An October Visit To The Once Upon A Time Wealthy Bleak Hall Plantation--Facts And Lore

Bleak House in the book

One of Dickens' finest novels, Bleak House was inspired by an actual court case in the English judicial system that dragged on for more than 50 years. It combines two tales: the story of wealthy Lady Dedlock and that of penniless Esther Summerson. The haughty noblewoman of Chesney Wold and the orphan housekeeper of Bleak House become entangled by the court case Jarndyce and Jarndyce, a mess of disputed wills and disrupted inheritance that has tied up the High Court of Chancery for decades. The story has a twist in it--Esther Summerson has a distinctive interconnection with Lady Dedlock, and I will leave it there.

There is some contention as to the real house that was the inspiration for the house in Dickens' story. A house located in Broadstairs, England, was a consideration. Dickens stayed with his family at this house (then called Fort House) for at least one month every summer from 1839 until 1851. However, there is no evidence that it formed the basis for Bleak House, particularly as it is so far from the location of the fictional house. The house sits on a cliff overlooking the town's waterfront on the Isle of Thanet. It was renamed Bleak House in honor of Dickens.

An 18th-century house located on Folly Lane in St Albans, Hertfordshire, the place where Dickens wrote some of the book, has also been identified as a possible candidate for the house in the story since the time of the book's publication and was known as Bleak House for many years.

Dickens' Bleak House story became a part of the Lowcountry's Sea Island history around the same time of its publication in 1852. In the late 1790's, a parcel of land located between today's Seabrook Island and Edisto Beach was being developed by Daniel Townsend III, who built a mansion on the property in 1805.

In 1842, his son, John Ferrars Townsend, inherited the plantation and became one of South Carolina's largest planters of Sea Island cotton. His cotton commanded a high price from lace-makers and won several prizes for both its quality and its length. Townsend was also a political leader serving in the South Carolina Senate, South Carolina House of Representatives. He attended the Secession Convention as a delegate and signed the Ordinance of Secession.

John Townsend was an admirer of Dickens. As a result, he was inspired to name his plantation after the house in Dickens' story with a slight difference, Bleak Hall. The original great mansion of Bleak Hall was two-and-a-half stories high on a raised basement. A distinguishing feature of the mansion, a cupola, was later added after the house was built so the homesick bride of one of the Townsends could look across the river to her former home on Wadmalaw Island. It towered over the surrounding oriental gardens and the now famous ice house, which still exists and is an outstanding example of Gothic revival architecture.

At the outset of the Civil War in 1861, by orders from the Confederate government, the steamboat "Beauregard" evacuated everyone from Edisto Island and the plantations. Both Confederate and Union troops used the cupola on Bleak Hall as a lookout. At the wars end, the plantations laid devastated. The valuable silver, china, and furniture that was left behind by the Townsends were carried away or destroyed by Freedmen and the Federals. When the Townsends returned in 1866, the house was occupied by former slaves. Shortly thereafter, it burned down. A new one was built in its place, but later torn down and a modern house was built nearby, which also disappeared in time.

Like all Southern plantations, legends abound. One involves a "bee hive well" called Jacob's well--a well surrounded by a wall of tabby with a steeple-shaped roof and the name "Jacobus Fecit" cut into one of its sides. In its early days, it was rumored to be a place where lovers secretly rendezvoused. It is believed a little gray man stands guard over the well to keep its waters pure and only allows the "pure in heart" drink from it.

Another story involves the plantation cemetery located at the fork in the road where you turn right to go to Bleak Hall or left to go to Sea Cloud--another plantation located nearby. After leaving a clearing, you enter a narrow road surrounded by dense undergrowth and trees. Here you will feel the first wave of hot air hit the back of your neck, then again and again until you leave the area. The slaves believed this hot air to be the "Hags breath" and if you linger, she will cast a terrible spell that could even cause your death.

A third legend speaks of a Portuguese man wearing large gold earrings and a red bandanna fashioned into a turban who roams the shores of Botany Bay. Seven of his victims were discovered on the beach--all of them standing straight up in the sand.

And then, there is the Mystery Tree. It is located at the entrance of the road that led to Bleak Hall and Sea Cloud Plantations. Those who have seen it are amused by the oddities that decorate its branches, which mysteriously change from time to time. Some have suggested it to be an object known to the Gullah culture as the bottle tree. In the African culture, bottle trees are placed in a spot where evil is known to have dwelt. The tradition purports evil crawls into the bottles to destroy the beauty it reflects, becomes trapped, and is destroyed by the illumination of the rising sun. It is true the Botany Bay plantations owned slaves during their Antebellum period to work their sea island cotton fields. As to the Mystery Tree, I have not seen bottles on it to suggest this belief. 

Today, Bleak Hall and Sea Cloud have been combined to form the Botany Bay Plantation--a wildlife preserve consisting of 3,373 acres. Formed in the 1930's by Dr. James Greenway, it got its name from the barrier island that was near, but not a part of the Bleak Hall property--Botany Bay Island. Some of the island's previous names were Tucker Island, Watch Island and Clark's Bay. The last owners, John and Margaret Meyer, deeded the property to the state.

Botany Bay Island was much larger in the early days of Bleak Hall Plantation--covered with an impenetrable tropical jungle of wild oaks, palmettos, and cedars just twenty yards from the shoreline. Over the years, the ocean has encroached on the land. Now, only a narrow, pristine strip of beach two miles long and lined with a sun-bleached bone yard of weatherworn dead timber remains--loved by photographers. It was separated from the large plantation by an inlet and a smaller island named "Porky," a shortened name from "Pour-quoi." While crossing the marsh to the beach, you will pass an outcropping of trees and plants called Hammock Island. The beach was significantly eroded by Hurricane Matthew and was closed for awhile, but has since opened.

Botany Bay Plantation is a magical place with a secluded beach unsurpassed on the Atlantic coast and located on Edisto Island not far from Edisto Beach. In fact, from Botany Bay's shell-covered beach you can see Edisto Beach to the right and Seabrook Island to the left.

You can take a tour of Botany Bay Plantation featuring 15 points of interest by car. Keep an eye out for the Portuguese man and do not linger near the cemetery if you feel a waft of hot air on the back of your neck.

An Endangered Edisto National Historic Landmark With A Storied Past Is Rescued--Brick House Ruins

"I know not how it was--but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit...I looked upon the scene before me--upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain--upon the bleak walls--upon the vacant eye-like windows--with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream...Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principle feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity...Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn."

The Lowcountry is rife with aged and ruined plantation homes that fit the portraiture of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher." Once sprawling estates of opulence, now pillaged realms of providence--some by Federal troops in the Civil War--some by the all-consuming fires of unintentional carelessness--some by creeping disrepair. What Edgar Allen Poe described with trepidation, we idealize and romanticize. For us, they are living remnants of a glamorous and sometime savage by-gone time called the Old South. Their storied and ghostly pasts color our dreams and shade our nightmares--part of the wonder that lures people from all over the country and the world each year by the millions to their caretaker and master, Charleston and its Sea Islands. For me this particular day, the allure would take me to a Sea Island called Edisto.

Turning off of 174, after passing a few simple homesteads, it was a long drive up the unpaved sandy-stoned Brick House Road. It was lined on the left by old trees dripping with Spanish moss and cultivated farm fields on its right. At one point it split into two, until I arrived at an entrance marked by a ominously large no trespassing sign. I was going no further. The pictures I hoped to get of the old house beyond was not to be for I did not have an appointment and I was not going to dishonor the warning. The famous Brick House ruins was my intended objective.

Believed to have been built in 1725, Paul Hamilton used bricks imported from Boston and wood aged a minimum of seven years in its construction--Boston bricks were more denser than local bricks. It was architecturally designed in American colonial architecture, but flavored with a French Huguenot influence. The Jenkins family acquired the estate in 1798, which included the 300 acre plantation. It was in the late 1700's and early 1800's Sea Island plantations grew in wealth and prosperity due to its highly-prized Sea Island Cotton. It was around this time an Edgar Allen Poe type story became a part of its history. It is a story about a relative of Mrs. Jenkins named Amelia. If you would like to read the story go to The Lengendary "Brick House" on Edisto Island--A Love Story With A Regrettable Twist.

In 1929, a fire gutted the interior. The fire left only the exterior walls and its tall chimneys. The Brick House ruins have been slowly deteriorating and gradually overgrown with vegetation since. In the 1960s, the ruin's two chimneys were lowered by about 12 feet each to prevent them falling over, but the cracks and leans in the walls have gradually worsened. This National Historic Landmark and one of the Lowcountry's earliest, most substantial homes was nearing collapse and if that were to happen, an important piece of history would disappear into the dust pile of time. But fortunately, fate has turned in its favor.

In July of this year, the National Trust for Historic Preservation has come to the rescue. Two grants were provided to further the process of emergency stabilization and the much needed work was put in motion. Other proceeds have come from an oyster roast, the Historic Charleston Foundation, the Preservation Society of Charleston, The Rivers Foundation, and South State Bank. All told, the nonprofit has secured about $56,000 toward the current work, which is estimated at $70,000. Anyone who wishes can donate by clicking on this donation link.

Brick House is on private property and not open to the public. I hope to make arrangements at some point to photograph it for myself--This is an update to an earlier article.

The Lengendary "Brick House" on Edisto Island--A Love Story With A Regrettable Twist

"I know not how it was--but, with the first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom pervaded my spirit...I looked upon the scene before me--upon the mere house, and the simple landscape features of the domain--upon the bleak walls--upon the vacant eye-like windows--with an utter depression of soul which I can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the after-dream...Shaking off from my spirit what must have been a dream, I scanned more narrowly the real aspect of the building. Its principle feature seemed to be that of an excessive antiquity...Perhaps the eye of a scrutinizing observer might have discovered a barely perceptible fissure, which extending from the roof of the building in front, made its way down the wall in a zigzag direction, until it became lost in the sullen waters of the tarn."

Drayton Hall 

The Lowcountry is rife with aged and ruined plantation homes that fit the portraiture of Edgar Allen Poe's "The Fall of the House of Usher." Once sprawling estates of opulence, now pillaged realms of providence--some by Federal troops in the Civil War--some by the all-consuming fires of unintentional carelessness--some by creeping disrepair. What Edgar Allen Poe described with trepidation, we idealize and romanticize. For us, they are living remnants of a glamorous and sometime savage by-gone time called the Old South. Their storied and ghostly pasts color our dreams and shade our nightmares--part of the wonder that lures people from all over the country and the world each year by the millions to their caretaker and master, Charleston and its Sea Islands.

Brick House before 1929

The "Brick House" on Edisto Island is one of those houses. Believed to have been built in 1725, Paul Hamilton used bricks imported from Boston and wood aged a minimum of seven years in its construction--Boston bricks were more denser than local bricks. It was architecturally designed in American colonial architecture, but flavored with a French Huguenot influence. The Jenkins family acquired the estate in 1798, which included the 300 acre plantation. It was in the late 1700's and early 1800's Sea Island plantations grew in wealth and prosperity due to its highly-prized Sea Island Cotton. It was around this time an Edgar Allen Poe type story became a part of its history.

Shortly after the Jenkins took ownership, a relative of Mrs. Jenkins visited Brick House from James Island. Amelia was very beautiful, popular, and recently engaged to the prodigy of a prominent Charleston family. She was accompanied by her young mistress. Not long after, a complication arose when Amelia fell in love with a wealthy Edisto planter. She attempted to break off the engagement by letter, but the gentleman came to Brick House to confront her, demanding an explanation. Amelia's answer, "I fell in love with someone else." The jilted suitor pleaded for her to reconsider, but failed. "You will never marry him, I would rather see you dead," he threatened and walked away.

Time passed and the threat was forgotten--everyone was preoccupied with the wedding plans. The wedding day arrived. Nearby, Mr. Jenkins private steamboat awaited at the wharf. The newly weds would leave for Charleston after the festivities were completed. Brick House was filled with family and guests. Early in the evening, Amelia retired to the upstairs to put on her dress. With the assistance of her mistress, she readied herself. The veil was placed on her head and the mistress left the room. From the open window in the room, Amelia faintly heard her name called out. She approached the window and peered out into the darkness. Then, there was the deafening sound of a gun shot and a second.

Downstairs, the relatives and guests stunned by the echoing gunfire looked at one another in disbelief. They took immediate inventory. Everyone downstairs was alright. Then, a cold chill fell upon the celebrants. They all rushed up the stairs. The bridegroom was the first to reach the bloody and lifeless body of Amelia. Beside the window, a bloody-red handprint marked the place where she placed her hand before collapsing to the floor.

The jilted lover from Charleston made good on his threat. Outside the window stood a stately old oak. He had climbed into its broad branches, fired the fatal shot, and then turned the gun on himself. His body was found beneath the tree. The pistol's sulfuric exhalation lingering among the leaves overhead.

It is said, the bloody handprint left by Amelia remained on the beautiful, scenic-painted wall until a hundred years later, when it was covered by a heavy, green paint. In 1929, a fire gutted the interior, thus forever erasing the paint-covered manifestation. The brick shell survived. Over the years since, Brick House has suffered instability and extraordinary dilapidation, but Amelia's tragic story lives on. Each year on August the 13th, screams can be heard coming from within its crumbling walls. Some people say Amelia is often seen standing in the bedroom window--wedding dress shimmering in the moonlight.

There is actually two versions of the story associated with the Old Brick House. This was the story told by Geordie Buxton in 2007. You can read it in Haunted Plantations: Ghosts of Slavery and Legends of the Cotton Kingdoms, Charleston, SC, Arcadia Press. The second was told by Margaret Rhett Martin in 1963. You can find her story in Charleston Ghosts, Columbia, SC: U. of SC Press.

After 1929

This is just one of the many houses and legends you will encounter as you navigate the historic Lowcountry from Bulls Island to Edisto Island, from the Battery in Charleston to Hutchinson Square in Summerville. They are as nurturing as the coastal tides and as murky as pluff mud. Bring your camera and broaden your mind for these words will reverberate in your ears, "Houses are alive...If we're quiet, if we listen, we can hear houses breath. Sometimes, in the depth of the night, you can even hear them groan. It's as if they were having bad dreams. A good house cradles and comforts, a based one fills us with instinctive unease."--Steven King in "Rose Red"

Ghost or Civil War Walking Tour of Charleston
Chilling Charleston Macabre Ghost Tour
Ghost and Haunted Tours in Charleston
Bulldog Ghost Tours
Tours of Edisto
Botany Bay Eco Tours

Now Barely A Whisper In The Wind With A Ghost Of A Story, Edingsville Beach Was A Haven Of Grandeur And Extravagance

As the legend tells, in the hazy cast of a summer’s blood moon, when the ocean air is heavy with a salty mist, you just may see the glazed shadow of the moon's dim light dance its somber dance on the window panes of the once upon a time sea island planter's homes an oyster toss from Botany Bay along a stretch of deserted island sand. And if you carefully listen to the tempestuous breeze passing over the sand and through the scattered relics washed ashore by the agitated surf, you possibly may hear the faint laughter and decadent chatter of the souls who past the time here during the burdensome heat of the malarial months of mosquito infested inland Edisto. But do not linger, for out of the translucent shadows, you may unexpectedly be enlisted by an illusory woman walking the beach mournfully searching for her husband long past due from a distant land.

Today, this hauntingly seductive shoreline is a windswept, sea-shelled stretch of solitary sand located between Edisto Beach and Botany Bay Beach (see map). You would be looking from Botany Bay for a glimpse because there is no access to the beach other than by way of a causeway used exclusively by the residents of Jeremy Cay—a gated community separated from the beach by a salt marsh. You arrive at the gates of Jeremy Cay by way of a moss covered, oak lined road called Edingsville Beach Road. The very same road that led the families of the aristocratic Sea Island planters of Edisto to their beachside, summer resort once called Edingsville and the beginning of the story.

With the 18th century closing out and the 19th beginning, Edisto planters were fast becoming the wealthiest plantation owners in the South due to Sea Island cotton. Silky and highly prized, Sea Island cotton boasted extra long fibers making it a variety avidly sought after by mill owners of the world. Their unbelievable wealth empowered the planters to establish an aristocracy reinforced in blood and marriage.

They built beautiful mansions, bought townhouses in Charleston and entertained lavishly, but in the summer months their plantation paradises languished in summer’s oppressive heat besieged by swarms of mosquito and the dreaded “country fever,” also known as malaria. While seeking relief on the barrier island beaches of the Atlantic, they discovered the cooling ocean breezes kept the scourge at bay. With this realization, the idea of Edingsville Beach was born.

Sea Island plantation

The little island was accessible only by water until around 1800, when Benjamin Edings built a causeway from Edisto Island and began selling or leasing lots on the beach to local planter families. By 1820, the beachside resort of Edingsville had grown to include sixty stately two-story, brick houses wrapped in terraces with sweeping views, adorned with gardens and serviced by carriage houses and slave quarters. They were spaced far apart and lined up in two rows, one row overlooked the ocean while the other overlooked the marsh. Two churches praised their good fortunes and resolved their sins while an academy kept the boys educated. In 1852, the Atlantic Hotel was built by the Eding’s family to accommodate the growing list of vacationers. The beach retreat was dubbed “Riviera of the Low Country.”

1955 sketch of Edingsville Beach by Faith C. Murray (Courtesy Post & Courier)

Every May, the largest concentration of plantation noblesse between Charleston and Savannah would gather up their servants and furnishings, load them onto wagons and carts followed by horse drawn carriages filled with their progeny, and make the trek over Edisto's hot, sandy roads to their magical haven by the ocean. They would spend the long summer days partaking in elegant parties, boat races, horse races, elaborate banquets and splashing around in the soothing, salty waters of the Atlantic. They would stay until the first frost of autumn. It was a leisurely, carefree life, but destiny had other plans for Edisto’s planters and Edingsville Beach.

Courtesy Edisto Island Historic Preservation Society

The protective sand dunes began to surrender its control. Around twenty of the island’s houses were lost to the angry Atlantic surf before the first mortars lit the skies over Fort Sumter up the coast in Charleston. Between the devastation of the Civil War in the 1860s and the boll weevil infestations of 1917, the Sea Island Cotton industry in the Lowcountry became decimated. In almost a single season, the royal crop of the sea islands was wiped out, never to return.

Near the end of the war in 1864, African-American poet and educator, Charlotte Forten, visited the deserted resort and wrote, “Early in June, before the summer heat had become unendurable, we made a pleasant excursion to Edisto Island. We left St. Helena village in the morning, dined on one of the gun-boats stationed near our island, and in the afternoon proceeded to Edisto in two row-boats. There were six of us, besides an officer and the boats’ crews, who were armed with guns and cutlasses. There was no actual danger; but as we were going into the enemy’s country, we thought it wisest to guard against surprises.

After a delightful row, we reached the island near sunset, landing at a place called Eddingsville, which was a favorite summer resort with the aristocracy of Edisto. It has a fine beach several miles in length. Along the beach there is a row of houses, which must once have been very desirable dwellings, but have now a desolate, dismantled look. The sailors explored the beach for some distance, and returned, reporting “all quiet, and nobody to be seen”; so we walked on, feeling quite safe, stopping here and there to gather the beautiful tiny shells which were buried deep in the sands.

We took supper in a room of one of the deserted houses, using for seats some old bureau-drawers turned edgewise. Afterward we sat on the piazza, watching the lightning playing from a low, black cloud over a sky flushed with sunset, and listening to the merry songs of the sailors who occupied the next house. They had built a large fire, the cheerful glow of which shone through the windows, and we could see them dancing, evidently in great glee. Later, we had another walk on the beach, in the lovely moonlight. It was very quiet then. The deep stillness was broken only by the low, musical murmur of the waves. The moon shone bright and clear over the deserted houses and gardens, and gave them a still wilder and more desolate look. We went within-doors for the night very unwillingly.”

After escaping the insanity of the Civil War, Edingsville Beach’s benefactor became its malefactor. The very same ocean that brought jubilant relief eventually brought absolute devastation. A series of hurricanes beginning in 1874 relentlessly eroded away the golden era existence of Edingsville Beach. Finally, the hurricane of 1893 washed away all material affirmation of its splendor and extravagance leaving only a tabby brick fireplace and broken trinkets. Over the years since, the occasional piece of china or brick appears on the beach delivered by a passing wave as a reminder of the once flourishing aristocracy.

As for the illusory woman, her name is Mary Clark. She was the daughter of one of the wealthy planters who spent the hot summer months with the family at their waterfront home on Edingsville Beach. She recently married her childhood sweetheart, a ship’s captain, who also was a descendant of sea island planters. Four weeks after their wedding, the groom set sail for the West Indies. It was October and most of the planter families were still in residence at their beach homes.

Each evening, just before sunset, Mary walked down to the water’s edge, stared out over the steadily building surf and longed for the return of her husband. Two weeks had passed. The captain’s ship was overdue. The smell of an approaching hurricane was in the air, but it was too late to leave the island. The causeway was already flooded. Mary knew in her heart the captain’s ship may be involved.

The hurricane hit and the house trembled and swayed. The structure started to buckle. Sea water washed into the house. It was a long night of terror for Mary and the others as they struggled to stay alive. The morning brought an eerie calm and a scene that would never be forgotten. Trees were lying everywhere. Some beach houses were moved off their foundations with porches, chimneys or windows washed away.

Through it all, Mary’s concern for her husband never wavered. Looking in disbelief at the heavy pieces of furniture, chairs, and sofas strewn along the beach, she spotted a dark, lumpy form floating on the ocean's horizon. She watched as the form washed closer toward the shore and become more recognizable. It was the form of a man. A numbing chill ran down her spine.

She ran into the water. As the form got closer to her, she recognized the body of her husband. With a shuddering cry, she plunged her trembling arms into the salty water. With tears streaming from her eyes, she drew his lifeless body to her heartbroken chest and then, it disappeared. Later, the heart-wrenching news arrived. Her husband's ship went down in the hurricane and all on board were lost.

Now it is said, on moonlit nights, a young woman can be seen desperately searching the beach and running into the waves to pull the form of a man onto the shore.

A Magical, Mystical Place With An Unsurpassed Beach And Southern Plantation Legends

Bleak Hall, Sea Cloud and Botany Island are names that stir ones imagination. They bring to ones mind images of foreboding estates surrounded by half-dead, moss covered, aging trees wrapped in a perpetual state of gloom, portraits of salty, blue waters and wooden tall ships and pictures of far-away, palm tree-laden inlets on secluded islands visited by treasure hunting pirates. Apocryphal and fanciful places you would expect to read about in stories and poems written by the likes of Emily Bronte, Edgar Allan Poe, Robert Louis Stevenson, and James A. Michener. In some respects, these are very real descriptions of a place on an Atlantic coastal island not far from where you live called Botany Bay Plantation.

Botany Bay Plantation is a wildlife preserve on Edisto Island consisting of 3,363-acres under the
management of SC Department of Natural Resources. Formed in the 1930's when Dr. James Greenway combined the two previous plantations originally owned by the Townsend family, Bleak Hall and Sea Cloud, it got its name from the barrier island that was near, but not a part of the Bleak Hall property--Botany Bay Island. Some of the island's previous names were Tucker Island, Watch Island and Clark's Bay. The last owners, John and Margaret Meyer, deeded the property to the state.

Botany Bay Island was much larger in the early days of Bleak Hall Plantation--covered with an impenetrable tropical jungle of wild oaks, palmettos, and cedars just twenty yards from the shoreline. Over the years, the ocean has encroached on the land. Now, only a narrow, pristine strip of beach two miles long and lined with a sun-bleached boneyard of weatherworn dead timber remains--loved by photographers. It was separated from the large plantation by an inlet and a smaller island named "Porky," a shortened name from "Pour-quoi." While crossing the marsh to the beach, you will pass an outcropping of trees and plants called Hammock Island.

 

So-called Bleak Hall because of its proximity to the gales of the Atlantic, just a mile away, its name was also inspired by the title of a book written by Charles Dickens, "Bleak House."--John Townsend was an admirer of Dickens. The original great mansion of Bleak Hall was two-and-a-half stories high on a raised basement. A distinguishing feature of the mansion, a cupola, was later added after the house was built so the homesick bride of one of the Townsends could look across the river to her former home on Wadmalaw Island. It towered over the surrounding oriental gardens and the now famous ice house, which still exists and is an outstanding example of Gothic revival architecture. The road into the plantations came to a fork where a turn to the right went to Bleak Hall and the one to the left went to Sea Cloud--sometimes called "Seabrook's Folly."

At the outset of the Civil War in 1861, by orders from the Confederate government, the steamboat "Beauregard" evacuated everyone from Edisto Island and the plantations. Both Confederate and Union troops used the cupola on Bleak Hall as a lookout. At the wars end, the plantations laid devastated. The valuable silver, china, and furniture that was left behind by the Townsends were carried away or destroyed by Freedmen and the Federals. When the Townsends returned in 1866, the house was occupied by former slaves. Shortly thereafter, it burned down. A new one was built in its place, but later torn down and a modern house was built nearby. Neither houses of Bleak Hall and Sea Cloud remain.

Like all Southern plantations legends abound. One involves a "bee hive well" called Jacob's well--a well surrounded by a wall of tabby with a steeple-shaped roof and the name "Jacobus Fecit" cut into one of its sides. In its early days, it was rumored to be a place where lovers secretly rendezvoused. It is believed a little gray man stands guard over the well to keep its waters pure and only allow the "pure in heart" drink from it.

Another story involves the plantation cemetery located at the fork in the road where you turn right to go to Bleak Hall or left to go to Sea Cloud. After leaving a clearing, you enter a narrow road surrounded by dense undergrowth and trees. Here you will feel the first wave of hot air hit the back of your neck, then again and again until you leave the area. The slaves believed this hot air to be the "Hags breath" and if you linger, she will cast a terrible spell that could even cause your death.

A third legend speaks of a Portuguese man wearing large gold earrings and a red bandanna fashioned into a turban who roams the shores of Botany Bay. Seven of his victims were discovered on the beach--all of them standing straight up in the sand.

Botany Bay Plantation is a magical place with a secluded beach unsurpassed on the Atlantic coast and located on Edisto Island not far from Edisto Beach. In fact, from Botany Bay's shell-covered beach you can see Edisto Beach to the right and Seabrook Island to the left. You can take a tour of the plantation featuring 15 points of interest by car. Keep an eye out for the Portuguese man and do not linger near the cemetery if you feel a waft of hot air on the back of your neck--Botany Bay Ecotours. Location: Botany Bay Rd., Edisto Island, SC--Map

 

Botany Bay Plantation Personifies The Reasons Why I Love Charleston And The Lowcountry-A Must-see

A 4,687 acre wildlife preserve tucked away on the mossy oak draped roads among the marshy tidal creeks of Edisto Island is a pristine step away from civilization. Even its name summons an air of resplendence, as do the two plantations that were combined to make it, Bleak Hall and Sea Cloud. However, having been established after the Civil War, it is not officially a plantation. But that is of little import when compared to the beauty and splendor of Botany Bay Plantation.

The original homes of Bleak Hall and Sea Cloud Plantations are but a whisper of the glory days of Edisto Island's Golden Age. The sea island cotton raised on these plantations was famous for its high quality and highly prized throughout Europe. It all ended when they become occupied by Northern troops during the Civil War and were devastated at its end. Bleak Hall was burned in a fire and barely traceable ruins are what's left of Sea Cloud. What remained after was finished off by the boll weevil. That's Botany Bay's history in a sea shell. If you want the full historical details visit Edisto Island Museum.

This would be my first visit to Botany Bay. I have seen photographs and read articles, which only heightened my desire for a visit even more. I have been to Edisto Beach in previous years, driven past what has become known as the mystery tree, but had no idea the entrance to Botany Bay was right there. That realization came to me when we turned off of Highway 174.

The drive on Botany Bay Rd was magical. A dense canopy of old oak trees covered the dirt road. We passed cultivated fields of sunflowers and corn before arriving at a kiosk manned by an older gentleman who requested me to sign in and gave me printed material. It was a guide for taking a driving tour of the preserve with 15 marked locations of interest and an explanation of their significance. I am a beach person, so my focus was on the two miles of unspoiled shoreline accessible only by foot. From the kiosk, it was another two mile drive to the beach parking area where a sign reminded patrons of what was prohibited on the beach-notably shell collection.

 

 

From the parking area, it would be a 1/2 mile walk through a sprawling salt marsh to the beach. It was high tide, so the creeks and marshes were filled with the salty waters from the ocean. At the halfway point of the narrow path, we came to a patch of treed land called Hammock Island, but no hammocks did I see nor should I have expected to. Islands located landward of barrier islands are called hammocks and are typically inhabited only by plants and animals. South Carolina has 3,500 such islands. Always something new to learn.

We continued down the marsh path toward a thick line of trees common to the barrier islands that opened up onto Botany Bay's beach. The resulting view was everything I had envisioned and more. Weatherworn palmetto trees grayed by the salty sea breezes and age lined the sea shelled beach. As we walked, looking for the ideal spot to plant our chairs, we soon became aware of a custom peculiar to the beach. Visitors indulge in a practice of lining the trunks of downed trees with sea shells and hanging them on their branches. I saluted this custom by honoring it with a gesture of my own. I hung a couple of hand-picked shells on my ears while we sat.

We let the whole experience wash over us like the waves rolling onto the beach. I stepped into the warming surf for a swim, but walking into the waters was precarious due to the numerous sharp shells. Some people came to fish, some came to look at the shells, some came to photograph and some laid out blankets under beach umbrellas. I came because Botany Bay Plantation personifies the reasons why I love Charleston and the Lowcountry. It was idyllic.

 

 

 

We later drove into Edisto Beach and had lunch at the Seacow Eatery located at 145 Jungle Road. Nothing fancy, just a typical beach restaurant with the smell of beer batter soaked fish and french fries. It had decent prices and hospitable service. We sat on the beach near the Pavilion Restaurant and took more memorable pictures. Enjoy the photographs. They tell the whole incredible story. Botany Bay Plantation and beach is a must-see.