I once brought a group of managers and leaders to Gettysburg for leadership training. The battlefield leadership decisions offer endless fodder for analysis and modern-day applications. On one of our evenings, we had dinner at the Farnsworth House Inn’s Meade and Lee Fine Dining restaurant, and we had the managers present on the history of the house. Our waitress was dressed in period attire, and I knowingly prompted her to talk about the Inn’s hauntings.

She said, “Oh, the place is definitely haunted. I haven’t even worked here that long, and I didn’t know anything about the house. But there was one night that I was cleaning up at the end of my shift, and I heard the front door open, then heard giggling, and then saw a little boy go running past. I thought it was the child of one of the guests at the bed and breakfast. But he was dressed in really old clothing. I mentioned it to one of the other servers who’s been here a decade, and she said, ‘Oh, that’s Jeremy!’ I said, ‘Jeremy?’ She said, ‘Yeah. He was killed in the street out front by a wagon in the mid-nineteenth century. He’s very friendly and likes to play with other kids.”

This naturally inspired a lot of curiosity and conversation among my coworkers, several of which immediately signed up for the evening’s Attic Whispers and Cellar Shadows tour. I was exhausted from the day’s trainings and passed on that, but it proved to be a spine-tingling evening for those who went.

The Farnsworth House Inn is like the town in microcosm—rich in battle history with bullet holes all over its facade, capably run by ownership that serves up history, fine-dining, and modern storytelling and ghostly folklore. In some ways, it’s July 3, 1863, forever at the Farnsworth House Inn, and in other ways, it does business in ways that its antebellum citizens might not recognize.

Origins of the Property

You may suppose that the house was built or owned by someone named Farnsworth. It wasn’t. The lot on Baltimore Street formed part of land purchased by Rev. Alexander Dobbin in the late 18th century. In the early 1810s John F. McFarlane, a tanner and local civic leader, bought a portion of Dobbin’s land. McFarlane built a two‑story log dwelling c. 1810 and, according to an 1833 brick with his initials found during a 1970s restoration, added a brick addition in 1833. The structure contained a tannery and slaughterhouse in the rear.

McFarlane’s wife died in 1841 and his tanneries declined, forcing him to mortgage the property. Tax records show that after failing to pay his debts the Bank of Gettysburg seized the property in 1842. The bank held the property until selling it a decade later.

The Sweney era (1852 – early 20th century)

On 7 April 1852 butcher Harvey D. Sweney (also spelled Sweeney) bought the property from the Bank of Gettysburg. Sweney was a butcher who also served as town constable; tax records valued his real estate at $7,300 in 1860. By 1863 the Sweney marriage had broken down. Harvey stayed often in Illinois while his wife Catherine McAllister Sweney lived with the Solomon Powers family across town. Harvey rented part of the Baltimore Street house to Joseph Weikert and his family. Thus neither Harvey nor Catherine resided there when battle came to Gettysburg.

After Union forces withdrew from Gettysburg on 1 July 1863, Confederate troops occupied houses on South Baltimore Street. A historical marker notes that the attic garret window of the Sweney house provided a protected position for Confederate sharpshooters who fired on Union soldiers, and bullet scars around the attic window show where Union riflemen tried to suppress the fire. The house’s walls still display numerous bullet holes, many of which the current owners uncovered during restoration.

Local lore holds that the stray bullet that killed civilian Jennie Wade on July 3 came from a Confederate sniper in the Sweney attic. The location of the shooter has never been proven, and other buildings on Baltimore Street also claim to have housed the sniper. Thus, while the house clearly sheltered Confederate marksmen, there is no conclusive evidence linking it to Wade’s death.

After the war, Harvey Sweney continued to own the house but spent increasing time in Illinois where he eventually died in 1870. The Sweney heirs held the property until the early 20th century. A widely repeated tradition (including the inn’s official history) states that the property was sold around 1909 – 1918 to George and Verna Black, who renamed it Sleepy Hollow Lodge and advertised its bullet‑scarred walls. A marker installed by the current owners states that Sara Black Gideon (daughter of the Blacks) later recalled that her mother collected 135 bullets from the property.

Restoration and renaming as the Farnsworth House (1972 – present)

In 1972 Loring and Jean Shultz purchased the property from Sara Black Gideon. A historical marker notes that the house was “saved from demolition” by the Shultzes, who restored it to its 1863 appearance and opened it as a bed‑and‑breakfast. During the restoration they uncovered a brick marked “J McFarlane 1833” and exposed the bullet holes by sandblasting the stucco, later painting them white so visitors could see them. The attic exhibits the “Shultz Collection” of relics collected from the house.

Loring Shultz renamed the inn after Brigadier General Elon J. Farnsworth, a Union cavalry officer who was killed during the battle’s third day. A Civil War enthusiast, Shultz felt the general’s bravery deserved recognition. The house, however, was never associated with Farnsworth during the war.

Since the 1970s the Shultz family has run the building as a bed‑and‑breakfast, restaurant, and tavern. They emphasize the house’s bullet holes and claim it is haunted, drawing tourists on ghost walks and “mourning theater” performances. The family is also active in the community and in supporting historic projects. A 2022 article about the Adams County Historical Society’s new museum notes that “Loring and Jean Schultz, owners of the Farnsworth Inn in Gettysburg, presented a $5,000 check” to support the museum.

Evidence of Confederate Sharpshooters

Historian Tim Smith’s research and other primary sources show that Confederate sharpshooters took positions in attics and rooftops along Baltimore Street. Major Eugene Blackford’s Alabama sharpshooter battalion left detailed accounts of fighting inside Gettysburg’s homes. Harvey Sweney later wrote his own recollections of the battle, which Smith cites in his 1996 booklet “In the Eye of the Storm.” These accounts corroborate the presence of sharpshooters in the neighborhood, though none identify them specifically in the Sweney house.

The southern wall of the house is peppered with bullet scars. These holes resulted from Union riflemen returning fire at Confederates in the attic. The attic window still provides a clear field of fire toward East Cemetery Hill, illustrating why it was valuable to Confederate marksmen. The marker on the site explains that bullet scars around the attic window show where Union soldiers tried to suppress the sharpshooters.

Although the inn and many tour companies promote the idea that a sharpshooter from this house killed Jennie Wade, historians caution that there is no documentary proof.

What to Expect in the Farnsworth Inn Attic

Among the most memorable moments of the Farnsworth House haunted attic tour is when the guide produces two thin metal “needles” to commune with the dead. These were the talk of all my coworkers, especially the one that the needles pointed to during their visit.

These are dowsing rods, tools with roots in centuries-old folk practices once used to find underground water or minerals. Shaped like an “L,” the rods are held loosely in each hand so the long arms can swing freely.

On the tour, guests are told that spirits manipulate the rods to answer questions — crossing for yes, opening for no, or pointing toward the person the “energy” wishes to reach. Sometimes visitors hold the rods themselves, and subtle movements seem to take on a will of their own.

Believers trace the phenomenon to unseen forces or electromagnetic energy. Scientists, however, attribute it to the ideomotor effect — unconscious micro-movements in the human hand that respond to suggestion or expectation. The result feels uncanny, as if the rods are alive.

Whatever one’s explanation, the practice echoes the Victorian-era spiritualism that flourished soon after the Civil War, when Americans sought comfort and contact with lost loved ones. At the Farnsworth House, the ritual serves as both a theatrical flourish and a reminder of how deeply Gettysburg’s grief era continues to resonate.

The Legend of Jeremy: Gettysburg’s Gentle Ghost

Of all the spirits said to linger in the Farnsworth House, none is more beloved than Jeremy, the little boy who never quite left home. Guides describe him as a child of about five or six years old who once lived here with his family in the years after the Battle of Gettysburg. One afternoon, the story goes, he ran into the street and was struck by a passing wagon. His mother’s grief was so deep that her sorrow, and Jeremy’s playful spirit, remained behind.

Visitors and staff say Jeremy still makes himself known: rolling marbles across the floor, tugging at sleeves, or giggling softly when children are nearby. Some claim he tugs at apron strings in the restaurant or brushes past guests in the cellar.

Though no records confirm a child’s death at the property, Jeremy’s legend arose in the 1990s, when innkeepers Jean and Loring Shultz revived the building and its ghost lore. His story became a signature element of the house’s haunted tours—a symbol of innocence within a town marked by war.

Historians such as Tim Smith have pointed out that Jeremy’s tale belongs more to modern folklore than to documented history, yet it captures the emotional truth that defines Gettysburg’s afterlife: grief, love, and the yearning to be remembered.