Summers County, West Virginia - Captain DeQuasie's Adventure INDEPENDENT HERALD, HINTON, SUMMERS COUNTY, WV - THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1901 ********************************************************************** USGENWEB NOTICE: These electronic pages may NOT be reproduced in any format for profit or presentation by any other organization or persons. Persons or organizations desiring to use this material, must obtain the written consent of the contributor, or the legal representative of the submitter, and contact the listed USGenWeb archivist with proof of this consent. ********************************************************************** ********************************************************************** The records for this work have been submitted by Amber Dalakas, E-mail address: , January, 1999. ********************************************************************** ********************************************************************** INDEPENDENT HERALD, HINTON, SUMMERS COUNTY, WV - THURSDAY, OCTOBER 3, 1901 CAPTAIN DEQUASIE'S ADVENTURE "Weird tales of crime and just retribution told of a "Haunted Cabin" in West Virginia (clipping from old Enquirer furnishes clue to mystery, Springdale, WV - September 27, 1901)". It was mid afternoon when the writer and his mountain guide left the Chesapeake & Ohio railway station in Summers County, West Virginia, for Springdale which some ten miles distant was found to consist of only a post office and one dwelling house. The destination was the "haunted house" whose history is familiar to all citizens of Summers and adjoining counties. Tethering the ponies to a stone fence at the clearing, the way led a short distance up Bear Branch finally reaching a small spur of Hump Mountain until from a beautiful knoll set about with fine oak trees in the midst of which appeared a comfortable log house with a rather pretentious upper and lower "gallery" as the Southerners call their porches. Over these clambered luxurious woodbines which filled the air with fragrance. It seemed impossible that anything uncanny should ever have attached to that peaceful domicile. With the apology of the old minstrel: "I know not how true the tale may be, I tell it as "twas told to me", the legend was received from the lips of "Trigger Heel" Cox, a well known character of that vicinity. His story is indeed vouched for so far as its main features are concerned by the brothers, Breckinridge and Leroy Gwynne, and many reputable citizens of the county. "Seemed like fate picked out some queer happenings:, said "Trigger Heel" for that house and the people who have lived in it. They called him 'Old Captain Dequasie', the owner of this plantation and a number of valuable slaves. He had been given much better opportunities than had been allotted to his neighbors and hence stood high in their regard especially as he as a man of honorable parts with a strong leaning to justice". There yet could be seen a part of the old slave quarters save by the owls and the green lizards that sun themselves on the decaying doorsteps. "In that largest cabin", he said, "lived 'Voodoo Sam', the favorite and faithful slave of Dequasie. There was not a few who believed the old man demented, and all because of a story he told through his life never varying in the slightest detail though never mentioning the name of the main actor in the same and his strange refusal to read letters received by mail from a certain correspondent of whom he seemed to be fully cognizant. Sam, the wizard, had given his master the advice never to open them this being according to his 'conjure' knowledge, the only security against the evil purposes of the writer. The events related to this marvelous story occurred Captain Dequasie said when he was little else than a boy. He related that while travelling one day in midwinter through the mountains he was obliged to seek shelter at nightfall as a violent storm had arisen increasing in fury until the snow had blocked my way which lay over the uneven road down the creek side. Finally seeing a gleam of light somewhat up the hillside, I secured my mules to a tree, and after much struggle with the tangled brush and bowlders reached a small cabin at whose door I knocked and was answered by a woman who carried a candle in her hand and cautiously asked my business. I told my trouble and was answered: "Stranger, I don't know what to say. My husband has just died, and I am alone in the house", and then hesitantly, "but it don't' seem fair to turn you off in such a storm - you can come in". There were two small rooms. Into one of these, she led me and pointed to where a man lay upon the bed. I noticed he was fully dressed his head covered by a wide brimmed hat appearing like one who had lain down to rest and thus shaded his eyes from the light. Her utter lack of grief surprised me. She explained that his death was very sudden and that it might have been "heart complaint". She moved about as composedly as if death were an every day occurrence for which she was duly prepared. At last she said, "I ought to be glad that you came for I must go to the next neighbor for help to fix him" pointing to the body on the bed. I was only a boy, he said, and a horrible dread overcame me which even surprise at her courage in breasting the storm could not overcome. The snow came tumbling down the chimney and piled in little heaps in the chimney corners on either side of the smoldering log fire. I remonstrated against the trip suggesting that I would go myself at early dawn for help, but she would not be persuaded. I begged that she would at least allow me first to shelter my mules in the little stable which she said was near the house. At last I found myself really alone in the dreary cabin which was lighted only by a tallow candle which spluttered on the stand by the bedside. The wind moaned dismally and the tree boughs lashed the cabin with mournful monotony. By means of much coaxing, the fire burned at last, and I seated myself in the one chair present and begun my solitary watch. Finally, I looked about me at the objects in the room. A heavy great coat hung by a peg on the wall. Above it was a rack holding a gun. There was a brace of fine pistols on the stand. I wondered at this, so out of keeping with the rest of the furnishing. A common wooden bed and the one chair completed the necessities of the room. It seemed to me that I had been alone a week instead of perhaps an hour, and still the woman did not come. The fire again sunk to a smoldering heap, the wind howled dismally around the house, and the tree boughs beat increasingly against the roof. Then I began to think that perhaps the man on the bed may have been murdered by his wife, and I had been left to shoulder the crime. At last, I scarcely knew how, I glanced at the figure on the couch, and in doing so beheld a sight that I shall not forget until I die. The supposed corpse was sitting bolt upright with eyes wide open looking straight in my direction. So clear was my fright that I could not utter a word nor could I stir from the chair. Than the horrible vision found its voice lifting first a warning finger beckoning me to come to him. But I could not move or speak. "I will do you no harm", it said, "I am dead". But we both heard the snow crackling under the feet of comers. "Dare not tell", the man said as he sank back upon the bed and adjusted the cloth above his face as before. The woman was followed by a man who, at once I observed, was intoxicated. They barely glanced at the figure on the bed, and then her companion said, "Wait until morning. Bring out the jug". She drew the whisky from underneath the table. Both took a heavy draught, pushed the jug toward me, and left the room. They vouchsafed me no explanation, and again nearly paralyzed with horror, I was left to my grewsome watch. Once I looked toward the corpse and beheld a warning finger. It was perhaps an hour until I heard him move. He approached me and said in a whisper: "There, pour this all over the bed and floor", offering me a small can of coal oil while he grasped another. Mechanically, I did as he told me. Soon snatching the pistols from the table, grasping me by the arm, and lifting a small jug of whiskey, he hurried me out of the house. A minute later I saw him stoop beside the chimney outside, strike a match and then I knew his awful purpose. In the light as the flames shot upward, I noted a long deep scar on his left cheek and one across his left hand. I saw that he was not mountain bred, that he was handsome and graceful, and I remembered too that his voice was soft like that of a thoroughbred. Together we watched the fire until only a few logs remained of the holocaust. I, all the time, afraid to question him. At last he said: "I chose this means to test her fidelity. I drugged the whiskey. It is a righteous retribution". He exacted of me an oath that never while I lived would I reveal my knowledge of this affair. He directed me to the nearest way to the road, helped me down the hill, and said, "Go". I was only too glad to see the last of the murderer and the smoking cabin. The way was rough, and my progress so slow down the rocky creek bed that dawn was creeping over the earth when I reached the forks of the road. There I stopped a few minutes to decide my course. Chilled though I was by the cutting air I heeded it, so insanely anxious was I to get away from the fatal locality. At this juncture a tall masked man made his way toward me through the thick underbrush, pointed a pistol straight at my head while demanding my surrender saying, "You have burned a cabin a few hundred rods distant and murdered a man and his wife". Luckily for me, I managed to control my countenance while I answered. I feigned total ignorance of such an occurrence, that I had not been out of my wagon during the night. So stoutly did I maintain my story that the supposed officer at last threw off his mask, and I saw the face of my late companion, the murderer. He said that he had taken this means to try my fidelity and added: "Forgive me the share that I have compelled you to take in this matter. You will hear from me again, perhaps many times, but we will meet no more. I found your name and address on an envelope you dropped near the cabin". Then I was alone again, and I never saw that man with the two scars again, but the memory of that night has always seemed to me like a dreadful nightmare. One day I told the story to Sam who was full of ideas of "hants", ghosts and conjures, and he said: "You will sometime hear from that devil and don't you tamper with no letter nor nothing he sends you and that will break the evil charm". I thought the advise was good. Somewhere about 1881 I received a letter in an unknown hand. Within the first envelope was another on which was written: "From the man who was dead in the cabin". And so, following Sam's caution, I never opened it. These letters came annually, but I never tampered with them, and they all lie together now in my desk". After the death of Captain Dequasie, public sentiment regarding the old man's sanity materially changed as there was found indubitable evidence of the facts of the strange story he had told so many years never, however, divulging the name of the chief actor or the locality in which the dramatic event occurred. When examining his effects, twenty letters with unbroken seals were found addressed apparently by the same hand each containing $10.00 in paper notes making a sum total of $200.00. In each were the words: "From a penitent old man to one who kept his word to me". The fidelity with which Dequasie had indeed maintained the secret was most in all things shown by a clipping from The Cincinnati Enquirer which he had pinned to one of the letters. It referred to the death in that city of Elliot Price, a gambler, who had once been attached to the fortunes of Bolly Lewis, once so well known to the sporting fraternity of Cincinnati, New Orleans and New York. It detailed some curious facts in the life of Elliot Price, notably a murder he committed on board a Mississippi steamer in 1862 which was loaded with Federal prisoners but made his escape and joined the Southern Army as an honorable discharge was found among his papers from Genera G.T. Beauregard dated May, 1865. The article mentioned 'a peculiar mark probably made by a sword across his left cheek and another on his left hand received likely in a personal encounter for no man who knew Price doubted his courage whatever else might be alleged against him'. It stated that Price left a fortune 'won by lucky investment in a gold mine to his sister whose trustee was a well known attorney of Louisville, KY, choosing this method to save her from disgrace through the knowledge of his career'. Following further the strange history of the Dequasies and the old house, the narrator said that Captain Dequasie's widow and niece lived there until after the war with Voodoo Sam who alone of all the family slaves remained faithful to the end. He died some fifteen years ago and was buried as he wished upon the mountain side by his master. The niece married against the wishes of her aunt subsequent events proving the wisdom of this opposition. Finally, Betsey Dequasie fell ill and lingered many months, neglected it is told, by her niece and her husband. It became a common story that the aged woman was possessed of secret treasures which she guarded with miserly care. It was said that at the midnight hour, she would arise from her bed and count her gold which she kept in a certain place under the hearth stone. Burglars indeed had more than once endeavored to find the hiding place of the money but left no wiser than they came. At least becoming impatient at her slow off-going, the niece and her husband, as the story goes, strangled her in the bed and thus put an end to her misery and their own waiting. Neighbors told of the evidence found on the neck of the victim of the fell deed, but no judicial notice was taken of the supposed crime. The very night that the body lay dead in the house, her spirit returned, the waters said, and they heard her moans and dying struggles. The night following her burial the same events, it was said, transpired preceded by the jungling of money. The bed clothing was lifted from the bed, and at the midnight hour, the front door flew wide open. These things have occurred with unwarying regularity, it is asserted, every night since her death. No one undertakes to explain the phenomenon, but a universal belief in them exists. Some incredulous neighbors tried to spend a night in the haunted chamber, and these all verified the uncanny occurrences. A minister held prayers in the room and undertook to pass the night there, but at the midnight hour he hurriedly left the place and acknowledged his conversion to general theory. Thereafter the niece and her husband turned the place over to the spooks, and no one has had the temerity to enter it since. The front door of the house is closely barred, but always at the midnight hour, it flies open, it is said, and at the same time the money-loving ghost of Betsey Dequasie counts the many treasures while she moans and begs for mercy at the hands of her destroyers. Cincinnati Enquirer