The four brick archways of the Cluskey Vaults sit tucked beneath Savannah’s historic bluff, ivy crawling over the aged facade. Above them lies Bay Street and Emmet Park’s grassy expanse; below, the cobblestones of River Street stretch toward the Savannah River.
When night falls in Savannah, a city often called “America’s most haunted,” certain places come alive with eerie whispers of the past. One such spot hides in plain sight just east of City Hall: the Cluskey Vaults. By day, these four brick archways might seem unremarkable – shadowy hollows built into the hillside beneath Bay Street. Tourists wandering River Street often pass by without a second glance. But step closer, especially on a humid Savannah evening, and an unsettling chill might just crawl up your spine. As someone who has led countless groups on Savannah ghost tours, I’ve seen even the bravest visitors hesitate at the threshold of these vaults. There’s just something about this dim brick alcove, lit by flickering lamplight and draped in Spanish moss from the park above, that makes you feel you’re not alone.
In this long journey through time, we’ll explore the haunted and historical significance of the Cluskey Vaults. These vaults are more than crumbling bricks; they are a portal into Savannah’s past – a past filled with ingenuity and tragedy, commerce and mystery. I’ll delve into factual historical background, from their unusual construction in the 1840s to their various uses (and misuses) in the 19th century. We’ll uncover how they earned nicknames like “the Tombs,” examine their original purpose and architecture, and sift through well-documented legends that cling to them. And of course, we’ll wander through the ghostly lore: the shadow people, whispered voices, and inexplicable sensations reported here over the years. Along the way, I’ll share a few personal asides and musings – forgive me if I ramble; these vaults have a way of mesmerizing this historian’s heart.
So, if you’re looking for What to do in Savannah that combines history, mystery, and a dash of spine-tingling fun, grab a lantern (or just your imagination) and follow me down to Factors Walk. Let’s step under the moss-hung oaks of Emmet Park, descend Savannah’s historic bluff, and venture into the story of the Cluskey Vaults – where Haunted Savannah truly lives.
Origins of the Cluskey Vaults: Architecture, Purpose, and “Tombs” on the Bluff
Every old city has its quirks of architecture – Savannah perhaps more than most. The Cluskey Vaults are a perfect example: part engineering solution, part storage space, part enigma. To understand why they’re here at all, we have to imagine Savannah as it was in 1839. At that time, Savannah’s bluff – the high ground along Bay Street – was prone to erosion. River Street below was a rough, emerging waterfront strip, and the area east of the old City Exchange (where our current City Hall stands) was particularly problematic. City leaders needed a sturdy retaining wall to shore up the bluff and expand the harborfront. Enter Charles Blaney Cluskey, a talented young architect and Irish immigrant.
Cluskey, known for his elegant Greek Revival designs, proposed an ambitious plan. In early 1840 he won the contract to build a permanent brick retaining wall along the bluff between Drayton Street and the City Exchange. He didn’t stop at just a wall, though. Cluskey had a clever addition: why not incorporate storage vaults inside the new bluff wall? He offered to construct four brick “stores” (vaulted rooms), each about 40 feet deep and 20 feet wide, under the new elevated public walk. These arched chambers would be built into the embankment itself, creating useful commercial space out of what would otherwise be just solid fill.
City Council agreed – the vaults would cost $3,000, and instead of paying Cluskey outright, the city would lease the vaults back to him for twenty years as compensation. It seemed like a win-win: Savannah would get a reinforced bluff and new rentable storage units; Cluskey would get a long-term investment. In May 1840, construction began on what we now call the Cluskey Vaults.
However, as any Savannah historian will tell you, things rarely go according to plan. What was supposed to be a straightforward project turned into a drawn-out saga. Work progressed slowly – agonizingly slowly. By late 1841, the vaults still weren’t finished. City officials grew impatient and citizens started gossiping. The unfinished arches gaping in the bluff were becoming an eyesore. Local newspapers mocked the delay, joking that these mysterious brick caves were like “the Tombs,” comparing them to a famously over-budget prison in New York. The nickname stuck. Imagine it: you’re a savvy 19th-century merchant strolling Bay Street, glancing down to see a half-built arcade of brick vaults gathering weeds – of course folks started calling them tombs! It didn’t help that their dark, arched doorways did resemble crypt entrances, eliciting morbid curiosity from passersby even then.
Cluskey himself seemed to have lost interest or become overwhelmed. Beset by other projects and perhaps financial troubles, he effectively abandoned the vault construction. In July 1842, the city threatened to have the work completed at Cluskey’s expense if he didn’t hurry up. Ultimately, Cluskey surrendered the project. The job of finishing the vaults was turned over to William S. Walker, another builder, and the lease rights were transferred to a businessman named John Dillon to settle Cluskey’s debts. (I sometimes picture poor Mr. Cluskey in 1842, poring over his blueprints with a sigh, perhaps muttering an Irish curse under his breath at those blasted vaults – they were to be his legacy, but became his headache.)
Under Walker’s management, the retaining wall and vaults were finally completed around 1843. By 1844, John Dillon was requesting the city to pave over the top of the vaults to create the promised public promenade along Bay Street. The result was a level walk (today’s upper Factors Walk and Emmet Park edge) with an iron railing, beneath which sat the four brick chambers fronted by graceful arches. Savannah’s riverfront was stepping into the modern age, with sturdy infrastructure to support the growing port activity.
Yet the public still saw the vaults as something of a boondoggle. They hadn’t fulfilled a clearly defined need – they were just there, peculiar cavities in the bluff. One observer in the 1840s called them “a puzzle to the future,” noting that even their own architect had vacated them in disappointment. Ouch. In 1845, an advertisement in the Savannah Daily Republican offered “Tomb No. 4” for rent as a cooper’s workshop (a barrel-making business). Indeed, records show that vault #4 was soon occupied by a Mr. P. O. Nellis, a cooper who set up shop crafting barrels within that brick cave. Picture the scene: by 1845, one of these so-called tombs wasn’t entombing anyone at all, but echoing with the clink of a hammer and hoop as a tradesman made barrels for cotton and turpentine trade. It’s a mundane use, yet somehow that only adds to the mystique – these vaults have always straddled the line between the prosaic and the mysterious.
From the beginning, then, the architecture and original purpose of the Cluskey Vaults was rooted in practicality: retaining walls and storage. They were built of brick in an arched vault design (the classic Roman arch principle), strong enough to hold back tons of earth. In fact, engineers note that each three-foot section of those arches can support roughly 2,700 pounds of soil overhead – a necessity when you’ve got a whole street and park sitting above. Cluskey’s design was robust, if nothing else. The style is utilitarian, but with a graceful curve to the ceilings. Take a step inside one of the vaults today (if you’re brave enough to step past the rusted gates) and you’ll see the ceiling forms a smooth half-cylinder of brick overhead. It’s cool inside, even on Savannah’s hottest days, with lime and moss staining the old brick walls a patchy green and white. The effect is indeed a bit like entering a tomb or catacomb – a silent, stout chamber sealed off from the outside world’s hustle.
Yet, ironically, these “tombs” were empty of any eternal occupants – they were intended for goods, not ghosts. At least at first. As we’ll see, human history would soon leave its mark on the vaults in unexpected ways. But before we venture into tales of chains and specters, let’s follow the historical timeline a bit further. The Cluskey Vaults’ early decades were a rollercoaster of changing uses and public opinion – all of which laid the groundwork for the legends to come.
A Saga of Neglect and Novel Uses in the 19th Century
After the vaults were finally completed in the mid-1840s, one might expect they’d flourish as prime real estate for riverfront commerce. In reality, their story remained as underground as their location. For much of the 19th century, the Cluskey Vaults drifted through various uses, never quite achieving the grand purpose envisioned for them. If anything, they became a quirky footnote in Savannah’s development – occasionally useful, sometimes forgotten, and often misunderstood.
John Dillon, who held the lease through the 1840s and 1850s, did try to make the vaults commercially viable. We saw that by 1845, Vault No. 4 hosted a cooper’s shop, serving the bustling port trade in barrels. This location, right alongside the busy wharves of Factors Walk, was actually pretty convenient for a barrel maker. Grocers, cotton factors, and exporters all needed barrels to store and ship goods. So for a time, one vault at least rang with honest industry instead of eerie silence. I like to imagine longshoremen stopping by “Tomb #4” to pick up fresh barrels, wiping sweat from their brows in Savannah’s heat, utterly unaware that future generations would spin ghost yarns about the very spot where they stood.
Still, not all vaults were so occupied. In 1851, an interesting high-tech experiment (for its day) took place. The U.S. Coast Survey, an organization mapping coastlines, selected the top of the wCluskey Vaults as the site for an observatory. On January 7, 1851, the newspaper noted that a certain Mr. Boutelle contracted to “erect a small temporary observatory over the Tombs east of the Exchange, for the purpose of making observations for latitude and longitude’. Imagine an astronomer hauling a telescope up onto the earthen roof of the vaults, high above River Street, to triangulate positions by starlight. Wires from a telegraph likely ran to this little platform, connecting to other observation points. Long before GPS, this was cutting-edge science – using the stars and telegraph signals to map the Georgia coast. For a moment, the Cluskey Vaults played a role in charting the heavens and earth. It’s a striking image: beneath, dank brick rooms jokingly called tombs; above, a scientist measuring the cosmos. Savannah’s got layers, doesn’t she?
Throughout the 1850s, the vaults mostly served as storage. They were essentially rentable storage units of their era – albeit unusually spooky ones. The city even stored materials in them for its own projects. In 1855 and 1856, for example, records show payments to John Dillon for use of the vaults to store barrels of lime. That lime went into building some of the nearby Factors’ Walk ramps (like the brick ramps at Abercorn and Barnard Streets) which still exist today. So if you ever stroll down those steep cobbled ramps from Bay Street to River Street, know that lime stored in the Cluskey Vaults helped create them!
By 1857, Dillon’s involvement appears to wane – his lease may have been surrendered or sold around that time. Interestingly, the City’s 1857 Mayor’s Annual Report noted that the vaults had “defaulted back to the City” a few years early, and a new tenant was found: the U.S. federal government. Yes, Uncle Sam stepped in and leased the vaults starting in 1857 for $225 a year, continuing up until 1861. What was the federal government doing with the Cluskey Vaults? It’s a bit of a mystery. Savannah was a vital port, and this was the eve of the Civil War – one possibility is they were used by the Army Quartermaster or engineers. Perhaps supplies for nearby Fort Pulaski or other military stores were kept there. Another hint: December 1858 saw the infamous illegal slave ship Wanderer land on the Georgia coast with African captives, and some have speculated if the vaults could have briefly held any of those trafficked individuals. However, that seems highly unlikely – aside from zero evidence, the fact that the vaults were under U.S. government lease at the time (federal property effectively) would make them the worst place to hide an illegal operation. The city would have been liable, and federal officers hardly would use a conspicuous, city-owned site to do dirty deeds. Still, it’s darkly ironic: people whisper about slaves in the vaults, but during the very period that would have had to happen (late 1850s), the U.S. government was officially renting these holes in the wall. Sometimes truth spoils the best creepy stories!
Speaking of dark times, the Civil War arrived in 1861 and Savannah fell under Confederate control until late 1864. There’s not much documentation on the vaults during those war years. But in December 1864, Union General William T. Sherman famously captured Savannah on his March to the Sea, and federal troops occupied the city. Now picture war-weary Union soldiers securing the waterfront. Where do tired soldiers seek shelter or set up camp in a captured city? Potentially in any available structure – including those vaults. Archaeology gives us tantalizing evidence here. During excavations in 2012, artifacts were found indicating Union soldiers indeed used Vault #1 (the far east vault) as a campsite or makeshift barracks in late 1864. Among the items unearthed around an old hearth were an 1864 Union infantry uniform button, a broken medical thermometer, and even a latch that looked to be from a surgeon’s field kit. There was ash from a campfire, bits of bottle glass, and other debris of military life in the mid-19th century. It appears a small group of Union soldiers huddled in that vault during the winter after Savannah’s capture – warming themselves by a fire against the thick brick walls, cooking rations in pans, maybe tending to a wounded comrade (hence the medical supplies). As a historian, I get goosebumps imagining those young men in blue coats laughing, complaining, and carving initials in the soot while the winds of December blew along River Street outside. Little did they know, 160 years later we’d be digging up their lost buttons and telling their ghost stories.
After the Civil War, the vaults returned to the city’s hands and went on being, well, randomly useful. The City Council considered selling the vaults off a couple of times. In 1869, a local firm offered to buy the whole lot (vaults included), but the council was unsure if they even had the right to sell public property like that and declined. It’s a good thing, too – when the city did sell another section of Factors Walk in the 1880s, the buyer demolished it for redevelopment, causing a preservation outcry. Savannah learned a lesson and held on to the vaults, derided as “an ill-looking affair” but still city property.
Instead of selling, they leased them out here and there. The vaults show up intermittently in city rent rolls. For example, in the 1870s and 1880s the city collected a few hundred dollars a year by renting the “tenements in the tombs”. That phrase fascinates me – tenements! Were people living in these vaults? Possibly “tenement” was just a generic term for any rented unit. It could be that some were used as cheap storage by merchants, or even as ad-hoc housing by the poorest Savannahians (imagine a destitute family sheltering under the bluff – it’s not impossible). We do know specific uses in certain years:
- In 1888, city records say the vaults “housed disinfectants”. This likely ties to public health measures. Savannah suffered a major yellow fever epidemic in 1876 and smaller outbreaks in the 1880s. Storing disinfecting lime or carbolic acid in the vaults, safely away from inhabited areas, would make sense. I can’t help but picture barrels of strong chemicals or lime powder sitting in the cool darkness of vault #2 or #3, intended to sanitize the streets above from disease. The very walls of those vaults might still carry a faint whiff of old carbolic or bleach (or maybe that’s just my imagination running wild again).
- In 1899, a permit was granted for a company (Ferst & Co.) to use the vaults for storing fireworks in their original packages. Fireworks! Talk about a fire hazard in an enclosed space. Yet perhaps the thick brick and isolation made it safer than keeping explosives in a warehouse downtown. One spark in vault #3 and boom – you’d have blasted a hole in Bay Street. Thankfully, we have no record of any fireworks mishaps there. But the idea of those vaults quietly brimming with colorful explosives, while innocent pedestrians strolled above, is a striking image. Savannah’s city archives truly show how these vaults were a catch-all solution for odd storage needs.
Through all this, the vaults remained largely “hidden” in plain sight. They were essentially abandoned by high-end commerce and left to these utilitarian purposes. Over time, nature and neglect took a toll. Vines crept over the entrances, the brickwork weathered, and one of the five original vaults was eventually sealed off entirely. (Yes, originally there were five arches, not four – an extra “mini vault” on the eastern end was later bricked up, leaving only a faint outline in the wall today. The reasons are murky, but perhaps it became unstable or too small to use effectively. When you stand at the site, you can still spot the ghost of that little arch if you know where to look.)
By 1900, the Cluskey Vaults were relics of a bygone era, surrounded by a rapidly modernizing city. City Hall, the gold-domed building we know today, was constructed right next door in 1904. During that construction, an accident cemented the vaults’ reputation as cursed or at least trouble-prone. In August 1904, the largest vault (likely vault #4, nearest where City Hall was going up) collapsed suddenly, its arched roof giving way. Tons of dirt and brick came crashing down. Three African-American laborers working on the site were trapped in the collapse. Miraculously – and this is true – they survived with injuries, essentially entombed alive for a short time until rescued. I can only imagine the panic and dust in that moment. Perhaps the vault’s spirits (if one believes in such) showed mercy that day, sparing those men’s lives. The city ordered the contractors to rebuild the vault arch immediately after, and so it was repaired by 1905. Still, gossip spread. A structure already nicknamed “the tombs” had nearly become an actual tomb for living men – a little too on-the-nose for Savannah’s superstitious citizenry.
As decades rolled on, the vaults simply sat, quiet and brooding. By the mid-20th century, they weren’t used for much at all except, rather ingloriously, parking space. Yes, the city would park vehicles in the vaults! I’ve talked to folks who remember when cars could be seen tucked under the arches, and oil stains marked the old bricks. It always struck me as a sad fate for a historic structure – to become a makeshift garage. But perhaps it’s fitting, given their history of being repurposed over and over.
Despite this neglect (or maybe because of it), whispers about the vaults never completely died. Locals would pass by and get a shiver, and you’d hear the occasional hushed tale that something bad happened there long ago. By the late 20th century, most Savannahians only vaguely knew of the vaults’ history, so imagination filled the void. The stage was set for legends to bloom in the cracks of those old bricks.
Before we dive into those legends and ghostly tales, let’s pause and take stock of what is factual from this period:
- The vaults were built 1841-1843, used for storage and various odd purposes (cooper shop, observatory base, material storage, possibly stables, etc.).
- They were nicknamed “the tombs” by 1841 because of construction delays and appearance.
- There is no record in the 1800s of them being used as cells for slaves or as a city jail (more on that in a moment).
- They did witness some tragedy (the 1904 collapse trapping workers) and presumably housed many transient occupants (soldiers, laborers, maybe the homeless).
- Through it all, they remained city-owned and structurally intact (four of them, anyway).
Now, by the 2000s, historians and archaeologists finally turned their attention back to these vaults to uncover the truth. A city-sponsored archaeology project in 2012 thoroughly excavated the vault floors and sifted through layers of soil. They found those Civil War artifacts, bits of 19th-century trash, and confirmed much of what we’ve discussed. Tellingly, they found zero evidence of shackles, human remains, or any detritus that would suggest the vaults ever held people captive (at least not in the way some ghost stories claim). In 2014, new historical signage was installed at the site, summarizing the vaults’ story and dispelling myths. In other words, the city finally “remembered” these vaults as part of Savannah’s heritage and sought to present the facts to the public.
But facts alone don’t erase over a century of folklore. And folklore is what gives a haunted place its charm, isn’t it? In the minds of many locals and visitors, the Cluskey Vaults must have dark secrets—if only because standing in front of them feels like standing at the mouth of a dark secret. Let’s shine a light now on the legends and ghost stories that have entwined themselves around these brick vaults, and explore why even in the face of historical evidence, the tales persist.
Legends, Lore, and Ghostly Tales of the Cluskey Vaults
No article about Savannah’s haunted sites would be complete without addressing the ghostly lore, and the Cluskey Vaults have their fair share. Over the years, these vaults have gained a reputation as a hotspot for paranormal activity on the Savannah ghost tour circuit. Their very appearance – rough-hewn brick, vine-draped arches yawning like open mouths in the earth – practically begs for a ghost story. And ghost stories we have aplenty, though they often conflict and blur the line between truth and myth. As a paranormal researcher (and someone who delights in a good yarn), I find the vaults a fascinating case study in how legends grow.
The “Slave Vaults” Myth and Its Origins
First, we must tackle the most pervasive legend: “the Cluskey Vaults were used to hold slaves.” This story is told in various forms: that enslaved Africans were kept here temporarily after being unloaded from ships, or that slave traders locked people in these vaults as pens awaiting sale in the city. It’s a chilling tale – the idea of human beings chained in the darkness of those vaults, suffering in the fetid heat, their spirits perhaps lingering in anguish. Indeed, stand inside and it’s easy to let that thought send a shiver through you. But historically, this is almost certainly false. I say this not to spoil the drama, but because as a historian I feel it’s important to honor the real experiences of enslaved people rather than misplace them.
Let’s consider the timeline. The Cluskey Vaults were built in the 1840s, decades after the international slave trade was outlawed (1808) and long after Savannah’s role in importing Africans had effectively ended. The vaults simply didn’t exist during the peak slave importation period of the 1760s-1790s. Could they have been used to hold enslaved persons being transported domestically? Perhaps in theory, but again, no evidence. Enslaved laborers were certainly present all over Savannah in the mid-19th century, but if someone was bringing slaves to sell in 1850s Savannah, they had well-known slave yards and slave pens for that – not public city-owned vaults by the main harbor. Records of the time meticulously document slave sales and the locations (like a slave barracoon on Bay Lane, or the yards at a private jail). Not once in any newspaper, ledger, or letter from the 1800s does the word “slave” appear in connection with the Cluskey Vaults. Trust me, researchers have looked. Savannah’s people in that era were quite blunt about slavery; if human chattel were being kept in vaults on Factors Walk, someone would have noted it. Instead, what do we see? Advertisements for barrel storage, rent paid by the U.S. Coast Survey, pleas to use them as bathrooms – mundane stuff, not human trafficking.
Another practical point: These vaults open directly onto a busy thoroughfare. Even in the 19th century, Factors Walk was an active area with merchants, laborers, and later tourists milling about. It’s hard to imagine enslaved individuals being herded in and out of these arches without causing a stir. Plus, the vaults (especially the larger ones) have multiple openings and are relatively shallow; containing people securely would be difficult. One could easily climb out a window or cry out through the iron grates. A truly secure slave pen would be more concealed and robust. And as mentioned, from 1857-1861 the vaults were effectively under federal lease; the U.S. authorities weren’t about to condone slave-trading in their rented storage cellars, especially with war on the horizon.
So why is this legend so popular? It likely arose because:
- The vaults look ominous and dungeon-like, lending themselves to the assumption they could have been holding cells.
- There is indeed a tragic history of slavery on River Street and Factors Walk broadly. People sometimes conflate the vaults with actual slave holding sites nearby (for instance, factors would jail “troublesome” enslaved workers in other locations, and incoming slave cargoes in the 18th century were held in wooden warehouses along the river).
- Tour guides (the less historically scrupulous ones, let’s say) might have found the slave story an easy sell to tourists seeking a quick scare or emotional hook. It’s an example of “too good to check” history – a story that feels true in a place that feels haunted. In fact, even a Condé Nast Traveler piece once mentioned the vaults as “where they held slaves for sale,” likely repeating local lore.
Now, some of my colleagues in the ghost tour industry still mention this legend, but I make a point to clarify it on my tours. I’ll often say: “People believe slaves were kept here, and that belief alone has power – it has imprinted itself on the atmosphere. But the documented truth is different…”. Because here’s the thing: even if the vaults didn’t confine enslaved people, the area around them absolutely was witness to slavery’s horrors. The nearby Factors’ Walk and Bay Street above saw enslaved individuals toiling, being sold at markets, and worse. Who’s to say some residual energy from those events hasn’t drifted into the vaults? Savannah is, after all, a city built quite literally on layers of graves and pain. In my experience, spirits don’t always respect human-drawn boundaries or historical nitpicking. So while the legend of slaves in the Cluskey Vaults is not supported by facts, the vaults can still feel heavy with unseen presences, perhaps an amalgam of all the suffering that occurred up and down the riverfront. It’s a case where myth and metaphor carry a truth of feeling, if not a truth of event.
Ghostly Encounters: Shadow Figures, Whispers, and Cold Spots
Separately from the slave lore, the Cluskey Vaults have gained a reputation simply as a haunted place – one of those spots where people routinely report strange sightings and sensations. In recent years, many Savannah Ghost Tours (including my own Haunted Savannah Tours) include the vaults as a stop, precisely because guests and guides have had uncanny experiences there.
One of the most commonly reported phenomena at the vaults is the appearance of shadow people. These are exactly what they sound like – fleeting, shadowy figures seen out of the corner of your eye or moving in an area that should be empty. Several visitors have sworn they saw a dark silhouette lurking in one of the vault doorways, only to shine a flashlight and find nothing there. One paranormal enthusiast wrote that the Cluskey Vaults “are the haunts of ghosts and shadow people, with full-bodied apparitions regularly seen in this section of the city”. That’s a bold claim – full-bodied apparitions, meaning not just wispy shapes but clear figures that look like actual people, usually dressed in period clothing, who vanish when approached. On our tours, we’ve had guests snap photos into the vaults’ darkness and later claim they saw an outline of a person in the picture that wasn’t visible at the time. Is it just tricks of light and shadow among the brick recesses? Or is something (or someone) truly watching from within? I admit, even as a researcher, there have been nights I got the unshakable feeling that an unseen pair of eyes was peering out at me from that inky black interior. It’s an instinctual hair-raising feeling that makes you step back.
Then there are the whispers. More than a few people have stepped near the vaults and distinctly heard faint whispering voices, as if a conversation from long ago were still echoing. A travel blogger recounting her Savannah visit noted that people “reportedly hear whispers and see shadow people in the vaults”. Some describe it as unintelligible hushed voices; others have claimed to hear a single word or their own name murmured softly. One visitor on a haunted pub crawl wrote that when they paused by the vaults, it sounded like someone softly sobbing or whispering just at the edge of hearing – yet no one was around. On a quiet night, the slight echo effect of the curved walls can play tricks, but these reports often come when the surrounding area was relatively still. Could it be residual energy imprinting sounds of the past? Perhaps the whispers of those Union soldiers huddled in Vault #1, or the murmured prayers of a worker who nearly got buried alive in 1904, or even the imagined cries of enslaved souls that people expect to hear? Sometimes the mere suggestion of a haunting primes the senses to fill in the blanks.
Several ghost tour guides (myself included) have also observed cold spots around the vaults. Savannah’s air can be hot and thick, but occasionally a pocket of inexplicable cold will brush by under those arches. We’ll be describing the history to our group, and suddenly one corner of a vault feels markedly cooler, giving everyone goosebumps despite the humidity. Natural explanation? Possibly the vaults’ interior stays cooler and a waft of air comes out. But when it’s a perfectly still evening and one person after another remarks, “I just felt a chill right here,” well – our thoughts go to the paranormal. One of my more skeptical tour guests once turned pale and halted mid-step as we approached vault #3. She later told me it felt like she walked through an “invisible cold cloud” about three feet wide. She said, “I don’t believe in ghosts, but something was there.” I gently informed her that others have felt the same in that very spot. It never ceases to intrigue me how certain locations consistently elicit reactions.
Another odd occurrence associated with the Cluskey Vaults is phantom smells. Yes – ghosts in Savannah aren’t just seen and heard, they’re occasionally smelled. A self-described witchy traveler wrote about experiencing clairsalience (psychic smelling) on Factors Walk, catching the strong scent of horses near the vaults. This is fascinating because, recall, one theory is that one of the vaults (Vault #2 perhaps) may have been used as a stable or for storing hay and feed – we did find evidence of a stable or at least a lot of animal waste ash during excavations. People in recent times, with no knowledge of that, have reported smelling horse manure or the sweat of a stable briefly in the area, only for it to vanish. It’s as if a residual olfactory imprint lingers from when horses and carts clattered above and animals sheltered under the bluff. On ghost tours I sometimes ask, “Can anyone smell that, kind of like a barn or something?” and you’d be surprised – usually a few hands go up, noses scrunching. The power of suggestion? Possibly. But it’s noteworthy enough to mention.
Now, have there been any specific ghosts identified by legend at the Cluskey Vaults – like a named spirit or a well-known apparition story? Unlike some of Savannah’s famous haunted houses (with their resident ghostly ladies or jilted lovers), the vaults’ ghosts are more anonymous. They are often referred to in general terms: shadowy figures, an old sailor, a Civil War soldier, a weeping woman (yes, one guide claimed a lady in old-fashioned dress was seen pacing inside a vault crying). None of these tales are well-documented individually – they tend to be fleeting experiences rather than recurring characters. However, the aggregate of reports over years lends weight that something uncanny dwells here.
One local legend does say that on certain nights, you might hear the clank of chains from within the vaults. This is likely tied to the slave story lore, imagining chained captives rattling their irons. While it’s not based in confirmed history, a few visitors have said they heard a metallic clinking. Given the vaults were used to store tools and hardware, it could easily be mundane sounds carrying from elsewhere (or even echo of someone walking on the iron catwalk above). Still, the image of ghostly chains in the dark is hard to resist when telling a spooky story under those arches.
Personally, I have a little ritual when I bring tours here: I always greet whatever spirits might be present. Call me superstitious, but I’ll step ahead of the group and quietly say, “Evening, folks… we’re just here to tell your story.” It’s a sign of respect. One time, after I did this, a tour guest (who hadn’t heard me do it) asked if I whispered something to them – they thought someone said “hello” near their ear. I just smiled. Who’s to say it wasn’t a friendly ghost echoing my greeting?
Let me also note: not everyone feels frightened at the vaults. Some empathic people I’ve guided have said they feel sadness there, or even a protective vibe, rather than fear. One woman, sensitive to spirits, told me she sensed a “young man, very proud, maybe a soldier” lingering in one vault, as if watching over the place. Perhaps one of those Union boys who warmed his hands by the fire in 1864 never truly left his post. Another guest claimed an older male spirit “followed” him out of the vault and up onto Bay Street, not with ill-intent but out of longing for recognition. These subjective experiences can’t be proven, of course, but they paint a picture of the vaults as a crossroads of many energies – which, given the rich tapestry of events that occurred here, isn’t far-fetched.
And here’s a little informal observation: I’ve noticed that the vaults seem to “behave” differently depending on the weather and time. On crisp, clear nights, things are quiet – almost peaceful, as if whatever ghosts reside are at rest. But on foggy evenings, or right before a thunderstorm when the air is charged, the vaults exude a certain heaviness. It’s those nights when cameras mysteriously refuse to focus, or when even the skeptics in the group stick closer together. One could argue that humidity and static electricity affect both atmosphere and equipment. But I sometimes wonder – do spirits stir more when the veil of nature is thick? Savannah’s climate certainly plays into the drama. A mist rolling off the river and enveloping those arches can make believers out of anyone.
In summary, the ghost stories associated with the Cluskey Vaults include:
- Sightings of shadow people and occasional full apparitions (often described as wearing old-style clothing).
- Disembodied whispers or even cries, especially in quiet moments.
- Unexplained cold spots and feelings of being watched or not alone.
- Phantom smells like horses, damp earth, or a putrid odor with no obvious source.
- The impression of lingering spirits from various eras – be it soldiers, workers, or other unknown individuals tied to the site.
- And of course, the overarching legend that the vaults themselves hold an imprint of Savannah’s darkest chapters (even if the details are mis-assigned).
It’s worth noting that Haunted Savannah Tours and other reputable tour companies do focus on the well-documented legends. We share the creepy accounts that have been reported multiple times, and we clearly label the “myth” of slave holding as a myth while still conveying the emotional truth it represents. I find guests appreciate this honesty – it doesn’t diminish the haunt, it makes it more tangible. After all, isn’t it more intriguing that Union Army buttons were dug up in there, suggesting ghostly soldiers, than a generic (and inaccurate) slave story? The vaults have plenty of real history to spark the paranormal imagination without needing to invent things wholesale.
As we wrap up the paranormal side, I’ll leave you with a rhetorical question I often ask at the vaults: If walls could talk, what tales would these vaults tell? Would they speak of the craftsmen who built them, sweating under Cluskey’s watch? Would they recall the curses of city aldermen in 1841 calling them a waste, or the laughter of coopers and carpenters using them later? Do they remember the frightened prayers of those workers trapped in 1904’s collapse, or the clink of a champagne bottle perhaps stored for a New Year’s fireworks celebration in 1899? Or perhaps they hold onto the sorrow of countless souls who walked above on the bluff – a kind of sponge for Savannah’s psychic residue. We can only speculate. But stand there long enough, in the hush of midnight, and you might get an answer in the form of a chill or a whisper that raises every hair on your neck.
Emmet Park, the Bluff and River Street: A Backdrop of History and Atmosphere
To truly appreciate the Cluskey Vaults, one must also understand their immediate surroundings – a setting rich in both history and natural ambiance. These vaults do not exist in isolation; they are part of a tableau that includes Savannah’s bluff (the rise on which the old city sits), Emmet Park above them, and the famous River Street below. This backdrop not only contextualizes the vaults’ original purpose but also amplifies the eerie, time-trapped feeling one gets when visiting them.
Picture yourself standing in front of the vaults. Above your head, supported in part by those very arches, is Bay Street, the main thoroughfare along the riverfront. Just a few steps further east along Bay is Emmet Park, a grassy linear park shaded by ancient live oak trees. Spanish moss drapes from their branches, swaying gently even when the air is still. In the daytime, Emmet Park is pleasant and scenic – joggers and dog-walkers enjoy its green expanse. But at night, under the faint glow of old-fashioned lamp posts, it takes on a more spectral beauty. The live oaks form gnarled silhouettes, and the moss hanging down can look like ghostly forms in the moonlight. The park itself has history seeping from the ground: it was once called the “Irish Green” because Irish immigrants congregated there in the 19th century, and it was formally named Emmet Park in 1902 after an Irish patriot. Emmet Park holds memorials – a Celtic Cross honoring Irish Savannahians, war memorials, even an old ship’s harbor light (the Old Harbor Light, erected 1858) standing at the east end. On St. Patrick’s Day, this area thrums with life as one of the focal points of celebration. But wander there on a quiet night, and you might feel a melancholy echo of the past instead. Over the years, duels were fought under those oaks, sailors caroused and occasionally met unfortunate ends near the wharves, and victims of yellow fever were mourned not far away. The ground is hallowed by time and tragedy alike.
From the vaults, if you turn around 180 degrees, you’re facing River Street. In contrast to the 40-foot bluff rising behind you, River Street is at the river’s edge, paved with coarse cobblestones. These cobbles themselves are historic – they were ballast stones from 18th and 19th century ships, left behind and used to pave the streets. So when you tread River Street, you’re literally walking on stones that came from far-flung places, brought here in the holds of old sailing ships. Some even call River Street Savannah’s longest graveyard in a grim jest, hinting at a legend that those stones were laid atop the bones of enslaved or indentured laborers who died building the waterfront. While that’s more folklore than fact, it’s true that many workers (often Irish immigrants or African Americans) did die from accidents or disease during the harbor construction, and their blood, sweat, and tears are metaphorically mixed into the mortar of this city. A short stroll west from the vaults and you come to the notorious “Stone Stairs of Death,” a steep staircase connecting Bay and River streets. Many a drunken sailor or unwary visitor has slipped and fallen there over the centuries – hence the morbid nickname and yes, its own ghost stories. This is the environment of the vaults: every direction has a story.
During the day, River Street is lively with shops, restaurants, and tourists hunting for pralines and souvenirs. But at night, especially on the quieter eastern end near the vaults, it can be nearly deserted. The lapping of the Savannah River against the docks, the distant horn of a ship, and the uneven echo of your footsteps on the cobblestones set the mood. It’s the kind of place where you can almost hear the past. Sometimes I stand with my tour group near the vaults and ask them to be silent for a moment. In that silence, it’s easy to imagine the clop of horse hooves on the stones and the creak of wagon wheels from 150 years ago. The ambient sounds of modern traffic above fade, and you feel transported. Many visitors report a sense of déjà vu or temporal disorientation here, as if the veil between past and present thins. It’s no wonder ghostly lore flourishes; the whole setting is like a stage perfectly set for apparitions to make their entrance.
To the immediate west of the vaults looms Savannah’s City Hall, built in 1905 with its gilded dome, glowing softly at night. Before City Hall, on that site stood the Old City Exchange (built 1799, demolished 1904). The City Exchange was effectively City Hall in the 19th century and it had a bell tower and clock. Why does this matter? Because that building, which towered over the vaults in their early years, had its own storied history – including being a focal point during Savannah’s antebellum days and Civil War surrender. The City Exchange bell, which rang to mark important events (and to warn of fires or announce high noon), still exists and sits in a replica cupola just a block away, in a small median by Bay Street and Drayton. So when you stand at the vaults, you’re in the shadow not only of the bluff but of where Savannah’s civic life played out. I like to mention: Sherman’s troops likely raised the U.S. flag on the City Exchange above the vaults in December 1864 when they took control. You had the jubilant (or devastated) citizens gathering up there while perhaps a few nervous folks hid down by the vaults. The juxtaposition of historic triumph and despair, all layered vertically, is poetic.
Emmet Park, directly above the vaults, has a feature that particularly adds to the atmospheric context: the canopy of live oaks lining Bay Street. These oaks were planted around 1857, replacing earlier trees. That means those very trees have been there since shortly after the vaults were finished. They’ve borne silent witness to everything – they watched the vaults go from city embarrassment to city asset, saw the Civil War come and go, saw generations of Savannahians stroll by. Now they stretch their gnarled arms over the park and vaults alike. On breezy nights, the moss in them sways and you get an eerie rustling sound, almost like whispers (there are those whispers again!). On still, hot nights, the moss just hangs limp, giving the scene an almost suffocating, ghostly stillness. And on rare snowy or icy days (Savannah gets a light dusting maybe once a decade), those oaks and the vaults beneath take on the look of a true gothic winter scene – something straight out of a Southern ghost story illustration.
Just east beyond Emmet Park’s main stretch lies Factors Walk proper – the series of iron bridges connecting Bay Street to old warehouse buildings that back up to the bluff. The Cluskey Vaults are basically at the western terminus of Factors Walk. Walk eastward and you’ll see how the bluff was eventually lined with more retaining walls, arches, and these footbridges to allow cotton brokers (the “factors”) to access their offices from the street above. This whole network of catwalks, old brick warehouses (some dating to the 1800s), and hidden courtyards has a very haunted vibe at night. There are sealed-up doorways and bricked windows, remnants of old tunnel entrances (Savannah folklore also speaks of tunnels used for smuggling, or as yellow fever quarantine conduits, but that’s another story). One of those sealed tunnels is not far from the vaults, adding to speculation that everything down here was interconnected in some secret way. In reality, any tunnels likely led up to Bay Street or were used for drainage. But still – the notion of catacombs under Savannah persists, and the vaults are often lumped into that narrative as “the entrance to the tunnels” in some imaginations.
Standing at the vaults, if you cast your eyes up to Bay Street, you’ll likely see pedestrians leaning over the iron railing, peering down curiously. Indeed, interpretive signs now stand at the vaults’ entrance thanks to the city’s efforts to educate (so we researchers don’t have to repeat ourselves too much!). You might catch a snippet of a competitor tour guide’s spiel drifting from above or below – this area is a popular stop for many tours: ghost tours, history tours, even architecture tours. During the daytime, history guides talk about the cotton factor system and the harbor. At night, ghost guides like me talk about, well, the sort of things you’re reading now. It creates a layering of storytelling in real time. I’ve had the amusing experience of speaking to my tour group inside a vault while another guide up on the bridge was telling their group the story of the vaults from above. The two narratives can sometimes intermingle in odd ways (hopefully not to the confusion of our guests!). But to me, that’s part of the living history of this place – it is actively being interpreted and re-interpreted every single day.
From a sensory standpoint, the vaults and their environs engage every sense:
- Sight: flickering lights, deep shadows within the arches, the glow of the river beyond, moss and ivy casting dappled patterns.
- Sound: distant river barges, echoes of footsteps, rustling oak leaves, perhaps a faint trickle of water from drainage after rain (water often seeps through old brick – you might hear drips in the vaults if it rained earlier).
- Smell: a mix of brackish river water, old brick (that earthy, clay scent), sometimes a tinge of mildew or salt. Occasionally, as mentioned, phantom odors like horses or inexplicable sweet or foul smells.
- Touch: The bricks themselves feel cool and rough if you run a hand along them. The air in the vaults is usually cooler and damp on the skin. Step out onto the cobblestones, and you feel the uneven, worn stones underfoot (ladies in heels, be warned – many a twisted ankle has occurred on River Street’s cobbles!).
- Taste: Okay, maybe not directly relevant, but if the wind is right you might taste a bit of salt in the air from the marshy river. And of course, being so close to all the River Street candy kitchens, sometimes the breeze carries the scent (and imagined taste) of pralines and candy – a strange contrast to the otherwise somber vault atmosphere. Savannah is nothing if not a blend of the sweet and the macabre.
All of this combined creates an atmospheric context that makes the Cluskey Vaults more than the sum of their bricks. It’s why they remain a highlight for those exploring Haunted Savannah – whether you’re on a dedicated ghost tour or just a history buff wandering on your own. They sit at the confluence of nature, history, and legend. One moment you’re marveling at a 180-year-old engineering project that held up a city; the next, you’re wondering if a ghostly hand might reach out from the darkness within. The environment encourages such flights of fancy.
I often end my tour segment here by inviting people to step inside a vault (when it’s allowed – they are usually gated but sometimes the gates are open for special events or maintenance). Even just poking your head in a few feet can be profound. You notice how the sounds from outside muffle. The air feels different. And your eyes slowly adjust to the dark, revealing the curving tunnel-like space stretching back further than you thought. With the tour group silent, I’ve had people swear they suddenly heard a footstep behind them in the vault, causing them to jump and scurry out with nervous laughter. Was it a ghost or just an echo of their own movement? Hard to say. But the surroundings primed them for an encounter, and sometimes that’s all a ghost needs – a willing audience.
Reflections on an Enigmatic Legacy
Standing here at the end of our exploration, I find myself gazing at the Cluskey Vaults and reflecting on what they represent. These brick archways have been many things: a failed project ridiculed as “the tombs”, a pragmatic storage space for barrels and goods, a wartime shelter for troops, a city-owned oddity that stored disinfectants and fireworks, a literal underpinning of Savannah’s expansion, and now a storied stop on the city’s haunted trail. They are a microcosm of Savannah itself – blending the practical with the supernatural, the historical with the legendary.
What strikes me is how close we came to forgetting them entirely. For a long time, the vaults were sealed off, used as a parking nook, almost written out of the popular narrative of Savannah. It took curious locals, like the students of the Shinhoster Leadership Institute in 2011, to ask “what’s the deal with those vaults?” and prompt the city to investigate and preserve. If not for that, maybe today they’d still be neglected, slowly crumbling or filled with maintenance equipment. Instead, they’ve been re-discovered, researched, and re-integrated into the tapestry of our historic district. In a way, they’ve been resurrected – which is kind of poetic for a place nicknamed the tombs.
As a historian, I’m satisfied that we now have solid facts and documentation on the Cluskey Vaults. We can talk about Charles Cluskey’s intentions and the city’s follies with clarity, backed up by city council records and archaeology. We know, for instance, that no artifacts have been found to support the slave-holding theory, and we know plenty of artifacts that illuminate other uses (the Union button, the coopers’ tools, the 19th-century bottles). The truth is often less sensational than the myths, but it’s rich and layered. And knowing the truth doesn’t kill the ghost stories – if anything, it gives us new ones! I’d take the real tale of Union soldiers warming their hands in Vault #1 and possibly haunting it, over a generic “enslaved souls in chains” story any day, because the former can be connected to actual people and events (and honestly, a Civil War ghost is just as spine-tingling a thought).
As a paranormal researcher, I remain open-minded. The vaults challenge us to distinguish between what we want to be true and what might actually be true in terms of hauntings. I’ll admit, sometimes when I’m alone down there, perhaps after a tour or on a personal stroll, I talk to the spirits – or whatever you want to call the echoes in the dark. I’ve sat quietly inside a vault with an EMF meter and voice recorder, hoping to catch electronic whispers. So far, nothing conclusive. Ghosts don’t perform on command, unfortunately (or fortunately!). But the feeling of a presence is undeniable to me and many others. Maybe it’s just the weight of history giving us that feeling. Or maybe there really are unseen figures lingering, pleased that at long last people are paying attention to their story.
One thought I often share in a reflective aside: It’s interesting how the vaults’ narrative has come full circle. They began as an “embarrassment” – the butt of jokes in 1841– and now they’re almost a point of pride in a weird way, a must-see for the off-the-beaten-path traveler interested in Haunted Savannah Tours or obscure history. The city that once didn’t know what to do with them now promotes them (with correct info, thankfully). And where merchants once saw useless “holes in a wall,” now visitors see intrigue and a prime selfie spot (especially for those who love ghostly backdrops). Time has a way of changing perspectives. A hundred and eighty years ago, some Savannahians wanted to literally bury these vaults and forget them. Today, we shine lights on them and celebrate their quirks.
If you decide to visit the Cluskey Vaults yourself – and I highly encourage you to, whether on a guided tour or on your own exploratory walk – take a moment to do what I do: engage all your senses and let your imagination connect with the past. Read the plaques with the factual history (it’s fascinating), then close your eyes and feel the place. You might catch a waft of phantom horse sweat, or hear distant echoes of a telegraph tapping out from that 1851 observatory, or sense a figure standing just behind you in the arch. You might get nothing at all except a musty smell and a mosquito bite – who knows! But either way, you’ll have experienced a unique piece of Savannah’s patchwork.
In a city famous for squares and mansions and well-trodden ghostly locales, the Cluskey Vaults stand out precisely because they’re unorthodox and a little hard to categorize. They’re not a house, not a cemetery, not a battlefield – they’re utilitarian vaults turned accidental monument. As one 1842 newspaper correspondent eloquently prophesied, they have indeed become “a monument like the Egyptian Pyramids – the wonder of the present age and a puzzle to the future”. That writer was being sarcastic at the time, but his words ended up more true than he knew. We are the future he imagined, still puzzled by the vaults, still wondering at them.
And isn’t that wonderful? That in our modern age, with all our knowledge, something as simple as four brick chambers can captivate us with mystery. Savannah has plenty of shiny attractions, but I have a soft spot for these underdog vaults that turned from failure to favorite. They remind us that history isn’t always neat and pretty; sometimes it’s messy, forgotten, and then rediscovered anew with each generation adding its layer of interpretation – and yes, occasional embellishment.
As twilight deepens and the tour winds down, I like to tip my hat (figuratively) to Charles Cluskey, the man whose vision started it all. He died in 1871, never knowing that those vaults would outlast even City Exchange and become an object of fascination. I wonder what he’d think of ghost tours and bloggers and historians obsessing over his vaults in 2025. Perhaps he’d be flattered, or perhaps he’d shake his head and say, “If only they’d built them the way I intended!” In any case, his name lives on through them – officially they’re even called the Cluskey Embankment Stores, though few use that formal term. So here’s to Cluskey, and to the many souls who interacted with these vaults in life or (if you believe) in death.
The story of the Cluskey Vaults is still being written. Who knows what the next chapters will hold? More archaeological discoveries could yet be made (there’s always the question of that sealed fifth vault – dare we open it fully someday?). New ghost experiences will certainly be had; perhaps technology will capture evidence of the whispers or shadows. The city might even find a new practical use for them that doesn’t disturb their integrity – maybe an exhibit space or a tiny museum? (One idea floated around is an interpretive center about the harbor’s history – I’d love to see that.) For now, they remain largely empty, except for the occasional special event or curious explorer. Empty, yet full – full of history, full of legend, full of atmosphere.
In closing, I invite you to experience the Cluskey Vaults as I do: with one foot grounded in well-researched history and the other foot stepping into the realm of possibility and the supernatural. On Savannah ghost tours, we often say this city is “built upon her dead” – literally and figuratively. The vaults might not house bones or graves, but they are part of that understructure of memory that supports Savannah’s enchanting, eerie reputation. They are a must-see for anyone drawn to Haunted Savannah, a kind of secret-hideaway story waiting to be discovered under the moss and cobblestones.
Whether you come looking for ghosts or just a quiet slice of the past, the Cluskey Vaults will reward your curiosity. Just be respectful – of the site and maybe of any spirits keeping watch. And if you do feel a tap on your shoulder or hear a soft hello in the dark, don’t panic. It might just be me sneaking up on you for a good scare (hey, I can’t resist sometimes). Or… it might be one of Savannah’s lingering souls, happy that you’re listening to their story.
Either way, you’ll have a Savannah memory you won’t soon forget.