Map of Expo grounds. 
From Archive.org

  After many weeks of hard labor the Sunken Garden was finally completed.  The crew, foreman and architects who had worked on this project had much to be proud of.  They had scooped out a bare slab of Charleston soil to create something that could truly be called a work of art.    A three foot deep lake, oblong in shape, and fed by springs of natural water, ringed the garden.  This new lake was surrounded by low wall decorated with statuary in the shapes of seashells, fish and other nautical designs. At the center of the lake was a small island covered with flora.   The architect in chief had called for the island to be "vivid with flowers of the richest splendor."

Evidently his vision had come to pass for a newspaper correspondent who visited the island wrote that "A refined taste is manifest in the plants and flowers (many rare exotics) already flourishing, and gives promise of rare beauty, diversified, yet harmonious."  Knowing it would be a popular destination, as well as a centerpiece, four bridges arced over the water to allow easy access and prevent crowds.  A dome-roofed bandstand stood a short distance from the head of the lake and gave visitors a chance to look back and reflect on the majesty of the Sunken Garden as a whole.

Yet, as beautiful as it was, this was just a small part of a larger affair. A city once stood on the banks of the Sunken Gardens in Hampton Park.   It was called the Ivory City, named for its stark white plaster facade of its' three main buildings, the Cotton Palace, the South Carolina Building, and the Palace of Commerce.   These massive structures were "Palaces" in name only; they were made not made of stone, but of wood and a mixture of plaster and cement called "staff", which was then painted white.

 To promote Charleston, and to prove to the world that the Holy City had survived the physical and economic devastation wrought by  such events as the Civil War and the  Earthquake of  1886  it was decided to host an Exposition.  The official title was the South Carolina Inter-State and West Indian Exposition.   The Exposition ran from the end of 1901 to early 1902, and by most accounts, it was considered a financial failure.  Yet, this  display of industry did manage to attract some new businesses to the area.  Perhaps the most tangible benefit is one of Charleston's most beloved recreational spots - Hampton Park.  After the Expo folded, much of the area remained a public park, and although the original design for the Sunken Garden, except for the bandstand, is no longer visible, Hampton Park remains a fitting tribute to the spirit of endurance shown by Charleston in 1901.          

Hampton Park Bandstand. 
From The Library of Congress.

Above- 1872 Bird's Eye View of Charleston.  Bath house is on extreme left- sticking out of the peninsula  Scans at end of post are close-ups of bath house.  Image from Library of Congress.

Salt water bathing was all the rage in Charleston in the 19th century.   The briny wash was presumed to have medicinal properties – it was thought that by simply immersing oneself in the salt water of the ocean would help safeguard against illness, or assist the body in staving off an existing aliment.  This was not a new fad, but rather the revival of a much older tradition.  The Greeks and Romans visited spas and springs seeking the same benefits, as did many of the sick of the medieval period.  In the 17th century many doctors began advertising through pamphlets the benefits of exposure to salt water.

Two centuries later this notion was back in vogue.  Charlestonians, as health-consciousness as any of their neighbors, were eager to reap the health benefits of their coast.   Over the course of the 1800’s several of these baths sprung up around the peninsula.   One was built on the grounds of the public park, also known as White Point Gardens or the Battery.  The one featured in this photograph is circa 1880, and was anchored near the Battery in the Ashley River.  This floating wooden structure was reached by crossing a long pier.   

Several of the baths provided private tubs, as well as swimming pools.   In proper Victorian form, men and women were strictly segregated, although their bathing gowns were quite concealing (at least by modern standards).  Many of the baths also offered saloons where drinks were served with delicacies such as ice cream and pastries.  The experience was not meant to be a quick jump in the water, but rather a relaxing affair consuming most of the day - proof that our antebellum ancestors, rather than Generation X,  invented modern spa culture.  

For all of their supposed benefits, the bath houses near the Battery were destined not to survive.   Being situated on the water’s edge meant they were likely to be destroyed by the frequent hurricanes, a bad storm, or even cyclones that sometimes swept Charleston.  Rebuilding them was a costly affair, sometimes out of reach of the proprietors.   Another factor contributing to their disappearance was concern that the baths may be spreading more disease than it was curing.  No matter how much the city regulated their operation, outbreaks of infectious diseases such as Cholera were traced back to bath houses.   Some complained of a more ascetic reason why the bath houses should be razed, they were “unsightly” and marred the view of the water.    

 By the late 1800’s the bath houses near the Battery were gone.  Yet, the salt water revival continues without them.   Several spas and natural medicine practitioners across the globe continue to extol the virtues of salt water baths and dips.  

Paragraph.

On Nov. 2, 1853 Otis Mills opened the doors of his grand hotel.  For almost a year workers had been toiling on the corner of Meeting and Queen Street, laboring to erect the five-story structure that would carry his name. No expense had been spared.  Outside of the hotel ran a beautiful wrought-iron balcony imported from Philadelphia, the terra cotta window cornices selected from New England.   Inside were 125 rooms, besides lodging the Mills House could also offer the luxury of piping in steam heat, and a even rarer commodity in the 19th century; running water.  Architect John E. Earle had designed the building, but it was Mills who dreamed of the venture.  It is claimed that he envisioned a respectable hotel for those who could not afford to pay the high prices being charged by the leading hotels in Charleston at this time.

Mills gambled a lot on the success of his hotel.  As the chief financier he contributed almost $200,000 dollars (several million by modern standard) to this project.  With so much invested, Mills hoped that the guests would be numerous, all pleased enough with their stay to spread the word.  

He need not to have worried.  The Mills House quickly became a Charleston institution.  Travelers to the busy port city could always rely on the hotel for accommodations.  When Charleston was selected to host the Democratic National Convention in 1860, it was quickly jammed with delegates.  Diarist Mary Boykin Chestnut, whose wartime memoirs have garnered numerous awards, also stayed in the Mills House.   General Robert E. Lee, during his tenure as commander of the Department, which encompassed S.C., had quarters in the hotel.  As the carriage drivers passing it today will tell you, he was there when the great fire of 1861 burned through the city.  Luckily, the Mills House escaped destruction in 1861, and was available for the dashing Creole General P.G.T Beauregard to use as his headquarters later in the Civil War.    

After the Civil War, the hotel struggled, closing for a period, then reopening in 1870, and continuing until 1897 (This 1865 image shows the Meeting Street front of the then war ravaged hotel with several African American men out front).

 Mrs. Lawton purchased the property, changed its name to St John Hotel, and went back into business.   In 1901-1902 Charleston hosted the South Carolina and Interstate and West Indian Exposition, bringing many visitors into the city.  One of them was none other than President Theodore Roosevelt, who was entertained at the St. John.  It passed hands through the 1900’s several times, barley surviving a 1939 fire, and wound up nearly derelict in by the 1960’s.  Unable to salvage the old structure, the building was razed.   In 1970 the hotel reopened, under its first name, the Mills House.  Besides using the original name, the developers enlarged the hotel, but managed to take it back to its antebellum appearance.  In 2009, the Mills House still offers comfortable lodging in the heart of Charleston, serving as a base of operations for visitors from all over the world.     
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Mills House, ca. 1865. Images From Library of Congress.

On Monday April 26th, 1875 George Walton Williams was finally ready to build his mansion.   A crowd of friends, family, and even a few of the local press had gathered at the large empty lot on lower Meeting Street to be part of the ceremony.  The four young Williams children were given the task of laying the first brick, and placing in the cornerstone a tin box containing copies of various newspapers, family documents, and keepsakes.  William B. Yates, who had been born near this spot, was called upon to give the blessings on these exercises. 

Williams was no doubt glad to finally begin construction of the house.  For over a decade he had been intent on moving his family from their George Street home into a new residence. Back in 1863, when the Civil War had been in its second year, Williams had purchased this land for $40,000 in Confederate script. Although no structure had stood at the site, it was considered a historic property none the less.  The Fenwick House, popularly known as the Pinckney-Lowndes House, had once graced this lot almost a century ago in the past.   Besides being home to several of Charleston’s prominent families, the Pinckney-Lowndes house had been frequented by President Washington during his 1791 visit to Charleston. By the time the Civil War erupted, this venerable old house, home to so many had fallen into disrepair, and had been pulled down. 

Williams’ new residence was to be built atop the site of the old mansion, its’ design influenced by the many European homes seen in his travels, especially those homes in Southern Italy.    Architect W.P. Russell is credited with bringing Williams plans their final form.   In 1876 the project was completed at was then the staggering cost of $200,000, making it most of the most expensive mansions in the South.  It was also one of the most luxurious.   The three story house had several dozen rooms divided over a vast 24,000 square feet.  Ceilings were fourteen feet high, many hung with elaborate chandeliers.  Ornate plaster and wood moldings covered the walls.  Linking the levels together was a soaring Grand Staircase crafted from hand carved walnut.  Atop the house was a 90 foot cupola, from out of which could be seen a breath taking view of the harbor.  Several grand piazzas allowed the inhabitants to catch the breeze sweeping off the nearby water.

Williams spared no expense in decorating the rooms, which included a Gentleman’s library, a ladies sitting room, and a ballroom boasting a glass skylight.  Exquisite works of art adorned the walls and scores of valuable antiques and specially designed furniture fleshed out the rooms.

Sarah Williams, and her husband, Patrick Calhoun, grandson of John C., inherited the mansion after the death of George and Martha Williams.  The Calhoun’s lost the property after the 1929 stock market crash, and it passed through a succession of owners, eventually winding up in the hands of Mr. Gedney Howe III who stabilized the deteriorating structure.  In 2004 the property was sold again to another S.C. native, Mr. Stahl, who has since reopened the mansion for tours. 

Images from the Library of Congress