Spectral images, eerie groans, rattling chains and ghostly voices are to be expected when history includes sad and tragic events. Within its four-century span of existence, Williamsburg has often been the scene of painful misfortune and is presently known to be a ghost hunter’s paradise.
Williamsburg was founded in 1638 and served as Virginia’s capitol from 1699 to 1780. It was also the state’s seat of justice, meaning the jail on Nicholson Street (described by the builder in 1701 as “a strong, sweet prison”) was a busy place. Prisoners awaiting trial and hoping for justice were lucky if they survived its truly terrible food and rampant illness. Thieves, murderers, runaway slaves, debtors, “lunaticks” and political prisoners were confined there together, but perhaps the structure’s most infamous guests were men who had sailed under Edward Teach, the legendary pirate known as Blackbeard. Sixteen members of his crew were captured in 1718, but only 14 were sentenced to death.
Some accounts say a particularly grisly end was inflicted upon them as a deterrent to piracy. They were hanged, and their dead bodies were weighted with chains and publicly displayed as they decomposed. The Colonial Williamsburg Foundation restored the Public Gaol (pronounced “jail”) to its eighteenth-century appearance in the 1930s. Since then, there have been many reports of paranormal activity within its sturdy brick walls. Iron wall shackles have recently been observed swaying and clanking at the touch of an invisible hand, and the ghosts of two women prisoners are said to lurk in the space upstairs. The thud and scrape of their heavy boots and loud conversations filter down to those below.
The Public Hospital for Persons of Insane and Disordered Minds is bound to have some uneasy spirits haunting its halls. In North America’s first mental asylum, patients were cruelly abused. They were made to submit to icy baths and dangerous drugs as “treatments.” They endured long periods of confinement and isolation in their small barred cells illuminated solely by the light of one tiny window. Dangerous lunatics and the less compliant patients were shackled to the walls, and all of the unfortunates within slept on the floor on dirty, straw-filled mattresses. They were treated more like prisoners than patients until the advent of a compassionate superintendent, Dr. John Galt, in 1841.
Public Hospital
After 21 years of his able administration and merciful treatment, Union forces seized and occupied his hospital. Galt was shattered and soon committed suicide by overdosing on laudanum, a strong opiate, in his home on the hospital grounds. He had ingested such a massive dose that blood vessels burst, leaving his body to lie in a pool of blood. The Lee family moved into Dr. Galt’s house sometime after the war’s end but found their new home to be terrifying.
“I could do nothing to get the bloodstain out of the floorboards; no amount of scrubbing would remove it,” Mrs. Lee said later of her experience there. “We finally pulled up the soiled portion and replaced them with fresh boards, but the next morning I was shocked to find the stains had somehow made their way into the new flooring!” She went on to say that her frightened children would wake her nightly to claim that a man was pacing their bedroom, the very room in which Dr. Galt died by his own hand.
Ludwell-Paradise House
When the good doctor’s house was demolished years later, townspeople believed that his still-active spirit simply shifted to the neighboring reconstructed asylum. Amy Billings, an employee working in the new Public Hospital building, said, “Sudden, unexplainable gusts of wind sweep through the halls. What’s even more strange is sometimes when we arrive in the mornings, the bed in the exhibition room looks as if it’s been slept in.” Another Colonial Williamsburg employee added, “At times, items in the hospital museum seem to disappear, and no matter how long we search, we can never find them.” The weirdest thing about this mystery is that later the same day they always magically reappear.
Another eerily active location is the Ludwell-Paradise House. Lucy Ludwell was born into a prominent Williamsburg family in 1752. She grew up largely in London, where she met and married John Paradise in 1769. She proceeded to live a lavish life of ease with him. Lucy was a wellborn woman, and she and her husband corresponded with famous American connections such as John and Abigail Adams and her cousin, Thomas Jefferson. Eventually, John passed away and his widow returned to her birthplace in 1805. Lucy had always been known to have fairly eccentric habits and was most likely suffering from a degree of mental illness, but behavior acceptable in London was in Williamsburg seen as signs of insanity. She was dubbed “Mad Lucy,” diagnosed a lunatic, and was confined in the Public Hospital. After a horrifying two-year experience, poor Lucy was released. However, she was so broken by the ordeal that she took her own life in 1814. More than one visitor has claimed to hear and see Lucy’s restless spirit in the Ludwell-Paradise House. Perhaps it really is the ghost of Lucy Ludwell, because “someone” has often been heard drawing a bath upstairs. Is Mad Lucy still engaged in a centuries-long attempt to cleanse herself from the tortuous vermin in her asylum cell?
Peyton Randolph House
At the corner of Nicholson and North England streets you will find the Peyton Randolph House. Because it was never damaged by fire or rebuilt, it survives as the most original house in Colonial Williamsburg, but is also said to be the single most haunted spot in the city. Built in 1715, its tragic 200-year history commenced with the Peachy family’s residence in the 1800s. The family experienced the loss of several children by illness, with another dying from a fall from a tree on the grounds. A male family member shot himself in the house’s drawing room, and a visitor succumbed to a painful death from tuberculosis. Altogether, it’s estimated that 30 people have died in Randolph House due to freak accidents, natural illnesses, murder and acts of war. To this very day, there are stories of ghostly presences, not all of them benign. Voices are heard, objects move about unbidden, and even illustrious visitors such as the Marquis de Lafayette have felt the touch of a ghostly hand. In 1824, Lafayette was paying a visit to Williamsburg and was a guest of the house when he wrote the following:
“Upon my arrival, as I entered through the foyer, I felt a hand upon my shoulder. It nudged me, as if intending to keep me from entering. I quickly turned, but found no one there. The nights were not restful, as the sound of voices kept me awake for the most of my stay.” Recently, one woman who worked at Randolph House was making her way down from the second floor when an unseen angry hand seized her by the arm and attempted to push her violently down the stairs. Modern-day tourists may enjoy a shiver when passing by in the darkness, but this place is not one to be taken lightly. One present-day tour guide reports that guests will often pass out or have medical issues in front of this home, with four such incidents occurring in a single month.
Brafferton Building
The Brafferton building on the campus of William & Mary is now used as offices, but it was once home to a misguided experiment in social engineering. It was built in 1723 as housing for Native American boys from many diverse tribes who were brought there in order to “civilize” them. In aid of Britain’s colonial expansion, the youths were educated to serve as Anglican priests, interpreters and cultural liaisons. Legends concerning what was known then as The Indian School vary; some say the homesick, unhappy boys would occasionally escape to roam W&M’s Sunken Garden at night, but they would always be caught and brought back. One native boy in particular is said to have used a rope tied to his bedstead to escape nightly from his third-floor bedroom window. He would run the eight miles to his family in Jamestown, returning before dawn to his bed. One morning he failed to return and was found close by, frozen to death. Many people to the present day have claimed to see the spectral figure of a young man running on what was once the dirt path between W&M and Jamestown. In recent years, students walking at night near the Brafferton claim they can often hear footsteps, soft sobbing, and the rhythmic beat of tribal drums.
Annette Haynes, a resident of Williamsburg, recalls her own personal encounter with spirits, the memory of which has retained its clarity for almost half a century. “We were coming back from a conference, and we were almost home. It was after midnight, and it had been a long day of driving. The rest of my family was fast asleep,” she recalls, “but as the driver I was wide awake and alert. It was dark, but there was moonlight enough to illuminate the woods on either side of the deserted road ahead. Suddenly, I saw men on horseback emerging from the trees on the right and begin crossing in front of me from right to left. They were wearing the blue uniforms of Union cavalry and I could see each of their faces clearly and hear indistinct conversation. I heard the rattle and clink of canteens and heavy hoofbeats. I could even see plumes of steam trailing from the horse’s nostrils and hear their snorts,” Haynes states. “They didn’t seem to notice my presence, and for some reason I didn’t slow down or stop. The column of men, about 50 or 60 in all, kept crossing, but the riders never appeared to get any closer to my car. I remember being completely, unnaturally calm during the entire time it took for the column to pass back into the forest, until the sounds gradually faded away in the distance.” Haynes didn’t try to wake the passengers in the car to see the eerie sight themselves and confirm what she had observed. “I don’t speak of it often, but I know what I saw,” she says. “It was real.”
These are just a few of the many historic Williamsburg tales of the supernatural. Whether or not you believe in spirits, ghosts and other things that go bump in the night, there are mysteries that defy explanation happening here every day. It’s possible that belief comes only after a personal encounter with the inexplicable, but a wise person will not seek out such an occasion. When all the lights are turned out for the night, try not to think about what you’ve read here today and may you and the spirits rest easy.