaders I have to explain about the Methodist Mission to the Slaves on the Waccamaw Neck. That all started with Parson James Lynch Belin (which he pronounced “Blane”), who was a great-uncle of Dr. Wardie, the man who told me this story.

James Belin grew up in Charleston in a wealthy planter family. Like all planters’ sons he was educated for life as a planter himself. His older brother, Allard Belin, enjoyed the politics and mercantile dealing that made up a planter’s life but James did not, although he accepted the vocation that his family had planned for him.

When James reached adulthood in the early 1800s, his father gave him the management, and later the ownership, of Wachesaw Plantation here on the Waccamaw Neck (we don’t know the exact details, thanks to General Sherman, but that’s another story). James was quite content to move to the Waccamaw Neck. He had always preferred the quiet isolated lifestyle of planters here to the social whirl and political intrigues in Georgetown and Charleston that so engaged his older brother.

Additionally, James’ favorite sister, Margaret, and her husband, Dr. Ebenezer Flagg, made their home here. Dr. Eben, as he was known, was the son of Dr. Henry Flagg and Rachel Moore Allston Flagg of Brookgreen Plantation (remember them?). Dr. Eben had not inherited any land on the Waccamaw Neck but he contracted his medical services to other planters to take care of their families and their large populations of slaves.

Because of their close proximity and compatibility, James grew especially attached to Eben and Margaret and to their growing family. He never had children and soon came to view the Flagg children almost as his own. He shared Eben and Margaret’s joy at the birth of each child and then their sorrow at the early death of their first born son, Allard Belin Flagg, named in honor of Margaret and James’ successful brother Allard (perhaps in the hope that wealthy Brother Allard would become a patron to his namesake, as was often the custom at that time).

When Eben and Margaret had another son, James encouraged them to name him Allard Belin Flagg II, in remembrance of their beloved firstborn as well as their successful brother. James enjoyed the other Flagg children, including Arthur and Alice, but always took a special interest in Allard and even gave him Wachesaw Plantation when he became an adult.

Of course, like most planters, James Belin had been raised in the Episcopal Church. Like many in the Carolina Lowcountry in the early 1800s however, he was curious about early Methodist bishops who traveled these wild areas by horseback, holding camp meetings and revivals where they expounded fiery new doctrines that challenged established teachings of the Episcopal Church. He heard both Bishop Asbury and Bishop Coke preach in their travels through the Lowcountry. James soon “caught the spark of this new fire.” He traveled to hear Methodist preaching as often as he could and decided to dedicate his life to spreading the Word of God as Methodists understood it to be. Bishop Asbury himself ordained James Belin as a Methodist minister.

Now Methodism had run into one major stumbling block in South Carolina. Basic tenets of Methodism held that slavery was wrong. You can imagine that this teaching did not sit too well with the powers that be, most of whom were large slave owners. It was bad enough having to deal with Northern abolitionists but now to have charismatic preachers traveling throughout the countryside teaching that God’s Word spoke against the very institution that formed the basis for their whole way of life was just too much! Wealthy and powerful planters began to oppose this new religion with vigor.

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