I wonder if anyone still tells ghost stories around the campfire? This used to be one of the rites of summertime; like toasting marshmallows and sleeping under the stars when it grew too hot and humid indoors. I remember as a kid how creepy things looked in the dark especially in the woods when trees and bushes seemed to take on weird shapes and the only sounds were the constant buzzing of strange insects, and the hooting of owls. Wiscasset and Woolwich being deep-rooted New England towns have their share of ghost stories. Toss a log on the fire and listen while I tell you two of my favorites.

The Phantom Rider of Old Stage Road

The story takes place one bone chilling winter’s night in Woolwich out on the Old Stage Road, the route travelers once used to go from Day’s Ferry landing on the Kennebec River to Wiscasset. A mysterious murder took place here over a hundred years ago close to where the winding path once linked up with what’s now called Middle Road. It began when a lone traveler was making his way through the woods in the dark of night. As he approached a small rise called Brown’s Hill his horse suddenly let out a whinny and reared up. Peering into the dense blackness the man caught sight of a white horse tethered to a tree. Strange he thought because its rider was nowhere to be seen. Shrugging this off the fellow continued on his way but on his return journey the following morning, much to his surprise, he saw the white horse was still there. Curiosity got the best of the man so he dismounted and searched the area. He soon made a gruesome discovery – behind a tumbling stone wall lay a young gentleman dressed in fine clothes, frozen stiff, his skull smashed. Not far from the bloody scene an iron wrench thought to have been used as the murder weapon. Robbery was believed to be the killer’s motive but the perpetrator was never caught. No identification was found on the young gentleman whose identity to this day remains a mystery. The body was laid to rest not far from the scene of the crime and the macabre incident came to be called, The Mystery of Brown’s Hill.

As the story goes, not long after the evil crime was committed strange things began happening here in the night. Passers-by would hear the clip-clop of a trotting horse on the dirt road when no horse was there. Others claimed to see a shimmering ghostly apparition on white horse gallop up to the stone wall where its phantom rider would dismount and then vanish behind it. Years later this portion of Old Stage Road where the murder took place was closed off. Although abandoned, the path of the original road can still be found today. Always one to give credit where credit is due, this story can be found in “History of Woolwich, Maine – A Town Remembered” published by Woolwich Historical Society.

Beware the Highwaymen

Next is the story of the wicked Highwaymen, which I’ll relate to you as I first heard it around the campfire. Way back in history past when England’s King George III ruled the Colonies, Wiscasset was known by its earlier eerie name of, Witchcassett. In those times it was little more than a village on the Sheepscot River surrounded by a collection of family farms. The community, a part of greater Pownalborough, was just beginning to make a name for itself as a thriving port of call. But with the good, soon followed the bad for with prosperity came a gang of criminals. Perhaps these evil doers were deserters from the French and Indian War, or maybe seamen who had been pressed into service and deserted his Majesty’s Navy. At any rate they were bent on mischief; cutthroats who took a special delight in creating mayhem, robbing, plundering and striking terror in the hearts of the good people of Sheepscot Valley. The outlaws who numbered one and 20 held no allegiance to King, or country and were led by a rugged, raw-boned fellow toughened from life in the wild. This wily rascal fancied himself a latter-day Robin Hood although his “Merry Men” robbed from rich and poor with equal alacrity keeping whatever loot they stole for themselves.

Their hideout was upriver from the village, not far from where a muddy brook still winds its way eastward to a secluded cove beneath a lofty hill known as Clark’s Point. Here in this same vicinity is a small valley tucked between two smaller hills, Langdon Mountain on the west and Job’s Mountain overlooking the Sheepscot River. You wouldn’t know by looking at them but both hills rise to a height of more than 150 feet. In bygone days this valley was still heavily wooded where one of the earliest roads ran northwards from Witchcassett to Sheepscot Village. It was along this road, known then as the King’s highway, these bandits would swoop down on horseback with rapiers and pistols to rob unsuspecting stagecoach travelers and teamsters driving wagons laden with goods.

Following their wild raids the Highwaymen would vanish into the forest making their way to a secret cave hidden among the rocky crags overlooking the river. Here in this mysterious hideout the outlaws stashed their ill-gotten booty. But the marauders grew greedy and reckless. Eventually, all of them were killed or captured by determined constables of the Crown. After a hasty trial each was taken to ye majesty’s gaol and m hanged until dead. The very last of the gang, perhaps the ringleader himself, is said to have gone to the gallows taking the location of the hidden treasure with him to the grave. According to the legend, when shadows are darkest, the restless spirits of the evil Highwaymen can be found roaming the woods near their hidden cave.   

Phil Di Vece earned a B.A. in journalism studies from Colorado State University and an M.A. in journalism at the University of South Florida. He is the author of three Wiscasset books and is a frequent news contributor to the Boothbay Register-Wiscasset Newspaper. He resides in Wiscasset. Contact him at pdivece@roadrunner.com