CASE No.5| THE RENDERING OF GENERAL WAYNE & Other True Ghost Stories of the American Revolution
The American Revolution remains one of the most pivotal events in history. Unsurprisingly, its annals are filled with ghosts.
Transcript of podcast narration:
The American Revolution remains one of the most pivotal and influential events in history. Unsurprisingly, its brash and often bloody story is filled with ghosts. Indeed, as dusk settles over the sacred sites of revolutionary struggle, the air thickens with the whispers of those who fought and those who fell. These murmurs belong to the spectral remnants of revolution, eternally bound to the battlegrounds, homes, and taverns that cradled a new nation. In these mist-veiled recesses of history, the boundary between the living and the departed dissolves, and the forgotten voices of patriots rise once more. This is a landscape where every shade and shadow harbors a tale, and every breath of wind carries a storied wail of the past.
A HEADLESS HESSIAN
The legend of New York state’s Headless Horseman, famously portrayed in Washington Irving's "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," finds its roots in the folklore surrounding the Hessian soldiers who fought for the British during the Revolutionary War. These German mercenaries, known for their fearsome reputation and distinctive uniforms, have become intertwined with tales of the supernatural, particularly concerning one fateful encounter in Sleepy Hollow, New York.
Historically, Hessian soldiers were hired by the British to bolster their forces during the war against the American colonists. Known for their discipline and combat prowess, they earned a reputation for ferocity on the battlefield. The term "Hessian" itself comes from the German state of Hesse, which provided a significant number of soldiers for hire to various European powers during the 18th century.
The connection between the Hessian soldiers and ghostly legends began with the Battle of White Plains in October 1776, during which Hessian troops clashed with American forces in present-day Westchester County, New York. Reports and folklore emerged from this time of decapitated Hessian soldiers, their restless spirits haunting battlefields and forests where they fell. One of the most enduring legends centers around a Hessian artilleryman who met a grisly end at the hands of American forces near Sleepy Hollow. According to the tale, he was decapitated by a cannonball during the heat of battle, yet his spirit refused to find rest. Instead, it continued to roam the countryside, searching for his lost head and terrorizing anyone who crossed his path.
Washington Irving's 1820 short story, "The Legend of Sleepy Hollow," cemented the Headless Horseman as a central figure in American folklore. In Irving's rendition, the Hessian soldier becomes the vengeful ghost haunting Sleepy Hollow, riding forth on dark nights in search of a new head to replace his lost one. His spectral figure, clad in a Hessian uniform and wielding a pumpkin or a severed head as a makeshift replacement, strikes fear into the hearts of the local village children even now.
Some say that Hessian soldier is buried in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, surrounded by some of the fallen American soldiers with whom he clashed in battle.
THE GENERAL REMAINS
The Battle of Bunker Hill was fought on June 17, 1775, in Boston, Massachusetts, during the early stages of the American Revolutionary War. The battle left an indelible mark on both history and local folklore. As one of the first major engagements of the war, it saw Colonial forces clash with the British Army in a fierce struggle for strategic high ground. The aftermath of the battle has given rise to numerous reports and legends of ghostly apparitions, suggesting that the spirits of those who fought and perished continue to linger around the historic battlefield.
One of the most commonly reported ghosts associated with the Battle of Bunker Hill is that of General Joseph Warren. A prominent patriot and leader, Warren was killed during the battle while fighting alongside his troops. According to legend, his spirit has been seen roaming the battlefield, sometimes dressed in the uniform he wore on that fateful day. Witnesses describe encounters with a solemn figure, often seen surveying the landscape or appearing suddenly and then vanishing without a trace. His presence is often accompanied by a sense of reverence and respect, as if he continues to watch over the place where he made the ultimate sacrifice for the cause of American independence.
In addition to General Warren, other spectral figures have been sighted at Bunker Hill, Strollers report ghostly soldiers in Colonial-era uniforms, their forms translucent or ethereal against the backdrop of the historic battlefield. Some witnesses describe hearing phantom musket fire, the distant shouts of battle, or the eerie echoes of orders being shouted across the field, suggesting that the intensity and trauma of the battle remain etched into the fabric of this sacred land..
GHOSTS OF THE CRUEL WINTER
The ghosts of Valley Forge whisper through the mist-laden fields of Pennsylvania, their spectral presence haunting the very grounds where a pivotal chapter of American history unfolded. Now a National park, Valley Forge holds a poignant place in the narrative of the Revolutionary War, serving as the crucible where the Continental Army endured the legendary harsh winter of 1777 to 1778.
The winter was brutal, testing the resolve of General George Washington's troops as they suffered against bitter cold, disease, and scarcity. Amidst these hardships, it's said that the souls of those who perished lingered, their spirits bound to the land where they struggled to survive—and lost. Tales abound of soldiers glimpsing shadowy figures in Continental Army uniforms, marching silently through the moonlit woods or standing sentinel in the icy fields.
One of the most enduring legends of Valley Forge involves the ghostly figure of a young drummer boy, forever drumming a cadence that echoes through the night. His presence is felt most keenly near the site of the original campgrounds, where his drumming has been heard by visitors and historians alike. Some believe he was a casualty of the harsh conditions or a victim of illness, his spirit unable to rest until his duty to the cause is fulfilled.
Many have reported glimspes of ethereal campfires flickering in the distance, casting ghostly glows across the landscape where such fires once burned bright with the hopes and camaraderie of soldiers. Witnesses describe feeling a profound sense of sorrow and perseverance emanating from these spectral gatherings, as if the spirits are eternally bound to relive their vigil against all odds.
Troops who survived that terrible winter would later remember the silent figure of General Washington walking among his soldiers in the wee hours of those dark, bitterly cold mornings. Visitors today sometimes report seeing him even now, keeping vigil at the old campgrounds.
Indeed, the ghostly presence of George Washington, the first President of the United States and Revolutionary War hero, has been a subject of folklore and legend for centuries. From the moment of his death on December 14, 1799, at Mount Vernon, Virginia, his phantom form has been reported—a tall figure in military uniform, pacing the halls or standing contemplatively near the estate's tomb. These sightings often occur on or around the anniversary of his death, adding a solemn and mysterious aura to the already historic property.
Another notable location associated with Washington's ghost is the Capitol Building in Washington, D.C. According to legend, his spectral figure has been seen in the old Senate Chamber, where he once presided as President. Witnesses describe encountering a dignified figure in colonial attire, sometimes accompanied by the faint scent of tobacco, which Washington was known to enjoy in life. These sightings are often interpreted as a lingering presence, perhaps overseeing the democratic institutions he helped establish.
Numerous tales have been told, too, of Washington's ghostly influence on or protection over later American troops. During the Civil War, soldiers on both sides claimed to have seen Washington riding on horseback alongside them, inspiring them in battle or warning of danger.
MISERY AT FORT MIFFLIN
As night falls over the Delaware River and the shadows lengthen across the ancient stone battlements, the ghosts of Fort Mifflin continue to roam its corridors and ramparts, their presence a testament to the enduring mysteries of the past.
Fort Mifflin, situated on the banks of the Delaware River in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, is not only one of the oldest military installations in the United States but also a place steeped in history and hauntings. Built in 1771, the fort played a crucial role in various conflicts, including the Revolutionary War and the Civil War, and its eerie atmosphere has led to numerous reports of paranormal activity over the years.
The ghostly legends of Fort Mifflin are as varied as they are chilling. One of the most famous apparitions here is that of a woman in white, often seen wandering the grounds or gazing out from the windows of the Officer's Quarters. According to legend, she is Elizabeth Pratt, the wife of a surgeon stationed at the fort during the Revolutionary War. It's said that she died tragically while visiting her husband, and her spirit remains bound to the fort, perhaps searching for him or lamenting her untimely demise.
Another spectral resident is known as "The Screaming Woman," whose anguished cries echo through the casemates and corridors late at night. Visitors and staff alike have reported hearing her disembodied wails which some believe harken back to a tragic event during the fort's turbulent past, possibly during the British bombardment in 1777 or tied to the harsh conditions endured by prisoners.
Indeed, the fort's role as a prison has contributed to its reputation as a paranormal hotspot. During the Revolutionary War, it housed British prisoners of war in deplorable conditions, leading to sickness, starvation, and death. Many visitors claim to have encountered shadowy figures or felt sudden drops in temperature while exploring the dark, damp dungeons where these prisoners suffered. The oppressive atmosphere of these chambers seems to preserve the echoes of their suffering, making Fort Mifflin a magnet for ghost hunters and history enthusiasts alike.
In addition to the specters of soldiers and prisoners, Fort Mifflin is also reputed to be haunted by its former commander, Colonel Samuel Smith. His ghost has been seen walking the ramparts or inspecting the grounds, perhaps still overseeing the fort as he did in life. His presence is often accompanied by the sound of phantom footsteps or the clinking of spurs, as if he continues to patrol the fortifications to this day.
Many, many other tales join these in the ghostly annals of the American Revolution. But none can compare in strangeness or ghoulishness to that of the rendering of General Wayne.
DEATH OF A PATRIOT
General "Mad" Anthony Wayne served throughout the Revolutionary War, and among his men he distinguished himself as a fearless and eager leader who often led from the front lines. He slept on the ground alongside his underlings during the brutal winter at Valley Forge, and they would remember that, like Washington, he often walked the grounds at night, watching over them. He and General Casimir Pulaski had taken on over a thousand British troops at Camden, New Jersey with a mere 100 of their own—and lived to tell the tale. Still, even though Wayne was a devoted and daring officer, somehow he never quite gained the status of other war heroes. It was, rather, what happened to Wayne after his death that has inspired more legends than those of any other historical figure in the United States.
General Wayne arrived in what is now Erie, Pennsylvania on November 19, 1796. According to reports, he was suffering deeply from gout. The general was taken to the home of Captain Russell Bissell, the military outpost's commander. A Dr. J.C. Wallace, who was stationed in Pittsburgh, over a hundred miles away, was requested by General Wayne, but he never arrived. Wayne died in the wee hours of December 15th, in the arms of his attending physician, Dr. Balfour. Two days later, Wayne’s body was buried at the base of the blockhouse flagpole as he had requested: in a simple wooden casket. He was still wearing his uniform. Brass tacks on the lid spelled out his name.
For twelve years Wayne’s body lay in peace at the site, with an occasional former soldier making a visit to say a prayer and remember the general’s gumption. It was, some thought, too quiet an end for such a gregarious warrior.
Little did they know what was coming.
GOOD INTENTIONS
In the fall of 1808, General Wayne's daughter Margaretta, then 38 years old, ill, took a turn for the worst and urged that her brother, Colonel Isaac Wayne, to go to Erie and retrieve the remains. When she died, she said, she wanted to be laid to rest next to her beloved father. The following spring, Colonel Wayne made his way over the rocky, root-covered roads to the gravesite, taking a light two-wheeled cart and a small trunk for carrying back his father’s dry bones. It was a 400 mile walk to his father’s grave along what is today Route 322. He had written to Dr. Wallace, the same physician he had called upon during his father's final illness, to meet him at the site to help with the exhumation and bagging of the general’s skeletal remains.
What followed was a chain of events that lives, as they say, in infamy.
After removing the earth from the grave, the younger Wayne and the good doctor brought up the cracked old casket. On the cover of it, the old brass tacks glimmered in the sunlight of the Pennsylvania morning. Wayne’s son excused himself. He wanted to remember his father as he was, bold and alive. The doctor bent over and began pulling out the coffin nails. It was an easy feat. The wood was thin and rotted after over a decade in the soil. When the last nail was out, the doctor slid off the casket lid.
His gasp brought the younger Wayne running. With the exception of a leg and foot, which were both mostly gone, the general’s body was in near-perfect condition.
This was a quandary. The Wayne’s son was not prepared to take a heavy body home on the flimsy cart he’d brought for transporting the remains. The roads were treacherous and the weight, moreover, would likely lead to it breaking en route—a messy and ignoble prospect.
Dr. Wallace had an idea. It was possibly of the worst ideas of all time. Unfortunately, the younger Wayne agreed to it.
A GHASTLY UNDERTAKING
They would boil the flesh off General Wayne’s body, so that this son might take just the bones back to Radnor as planned.
And so the gruesome task began. The largest kettle was too small to fit the imposing hero in all at once, so four men helped Wallace hack Wayne’s body into pieces. One observer later recalled that the flesh on his back was four inches thick and sold and firm like new pork. One of the general’s boots was still intact, and a helper took it, had a match run up by the local shoemaker, wearing them for years after.
After all the flesh had been rendered completely off Wayne’s skeletal frame, Wallace packed them into the younger Wayne’s trunk. The flesh was returned to the coffin and reburied. For some reason, the knives and other tools used to cut up the body and remove the stubborn bits were thrown in alongside. The younger Wayne set off for Radnor with the trunk of scrubbed bones.
But if you think this is over, hold on to your hat.
The road to Radnor, as mentioned, was fraught with difficulty. Rocks and stones littered every inch of the way, with tree roots and stumps providing constant obstacles. The rumbling caused the trunk to pop open, and some of the rattling bones—they say—rattled right over the side and into the road, unbeknownst to the struggling son, pulling the cart behind him.
When Isaac tried to reassemble the bones later into a semblance of his father’s shape for burial in a new casket, he discovered that some were missing. His horror was now complete. The younger Wayne would live the rest of his life racked with guilt over how he had not only desecrated his own father and one of the nation’s greatest military scions; he had misplaced some of his body.
GHOST OF THE LONGEST GRAVE
Isaac Wayne buried what remained of the hard-won bones of his father in St. David’s Church yard as his sister had requested. The funeral procession was a mile long. Philadelphia's cavalry forces assembled in the pre-dawn darkness in preparation for the lengthy ride to Radnor. In addition to the Montgomery County Troop of Light Dragoons, the First Regiment of Cavalry of the City and County of Philadelphia was present, as were the First and Second Troops of Light Horse. As the procession neared the burying ground, Isaac Wayne and other family members greeted the funeral party. The oration was delivered by the Reverend David Jones, a chaplain who fought alongside Wayne in the Revolution. After the funeral, the Pennsylvania State Society of the Cincinnati placed a stone over the site.
Now Mad Anthony Wayne had not only two graves, but several other unknown ones on the road between Erie and Radnor, where his poor bones had fallen on the long, strange trip home.
On November 10, 1853. The location of the flesh grave in Erie was lost after an arson at the old blockhouse there and a regarding of the old parade field, where Wayne’s coffin was re-interred on that strange, strange day so long ago. For twenty five years Wayne’s devotees despaired of the general ever being located.
Then, in 1878, an Erie doctor set out to find Mad Anthony’s coffin. After much searching the old wooden box was unearthed, the brass tacks once again glittering in the Pennsylvania sunshine. Inside, the pieces of flesh were almost completely gone. In the years following, the lost blockhouse was reconstructed as a tribute to General Anthony Wayne by the state of Pennsylvania.
Today, Mad Anthony Wayne is one of the most active ghosts in American military history. His phantom has been reported walking the grounds of Valley Forge just as he did on those brutal winter nights with General Washington, a silent sentinel watching over the freezing troops at night. Others have seen him near Chadds Ford, site of the Battle of Brandywine. But most of all, they say that, each New Year’s Day—his birthday—General Wayne rides from St. David’s Churchyard to his death site in Erie along that ill-fated route his son took him on so long ago . . . well some of him, anyway. He’s glimpsed, always, astride his trusty steed, Nab, who’s described as having fiery eyes and blazing hooves. Some say the general will stop for a while here and there along the road, dismount and look around on the ground, as if he’s lost something precious.