It was late November when guests began to arrive for one of the most elaborate dinner parties ever to be held at the house. There were hams and turkeys, wild duck, oyster casseroles, imported wines and champagne. Servants had festooned the house with greenery from the gardens and lighted lanterns hung from the trees along the impressive avenue of oaks. In each room fireplaces gave forth a warm glow adding to the festive appearance, and many of the guests commented, "Bonaventure has never looked lovelier."

As the guests were enjoying the first course, the butler hurried into the dining room and whispered something to the host. Josiah Tattnall excused himself. In a few minutes he returned and said calmly, "Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for a slight interruption, please follow me out to the garden and we will continue our dinner there." Mr. Tattnall led his guests outside.

Much to everyone's amazement, servants began carrying chairs out to the garden, and shortly the table arrived with all the food in place. Then, Josiah Tattnall quietly announced, "Bonaventure is on fire and will soon be destroyed by the flames. We are all quite safe and I would like for you to remain and enjoy your dinner." A servant asked if he should bring lamps or candles and Tattnall replied, "No, the flames from Bonaventure will illumine our table."

As the great house burned brightly, the guests feasted upon ham and roast duck and drank toasts to Bonaventure and its rich memories. When the dinner was over, Josiah Tattnall arose and lifted his glass in a toast. "May the joy of the occasion never end," said he. Then he shattered the empty crystal goblet against one of the great oaks. His guests drank with him each following his example and shattering his glass against the trunks of the surrounding trees, as sparks from the mansion rose high in the air.

In the years that followed, the beautiful Bonaventure Plantation became a cemetery, but late at night passers-by have sometimes been startled to hear sounds of a gay dinner party in progress, the chatter of voices, and the tinkle of crystal glasses shattering as if struck against a tree.

Those who dared have paused and listened and wondered that so many years later, not far from the graves of Josiah Tattnall and his family, peals of eerie laughter and the revelry of the eternal dinner party still ripple and rustle through the camellias and among the moss-shrouded branches of the live oaks.