of Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson that had been erected in the 1930s and was in a style that I recognized but knew was not familiar to most Americans. In it, the mounted Jackson was almost ludicrously muscled, his chest outthrust in a heroic pose, his overall appearance suggesting Superman in a kepi and beard. He was, in fact, depicted in a style of art frequently characterized as “heroic realism” that is most commonly associated with the Nazi, Communist, and other totalitarian regimes of the 20th century. It had been erected, I suspected—considering the era when it had been dedicated—by people who, like Jackson himself, had attitudes toward civil war, race, and any number of other subjects completely alien to my own. It, more than anything else at the Manassas Battlefield, gave me a sense that the dead might yet have cause to walk the ground where they fought a century-and-a-half before, the issues for which they died still unresolved.
Statue of Stonewall Jackson
CHAPTER 5
Historic Occoquan
OCCOQUAN
There still are a number of old houses and buildings at Occoquan which have survived the damages of time and nature … Also surviving, and quite active today, are a host of ghosts from Occoquan’s past, so many, in fact, that it almost seems there is a haunt of one kind or another in just about every other building.
—L. B. Taylor Jr., “A Village Full of Spectral Visions”
DURING THE TIME WE HAVE LIVED in northern Virginia, my wife and I have visited Occoquan, an old and storied riverside village seven miles due south of our house, perhaps a half dozen times. It is surprisingly close for such a historic place, and always fun to walk around in and have a drink at, but is outside the sphere of our day-to-day activities, and years often go by between visits.
In the seventeen years that we have lived just up the road from the village, of course, we have driven past it hundreds of times on Ox Road, a historic thoroughfare that, from where we pick it up, runs north into Fairfax and south through Occoquan to an entry point onto I-95 that is convenient for trips to points south.
When my kids were young, I used to explain to them that the town was named for the schools of octopus that would migrate up through Chesapeake Bay and into inland waterways like the Occoquan River. As we would speed over the bridge that passes over both the river and the town, I would tell them to keep their eyes open for the octopuses frisking through the water below and leaping through it like eight-armed dolphins.
My youngest daughter, Hayley, was always a good sport about it all, and invariably claimed to see the tentacular beasts as they breached the water on their spirited romps. My oldest daughter, Lindsey, who might not have actually had a sense of humor when she was growing up, may never have truly looked to see if the creatures were there, preferring to indignantly insist that they could not be.
Ghost stories, presumably, would have not met with much more approval from Lindsey, and—if they were good enough—might very well have unnecessarily scared the hell out of Hayley. But there are ghost stories aplenty associated with Occoquan, and it would not be stretching the case much to say I might have been able to tell a different one every time we drove past the waterfront village.
“Occoquan” actually means “at the end of the water” in the language of the Doeg Indians, the aboriginal inhabitants of the area, who subsisted by fishing the local waters, hunting for the ducks, geese, and other waterfowl, and by growing corn and other vegetables in the fertile riparian soil. They were there when the first English colonists explored the area and occupied it until near the end of the 17th century, when they abruptly disappeared, probably as the result of epidemic disease, genocide, or forced migration.
Settlers, fortunately, did not let the premium location go to waste, and it soon grew into a significant commercial and industrial community that made full use of its proximity to Chesapeake Bay. A warehouse for tobacco was built in the 1730s, and the community grew steadily over the following decades. By the end of the century, Occoquan was home to forges, water-driven grist mills, saw mills, cotton mills, bakeries, shipyards, and numerous storehouses, as well as dwellings of many sorts. One of its most significant industrial sites was the Merchant’s Mill, the first automated grist mill in the country, which could be operated by a single man and used to remove grain from ships and barges, process it into flour, and return it to the vessels for transport to locations throughout the Americas. It operated for 175 years, until it was destroyed in 1916 by a fire that ravaged the town.
That fire, along with silting in the river, ruined Occoquan as an industrial and commercial district. It survived, however, and today has an economy based largely on weekend tourism, which it serves through numerous restaurants, galleries, boutiques, jewelry stores, and a marina. And many of the historic buildings in which those businesses are located are reputed to be haunted.
About midway on Mill Street, the main thoroughfare along the river on which most of the town’s restaurants and shops are located, is the Occoquan Inn, which has one of the greatest reputations for being haunted. It is a very old establishment, and its middle section and brick fireplace are part of a residence that was originally built in 1810 and which its owners opened up to travelers, so that it gradually became known as an inn. Today, it is a fine-dining restaurant, and is believed to be haunted by the last of the Doeg Indians to dwell in the vicinity of the village. According to legend, an unnamed Indian had an inordinate interest in the innkeeper’s wife and one night snuck into the inn with an eye toward visiting the object of his affection, but was found out by the innkeeper, who shot him dead. Since then, visitors have periodically reported seeing his likeness in the smoke issuing forth from the building’s chimney and at various places within the inn, particularly in the upstairs ladies’ restroom, where he has startled a number of women who have seen his face in the mirror.
My wife and I had our own odd experience at the Occoquan Inn in September 2007, when we had dinner there to celebrate our anniversary. Whether it was indicative of a ghostly presence I am really not sure.
The restaurant was not crowded, with no more than two of the other tables occupied at any given time, and we were sitting at a corner table in one of the Inn’s little dining areas, so we had a good deal of privacy. Both the food and the service were good, and we enjoyed our champagne and each other’s company throughout most of our meal without noticing anything out of the ordinary.
Toward the end of the meal, however, we heard something that caught our attention, and almost simultaneously looked up at the spot on the ceiling above us from which the sound seemed to be coming. There, just beyond the intervening layer of plaster, we could distinctly hear what sounded like the pitter-patter of little feet, scratching, and other activities too obscure to clearly identify.
At the time, we thought these sounds might indicate rodent inhabitants of the inn, although we were by no means certain. We didn’t say anything to the restaurant staff, both because it enhanced our visit rather than detracted from it and because we did not want to unleash any sort of retribution against any little animal that might have been making its home in the inn. Upon reflection of the inn’s haunted reputation, however, we had to reassess to some extent what we had heard and wonder if it might have indeed been something paranormal. I couldn’t help but recall the classic H.P. Lovecraft horror story, “Dreams in the Witch House,” in which a Colonial-era house is haunted by, among other things, the rat-like familiar of an ancient sorceress.
Numerous other buildings in Occoquan are reputed to be haunted as well.
The 18th-century house at 206 Mill Street,
