Ghostly Past of Stevens Branch Mill of Barre, VT

They say that on quiet nights, when the moon hangs low over the Stevens Branch, you can still hear the rhythmic clatter of looms echoing through the valley. The locals know better than to venture down Mill Street after dark, for the ghosts of the old woolen mill still haunt these waters.

Back in 1873, the Beers map labeled it Factory Village, though the elderly residents always knew it as Mill Village. There, perched above the mill pond and its dam, stood an imposing three-story woolen mill, its looms powered by the gathered waters below

Table of Contents hide

1 Dark Waters and a Restless Spirit

1.1 Watching in Horror as Bones are Discovered

2 The Barre Woolen Mill Fades Into Obscurity

3 Ghostly Whispers of the Past Remain

Dark Waters and a Restless Spirit

Few remember now that this peaceful stretch of river bears the name of a tragic figure – a lonely trapper whose broken heart led him into the wilderness, never to return alive. In the late 1700s, they found his body by the water's edge, one hand still clutching his fishing pole, as if frozen in time.

His camp stood nearby, a silent testament to his final days – traps hanging unused, a kettle of medicinal herbs gone cold above dead ashes. They buried him there by the river, but his spirit remained, lending his name to these dark waters.

Watching in Horror as Bones are Discovered

Years later, young Daniel Thompson watched in horror as his father's plow turned up Stevens' bones from the earth, along with a rusted jackknife – a moment that would haunt his dreams for years to come. Perhaps it was Stevens' restless spirit that brought both prosperity and doom to these shores, for in the 1830s, the great wool mills rose along his branch of the river.

The mighty three-story Barre Woolen Mill soon dominated the landscape, its massive water wheel powered by Stevens' waters. They called it Factory Village then, and the countryside rang with the sounds of industry. Twenty-five souls made their living within those walls, their lives revolving around the endless production of white flannel. The mill owner, William Moorcroft, grew prosperous from their labors.

The Barre Woolen Mill Fades Into Obscurity

But tragedy struck again one fateful Thursday, when flames erupted from the wool box. A young boy, reaching in for more wool, drew back his scalded hand in terror. Before anyone could raise the alarm, fire engulfed the five-story structure. The workers barely escaped with their lives as the inferno consumed their livelihood. The massive 85-foot-long building burned to ashes, leaving nothing but broken dreams and unemployed workers in its wake.

Ghostly Whispers of the Past Remain

Some say that on particularly dark nights, when the wind whispers through the trees, you can still hear the desperate shouts of mill workers fleeing the flames, or catch the mournful sigh of a lonely trapper, forever fishing in his eternal eddy. For in Mill Village, the past never truly dies – it simply waits, patient as the flowing waters of Stevens Branch, for someone to remember its tales.

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