Shadows in Savannah’s Moonlight
Savannah, Georgia is often celebrated as one of America’s most haunted cities – a place where ghostly tales seep from every cobblestone and oak-shaded square. But among the restless spirits and midnight whispers, there lies a secret history that even many locals don’t know. Beneath the genteel charm and Southern hospitality, Savannah was once a hotbed of spies and espionage, where coded messages passed between trembling hands and conspirators met by lantern-light behind tavern doors. During both the Revolutionary War and the Civil War, this city’s quiet streets were alive with subterfuge. And where there were spies, there were often tragedies – and, as many believe, ghosts that linger restlessly to this day.
Picture yourself on a balmy Savannah evening: the gas lamps flicker, Spanish moss sways overhead, and the air is thick with the scent of jasmine and old brick. In the hush of the night, you might hear faint echoes of footsteps that don’t quite belong to the living. Perhaps it’s just the city settling… or perhaps it’s the unseen watchers of centuries past. As a historian and paranormal researcher (and your humble guide from Haunted Savannah Tours), I invite you to step into the shadows of Savannah. Together, we’ll uncover how spies wove a web of secrets here during America’s most tumultuous wars – and how some of their spirits, or the spirits of those touched by their deeds, may still walk among us.
Why spies? you might ask. After all, when people think of Savannah ghost tours, they often imagine mossy cemeteries, grand mansions, or voodoo legends. But trust me – espionage brings its own eerie glamour. It’s the ultimate game of cat and mouse, often played in the dead of night. And in old Savannah, those games sometimes ended in betrayal, blood, and lingering mysteries. Many a midnight on my tours, I’ve paused in a quiet square and asked my guests: Can you feel it? The sense that someone unseen is watching from the dark? More often than not, a few neck hairs stand on end.
So let’s wind back the clock. From the Revolutionary War era, when Savannah was a young colonial port caught between Patriots and Redcoats, to the Civil War era, when blue and gray cloaked the city in suspicion – we’ll explore tales of secret agents, double-crosses, and spectral sightings. This journey is part ghost tour, part history lesson, and all Savannah. Ready to venture into the past? Keep your wits about you and maybe hold a friend’s hand – the ghosts of Savannah’s spies are waiting for us around the next dimly lit corner.
Revolutionary War Spies in Savannah: Secrets in the Colonial City
Savannah in the 1770s was a city at the crossroads of empire and revolution. Its brick-lined streets and quaint squares, today so picturesque, were back then a hive of whispered conversations and wary glances. As the American colonies inched toward rebellion, Georgia was a divided place – with fierce Patriots on one side and loyal British subjects (Loyalists) on the other. In those tense days, everyone was suspect, and spies lurked in drawing rooms and taverns alike.
Consider Tondee’s Tavern, a popular gathering place in Savannah where the Sons of Liberty (the Patriots) used to meet. By day it served ale and hearty stew; by night it hosted secret meetings about independence. One can easily imagine a Redcoat sympathizer nursing a drink in the corner, straining to overhear plans being laid by patriot firebrands. In fact, history tells us that Royal Governor Sir James Wright – the King’s man in Georgia – had informants keeping tabs on the rebel leaders. Savannah was still a relatively small town, and news traveled fast (especially if someone was paid in gold to pass it on).
In these pre-war days, even ordinary folks could find themselves tangled in espionage. A passing comment at the market about a shipment of gunpowder, or a letter opened by the wrong eyes, might tip the balance between trust and treason. British officials placed special suspicion on Irish servants in Savannah – a bit of local prejudice that came from fears they’d side with Catholic Spanish Florida to the south. To be an Irish servant in Savannah was to be a potential spy for the enemy, people whispered. Imagine living under that kind of scrutiny! Every glance over the shoulder, every unexpected visitor, could set one’s heart pounding.
One personal aside – I once stood inside an old colonial-era cellar during a private ghost hunt, in near total darkness. The silence was thick as molasses when I suddenly felt that uncanny prickle of being watched. My flashlight caught only dust motes in the stale air. Was it just nerves? Possibly. But moments like that make me wonder how many secret meetings in such cellars occurred by candlelight, and whether some curious spirit from those days still skulks in the shadows, listening in.
The 1778 Betrayal: How Savannah Fell to the Redcoats
By 1778, the Revolutionary War was in full blaze up north – but Georgia had seen relatively little fighting. That changed dramatically in December of that year, when the British set their sights on Savannah. What unfolded was a tale of deception and a local betrayal that cost the Patriots their city, and it begins with a secret route through the swamp.
Lieutenant Colonel Archibald Campbell led a British expeditionary force that landed south of Savannah, intending to capture this strategic port. General Robert Howe and his American troops hastily formed a defensive line just outside town, thinking they had the main roads covered. But unbeknownst to them, Campbell had a trick up his sleeve. According to historical accounts, a local enslaved man – whose name tragically has been lost to time – approached the British with a dangerous offer: he knew of a hidden path through the rice marshes that could outflank the American defenses. In exchange for a promise of freedom, he would lead Campbell’s men along this secret trail.
And so, on a humid late December afternoon, a column of red-coated British regulars and Loyalist volunteers followed this brave (or perhaps desperate) guide into the mucky, mosquito-infested swamp. They waded silently under dripping Spanish moss, muskets held high to keep them dry. Imagine the tension: the guide’s heart hammering as he retraced an overgrown, twisting path, praying the British wouldn’t change their minds and shoot him once he’d served his purpose. The British soldiers, sweating and swatting insects, must have wondered if they were walking into a trap – but they trusted their local informant.
As the story goes, one British officer actually climbed a gnarly live oak tree to get a better view above the marsh. From that perch, he spotted something astonishing: the trail indeed emerged behind the American lines, right near the unguarded rear of the Patriot camp. The enslaved guide had told the truth. With a wave of the officer’s hat as a signal through the branches, Campbell knew the moment had come. The British troops burst out of the swamp, bayonets glinting, and charged the unsuspecting Americans from behind.
The Battle (or Capture) of Savannah in 1778 was quick and chaotic. Caught completely off-guard, many Patriot militiamen panicked. Gunfire erupted from all directions, and smoke mixed with the swamp mist. Within a short time, the American line collapsed. Some soldiers threw down their weapons and ran; others stumbled into muddy creeks in a frantic escape. Campbell’s brilliant (if ruthless) flanking maneuver had worked perfectly. Savannah fell to the British that day, largely because of that single act of clandestine guidance.
Now, think of the human cost of this secret-path betrayal. Dozens of Patriots were killed in the fighting or drowned in the dark wetlands as they fled. It’s said that the waterways around Savannah ran red with blood that evening. The British lost only a handful of men, while hundreds of American soldiers were captured or scattered into the wilds. Savannah, the proud “Forest City,” was now under the Union Jack once more. For the British, it was a coup. For the Americans, it was a nightmare realized – and perhaps they wondered which of their neighbors had sold them out.
Ghostly legend has it that on some foggy nights in the swamps beyond west Savannah, you can still hear the muffled cries of those drowning men echoing over the marshes. A few intrepid locals have even reported seeing a lone spectral figure wandering near the old battlefield’s edge – described as a man in tattered colonial garb, holding a lantern and weeping. Some believe this could be the ghost of that unnamed enslaved guide. Did he ever truly gain the freedom he was promised? History doesn’t clearly record his fate. It’s possible the British evacuated him to safety after the war, or just as likely they abandoned him to his own devices. If his spirit lingers, one has to wonder: Is he mourning the Patriots whose deaths he caused, or crying for his own lost chance at freedom? In a city as haunted as Savannah, even the moral ambiguities of a spy’s choices might echo eternally in the dark.
Ghosts of the Lost Patriot Army
With Savannah firmly under British occupation after 1778, the city transformed into a British garrison town. Redcoat soldiers manned the defenses, cannons bristled along earthworks, and Loyalist citizens (those still faithful to King George) felt emboldened. But outside the city limits, Patriot forces regrouped, and the war raged on. Spies became more important than ever – both for Patriots hoping to retake the city, and for Brits determined to keep it.
In the autumn of 1779, a massive Franco-American army arrived on Savannah’s doorstep to lay siege to the British occupiers. This was one of the boldest campaigns of the Revolution: French troops under Count d’Estaing, Haitian free men of color from the French colony of Saint-Domingue, and American Continental soldiers all united to liberate Savannah. For weeks they dug trenches and bombarded the British lines. Gunpowder smoke hung over the town, and the thunder of cannon became a daily reality for everyone in the city – friend and foe alike.
Both sides relied on intelligence to anticipate the other’s moves. American scouts skulked around the British fortifications at night, trying to gauge weak points. There were stories of Patriot spies within the city itself – perhaps a disenchanted Loyalist merchant here, an enslaved person with access to officers’ conversations there – who smuggled out notes tied to rocks or hidden in loafs of bread. Likewise, British sentries kept a keen watch for any local seen signaling with lanterns from an attic window, suspecting an “inside man” guiding the enemy. Espionage was everywhere and nowhere: hard evidence of spies was scarce, but suspicion hung thick in the air.
Finally, on October 9, 1779, the allies decided on a daring pre-dawn assault to break the British lines – an attack that, unfortunately for the Patriots, would go down as one of the bloodiest and most futile charges in American history. According to some accounts, secrecy was so paramount that the attackers even tried a ruse: a contingent of allied soldiers supposedly donned dark or British-colored coats, hoping to confuse the enemy in the dim light as they rushed forward. Did a spy within Savannah tip off the British about the impending assault? Some Patriot officers later grumbled it seemed the redcoats were unnaturally prepared that morning, their cannons aimed right where the main attack fell. We may never know if an informant betrayed the plan, but what we do know is chilling enough.
The assault was a slaughter. Under swirling fog and flashes of musket fire, the Allies stormed a fortified position known as the Spring Hill Redoubt. British defenders and their Hessian (German mercenary) allies poured grapeshot and musket balls into the charging masses. Brave men fell by the dozens, carpeting the ground in front of the earthworks. Among the fallen was the gallant Sergeant William Jasper of the 2nd South Carolina Regiment – a hero famed for his flag-saving exploit earlier in the war. Jasper was mortally wounded while heroically trying to plant the American colors atop the redoubt, and he died not far from the battlefield. Another casualty was the Polish aristocrat Count Casimir Pulaski, a cavalry commander fighting for American liberty, who was struck by grapeshot and carried from the field, only to die two days later at sea (his remains would later return to Savannah, but that’s a story – and ghost – we’ll revisit).
By the time the sun rose higher on that grisly October 9th, nearly 1,000 Allied soldiers lay dead or wounded – compared to perhaps 150 British casualties. The siege had failed tragically. Savannah would remain in British hands until the end of the war. The hopes of a swift Patriot victory in Georgia were dashed, all amid the dense smoke and blood-soaked soil outside the city walls.
Is it any wonder that this battleground has given rise to some of Savannah’s most enduring ghost stories? Locals say that Madison Square, a pretty green space in today’s downtown, sits near one area where fighting spilled over. In fact, a mass grave of siege casualties is long rumored to lie under or near the square (historic records suggest many dead were indeed buried in unmarked pits). People strolling through Madison Square at night have reported uncanny experiences: sudden cold spots on warm evenings, or the feeling of something rushing past them – yet nothing is visible. On rare occasions, a figure is seen in the corner of one’s eye: a man in a disheveled Revolutionary-era uniform, maybe missing a limb, running as if charging into battle, only to vanish when looked at directly. Some have even claimed that the statue of Sergeant Jasper in the square seems to attract ghostly sentinels, as if the spirit of Jasper rallies other lost souls to him.
One of the most famous spectral residents of Madison Square is said to be William Jasper himself. Visitors and ghost tour guides alike have reported a soldierly apparition patrolling the square, musket in hand. He’s often described as looking anxious or intent, perhaps still fighting the battle that cost him his life. I’ve had guests on my Savannah ghost tour swear they saw a figure near the Jasper monument who looked “too real to be a ghost, but too old-fashioned to be a living person.” One even joked afterward, “I thought it was a reenactor until he disappeared into thin air.” It sends a chill down my spine every time I recount their story.
And what of Pulaski? Over in Monterey Square, where a grand monument stands in his honor, there are whispers of a ghostly rider. Pulaski’s exact burial was a mystery for ages; for a long time, people weren’t sure if his bones lay under that monument or somewhere else. (In the 1990s, remains believed to be Pulaski’s were exhumed from under the monument and later reinterred after examination, so he likely does rest there now.) Even before that, though, legends swirled that Pulaski’s restless spirit haunted the area. Some late-night pedestrians have claimed to encounter a courteous stranger in an old-fashioned military cape, speaking with a Polish or European accent, who politely inquires about the state of the war – and then tips his hat and fades away. The witness often only realizes later (perhaps after no “normal” person is found in the vicinity) that they might have been chatting with a ghost.
Savannah’s Colonial Park Cemetery, where many from that era were laid to rest (though not the battlefield dead – the British didn’t allow those Patriot bodies into consecrated ground), also has its share of revolutionary ghosts. Visitors often capture orbs or strange mists on cameras there at night. On occasion, people have reported encounters with what sounds like marching – the tromp of boots and clank of gear – across the moonlit graveyard, as if soldiers were still on patrol. Could these be the echo of British sentries or Patriot raiders continuing their deadly hide-and-seek long after the living left the field?
Espionage Behind British Lines
After the failed siege of 1779, Savannah settled into an uneasy routine under British occupation. But the spy games were far from over. In fact, they intensified. From late 1779 until 1782, the city was a critical British stronghold, and the war in the South became a brutal civil war of sorts – with Georgian Loyalists and Patriots engaged in constant skirmishes, espionage, and even assassination.
Inside British-held Savannah, any remaining Patriot sympathizers had to keep their heads down. Those who hadn’t fled were often playing a dangerous double role: outwardly cordial to the British authorities, but secretly aiding the rebel cause. One such unsung figure might have been a Savannah shopkeeper’s wife (her name lost to time) who legend says eavesdropped on British officers as they came into her husband’s store to buy imported tea and cloth. It’s said she kept notes of troop movements and supply shortages she overheard, which she then smuggled out to Patriot scouts by sewing tiny letters into the hems of coats. True or not, it’s a fact that women throughout the colonies served as spies – their social invisibility to men of the era often their greatest asset. Savannah likely had its share of “mothers of the Revolution” quietly cooking meals for Redcoats by day and sending ciphered messages by night.
Enslaved African Americans in the city also played a pivotal, if perilous, intelligence role. The British had promised freedom to enslaved people who fled Patriot masters and aided the Crown (though that promise was not uniformly kept). Many slaves did escape to British Savannah, and some ended up working for British officers or in military camps. These individuals were in unique positions to overhear plans or observe forces. Some, like the aforementioned March Haynes (whom we’ll meet again in the Civil War section), might later take that knowledge back to the Americans. One can imagine an enslaved man serving wine at a British officer’s dinner party, quietly noting the maps on the table or the talk of “marching for Augusta next week,” all while keeping his eyes respectfully low. Later, under the cover of darkness, he might slip out to a secret meeting spot by the river and deliver the intel to a Patriot agent who paddles up in a canoe. This was dangerous, life-risking work – if caught, punishment would be severe, likely fatal.
It’s no surprise that people in occupied Savannah grew paranoid. Anyone could be a spy. Neighbors who had known each other for years suddenly eyed each other with suspicion. A simple knock on the door at an odd hour could send hearts racing: Was it a British soldier with questions? A secret ally dropping off information? Or worse, a trap?
One dark tale from this period involves a young man named Collin (his full name obscured by legend) who was a clerk by day and a spy by night. Collin would sneak out after curfew with dispatches from a secret Loyalist informant network within the Patriot militia outside town. Essentially, he was a double agent. For months, he delivered notes to a dead drop—a loose brick in a warehouse on Factors Walk, near the river—where a British contact later retrieved them. But Collin’s luck ran out. One foggy night, Patriot partisans caught him in the act of leaving a message. They spirited him away to an undisclosed location, and he was never seen alive again. Whispers in subsequent years claimed the Patriots hanged him from an oak tree in an old square or perhaps drowned him in the Savannah River with weights tied to his ankles. Talk about a ghost story waiting to happen!
Indeed, to this day, several Savannah squares have ghostly lore about hanged men. Wright Square in particular, known as the site of public hangings in the 1700s, is home to many a restless soul if local guides are to be believed. Besides the famous ghost of Alice Riley (hanged in 1735 for a crime unrelated to war), people have described seeing the fleeting image of a young man dangling from a tree branch on certain misty dawns – only for the vision to vanish when approached. Could this be the specter of some Revolutionary War spy or traitor meeting his end? While we can’t prove Collin’s execution happened as described, it’s true that more than one spy (of both loyalties) met the hangman’s noose in Savannah. The British executed Patriot spies when they caught them, often without much ceremony; and when the tables turned, Patriots exacted revenge on Loyalist informers with equal ruthlessness. The violent energy of those summary executions may well linger. Next time you walk through Wright Square at night, listen closely. You might catch the faint creak of rope in the breeze, or the echo of a gasp that isn’t from any living throat. These are the kind of spine-tingling moments that even seasoned guides like me don’t dismiss lightly.
A Patriot Returns: Savannah’s Liberation and Retribution
By 1782, the winds of war had shifted decisively. The British, having suffered major setbacks (Yorktown in 1781 being the nail in the coffin), began pulling out of their southern outposts. In July 1782, they evacuated Savannah at last, ending nearly four years of occupation. The American Patriots, many of whom had been exiled to the swamps and backcountry, rode back in triumph. But their victory was shadowed by the bitter legacy of the spy-vs-spy conflict.
As the Patriots reclaimed Savannah, they were eager to root out those whom they saw as traitors. Some Loyalist residents had already fled with the British, fearing reprisal. Those who remained faced uncertain fates. In those early days of restored Patriot control, hurried tribunals were set up to judge collaborators. Rumors say that at least a few individuals accused of feeding information to the enemy were condemned and executed. One particularly ominous tale speaks of a Loyalist woman who had acted as a British informant – perhaps the very same shopkeeper’s wife who once smuggled info to the Patriots had an opposite number: a Loyalist lady who passed Patriot secrets to the British. This woman (again unnamed in lore) was supposedly arrested by Patriot troops while trying to flee in disguise. They found incriminating letters in her possession. The story goes that rather than subject the city to a prolonged scandalous trial (and perhaps out of fear her information could still do damage if it reached British hands), a decision was made quietly. One night, she was taken to the edge of town and shot by a firing squad under a live oak, her body left unceremoniously for her family to retrieve at dawn.
Whether this grim execution actually occurred or is just folklore, local legend insists that near that spot – believed by some to be in the area that is now Forsyth Park – a lonely female apparition has been seen. Described as wearing a tattered colonial-era dress, she wanders under the oak trees as if searching or waiting. Those who claim to have encountered her say she doesn’t seem malevolent, just terribly sad. Could it be the betrayer’s ghost, sorrowful and restless, paying for her wartime sins? In a city full of tragic specters, she would hardly be alone.
With the war over, Savannah tried to return to normal life. But scars remained. Families were divided by those years of espionage and conflict – brother had spied against brother, in some cases. You can imagine the uncomfortable encounters on the street: a Patriot veteran bumping into a neighbor who had been a known Tory. Did they nod politely? Cross to the other side of the street? Or did they pretend not to recognize each other at all? These social ghosts of the war lasted for decades in Savannah’s memory.
Of course, actual ghosts – if you believe the stories as I do – also lingered. The Revolutionary War left Savannah with a haunted legacy. To recap our spectral roster: the hanging tree phantoms of Wright Square, Sergeant Jasper’s vigilant spirit in Madison Square, Pulaski’s caped apparition by his monument, and perhaps even the sorrowful shade of an executed informer in Forsyth Park. They join countless unnamed others from that era whose restless energy might still wander the city.
Sometimes on my tours, when we talk about this period, I ask folks to pause on a quiet street and just absorb the atmosphere. Can you sense how old Savannah feels? I’ll ask. Often, people remark that they do feel something – maybe an “oppressive” weight or a strange stillness, as if the past is pressingly close. At times I’ve caught tour-goers glancing over their shoulders, almost expecting to see a Revolutionary War soldier in rags following us. I don’t blame them. Savannah by night can make you believe in unseen eyes and echoes of clandestine meetings still imprinted on the very walls.
As we leave the era of tri-cornered hats and powdered wigs behind, remember: The ghosts born from the Revolution’s spy games are but one act in Savannah’s paranormal play. Ahead lies another tumultuous chapter – the Civil War – which would bring a whole new wave of espionage to the city, along with its own ghosts to join the spectral congregation.
Civil War Shadows: Spies and Secret Agents in Savannah (1861–1865)
The Port of Secrets: Confederate Spies, Blockade Runners, and Secret Tunnels
Fast forward about eighty years from the Revolution. It’s 1861, and Savannah once again stands at the precipice of war. The United States has split in two, North and South, and Savannah is part of the Confederate States of America now. The city’s strategic importance as a port is huge – cotton and rice riches, a gateway to the Atlantic, and a jewel that the Union (the North) would love to capture. And where something is valuable in wartime, you can bet spies will come slinking out of the woodwork like cockroaches in a bakery.
In the early Civil War days, Savannah’s excitement and anxiety were palpable. Residents hurried to volunteer or fortify defenses, and rumors flew faster than a horse at full gallop. The Confederacy, with limited industrial resources, needed every edge it could get to survive, which meant smuggling and espionage were practically built into its war effort. Savannah’s docks and back alleys became the stage for many a cloak-and-dagger tale.
One of the most fascinating characters to tread these streets was James Dunwoody Bulloch – a Savannah-born naval officer turned secret agent. While not a spy in the James Bond sense (he wasn’t sneaking into Union camps in disguise), Bulloch was a Confederate agent in Europe who clandestinely arranged the purchase of ships and weapons for the South. Here’s where it gets exciting: in late 1861, Bulloch acquired a fast British steamer called Fingal, loaded it to the brim with Enfield rifles, cannons, ammunition, and other supplies, and set sail under false pretenses. His mission? Run the Union blockade and slip into Savannah with this vital war cargo. It was a high-stakes covert op – essentially, blockade running was legalized smuggling under fire.
The journey was harrowing. The Union navy had ships patrolling the Georgia coast like hungry sharks. Bulloch’s Fingalmanaged to evade them by a combination of guile and perhaps a bit of luck (or as some might say, “the devil’s own providence” aiding the daring). He navigated via the maze of tidal creeks and inlets around Savannah – channels he likely knew from his youth – arriving at the mouth of the Savannah River. At one point, Union blockaders nearly trapped him. One story recounts how Bulloch, finding a channel blocked, boldly ordered the Fingal to dash directly toward Savannah harbor, racing ahead of pursuing Federal gunboats. On a chilly dawn, Confederate Fort Jackson’s lookouts saw a silhouette emerging from the river mists: it was Fingal. The fort’s gunners, realizing a friendly blockade runner was inbound under chase, waved their caps and cheered Bulloch’s approach. Within moments, Bulloch had made it. Savannah welcomed the supplies and hailed Bulloch as a hero.
That success was fleetingly sweet. Because once Fingal was in Savannah, she became stuck – the Union blockade only tightened afterwards, making an exit near impossible. So the Confederates, ever resourceful, converted Fingal into an ironclad warship, the CSS Atlanta. (Picture a former sleek yacht turned into a hulking armored beast with sloped iron sides – that was the Atlanta.) However, in mid-1863, while Atlanta tried to break out to sea, she ran aground and was captured. Such are the twists of war. Bulloch himself was back in Europe by then, procuring the infamous commerce raider CSS Alabama and others.
While Bulloch’s tale is more espionage-adjacent (covert operations and naval intelligence), he set the tone for Savannah’s Civil War espionage vibe – one of international intrigue, daring exploits, and the constant sense of being watched by an unseen enemy. Indeed, Union intelligence kept tabs on Savannah’s port. Northern newspapers often speculated which blockade runner was sneaking in where. The Union even had spies in Europe tracking Confederate ship purchases, as Bulloch was well aware. It was a global chess match, with Savannah as one of the chess pieces.
Let’s return to the streets of Savannah though. Aside from high-profile agents like Bulloch, the city had its share of homegrown subterfuge. Blockade runners in Savannah weren’t just ships; they were also people on the ground who made the smuggling possible. Warehouse owners, telegraph operators, dockworkers – any could be sending secret signals. Cotton bales could hide crates of rifles bound for inland armies. Sometimes, at midnight, small rowboats would slip out of hidden river inlets, carrying messages to Confederate blockade-running ships waiting off Tybee Island. Likewise, Confederate scouts would creep up to the Union naval pickets at the river’s mouth to glean positions.
A warren of tunnels under Factors Walk (along River Street) – originally built for moving goods from the port warehouses – acquired a sinister reputation. It’s said these tunnels were used to move contraband and maybe even prisoners or deserters. One legend says that late one night a pair of Confederate agents were cornered by Union troops (perhaps a landing party or spies of their own) in the darkness beneath those cobbled ramps. A skirmish ensued underground. Shots fired in that enclosed space must have sounded like cannon blasts. In the morning, two bodies were found in the tunnel: one Confederate courier and one Union spy, each having killed the other. To this day, some night watchmen along River Street report hearing footsteps echoing in empty tunnels, or even the faint dueling whispers of men arguing angrily where no one stands. Savannah’s riverfront is lively with tourists by day, but in those deeper shadows where the old bricks whisper history, something unsettled may linger from that deadly cat-and-mouse.
Even Savannah’s social scene had an undercurrent of espionage. Fancy soirees were still held in mansions by gaslight, officers in gray uniforms dancing with ladies in silk gowns. But behind those cordial smiles, everyone hungered for news. A visiting Confederate cavalryman from Virginia might press a local for details about coastal defenses (was Fort Pulaski really impregnable? How many guns at Fort McAllister?). Meanwhile, a charming lady at the buffet might be quietly quizzing the officer about the Army of Northern Virginia’s movements – and passing that info to a telegrapher friend who had Union contacts. The era’s gender norms, which presumed women to be innocent non-combatants, again provided cover. Female spies moved easily in social circles, often arousing less suspicion than men. Savannah had a few notable Southern “she-spies” of its own, though their names were carefully kept out of the papers.
One such woman, whom I’ll call “Belle of Savannah” (since history has only left fragments of her identity), was rumored to be a double agent. By day, Belle sewed flags for Confederate soldiers and was even friendly with the wife of a Confederate general. By night, however, whispers said she maintained correspondence with a Union officer she’d known before the war, feeding him tidbits about local morale and troop numbers. It’s unclear if she did this out of true Unionist sympathy or simply hedged bets to protect family property should the Yankees come. In any case, Belle survived the war unscathed and lived into old age, but reportedly never married (perhaps trust was hard to come by after living a duplicitous life). Neighbors who knew her in the 1880s claimed she was “a bit odd” – often seen gazing toward the river with a faraway look. After her death, some swore they saw a woman’s silhouette at the upstairs window of her old house on moonlit nights, as if waiting for someone. Waiting for a secret rendezvous that never came, perhaps.
Union Sympathizers Behind Enemy Lines
t’s crucial to remember that not everyone in Savannah was a die-hard Confederate supporter. There were Union sympathizers and outright Unionists in the city even during the war – though they had to stay very quiet about it for their own safety. These individuals became natural recruits or helpers for Union intelligence. And just as in the Revolutionary War, enslaved African Americans and free people of color again played an outsized role in spying and sabotage, hoping to aid the Union cause (which, for them, meant freedom).
Enter March Haynes – one of the most remarkable (and remarkably little-known) figures in Civil War espionage, who moved through Savannah’s story like a shadow. Remember how we touched on enslaved folks being couriers and informants in Revolutionary Savannah? March Haynes was cut from that cloth, but he operated on an even bolder scale. Born into slavery in South Carolina, Haynes was sold to a master in Savannah in the 1850s. By the outbreak of the Civil War, he was working on the river docks and piloting small boats – meaning he knew the waterways around Savannah intimately. When the Union army captured Fort Pulaski (at the mouth of the Savannah River) in April 1862, Haynes was there as a laborer conscripted by the Confederates. Fort Pulaski’s fall essentially freed all those enslaved workers (as Union General David Hunter emancipated them upon taking the fort). For March Haynes, it was liberation – and a call to action.
Instead of hightailing it north, Haynes chose to stay and help the Union war effort right in his former backyard. With Fort Pulaski in Union hands, he began serving as a spy and river pilot for Union forces. On dark nights, Haynes would row out from Pulaski or Union-held pockets to the Savannah outskirts. He led daring reconnaissance missions through the marshes, slipping past Confederate sentries. Haynes guided Union scouts to remote inlets where they could observe Confederate forts like Fort McAllister (which guarded another river approach). He also became legendary for spiriting enslaved people to freedom – essentially an operative on an aquatic Underground Railroad in wartime. Each person he helped escape could also share valuable information about Confederate positions, strength, or local gossip.
It’s recorded that in one operation, March Haynes and his team penetrated so deeply and stealthily into Confederate territory that they approached the very edge of Savannah under cover of darkness. Their goal was to gather intel on troop deployments in the city and facilitate the escape of several families who had secretly signaled Union forces for rescue. This was spycraft and humanitarian work wrapped in one. However, such audacity nearly cost Haynes his life. In April 1863, the Confederates finally caught wind of his activities. Haynes was arrested on a mission in the city, betrayed perhaps by a turncoat or simply unlucky timing. Savannah newspapers (under Confederate control) reported that he had been caught in the act of “running off” enslaved people to the Union lines. This was a serious crime – one that would surely have ended in his death – but an extraordinary stroke of luck saved him: not a single person appeared at his trial to testify to his guilt. Without witnesses, the court had no choice but to release him. (One suspects silent admirers or sympathizers may have orchestrated this lack of testimony.)
Soon after, March Haynes wisely left the spy business behind and officially enlisted in the United States Colored Troops. He was among roughly 180,000 African Americans who donned Union blue to fight for freedom. Haynes survived the war and eventually returned to Savannah, living quietly into old age – a hero in disguise who rarely spoke publicly of his daring exploits.
For ghost enthusiasts, Haynes’s story raises an interesting dynamic. He survived the war and died peacefully in the 1890s, so if Savannah has a ghost connected to him, it wouldn’t be his spirit but perhaps the spirits of those he saved or those who perished in similar efforts. Some speak of phantom rowboats in the moonlight near Fort Pulaski – sounds of oars dipping in water when none are visible. Fort Pulaski itself is rumored to be haunted by various Civil War apparitions (after all, it saw a dramatic bombardment and later housed prisoners).
Another figure worth noting is Susie King Taylor, a young African American woman who escaped slavery near Savannah and became a teacher and nurse for Union troops (specifically with a regiment of Black soldiers). While not a spy, Susie’s very presence with the Union forces in the Low Country symbolized the flow of information and people from slavery to freedom. Her memoir mentions how she and others would return to the Union lines with refugees and news. Her footprints are part of Savannah’s Civil War tapestry, too.
Meanwhile, inside Confederate Savannah, Union loyalists (be they secretly anti-Confederate locals or Northern sympathizers stuck in the city) fed whatever info they could to the Union. Some used the old trick of smuggling messages in unlikely packages. A favorite anecdote: A certain Unionist lady in Savannah supposedly baked loaves of bread with notes inside and had an enslaved boy deliver them to “Auntie on the plantation” – Auntie being a contact who would pass it to Union scouts. Unfortunately for her, one day a Confederate officer stopped the boy and, being hungry, tore off a piece of bread – only to find paper inside. The story says that lady was arrested, but the soldiers couldn’t help but chuckle at the creativity of it. Perhaps because of her gender or social standing, she wasn’t harshly punished (the records don’t say). Still, it shows the lengths to which people went to keep information flowing.
Susie King Taylor
A Narrow Escape: The Haynes Network and a Brush with Death
The capture and release of March Haynes effectively collapsed a whole Union spy network in Savannah, but it also signaled to the Confederates that such networks existed right under their noses. After Haynes’ brush with death, Confederate counterintelligence in Savannah became even more vigilant. They kept a close eye on anyone suspected of Unionist leanings. A few other operatives who had worked with Haynes or in parallel quietly disappeared – likely slipping out to Union lines before they could be caught, or going deep underground to wait for the impending Union liberation.
As General William T. Sherman’s Union army slashed its way across Georgia in late 1864 on the March to the Sea, the role of espionage entered a new phase. Sherman’s forces needed good intel about Savannah’s defenses and the intentions of its commanders. There’s evidence that Sherman benefited from information provided by enslaved people who fled to his lines en route – these “Black Dispatches,” as Union officers called them, revealed where Confederate troops were positioned, where roads and rice dams could be found, and even that the approach via Fort McAllister (southwest of the city) was viable. One famous account describes how a slave named John led Sherman’s men through a swamp path toward Fort McAllister, reminiscent of the Revolutionary scenario with Campbell (history has its echoes!).
By December 1864, Savannah was surrounded. General Hardee, commanding the Confederate defense, faced an overwhelming Union force. Thanks to scouts and perhaps a spy or two inside Savannah, Sherman learned that Hardee was preparing to do something risky: evacuate his entire army across the Savannah River to South Carolina rather than be captured. Sure enough, on the night of December 20, Hardee pulled off a dramatic escape with thousands of troops slipping away on a hastily built pontoon bridge. When Union troops marched in on December 21, 1864, they found Savannah essentially surrendered without a fight. Sherman had his prize, and the city was spared the destruction that had befallen Atlanta and many other places.
One wonders if a bit of cloak-and-dagger helped that outcome along. Did Sherman’s spies convince Hardee that an overwhelming attack was imminent, spurring him to flee and thus save the city from a bloody urban battle? Or did Confederate counterspies feed Sherman false info to cover Hardee’s retreat? The details are a swirl of military reports rather than clear spy narratives, but it’s tantalizing to think of shadowy figures playing chess with the fate of Savannah in those final hours.
With Savannah now in Union hands, the espionage tables turned yet again. Confederate agents tried to infiltrate the occupied city to glean Sherman’s next moves (which turned out to be marching north into the Carolinas). There were rumors of Confederate saboteurs attempting to burn cotton warehouses or blow up ammo caches before the Union could seize them. In one case, Union patrols caught two men with incendiary materials near the riverfront; they were dubbed “Fire-spies” in the local press and swiftly sent to Hilton Head prison. Did their ghosts come back to finish the job? Probably not – but Savannah did suffer a major fire in January 1865 that destroyed hundreds of buildings. Officially, it was an accident, but some whispered it was those very saboteurs, or others still at large, striking from beyond the grave. (Most likely it was just an accident – but in haunted Savannah, why not spice it up with supernatural suspicion?)
Now that the Civil War was effectively ending, with Savannah in Union control and the Confederacy in its death throes, one might think the spy stories are over. However, the legacy of those secret warriors was just beginning in local lore. People who had lived through the war recounted these tales to their children and grandchildren. Over time, the factual accounts blurred into legend. The names of certain spies were forgotten or kept secret, but their deeds were remembered in the form of ghostly anecdotes and cautionary tales.
Civil War Ghosts of Savannah: Phantoms of War and Espionage
Savannah in Union hands was a jubilant place for some (the Unionists and enslaved people who were now free), and a heart-wrenching place for others (diehard Confederates watching their cause collapse). But as the Civil War drew to a close in 1865, the city itself endured far less physical destruction than most Southern cities. Sherman didn’t burn Savannah – he thought it too lovely, and it surrendered peacefully. Thus, many antebellum buildings survived, and with them, perhaps, the spirits that dwell within.
Take the Marshall House Hotel on Broughton Street. During the final months of the war, it was used as a Union hospital. Soldiers wounded in Sherman’s campaign and in subsequent operations convalesced (and in many cases, perished) there. Decades later, during renovations in the 1990s, workers famously found human bone fragments under the floorboards – amputated limbs from those wartime surgeries, hastily tucked away. Is it any wonder that today the Marshall House is considered one of the most haunted hotels in the South? Guests report encounters with ghostly men in uniform limping down hallways, or waking up to see a soldier in bed beside them, groaning in pain, before he fades away. One particularly chilling apparition often mentioned is the spirit of a Union soldier searching for his missing arm, asking bewildered guests if they’ve seen it. (Poor fellow – little does he know his arm was likely buried beneath the very wood planks they’re sleeping on!)
Another haunted spot: the old Candler Hospital (the first hospital in Georgia, established in the 1700s). During the Civil War, part of it served as a makeshift prison for Union POWs early on, and later as a barracks and hospital under Union occupation. The most iconic feature on its grounds is the Candler Oak, an enormous tree that dates back centuries. Under that oak, soldiers from both sides surely drilled, rested, and perhaps even faced punishment. Today, ghost hunters claim the Candler Hospital is alive with paranormal activity – from apparitions in Confederate gray wandering the halls to strange lights floating under the branches of the oak. One particularly macabre legend is the so-called “tunnel of the dead” – an old tunnel on the property once used to transport bodies (to avoid upsetting patients) supposedly echoes with moans. Are some of those ghosts spies? Hard to say, but a few Union soldiers did reportedly meet their end there under suspicion of espionage, and a Confederate informer or two may have been hanged on the grounds when the Yankees took over. Walking by the now-quiet building, with its peeling paint and dark windows, you can feel eyes on you – perhaps the unsettled dead still standing guard.
Now, let’s not forget Old Fort Jackson and Fort McAllister, two forts integral to Savannah’s Civil War story. Fort Jackson (just east of downtown) was held by Confederates until the city fell. Today, visitors and staff have recounted eerie experiences: a spectral sentry on the ramparts who vanishes when challenged, or the smell of gunpowder lingering in empty casemates. Is one of those ghosts Private Patrick Garrity, the clumsy Confederate soldier who, legend says, accidentally blew himself up one night while handling ammunition? They say his ghost still apologetically haunts the fort, appearing as a brief flash of light or a faint sob in the darkness.
At Fort McAllister (south of Savannah on the Ogeechee River), which Sherman’s troops stormed in December 1864 to open the route to Savannah, there’s the famous headless ghost of Major John Gallie. Gallie, the fort’s commander, was decapitated by a Union cannonball during an earlier naval attack in 1863. Many visitors and park rangers over the years have claimed encounters with a headless Confederate officer wandering the earthworks at dusk, perhaps still searching for his lost head (or his lost battle). While Major Gallie wasn’t a spy, his ghost story is a reminder of the very tangible horror of war.
One ghost story with a direct espionage twist: In a house near Monterey Square (the same square where Pulaski’s monument stands), there lived a family during the Civil War whose patriarch was secretly pro-Union. He reportedly hid a Union spy in the attic for weeks during the 1864 occupation – a daring move, given that Confederate sympathizers were still in town. Unfortunately, that spy fell ill (some say with yellow fever) and died in hiding. Fearing retribution, the family quietly buried him in the basement. Ever since, occupants of that house have told of strange happenings. Footsteps on the attic stairs when no one is up there. A man’s faint coughing heard behind the walls. One owner even claimed to have seen a pale figure in a Union uniform standing at the foot of her bed, only to evaporate into the floor. Is it the spy who never got to go home, forever pacing in an attic prison? It’s a chilling thought that a soul who died in secrecy might remain trapped by that very secrecy.
As we weave these tales together, a picture emerges of a city haunted not just by soldiers, but by secrets. The ghosts of Savannah often have layered stories: maybe that soldier apparition you see by the cemetery fence isn’t just any soldier – maybe he was a courier carrying a vital message, cut down before he could deliver it. Perhaps that mourning woman in Forsyth Park isn’t just lamenting a lost husband – maybe she herself was a double agent who paid the ultimate price. Ghost lore allows us to fill in the blanks that history leaves, giving personalities and motives to those flickers in the dark.
Savannah’s Living History and Lingering Spirits
Today, visitors flock to Savannah for its beauty, history, and yes, the ghosts. Savannah Ghost Tours are a beloved activity (we guide a lot of brave souls each night!), and they offer more than cheap thrills – they are a way to connectwith the past. The stories of spies and hauntings make the cobblestones speak and the old oak trees whisper. When you stroll down Bull Street or Jones Street in the twilight, you’re walking through layers of time.
If you’re ever in town and wondering what to do in Savannah, consider this: explore the historical sites by day, and delve into the ghostly lore by night. Visit the very spots mentioned here: stand in Wright Square where spies may have swung, and see if you feel a chill. Tour Fort Pulaski and imagine March Haynes slipping into a rowboat under the stars, right under the guns of that fort. Have dinner on River Street, then peek into the Factor’s Walk tunnels (if you dare) and picture a deadly clandestine skirmish in the dark. In the evening, join a Haunted Savannah tour and walk under the same moonlight that once glinted off a spy’s hidden pistol or a soldier’s bayonet. Savannah offers an immersive experience where history and the paranormal dance together like the moss in the midnight breeze.
To me, as a storyteller and guide, the espionage element adds a special spice to Savannah’s haunted history. It reminds us that the people who lived (and died) here were complex and daring, not so different from characters in a novel – except they were real. When I recount these stories on my tours, I often see faces light up with recognition that history isn’t dusty or dull; it’s alive, unpredictable, and sometimes as suspenseful as a thriller. And in Savannah, it’s all around you. The city itself is like a well-worn diary full of secrets, and on a ghost tour, on a quiet midnight, you just might hear it speak.
From the scheming days of the Revolution to the high drama of the Civil War, Savannah’s history is a tapestry rich in intrigue. And through it all, ghost stories persist – the immortal retelling of those intrigues, long after the original players have departed. Spies and ghosts share a kinship: both operate unseen, both shape outcomes in this world, and both captivate our imagination.
Savannah invites you to experience that magic for yourself. Come tread where spies once trod. Stand in the silence of an old square where secrets were traded. You might just sense a presence at your shoulder – a gentle breath, a faint whisper. Don’t be alarmed. It’s just Savannah’s past saying hello, reminding you that in this city, the veil between then and now, between living and dead, is thin as a sheet of rice paper.
And if you do feel that ghostly tap or hear an unexplained whisper, perhaps some long-gone spy is thanking you for listening to their story. After all, in a city as haunted as this, even the shadows have stories to tell – and they’re more than happy to share, once the sun goes down and the specters of Savannah come out to play.