On a clear spring day, a small boy skips along the State House grounds, his mother and older sister trailing behind. Excitedly, he pauses on the Governor’s office side of the Capitol and asks his mother, “What’s this?” He’s looking down at an iron grate on the wide sidewalk. His mother, continuing to walk, says, “It’s probably just for drainage.”
Still mystified, almost as if he didn’t hear his mother’s explanation, he whispers, “It’s a secret door!” Many adults who see it would agree.
Elaborate brick arches. A two-century-old phenomenon. Cypress floors. Confederate gold. Beautifully crafted brickwork. Underground architectural wonder. Clandestine passageways for state officials. Part of the Underground Railroad. These are just some of the phrases commonly dropped in conversations surrounding the tunnels constructed under the Capital City in the 1800s. Their original purpose remains unclear to this day, but theories abound.
Chris Robinson first heard about these local catacombs more than 20 years ago when he got a call from Andy Jones, the “Trolley Man,” who operated a cable car/shuttle service in downtown Columbia and who passed away in 2006. Andy had a theory that the tunnels provided an escape route for soldiers during the Civil War. A visual arts professor at USC, a bicyclist and mountaineer in his spare time, Chris says he was intrigued by Andy’s theories and the invitation to explore what hides beneath the city. Andy called Chris because he had read about him in a mountaineering article.
“Andy was an interesting and quirky guy, and he was convinced there was something there,” Chris says. “But we went under the State House and didn’t find anything.”
Chris says the tunnel exploration was exciting at moments, and a little terrifying, too. “I’m always curious about things with a little bit of adventure.” At one point, he pushed up a storm drain from below and found himself in the midst of a busy street, and in another instance, he popped up in the middle of a football game in the Central Correctional Institution prison yard. “I’m a little more of a pragmatist than Andy was. My guess is the tunnels are predominantly storm drains,” he explains.
While he didn’t find confirmation of Andy’s theories, Chris found the beautiful wooden floors — laid with cypress 2 to 3 inches deep — and the brick walls of the tunnels remarkable. He also discovered all sorts of lost and forgotten possessions: iron pulleys, keys and coins.
“I saved a rusted pulley I found down there; I thought it was an interesting artifact,” he says. “As society quickly moves on, we have a strong desire to connect to the past.”
Another brave soul who traversed the tunnels with Chris and Andy, Nena Powell Rice, agrees. Archaeologist and director of outreach and development for the South Carolina Institute of Archaeology and Anthropology at the University of South Carolina, Nena hopes to see the remaining tunnels studied and preserved.
She learned about them when she, too, got a phone call from Andy whom she describes as eccentric and full of enthusiasm. He told Nena he needed an archaeologist to come look at the tunnels.
“I said, ‘Okay! I’ll be there at 4 p.m. tomorrow with my waders on,’” she recalls. With vague memories of “Down Under Columbia” when she went to a night club in the 1970s beneath the Arcade Mall — at Washington and Main streets, then being renovated — she was ecstatic to go exploring.
“Andy was a passionate historian and a lover of tall tales,” she says. “He thought the tunnels were for running slaves, and he was looking for Confederate gold.”
But Andy’s tales have yet to be confirmed. “I kept wondering if there were underground maps,” Nena says, adding that the tunnels most likely at one time went all the way to the city’s historic homes: the Robert Mills House, Hampton Preston House, Mann Simons Cottage and Seibels House.
While most of the tunnels have been modified for drainage purposes, Nena notes the one behind the Colonial Center was likely buried when Owens Steel rail and buildings were disassembled and the arena was built.
“It would be below the parking lot behind the center, and you can still see the top of the arch of the tunnel at the street level across from the USC motor pool,” she explains. “This one also has cypress floors, and an elaborately designed granite arch big enough to drive a carriage through.”
According to Nena, a member of the South Carolina Archives and History board from 2008 to 2012, the tunnels need to be recognized and preserved. “We’ve already destroyed enough historic structures and features in historic Columbia,” she says. “I am thankful we’re preserving the Palmetto Compress building.”
Like Nena, the history and mystery of the tunnels also appealed to Brett Bursey, director of the South Carolina Progressive Network — a 20-year-old social justice organization. Brett wrote an article about his journey through the tunnels in a 1991 issue of The Pointe, a weekly paper at the time that featured unusual Columbia sites and experiences.
“I’m the kind of guy, when I see an old house, who wants to look under it at the beams,” he says, calling himself an amateur craftsman. The opportunity for adventure lured him to the tunnels, and the architecture he saw while he waded below impressed him. “I was in awe.”
“I can appreciate when someone builds something that’s going to last,” he adds. Several years after Brett wrote the story about his experience, he ventured below again, taking a friend along. While in one of the tunnels, it started to rain and they found themselves caught in a flash flood.
“We struggled to get out of there. It was like we were trying to walk toward a fire hose,” he recalls. “It was quite a day. I didn’t set out to be washed away. It’s a cautionary tale.”
Because the water run-off of the city goes into this tunnel system, the integrity of the canal and levee at Riverfront Park have been protected. Otherwise, Brett clarifies, “The volume of water going downhill would’ve washed away the canal, overflowed its banks and eroded the levee that holds the canal.”
He still wonders about the rumors he’s heard, though. “I heard myths and legends about one under the State House. It’s still an unsolved mystery whether the ones Andy Jones talked about that were used for transportation are actually there,” he says, adding that the ones he’s seen fit the description and are large enough for a wagon to travel through.
One thing Brett’s sure of, however — it required plenty of work and precision to construct them. “These tunnels took more skill and time than the things we build today,” he says. “If you’ve ever built anything with your hands, it’s like, ‘Wow.’ Such an elaborate structure for something most people wouldn’t even see.”
Andy Burns, an anchor at WOLO-TV from 2008 until January 2015, did a series of news stories called Hidden Columbia that brought more attention to the tunnel phenomenon. His piece on the city’s mysterious tunnels struck a chord unlike any other in the series.
“The tunnel story is by far the most popular one I’ve ever done,” he says. “I did the story a few years ago, and I still get an email or post about it at least once a month from someone asking where the entrance is.”
Currently working in real estate and writing a book on his experiences covering local news, Andy’s lived in other cities — New York, Chicago, Washington, D.C., Atlanta and Charleston — and he says this phenomenon is unique to Columbia.
“There’s so much rumor, lore and legend about tunnels under the city of Columbia,” he says. “There’s definitely something that happened in the history of this city that has caused people to think there’s something there.”
In his experience, the most common theory is that they provided a way of escape during the war. “The idea was that the soldiers needed an escape route from the State House to the river if Union forces came,” he explains. “That’s the prevailing theory and the one I highlighted in the State House story. Some people say Confederate gold was hidden in there … and there are other stories.”
Andy, however, believes they served as drainage tunnels or tunnels allowing access under the canal for supply shipments.
“They are incredibly built. They’re arched brick and stone; the floors are wooden and that wood has been preserved for more than 150 years,” he says. “Construction back then was so good. Houses and structures back then had stronger bones.”
Having talked with historians over the years, Andy thinks the tunnels captivate locals’ attention precisely because there aren’t conclusive answers about their original use.
“If we never find a definitive answer, it can be left to the imagination. I’ve talked to people who believe they were escape tunnels and others who say there’s no evidence any tunnels were ever under the State House,” he explains. “Ultimately, none of the stories I did came to any conclusions, which I think is actually pretty cool. This is an actual thing that’s palpable in the city.”
And children skipping along the Capitol sidewalks would probably agree.
