A Lowcountry Legend from Runnymede Plantation—and the History that Shaped it

Runnymede Plantation 1917

In the Lowcountry, history is never just something you read in books. It breathes. It clings to the air like humidity, settles into the marsh grass, and whispers beneath the live oaks. Some stories rise from that landscape with such insistence that they become part of the region’s cultural marrow. The tale of what happened at Runnymede Plantation one September afternoon is one of them.

The year has slipped from memory, but the season has not. It was late summer, the kind of day when the Ashley River glints like hammered pewter and the cicada's drone with a last burst of bravado. Two brothers from Charleston—teenagers on the verge of leaving for school in another state—had come to Runnymede for a final outing before their departure. The plantation had long been a place of adventure for them, a patchwork of riverbank, marsh, and forest where boys could roam freely and imagine themselves explorers.

Runnymede Plantation today

Runnymede’s landscape, like much of the Lowcountry, is a living archive of natural and human history. Alligators patrol the rice‑field canals. Egrets lift from the reeds in sudden white flashes. And tucked deep within the woods are remnants of a past that is neither forgotten nor fully at rest. It was there, in the quiet shade of the forest, that the brothers stumbled upon an old slave burial ground.

To the untrained eye, the graves might have seemed simple—mounds of earth, weathered by time. But atop each one lay a careful arrangement of personal belongings: plates, cups, tools, a favorite chair, a bottle of medicine with a spoon resting beside it. These were not random objects. They were part of a tradition carried to the Lowcountry by Africans, rooted in West African cosmology. The practice—placing the deceased’s possessions atop the grave—reflected a belief that the boundary between the living and the dead was permeable. Objects used in life could accompany the spirit into the next world. To disturb them was to disturb the dead themselves.

By the nineteenth century, this tradition had become deeply woven into Gullah‑Geechee culture. Even those who did not personally believe in the spiritual consequences respected the custom. It was an act of reverence, a recognition of humanity in a world that had denied it. The brothers knew the stories. Everyone in the Lowcountry did. But youth have a way of mistaking knowledge for immunity.

Seeing the objects laid out on the graves, the boys decided to play what they considered a harmless prank. They lifted a drinking glass from one of the mounds—laughing, perhaps, at the idea of “superstition”—and carried it home to Charleston as a souvenir. Their parents did not share their amusement.

They weren’t believers in curses, but they understood the weight of what had been done. The issue was not fear of spirits. It was respect—respect for the people buried at Runnymede, for the descendants who still lived nearby, and for the cultural traditions that had survived enslavement, war, and time itself. The parents contacted the plantation owners immediately. The glass was returned to the burial ground and placed exactly where it had been. But word had already spread among the community at Runnymede. And the consensus was quiet, solemn, and unwavering. It was too late.

The next morning, the brothers boarded the jet for school. They never arrived. The details of the tragedy have blurred with retelling—some say an accident, others a sudden illness—but the outcome was the same. When news reached Runnymede, no one expressed shock. No one questioned how such misfortune could have happened. Among those who held fast to the old beliefs, the explanation was simple. The spirits had been disturbed.

Whether one believes in supernatural retribution or not, the tale endures because it speaks to something deeper than folklore. It is a reminder of the cultural traditions carried by Africans—traditions that survived against all odds and still shape the Lowcountry’s identity. It is also a story about reverence: for the past, and for the communities whose histories are too often overlooked.

Runnymede Plantation, like so many places in the South, holds layers of memory. Some are beautiful. Some are painful. All deserve respect. And sometimes, the land itself seems to insist on it.

Note: This story is a mix of some fiction and historical facts. However, it is associated with an actual event.

Runnymede Plantation is not open to the public. It is used for special events and weddings.

The only Luxury Hotel on the Historic French Quarter Waterfront--The Cooper Hotel Opens in March

Stand at the edge of Waterfront Park’s long pier, where the swings drift lazily over the water and the salt air carries the faintest trace of pluff mud, and look north toward the shoreline. Rising above the harbor, six stories of glass and contemporary architecture now join Charleston’s steeple‑studded skyline. This is the city’s newest mega‑complex, a modern counterpart to Charleston Place with one striking distinction: it will soon host the only luxury hotel on the historic French Quarter waterfront.

For decades, the view here was dominated by Carnival’s Ecstasy and Sunshine, their towering silhouettes anchored the horizon whenever they were in port. But the era of cruise‑ship giants has slipped quietly into memory. As the Carnival Cruise Line faded into the city’s past, The Cooper Hotel has stepped confidently into its future.

It’s easy to forget that Charleston’s historic district wasn’t always the polished jewel it is today. Before the 1980s, King Street was lined with empty storefronts, and the city’s architectural heritage felt more forgotten than celebrated. Then came Joe Riley’s bold vision: the construction of Charleston Place, a catalyst that reignited the city’s cultural flame and restored Charleston to its rightful place as a world‑class travel destination.

The Cooper complex is slated as “the first extraordinary step in the reimagining of Charleston’s storied waterfront.” Its diverse amenities are world‑class and, like Charleston Place, will be open to residents, visitors, and global travelers eager to experience the charm and hospitality of Charleston’s commercially and recreationally welcoming spirit.

Image from thecooper.com

Inside, the Cooper will feature boutique retail, a 12,000‑square‑foot spa and fitness center, and nearly 20,000 square feet of event space. Dining concepts include its signature restaurant, The Crossing, serving culinary creations by Executive Chef Nick Dugan, and a casual eatery, Current Burger, offering elevated comfort foods such as juicy smash burgers and hand‑spun milkshakes. Up top, guests will find cinematic views: the graceful sweep of the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge to the left, the pineapple fountain glimmering to the right, and the harbor unfolding in between. Finally, beside The Cooper Marina, a café called Cooper Coffee & Wine will round out the offerings.

Image from thecooper.com

The hotel’s 191 accommodations—sun‑drenched rooms and suites with sweeping water views—promise a serene, coastal‑luxury retreat. But the crown jewel may be the outdoor infinity‑edge pool, a shimmering ribbon of blue suspended above the harbor. Already touted as one of the most impressive pool experiences in the Southeast, it features its own bar, Bar Marti, offering the kind of atmosphere that invites you to lose track of time.

Image from thecooper.com

Beyond the hotel, the Cooper’s waterfront green space will seamlessly extend Joe Riley Waterfront Park, continuing the pathway more than 400 feet to Fleet Landing Restaurant & Bar. A new dock and marina will welcome boaters, while hotel guests will have access to three private vessels—including a yacht for intimate dinners and events, and a water taxi to Daniel Island. Guests at BHC‑affiliated properties, such as Charleston Place, will also enjoy these privileges.

Image from thecooper.com

Soon, the quiet stretch of Concord Street between Cumberland and Vendue Range will transform into a vibrant corridor of five‑star luxury when the Cooper Hotel opens in the spring of 2026. It promises to reshape the French Quarter waterfront in a way that feels both forward‑looking and unmistakably Charleston.

And if you’re already imagining yourself there, you’re not alone. I can picture it now: the rooftop bar glowing at golden hour, the harbor shifting from honey to indigo, a signature cocktail in hand. And yes, booking a room just to slip into that infinity‑edge pool might be the most irresistible indulgence of all.

Accommodations

176 Concord Street, Charleston, SC