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| Branchville Station |
The train whistle's blast signaled the final warning for departure. Its penetrating sound averted my thoughts back to the present moment. A billowing puff of hot steam filled the air. The locomotive jerked into motion. The train eased away from the loading platform. The final leg of my journal was underway.
I looked at my pocket watch, 8:50 pm. My destination is Charleston, estimated arrival time near 10:30 pm. I have been looking forward to my stay at the luxurious Charleston Hotel on Meeting Street with eager anticipation.
As a writer/publisher, I had certain advantages when it came to reading material. With a collection of Edgar Allan Poe's writings in my possession, I settled back into my seat as we steamed away from Branchville. In my research on Poe, I had learned he was stationed on a barrier island near Charleston called Sullivan's. I planned on visiting some of the places associated with the writer, which included Fort Moultrie and the war-damaged plantations on the oak-lined Ashley River Rd, Runnymede in particular--a favorite haunt of Poe.
I peered out the window and stared at the passing trees. The moonlight sifting through their branches cast a soft dancing glow onto the lower growing bushes. The visual effect was as shadowy as the writings I was about to venture into. The rapidly increasing clickety-clack of the heavy steel wheels rolling over the tracks informed me the train had reached full throttle. Some passengers had retired into a nap while others quietly read—much too late for conversation. I flipped open the cover to the dossier sitting on my lap. I began reading The Gold-Bug, and for an unknown length of time, slipped into the reality that was Poe.
Suddenly and abruptly, a thunderous explosion shook me, followed by an uncharacteristic feeling of weightlessness and the realization I was levitating above my seat only to come crashing down with a spine-jarring thud. A scenario repeated countless more times.
The piercing screams of helpless passengers bouncing around uncontrollably in their seats filled the compartment. An ungodly hissing sound accompanied the jolting up and down, back and forth turbulence. Outside my window, I caught a glimpse of water spewing from the ground skyward. The car’s forward progress sputtered violently. I sensed the engineer was attempting to slow the train but to no avail. There was no shortage of prayers. Then, as quickly as the upheaval started, it ended.
Despite the chaotic mayhem, the train miraculously remained on the tracks. The startled passengers took stock of their physical condition. Aside from bumps and bruises, it appeared everyone was okay. Again, the car jerked, unnerving the already traumatized group of travelers. Only this time, the train was in the normal process of slowing and crept to a stop. I pulled out my pocket watch only to find the glass shattered and the hands pointing at 9:50 pm. I gathered up the scattered pages of the dossier strewn about and stepped off the train.
An unearthly orange glow possessed the night sky. Fires were burning, and uprooted trees littered the ground. In front of the smoking engine, brightly burning flares illuminated the surroundings. We had stopped just short of what looked like a depot. I straightened my disheveled wardrobe and walked to the locomotive’s front. The engineer was conversing with an unfamiliar person. Steadying my rattled composure, I introduced myself. I asked what happened and our present location. The person introduced himself as the stationmaster. His name was Frank Doar. He went on to relate this most unusual story as we walked towards the depot.
Frank recounted, “It was 9:45 pm. The inbound train had just passed Jedburg. Awaiting its arrival, I was peacefully sitting in my chair, drifting in and out of sleep, when I was suddenly startled by an elderly black man who appeared out of nowhere on the depot platform. He was filthy, sweaty, breathless, and agitated. The agitated old fellow excitedly told me he had just run several miles up the rail line from where the tracks were severely bent and that I should release warning flares immediately to alert the incoming train of the impending danger.
I knew everybody who worked the line and thought I knew everybody in the community, but I never saw this man before tonight. The moonlight glistened off his sweaty hair, giving the top of his head a halo effect. I would have ordinarily been apprehensive about such a demand. However, on this occasion, I sensed the stranger to be sincere. At his urging, I quickly deployed the torpedoes. As I finished putting out the devices, I turned to speak to the old man, but he was gone. It was as if he vanished into thin air.
I removed my pocket watch and glanced at it. The old man’s visit, the warning, and the emergency preparations had taken only five minutes. It was 9:50 pm. At that very moment, an eerie hissing sound enveloped the town, followed by a massive explosion. The ground began to shake violently. I could hear the walls and chimneys of nearby buildings collapsing and the swaying trees being torn out of the earth by their roots. A massive earthquake had struck Summerville.” His account beguiled me.
Everyone disembarked the train and walked to the station. We waited for further information on how we were going to get to our final destinations. We puzzled over the story Frank Doar told us. In time, the stationmaster received a message. Farther up the rail line from Summerville towards Ten Mile Hill and the Woodstock Station, the violent upheaval twisted the tracks into an S curve. A train that left Summerville for Charleston moments before the violent upheaval struck derailed on the damaged tracks. The engineer on the train was critically injured, and a crew member was killed.
The flares Frank Doar deployed saved our commuter train from the same fate. However, the mystery question remained; how did the elderly black man know about the impending danger before the earthquake occurred? He had vanished and nowhere found. No one was ever able to thank the old man.
As for Frank Doar, even though he was the one who deployed the flares that saved the train, he refused to take any credit for being a hero. He faithfully believed the old man was an angel. At least, that is the story Frank told.
Although this story is fictional, verified events and eyewitness accounts are the basis for its authenticity. The haunting tale experienced by Frank Doar is as much a part of Summerville’s history as the earthquake. Bruce Orr made it famous in his book "Haunted Summerville, South Carolina." I hope you enjoyed this retelling with my own added personal touch.
The Great Charleston Earthquake:
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| Charleston earthquake damage |
Considerable damage occurred in Summerville and as far away as Tybee Island, Georgia (over 60 miles away. Structural damage was reported several hundred miles from Charleston (including central Alabama, central Ohio, eastern Kentucky, southern Virginia, and western West Virginia). It was felt as far away as Boston to the north, Chicago, and Milwaukee to the Northwest, as far west as New Orleans, as far south as Cuba, and as far east as Bermuda.
In Horse Creek, Aiken County, a train pulling stock cars plunged off the tracks into 40 feet of water. The fireman was killed, and four horses drowned. Other animals kicked holes in the stock cars and swam to safety. In Ravenel, Charleston County, the ground broke open for 2.5 miles. A jet of water cut off a man trying to reach his grandchildren. In Columbia, Richland County, the Congaree River rose with 10-foot waves.
The Charleston Hotel survived the Earthquake, but not unscathed. The center portion of the parapet of the hotel's block-long Corinthian colonnade had been hurdled to the sidewalk during the massive upheaval reportedly crushing two ornate gas lamps that flanked the entrance door.
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| Summerville house |
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| Summerville train depot |
"The first awareness I experienced was the noise that developed over my head and can only be described as sounding like a huge herd of rats was thundering across the overhead ceiling. In a panic I rushed outside and felt an awful and profound shaking of the house, and was frozen in fear that the earth was going to open and swallow us all up. All I could reason was that God had set his mind that the judgment day was at hand. I looked up and expected to see the heavens fall, and then the second shock came and I was just barely conscious that I was falling, and felt a tremendous pain in my back from falling debris. Shock wave after wave hit and I became nauseous and thought I was going to die."--Virginia Ingraham Burr
"The waves seemed to come from both the southwest and crossed the street at the intersection where they collided. This is where I was standing and they were lifting me up and down by at least two feet. I was paying very careful attention and being as observant as I could under these conditions, and noted that I was at the intersection of Tradd Street between Logan and Greenhill."--Hossein Hayati and Ronald Andrus
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