The Forgotten Dead: Charleston's Public Cemeteries, 1672–1794
Graveyards fascinate some people, while inspiring morbid dread in others. Like them or not, cemeteries are an important part of our shared landscape that merit respect and protection. Some burial grounds are more visible or better remembered than others, however, and the most invisible are the most endangered. The City of Charleston is home to several such invisible sites, unmarked and unprotected graveyards that are filled with the remains of thousands of nameless bodies interred by local government. The surviving details of these forgotten public cemeteries form an important and rather ghastly chapter the history of the city’s famous landscape.
In recent years, a number of individuals in our community have drawn attention to the forgotten cemeteries throughout the South Carolina Lowcountry that have become derelict or are threatened by the pressures of new development. The late Dr. Ade Ofunniyin, for example, raised a strong voice for the protection of neglected burial grounds containing the African American ancestors of the people who inhabit the Gullah Geechee Cultural Heritage Corridor. Dr. O’s passion for the preservation of forgotten cemeteries continues with the work of the Gullah Society , and their efforts might soon receive a boost from the Federal Government. As Adam Parker described in a recent article for the Charleston Post and Courier, Congress is debating the establishment of the African American Burial Grounds Network. This project, if approved, would engage archaeologists, preservationists, historians, and volunteers to create comprehensive study of Black burial grounds in South Carolina and across the United States.
In an effort to contribute to this worthy dialogue, I’d like to draw attention to a rather large elephant in the room. Among the largest, oldest, and most densely populated graveyards in Charleston County are the forgotten public cemeteries established within the urban boundaries of the City of Charleston. In this program and its sequel next week, I’ll attempt to describe the cultural and geographic contexts in which tens of thousands of forgotten Charlestonians were buried on the peninsula at sites that now host homes, schools, businesses, and playgrounds. This subterranean population includes a significant number of people of European descent, but persons of African descent occupy the vast majority of these unmarked graves. Furthermore, the surviving documentary evidence of public burials on the Charleston peninsula suggests that the majority of the graves dug on public land at the public expense were used to inter the remains of infants and young children.
Let’s begin with a quick overview of the various types and locations of historic burials in our community. Charleston was the only urban center in South Carolina during the early decades of European settlement. Outside of the capital town, the early settlers distributed across the sparsely populated Lowcountry generally buried their family members on their own farms and plantations. As rural churches appeared across the various rural parishes, each of those institutions began receiving the bodies of their respective members for burial within consecrated grounds adjacent to the church. The enslaved people who formed the majority of the rural population in early South Carolina were generally buried on the rural plantations where they lived and died. After the demise of slavery in 1865, the African American population followed these familiar patterns by burying family members on their own property, or on the plantations of their ancestors, or within the graveyards of new churches established in new settlement communities across the Lowcountry.
Within South Carolina’s colonial capital, the inhabitants generally followed a similar outline of traditional burial practices. Some early Charlestonians were buried within the soil of their own town lots, but most were buried within the consecrated church yards that were laid out in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries. Like other urban centers of that era, Charleston also hosted two groups of people not usually found in the countryside: a steady stream of visitors, such as traveling merchants, tourists, and sailors, as well as poor people who were, owing to a variety of circumstances, unable to support themselves or their families. When such people died here, they generally did not have a family member, church membership, or sufficient financial means to secure a grave site with a designated churchyard or to pay for their interment at some distant location. To accommodate such inevitable events, the town’s civic leaders set aside a portion of the finite urban landscape for the burial of indigent persons and visitors, or “strangers,” as they were called in early Charleston.
The concept of a communal or publicly owned site reserved for the burial of transient and indigent people originated in distant millennia. Such a place is frequently called a “potter’s field” because of the ancient practice of potters digging clay from a shared location within a community. As the first urban center in South Carolina, Charleston established a public cemetery nearly 350 years ago, during the town’s formative period. Other potter’s fields appeared across the Lowcountry as settlers created new unincorporated towns such as Beaufort (1711) and Georgetown (1729), and later incorporated municipalities such as Moultrieville (1817) and Mount Pleasant (1837). In all such cases, the civic leaders of each of these communities had to make decisions about how and where to bury the bodies of deceased paupers and visitors. This historical burden began to shift to the county government in the spring of 1920 following the creation of the Charleston County Health Department and similar agencies across the Lowcountry.
Public cemeteries were a familiar part of urban life for many generations of South Carolinians into the early 1900s. Thanks to improvements in health care and expanding economic prosperity over the past century, combined with the mass migration from urban to suburban neighborhoods after World War II, the burial grounds set aside for the less fortunate have receded from the public imagination. Far fewer indigent and transient people are buried in Charleston County today than a century ago, and most residents are now unfamiliar with the phenomenon and its history. Nevertheless, the legacy of this long civic tradition persists under the streetscape of urban Charleston.
Over the course of approximately two hundred and fifty years, from the 1670s to the 1920s, tens of thousands of men, women, and children were buried in unmarked graves located within a series of public cemeteries distributed across the landscape of urban Charleston. Starting in the spring of 1927, the practice of public interments moved away from the peninsular city to a suburb west of the Ashley River, and then in 1961 to a rural location on John’s Island. The two latter sites are protected by modern laws that shield them from development in perpetuity, but the earlier burial grounds have long since been redeveloped for residential, commercial, and even recreational use. Past construction projects have repeatedly disturbed the bones of an army of forgotten dead across the city, and future improvements to Charleston’s urban landscape will inevitably strike human remains again.
While this grim topic is generally unfamiliar to most of the public, there is a robust paper trail of documentary evidence relating to the public cemeteries of Charleston that we can trace back to the founding of the colonial town in the late seventeenth century. A number of writers over the generations have addressed various small aspects of this topic, and there is now one publication that offers a general geographic overview. In 2010, the Chicora Foundation of Columbia produced a volume titled The Silence of the Dead that provides a survey of all the known cemeteries—both public and private—on the Charleston peninsula. The vast majority of historic burial grounds described in that source belonged to churches and private burial societies that maintained the land and protected them from encroachment. In contrast, the small number of “potter’s fields” represent the largest cemeteries ever created within the city, containing the largest number of bodies, and have always been the least protected and the least remembered. To gain a better understanding of this important topic, we need to turn our attention back to the earliest days of the historic landscape.
In the original town plan of present-day Charleston, the so-called “Grand Model” drafted in 1672 before the town between the Ashley and Cooper Rivers had a name, all of the land to the south of what became Beaufain Street (and its eastward continuation) was divided into approximately 300 half-acre lots and a dozen streets. This plan also included a large, vaguely defined parcel of land at the northwest corner of the town that was set aside for general or “common” use, and which the town’s early inhabitants apparently used as a public burial ground. Surviving copies of the Grand Model include a label describing this parcel as “The Old Church Yard,” although there was never a church at or near that site.
The geographic scope of Charleston’s first public burial ground, as depicted in the Grand Model, included approximately fourteen acres of high land bounded on the north by the town line that became Beaufain Street, on the south by an unnamed street that became Queen Street, and on the east by a street that became known as Mazyck Street (now Logan Street). Its western boundary was apparently the bank of the Ashley River at high tide, which during the late seventeenth century was just slightly west of modern Franklin Street. The physical boundaries of this parcel were not clearly defined on the ground during the town’s early years, and burials might have taken place anywhere in the general area. This possibility was mentioned in a report presented to Charleston’s City Council in the autumn of 1799, when a committee researching city property noted that “the whole of the neck of land to the westward of Mazyck-street, appears to have been set apart and used as a burying ground” during the town’s initial decades.
Proof that burials were taking place at this site during the late seventeenth century appears in two documents created late 1698. On October 8th of that year, the South Carolina General Assembly ratified a law requiring property owners on the northern edge of urban Charleston to create a fire break for the town by removing all the trees and shrubs on their property, “within a straight line drawn from the head of Major Daniell’s Creek, to the head of the marsh going to the old Burial Place.” (The resulting line followed the path of modern Market Street from Meeting Street to Archdale Street.) On the same day, the government granted to Captain James Moore a large tract of vacant land on the south, north, and west sides the public property used as a burial ground. To distinguish the lands now belonging to Captain Moore from the graveyard, the provincial surveyor then laid out two new lines to define the cemetery’s north and west sides, which later became known as Magazine Street and Back (now Franklin) Street, respectively. This modification, accomplished during the winter of 1698–99, constrained Charleston’s first public burial ground to a neat square containing four acres.
As individual churches arose within urban Charleston during the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries, their private congregations began burying members within the consecrated grounds adjacent to their respective churches. Transient Christians, including sailors and other visitors commonly called “strangers,” who died within the town might have been buried within the graveyard of any one of the local churches or within the designated public burial ground. After 1706, however, when St. Philip’s Anglican Church became the official parish church of urban Charleston, that institution assumed the responsibility of burying paupers and “strangers” either within its own burial ground adjacent to the church or within the “old church yard” on the northwestern edge of town.
The growth of various churches within urban Charleston during the early years of the eighteenth century apparently led to a decline in the use of the town’s original public cemetery. As a result of this circumstance, the South Carolina legislature began to appropriate some of the four-acre public site for other purposes. During the years 1736–37, for example, the provincial government built a brick powder magazine at the southeast corner of what became known as Magazine and Back (Franklin) Streets, and a Poor House at the southwest corner of Magazine and Mazyck (Logan) Streets. The new magazine was condemned in December 1739 and demolished, however, and the provincial government built a new magazine in 1745–46 closer to the center of the public square. On the vacant site of the defective magazine, the government built a set of brick barracks in 1746–47 where the old Charleston District Jail (1802) now stands at the southeast corner of Magazine and Franklin Streets. The surviving records of these construction projects include no mention of graves being disturbed or bodies removed, but they likely encroached on earlier burials.
The diminished frequency of burials within the “Old Church Yard” on the northwestern edge of colonial Charleston was accompanied by a general decline in the maintenance of that public land. In November 1743, for example, a grand jury complained to the provincial government “that ye Old Church Yard, or burying place in Charles Town is very much neglected and that all manner of filth, & nastyness is thrown into the graves and vaults of the deceased, whereby the surviving relations of the deceased are very much troubled and grieved.” One year later, another grand jury filed a similar complaint about the town’s oldest cemeteries in general. Citizens were aggrieved by the “indecent and very little regard shewed to Christian burying places, by the old church yards being laid open & fenceless, like a common for cattle.”
The government of South Carolina addressed these concerns tangentially in a law ratified in the summer of 1746. During a period of war with both France and Spain, the provincial legislature had just finished the construction of a new line of earthen fortifications, fronted by a broad moat or “ditch,” to protect the north and west sides of urban Charleston. These new entrenchments cut through and occupied part of the land immediately north and west of the public burying ground, which belonged to private parties. To protect the fortifications and to compensate the private owners for their loss of land, the provincial government exercised its power of eminent domain and expropriated a parcel of land immediately northwest of the “Old Burying Ground.” More specifically, the government absorbed “two acres, one rood and one perch of land [2.26 acres], lying to the north west of the ditch, between the two westernmost bastions and the town line,” which was “allotted for a negro burying-ground for ever.” Furthermore, the government ordered that “a convenient passage to the said negro burying-ground shall be laid out through the glebe land.” That passageway later became the eastern part of Beaufain Street.
Like the town’s original public burial ground, the land expropriated in June 1746 was defined in rather vague geographic terms that were obvious only to the local inhabitants of that era who could walk to the site and view the new fortifications. Thanks to the survival of plats like George Hunter’s 1746 survey of the new fortifications and later descriptions, however, we can locate the “Negro burying-ground” with some confidence. The property in question encompassed all of the land immediately south of Beaufain Street, north of Magazine Street, all of Wilson Street, and the land on both the east and west sides of that modern thoroughfare.
The legislative act of 1746 also sheds light on an important part of Charleston’s mortuary history that is not fully addressed in earlier records. The creation of a new burying ground specifically designated for the reception of people of African descent suggests that the enslaved people and free people of color inhabiting early Charleston might have been excluded from the “Old Church Yard” established in the 1670s, or were perhaps buried infrequently within that public site. Such discrimination corresponds to the general disregard that the white slaveholders of early South Carolina paid to the spiritual lives of their human property. A minority of the colony’s early enslaved people of African and Native American descent were Christianized, and perhaps local officials deemed the rest unworthy of burial with the town’s official public cemetery.
People of African descent formed the majority of South Carolina’s population by the year 1708, and from that time until the early twentieth century they formed roughly fifty percent of Charleston’s urban population. One of the only documentary clues related to their burials within the capital prior to 1746 survives in a complaint sent to the provincial legislature in the summer of 1724. In a message to the Commons House of Assembly on June 6th, Governor Francis Nicholson suggested “that some place be appointed for the burial of Negroes because I observe that now they are promiscuously buryed in [private] lotts and some in the streets.” In other words, the private, slaveholding citizens of early Charleston routinely buried their deceased enslaved property on their own private real estate or in the street near their property. Their graves might or might not have been marked in some fashion, but the presence of such burials did not deter property owners from selling or developing the land for other uses. The continuation of this practice in the later years of the eighteenth century was proven in February 2013, when the expansion of the Gaillard Center on the east side of Anson Street revealed a significant but unmarked graveyard (see Episode No. 111).
The creation of the “Negro burying-ground” in 1746 did not address the earlier complaints about the poor condition and lack of maintenance observed within the “Old Church Yard” bounded by Queen, Mazyck, Magazine, and Back Streets. In fact, the expansion and segregation of Charleston’s public cemetery seemed to underscore the disorderly manner in which the bodies of enslaved people and poor white folks were generally buried. South Carolina’s provincial government created a board of commissioners in 1750 to clean and repair the streets of urban Charleston, but their duties did not extend to the care of the public burial grounds. At least one citizen lamented this limitation, especially when smallpox ran rampant through the town in the early months of 1760. As hundreds of diseased bodies were hastily buried in Charleston’s segregated public cemeteries, he voiced his concern in a remarkable letter to the editor of the local newspaper that April:
"The truly melancholly situation we have been in for some time, may plead excuse for a very great neglect, which is high time to prevent, or it must be productive of fatal consequences.
In this time of death [occasioned by smallpox], the vigilance, of the Commissioners for the Streets in Charles-Town is truly commendable; for they have exerted themselves, with unwearied diligence, to prevent what every one had reason to dread from the accumulated mass of filth and corruption with which the streets (to the shame of the inhabitants) have too often abounded. As they have so happily freed us from this evil, it is the hearty wish of many, that another [matter] (the thoughts of which makes me shudder) had been under their cognizance, or that some other gentlemen would have served the public as faithfully as they have done.
It was but lately I was certain of what I shall now inform you of. Hearing that many of the Negroes who died of the small-pox were buried not a foot under ground, and knowing that some days there were 12, 14, 16, and 18 buried; I went to their burial-place, and found more than 40 not two feet under ground, many not one foot, and some not six inches; I do assure you that the very cows, by their pawing, had laid one coffin quite bare: What these beds of corruption may be productive of in this and the approaching season, if not speedily removed, every one may conceive without painting; in my humble opinion some pestilence far worse than the small-pox.
When this affair was first mentioned, some said, certainly it ought to be looked into; others [said], that if some step was not immediately taken, the consequence might be fatal: But it is well known, that what is the business of all is the business of none. Even from a principle of humanity it is the business of a master to see his Negro buried in a different manner from his dog; if humanity will not prompt him to it, one would imagine self-preservation would. Without taking upon me to dictate, I think a man should be compelled by law to do that, which it is his duty to do without compulsion. I know it will be said, that it was impossible for some masters, however willing, to see their Negroes buried: I grant it; but, if instead of a [Spanish] dollar to a Negro to dig a grave, [if] they had given a white man 40 s[hillings]. many would have been found, on whom they could have depended, and who would have been very thankful.
In the ground belonging to the Church, I am informed, that at the depth of four or five feet the water rises: But this is not the case in the Negro Ground; they may dig seven or eight feet free of water; the two first feet is light sand, after that it is solid clay; if it was all sand, it is likely they would dig six feet, but when they come to the clay, it begins to be a little laborious, and for want of a proper person to overlook, they dig no deeper.”
The line of earthen fortifications built in 1745–46 was razed in the spring of 1766 and pushed into the adjacent moat. This work removed the physical barriers that stood for twenty years between the “Old Church Yard” and the “Negro burying-ground,” but the intervening space, immediately north of Magazine Street and west of Back (Franklin) Streets, apparently remained vacant for the next fourteen years. In the meantime, Charleston’s urban population increased rapidly after the conclusion of the French and Indian War in 1763, and the growing number of dead “strangers” strained the hospitality of the town’s two Anglican parishes (St. Philip established in 1706, and St. Michael, established in 1751). In response, the provincial government ratified a law in April 1768 directing that all deceased “strangers and transient white persons” should henceforth be interred within the public square on the northwestern edge of town, “which was anciently a burying ground or cemetery belonging to the Parish of Saint Philip,” rather than within the Anglican churchyards of urban Charleston.
By the commencement of the American Revolution in 1775, the “Old Church Yard” on the northwestern edge of urban Charleston had been in use for approximately one hundred years. Three months after the British Army captured Charleston in 1780, the town’s new Board of Police declared that “the ground heretofore allotted for the interment of strangers and transient persons is filled” and closed to future burials. The occupying forces expropriated the land to the north and west of the earlier public burying grounds for the subsequent burial of strangers, but their description of the land in question relied on temporary landmarks now long gone. Regardless of the specifics, we can surmise that British officials made use of some indeterminate number of acres beyond the earlier public cemeteries. According to one post-war property advertisement published in 1783, the interment of dead transients and soldiers during the British occupation reached as far northward at the northwest corner of Wentworth and Pitt Streets.
When the state legislature ratified the incorporation of Charleston in August 1783, the state ceded most of the public lands created within the town during the colonial era to the new City Council. This property included all of the public land used up to that time for the burials of poor white people, transient “strangers,” and people of African descent. The nascent city government apparently continued to use this land, and/or the real estate expropriated by the British Army in 1780, for the same purposes for a further eleven years. If there was any further modification to or expansion of the public burial grounds, the records of such activity disappeared with the bulk of early city records during the “Great Memory Loss” of early 1865.
The next significant development in this topic arrived in August 1794, when the city government opened a new public cemetery on the north side of Boundary (now Calhoun) Street and officially closed the lands that had received the bodies of deceased paupers, strangers, and enslaved people of urban Charleston for the preceding 120 years. Because this event marked the beginning of a new era in this conversation, I’m going to pause here for a brief review.
The four-acre square bounded by Queen, Logan, Magazine, and Franklin Streets remained in government hands until the late nineteenth century and hosted a succession of public institutions, including poor houses, work houses, hospitals, and jails. The old burial grounds to the north of Magazine Street and to the west of Franklin Street, which contained some unknown number of unmarked graves, were sold at the turn of the nineteenth century to private parties who subdivided them and sold them in numerous chains of further subdivisions and private conveyances. By the turn of the twentieth century, this former potter’s field had evolved into a vibrant, densely populated neighborhood dominated by poor people of African descent. The White civic authorities deemed it a slum, however, and obtained Federal funds during the Great Depression to demolish the neighborhood and transform it into a multi-unit municipal housing project. The construction of the present Robert Mills Manor, which commenced in 1939, unearthed the bones of numerous historic burials, but such discoveries did not derail the project. Attitudes towards the disruption of old cemeteries, especially those containing the forgotten corpses of poor folks and enslaved people, were far different during the early twentieth century than those of the present community.
The paucity of detailed death records from the late seventeenth and eighteenth centuries precludes the formation of reliable estimates of the total number of individuals buried within the public cemeteries of early Charleston. The imprecise nature of the property records also renders it difficult to identify the precise geographic scope of the property in question. Despite these obstacles, however, we can muster some rough estimates. The town’s original public burial ground, identified as the “Old Church Yard” on surviving copies of the Grand Model, was situated within a vague landscape of approximately fourteen acres on the northwestern edge of the town laid out in 1672. That public ground was reduced to just four acres by the grant to James Moore in 1698. The creation of a “Negro burying-ground” in 1746 added a further 2.26 acres of public space, and the British Army expropriated the adjacent vacant lands in 1780, encompassing perhaps as much as four additional acres. This cumulative space, containing approximately ten acres, more or less, was filled to capacity with human bodies by the summer of 1794.
Although the individuals buried here varied greatly in age and size, we can apply a formula articulated in a city ordinance of 1801 to estimate the size of each grave and the approximate number of bodies per acre. If the average grave measured eight feet long and four feet wide (comprising thirty-two square feet), then each acre (43,560 square feet) might contain approximately 1,361 graves. If the cumulative lands designated for public burials between 1672 and 1794 encompassed ten acres, then the ground was filled with more than 13,000 corpses. This figure is only an estimate, of course, and the actual, unquantifiable number might be lower or higher.
I suspect that few residents of Charleston could imagine that as many as 13,000 bodies might be decomposing within the vibrant neighborhood that now includes the old Charleston District Jail, the old Marine Hospital (formerly the Jenkins Orphanage), the Robert Mills Manor, and numerous private residences. Although this number might seem high, it represents less than half the number of corpses buried within the later and similarly unmarked public cemeteries of urban Charleston. Join me again next week, when we’ll continue this conversation by tracing the history of the city’s forgotten public burial grounds used between 1794 and 1927, and the suburban and rural sites used from that time to the present.
 After the creation of the Charleston County Board of Health in 1920, the City of Charleston maintained its own Board of Health and its own pauper’s burial ground until the city and county boards of health officially merged in May 1936.
 See Michael Trinkley, et al., The Silence of the Dead: Giving Charleston Cemeteries A Voice (Columbia, S.C.: Chicora Foundation, 2010), in the South Carolina History Room at CCPL’s Main Library.
 For a discussion of the Grand Model, see Henry A. M. Smith, "Charleston: The Original Plan and the Earliest Settlers," South Carolina Historical and Genealogical Magazine 9 (January 1908): 12–27; Susan Baldwin Bates and Harriott Cheves Leland, Proprietary Records of South Carolina, Volume 3: Abstracts of the Records of the Surveyor General of the Province, Charles Towne 1678–1698 (Charleston, S.C.: History Press, 2007), 33–36. This “Old Church Yard” is mentioned in Trinkley, Silence of the Dead, 146–48.
 See item No. 7 in the report of the Committee on City Lands to City Council, published in [Charleston, S.C.] City Gazette, 28 August 1799, page 4.
 See Section IV of Act No. 162, “An Act for settling a Watch in Charles Town, and for preventing of Fires,” ratified on 8 October 1698. in David J. McCord, ed., The Statutes at Large of South Carolina, volume 7 (Columbia, S.C.: A. S. Johnston, 1840), 8–9.
 See the report of the Commission of City Lands to the City Council of Charleston, in City Gazette, 24 August 1799, page 4. A few months after Moore’s 1698 grant, Joshua Hobson received a grant of four town lots that bounded to the southeast “upon a certain parcel of ground reserved for a common bur[y]ing place”; see Bates and Leland, Proprietary Records, Volume 3, 63. A 1736 survey of this area confirms that the original public cemetery consisted of “four acres of land known by the name of the “Old Burying Ground”; see South Carolina Department of Archives and History (hereafter SCDAH), Surveyor General's Office, Copies of Plats and Plans (S213187), volume 1, page 8, item 2, dated 5 July 1736, copied in the 1820s by Daniel H. Tillinghast, Surveyor General. This and other plats of the “old church yard” indicate that the southeastern corner of this four-acre block, located at the northwest corner of Queen and Mazyck (Logan) Streets, was not included as public land.
 Details relating to these construction projects can be found in the published transcriptions of the Journals of the South Carolina Commons House of Assembly, 1736–1748.
 SCDAH, Journal of His Majesty’s Council for South Carolina, No. 10, pages 391–92 (9 November 1743). In this and other quotations used in this essay, I have reproduced the spelling found in the original source.
 SCDAH, Journal of His Majesty’s Council for South Carolina, No. 11, part 2, page 530 (3 December 1744).
 See Section VIII of Act No. 740, “An Act for preserving the Fortifications, and for appropriating certain surplus lands in Charles Town,” ratified on 17 June 1746, in McCord, Statutes at Large, 7: 75–79, which empowered the provincial government to compensate the owners of the property in question. This “Negro burying-ground” is mentioned in Trinkley, Silence of the Dead, 138–39. To understand the physical and historical context of the site, see the deed of partition between the heirs of Isaac Mazyck, 18 December 1742, in See Charleston County Register of Deeds, B3: 468–76, and the published transcription of the Journal of the South Carolina Commons House of Assembly, 1745–46.
 George Hunter’s survey of the site in question, dated 3 June 1746, survives only as a copy made in the 1820s by Surveyor General Daniel H. Tillinghast; see SCDAH, Surveyor General's Office, Copies of Plats and Plans (S213187), volume 1, page 5.
 A. S. Salley, ed., Journal of the Commons House of Assembly of South Carolina, June 2, 1724–June 16, 1724 (Columbia: South Carolina Historical Commission, 1944), 14–15 (6 June 1724).
 South Carolina Gazette, 29 March–7 April 1760, page 3, “Mr. Timothy.”
 See section VI of Act No. 966, “An Act for appropriating the present Work House for a place of Correction; for building a Poor House and Hospital; for establishing further regulations respecting the Poor; and for appointing a Burial Ground for transient persons who shall happen to die in Charles Town,” ratified on 12 April 1768, in McCord, Statutes at Large, 7: 90–92.
 In South Carolina American and General Gazette, 23 August 1780, page 1, the new Board of Police designated “the ground at the north end of the old barracks from the road to the swamp [Beaufain Street?] till within twenty yards of the west corner of the barrack fence, also [the ground] from the old Burying Ground through the old barrack yard, to the end of the ground used as a garden to the barracks when an hospital, is set apart for that purpose.” The mass burial of British and German soldiers on Lots 17 and 18 of Harleston (the northwest corner of Pitt and Wentworth Streets) is mentioned in a sale advertisement in South Carolina Weekly Gazette, 23 August 1783, page 2.
 See Act No. 1191, "An Act to Incorporate Charleston," ratified on 13 August 1783, in McCord, Statutes at Large, 7: 97–101; see item No. 7 in the report of the Committee on City Lands to City Council, published in [Charleston, S.C.] City Gazette, 28 August 1799, page 4.
 See, for example, descriptions and images of the Robert Mills Manor project in the Charleston Year Book of 1939 and 1940.