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Overview
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781609496395 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Arcadia Publishing SC |
| Publication date: | 09/11/2012 |
| Series: | Haunted America |
| Pages: | 112 |
| Sales rank: | 1,098,615 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.90(w) x 8.90(h) x 0.40(d) |
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CHAPTER 1
Waveland
The city of Waveland, as cities go, is actually pretty young, having been incorporated in 1972. The town of Waveland is much older than that, with established homes and businesses dating back to around 1800, or some say even earlier than that. The entire area from Waveland east to Biloxi was once the favorite vacation spot for the wealthy of New Orleans, a place to escape the stifling heat and humidity of summer for a chance to play in the emerald Gulf waters and relax in the cool sea breeze. As the expensive vacation homes were built along the coast at Waveland, businesses were established to provide the needed services that the wealthy demanded, and the village of Waveland sprang slowly into existence. Hotels were built to provide lodging for those not quite wealthy enough to build expensive homes and to service the single population that desired to vacation there as well.
The small village continued to grow and prosper, fueled by the tourism trade and the fledgling fishing industry. When the Civil War began, Waveland, like much of the Gulf Coast, saw very little in the way of military action. Like others in the South though, residents of Waveland did experience hardship, with food being in short supply at times. When corn and other staples were available, they were at inflated prices. The fishing and tourism industries rebounded after the Civil War, and the town grew steadily, becoming known as a nice, quiet place not only to visit but also to live. The wealthy continued to build and vacation not only there but all along the coast, and Waveland was the site of more than one grand party being thrown along the beach.
All along the beach were mansions and fine Victorian homes with private piers jutting from the shore out into the Gulf. Unfortunately, very few of these homes remain; hurricanes such as Camille and Katrina destroyed an estimated 90 percent of the structures along the coast, and Waveland was hard hit by both of these hurricanes. Camille destroyed the historic Pirate House and numerous other homes, and what she didn't take, Katrina blasted ashore and destroyed. Libraries, historical societies and government buildings all along the coast fell to the destructive fury of Katrina as she scored a direct hit on Waveland as she came ashore. The devastation was extensive, with storm surges washing over Beach Boulevard and far inland into the city, washing away homes, businesses and the collected memorabilia and possessions that their residents were forced to leave behind. Not since Camille struck the coast in 1969 had Waveland witnessed such complete and utter destruction.
The city of Waveland has rebounded over the years since Katrina rammed ashore, but everywhere you look there are reminders of the devastation: empty lots with sidewalks leading up to where homes once stood; foundations sitting amidst a sea of weeds and tall grass, marked with "For Sale" signs. Some stalwart people have rebuilt, with new homes dotting Beach Boulevard and signs of more new construction underway. Sadly though, despite the ongoing commercial construction and people continuing to rebuild their homes and lives, so much of historical value was lost to both Camille and Katrina that the charming landscape of mansions and elegant Victorian homes has, for the most part, been lost to us forever. They can now be found only now in the black-and-white photographs housed at the Mississippi State Archives, the Library of Congress and in the private collections of individuals along the coast who managed to save them from the surging waters. One such home that withstood numerous tropical storms and hurricanes only to fall victim to Camille was the famous Pirate House.
The Pirate House
Thought to have been built around 1802 by a wealthy New Orleans businessman who was rumored by some to have been the leader of the pirates who sailed the waters off the Gulf Coast, the Pirate House was a beautiful home, strongly built to withstand the storms yet still elegant and large in its construction. The home was built in the Louisiana Planter style, with a brick-bottom floor and outside stairs that led up to the first floor. A large front porch ran the entire length of the home, with squared wooden columns supporting the gallery. White stucco walls, dormer windows and beautiful banisters of iron, much like what you would see on homes in New Orleans, made this home spacious and elegant.
The home sat at 649 North Beach Boulevard in Waveland and was well known to all who lived in the town or spent any time at all there. The home, also known locally as the Lobrano House, sat on a slight rise above the street and had a commanding view of the Gulf. It was also reported to have a secret tunnel that led from the home down to the water's edge. Workers reportedly discovered a section of the tunnel while working on building Beach Boulevard in the 1920s, though several sections of the tunnel were reputed to have been caved in between the road and the home itself. The construction of such a tunnel would have been difficult to accomplish but not impossible, as the area would have been fairly secluded at the time the home was built. The home was constructed next to a large pond and a bayou, which would have made it easier to carve the passage from the shoreline up to the property and allowed small boats to enter the property unseen. It is thought, although it cannot be 100 percent confirmed, that the home was owned by none other than the famous pirate Jean Lafitte, who used the passage from the Gulf to the property to secretly smuggle contraband such as slaves, or "black ivory," as they were commonly referred to. While trafficking in slaves was legal in the United States, in 1808, Congress outlawed importation of slaves into Louisiana. President Thomas Jefferson, whose own ideals concerning slavery were muddled at best, appointed W.C.C. Claiborne as governor, a person whose known stance was definitely against slavery. So this all lends itself well to the possibility that the Pirate House was used as a place to disembark and hide slaves until such a time as they could be smuggled into Louisiana by way of the coastal waters and lakes surrounding New Orleans. The smuggling of contraband slaves would have been a lucrative endeavor, and one could hardly doubt that as bold and adventurous a man as Jean Lafitte would not have recognized it as such and had a hand in the smuggling operations.
All speculation aside, can Jean Lafitte actually be tied to the Pirate House, or is it all merely legend and yarn passed down from generation to generation? The name Lafitte can be found in a number of Hancock County records dating back to the early 1800s, as one Jean and Clarisse Lafitte owned a number of properties in the area, including the land close to the Pirate House and supposedly even the land that the Pirate House sat on. But was it actually the Jean Lafitte of swashbuckling pirate fame or simply someone sharing a common name? No one knows for sure, and we probably never will, but it does make an interesting basis for the stories associated with that particular property.
The home changed hands many times over the years, and with each successive transfer, stories were told about strange happenings and sightings connected with the property. Stories of specters and disembodied voices and sounds were told quite frequently by both the home's residents and guests. Several of the stories told are associated with a family by the name of Faulkner who supposedly resided at the Pirate House from the late 1920s to the early 1930s. Mrs. Faulkner apparently witnessed a ghost on the stairway several times and described him to friends and family as being a tall man dressed in rough clothing with an almost hypnotic stare that pierced through her with an almost violent force. He would stand at the head of the stairs for a moment and then vanish, never saying a word or moving, just staring his violent glare as if angry that she was in the home. Reportedly Mrs. Faulkner, an apparently stalwart woman who didn't scare easily, tried speaking to him and approaching him on several occasions but did not elicit any response. Perhaps he was simply a residual spirit, an imprint of some past time in the life of the person, doomed to appear again and again like a bit of looped video film.
In addition to the spirit on the stairs, sounds of clanking, as of metal hitting metal, would emanate from the subbasement of the home, supposedly where the contraband slaves were secretly held. Sounds of moaning and cries would be heard from time to time coming from there as well, but when someone would muster up the courage to descend the stairs to investigate, no one would be found. Phantom smells rose up from the basement also, with the smell of tobacco being the most prevalent, along with a smell that was described as rotting flesh. Nothing was ever discovered that would account for these odors, even though they would reoccur occasionally, even after a good cleaning of the basement and lower floors. Another spirit, described as being only a shadow, was seen on occasion walking up the staircase from the basement area only to suddenly vanish near the top in what was described as a "breeze cold enough that you could see your breath in August."
One story that persisted for a while was that of three men who were stabbed and whose bodies were disposed of by dumping them down a deep well that was located on the property. The men were supposedly still alive when they were dumped into the well, and that would seem to be the basis behind the stories of faint cries for help being heard coming from the back of the property. In the evening hours when the sun had set and the light was fading quickly, the sounds of someone crying out for help could be heard. The cries were very faint, and it was once described "as if coming from the bottom of a well." Residents and friends — concerned, of course, that someone was hurt and needing assistance — searched the area repeatedly, and when they would come near the old well site, the cries would cease, only to start up again as the searchers moved away. This reportedly happened several times over the course of several years, always in the month of April. When the well site was eventually filled in, the cries for help never resumed; however, it didn't keep the specter of a dripping wet man from suddenly appearing near where the well was, staggering across the yard and suddenly disappearing. Multiple sightings occurred of a man dressed in what was described as "castoff ragged clothing" staggering from the back of the property, one hand clutched tightly to his abdomen as if in distress. He was reported to move slowly toward the back of the house only to collapse suddenly and fade from sight as he lay on the ground. The first time he appeared, Mr. Faulkner supposedly witnessed it from a back window. He immediately recognized that something was amiss with the man and rushed from the home to render assistance. As he ran through the open back door, to his amazement, the man collapsed and vanished before his eyes. Dumbfounded, he searched the immediate area but found nothing and so retired to the house to relate the story to Mrs. Faulkner. The man was sighted numerous times over a period of forty years by each subsequent owner of the property, all describing the same thing. After Hurricane Camille destroyed the home, no further sightings of the man were reported. Perhaps the ferocious winds and rain washed the residual spirit away. It didn't, however, erase the spirit of the wood chopper.
A story persisted from the late 1800s on about the sighting of a spirit chopping wood at the back of the property. This ghost, in his rolled-up shirtsleeves, was supposedly chopping wood as if to gather a bit of kindling for a cooking fire. He would go through the motions of chopping with the sound clearly heard, bend down as if to gather up the wood and then rise up and walk toward the house, only to fade away after a few steps. This sighting was infrequent, and no pattern could ever be established for it. One day he would be there, and then he might not be seen for months, only to reappear busting up some wood for a fire. After Camille ravaged the area, he was spotted a few times adhering to his set routine of chopping, a residual reminder of someone's daily chore. In the past few years his specter has not been seen, but the sounds of someone chopping wood, the thudding bite of an axe striking a log, has been heard, although with less and less frequency as time goes by. Perhaps this memory of a daily routine is slowly fading away and will one day be no more, just as the man wielding the axe ceased to be so many years ago.
Buccaneer State Park
A few miles to the west down Beach Boulevard lays the Buccaneer State Park. Like the rest of the coast, it was ravaged by Katrina. Every park facility was destroyed and washed away by the 140mile-per-hour winds and the twenty-eight-foot tidal surge. It took years to finally get the park restored and opened back up, and even today, there are still various phases of construction going on. Thanks to all the hard work, today it is a wonderful state park with modern facilities, a wave pool, a water park, bathhouses and plenty of activities to keep both young and old occupied.
The area was in use for many years before it was designated as a state park. It was frequented by the pirates who operated in the coastal waters and, one would imagine, by Jean Lafitte himself, since the home he is attributed to owning is just a short way down the beach. The area of the park was also known as Jackson's Ridge due to the fact that Andrew Jackson established his base of operations there during the Battle of New Orleans. Jackson liked the area so much that he later returned and built a home on property that is now part of the park.
Several tales of ghosts and apparitions are attributed to the park areas, most notably one of a pirate seen rushing through the tall grass near the primitive camping area. He is reported to be seen moving along at a slow trot, cutlass in hand. He is, by all accounts, a rather tall man dressed in ragged and tattered clothing and seems to be looking for something in the grass as he moves along. He runs about thirty yards and then just fades away in a whitish haze that then just dissipates. It was reported that when a young man who was camping near the field saw him, he called out to him, and the pirate turned his head as if acknowledging that he heard him and then continued to fade away. The young man, unsure of what he had just witnessed, walked over to where he had seen the pirate trotting along but found no sign of anyone having been in the area at all.
The sound of boat oars in the water and the splashing of several men leaping from the boat as it grounded have been reported in the early hours of the morning and late in the evening. Soft murmuring and laughter accompany the sounds of orders being given and the thudding of the oars as they are placed in the boat and carried across the roadway to the campground. This story was told to me many years ago when I lived in D'Iberville, near Biloxi, by John, a local man who witnessed the phantom beach landing while walking the shoreline at night, although he is only one of several who have experienced nearly the same thing.
John was living in Waveland at the time of the occurrence and was a frequent sufferer of insomnia. It helped him to take slow walks along the beach at night; the sound of the waves washing ashore and the gentle breezes made it easier for him to relax. As he was slowly walking along the beach, he heard the sound of oars in the water carrying in the wind, and as he walked along, they got louder and louder. He thought that perhaps someone was out boating in the moonlight, and soon it sounded as if they were going to be landing right down from where he was walking. He heard the soft sound of hushed talking, and though he strained to see a boat on the water, there was nothing to be seen. All of a sudden he could see the imprint of a boat prow in the sand in front of him, and the tracks of feet suddenly appeared on each side of it. He froze in his tracks as he watched several sets of phantom footprints walk across the beach, accompanied by muted talking and laughter. The voices quieted as they got farther away from the imprint of the boat and then faded altogether. John snapped out of his frozen amazement and cautiously approached the imprint of the boat prow in the sand, not believing what he had just witnessed. As he got within a foot or two of the imprint, he said that it suddenly got very chilly, and goose bumps and hair began to rise on his arms and neck. Suddenly, as if it was whispered in his ear, he heard a voice say, "Move along, monsieur," at which point he spun around, startled to see who was behind him. Only no one was there at all. John said he whirled around and ran down the beach as fast as his legs would take him. That was the end of his moonlit walks along the beach for some time, as he preferred instead to walk along the well-lit streets. Perhaps he witnessed the landing of a group of phantom pirates up to no good in the moonlit night, smuggling contraband to or from the beach. Whatever it was, it was without a doubt intelligent, as it interacted with John by telling him to move along. It would seem that whatever they were up to, they wanted no witnesses to it.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Haunted Mississippi Gulf Coast"
by .
Copyright © 2012 Bud Steed.
Excerpted by permission of The History Press.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Dedication and Acknowledgements 7
Introduction 9
1 Waveland 15
2 Bay Saint Louis 24
3 Pass Christian 31
4 Long Beach 39
5 Gulfport 44
6 Biloxi 54
7 Ocean Springs 79
8 Gautier 86
9 Pascagoula 91
10 The Barrier Islands 100
Conclusion 107
Bibliography 109
About the Author 111