From a Chinquapin Tree to the Calibogue Sound

By Mr. David Peeples

Every time I look back to prohibition days, I realize how lucky I am to be alive. Gangsters such as “Scarface”, Al Capone, and his henchman had no compunctions about killing anyone, even a barefooted boy, who got in their way. And it was my fate to get in the way of a whole outfit of those gun toting rats.

It all started late one October afternoon. I was in the woods near the Bluffton cemetery, comfortably perched in the top of my private chinquapin tree. Even the path that led to the tree, a half-hidden rut in an abandoned wagon road, long since grown up in bushes, was known only to me. Or so I thought, until I saw that big shiny Cadillac inching along through that old wagon road.

There was only one man in the car. I figured he was crazy, nobody in his right mind would plow a beautiful brand-new automobile through thick bushes just for the fun of it.
He drove the car into the clearing right by my tree. It turned around and backed to the edge of a deep tidewater Cove that cut into the woods from the river half a mile away. Close behind the Cadillac another car appeared. Then another, and another, until finally there were 11 at the edge of the Cove.

Hugging the tree like a trembling chameleon I realized I was trapped. The arrival of the first car had puzzled me but by the time the last one rolled in, I had no doubt. To reveal my presence was to risk my life in the hands of some of the most dangerous men in the world.

Like everybody else in Bluffton, I knew that Capones liquor haulers had been using secret landings near the town for some time. Repeatedly law enforcement officers had tried to surprise and arrest them, but they were too well organized. The pattern was routine from North Carolina to Florida. A big shallow draft launch would rendezvous in the ocean beyond the 12-mile limit with a foreign vessel and take on a load of whiskey from Cuba or elsewhere. Then, under cover of darkness, it would proceed to a pre-arranged landing in a coastal Creek or Cove.

There the liquor would be transferred to automobiles equipped with secret built in compartments. It would be rushed to a big city for delivery to a hotel, a Speakeasy, or a private club. It was and exciting, dangerous, and fabulously profitable business.

From my lonely perch, I was witnessing something that only one boy in a million would be lucky enough to see. I was so scared I tried to hold my breath. Some of the men had removed their coats and I could see their snub-nosed pistols in shoulder holsters.

The boat arrived so quickly I neither saw nor heard it. There was a sudden flurry of activity. The discreet flashing of a light revealed a long gray launch without a top.

Every time the lights flashed, I caught a glimpse of men moving back and forth from the boat to the cars. I could see cases of whiskey on their shoulders. I could see them loading the cases in the secret compartments.

While the men were busy loading the automobiles, I thought of easing out of the tree. I thought slipping away into the black woods and running for home would be my best and most sensible thing to do. My thin sweater was hardly adequate for the chilly night air. It was getting colder every minute.

But my curiosity was stronger than my common sense. While I procrastinated, that cold air penetrated to my bones and set off a sneeze loud enough to wake up everyone in the cemetery.

Instantly a light flooded my tree. It picked me out in the top branches. The man with the light ran to the tree and spotlighted me. He ordered me to come down, right now! When I did a mess of men with automatics encircled me.

The man with the flashlight snapped out unprintable oaths. Two men grabbed my arms and rushed me to the boat. They shoved me into the stern, tied me up with a piece of rope and left me on the floor.

I could see nothing. But I could tell that a desperate effort was being made to get the last few cases of whiskey into the cars. It wasn’t long before they began pulling off and as the last had gone, two men jumped into the boat and got it underway.
The boat moved slowly and cautiously until it reached the open river. There it turned and headed toward Calibogue Sound and began to pick up speed.

The vibration of the powerful engines bounced me around on the hard floor. It was difficult for me to concentrate on my prayers. It was halfhearted anyway and I had already decided what my fate was to be. When the boat got about halfway across the Calibogue Sound, those two underworld characters were going to drop me overboard right in the middle of a school of hungry sharks.

Suddenly the boat slowed. It seemed to be pulling into the shore. One of the men came to the stern, untied me, and jerked me to my feet

“Boy,” he said with a foreign accent. “Do you swim? “

“Then swim!” he said, grabbing me by the seat of my pants and throwing me overboard.

I hit the water flat and started swimming. The boat turned back towards the channel and roared away. The water was shallow. I soon had my feet on solid ground. I floundered ashore and started running towards the trees along the bluff. I didn’t know exactly where I was, but I knew the general direction of Bluffton and home and I headed that way.

I didn’t stop running until I was inside of my front door!

(originally written by Andrew Peeples and printed in 1940s.)

Paul Tollefson is the Director of Tennis at the Hampton Hall Club in Bluffton. He found his love for the Lowcountry in early 2002 after graduating high school and unsure of what career path he was destined towards. After moving from Hilton Head to Bluffton he became enthralled with the history of the town and the people and cultures that called it home for many generations. He has found a passion in writing and enjoys being able to share the stories and pictures of long-time locals. He is the co-creator of the Facebook page “Bluffton Then and Now.”