Pocock Treasure

In the town of Pocock, Vermont - now chartered and known as Bristol, lies undiscovered treasure... a true and fascinating story!  I have done research on this topic - so, first and foremost - the treasure has never been found! 

The history of the very beginning of this adventure is uncertain, but apparently around 1752 a Spanish Galleon ship called the "San Jose" arrived at New London in Connecticut, carrying 40 chests of silver and one chest of gold, along with a passenger by the name of Philip DeGrau.  The story goes that the San Jose began to take on water and an American ship, the "Susannah"  came to the rescue by escorting the San Jose safely ashore.  The contents of the San Jose were immediately seized by American authorities and it is said that the cargo was stashed in a warehouse.  (Another version of this story, put DeGrau aboard a ship called the Nebuchadnezzar, where he committed mutiny against the Captain and crew).  

It is believed that DeGrau, with about 10 of his ship-mates jumped board before the San Jose was brought to port, they plotted and successfully burglarized the warehouse. 

They were able to steal most of the treasure, so days later when the captain of the ship could inventory the loot, it was then discovered that the majority had been stolen.  The remaining treasure when hence returned to the captain.

By this time, DeGrau and his cronies had made the proverbial beeline north and hoped to reach the safety net of Canada.  The gang was just about 60 miles south of their destination, when they were attacked by Indians, near South Mountain in the Bristol area.  During the violent confrontation, the treasure was said to have been buried between 2 great rocks (appearing to be somewhat cave-like) at the foot of the mountain, which is commonly referred to now as "Hell's Half Acre".  

DeGrau and a few of the men survived the vicious attack and actually made it into Canada.  Years later DeGrau returned to recover the stash, but was surprised to see that the entire landscape had changed!  Apparently, a significant earthquake had rumbled through New England and indeed, the landscape was altered.  Rock slides had covered the western slope of the mountain, which probably covered the entrance to the "cave". 

To give credence to this event, I researched this and found on the US Geological Survey site and wiki this information:  

"The Cape Ann Earthquake took place off the coast of the British Province of Massachusetts Bay (the present-day American commonwealth of Massachusetts) on November 18, 1755. At between 6.0 and 6.3 on the Richter scale, it remains the largest earthquake in the history of Massachusetts. It damaged hundreds of buildings in Boston and was felt as far north as Nova Scotia and as far south as South Carolina. Sailors on a ship more than 200 miles (320 km) offshore felt the quake, and mistook it at first for their ship running aground. Many residents of Boston and the surrounding areas attributed the quake to God, and it occasioned a brief increase in religious fervor in the city. Modern studies estimate that if a similar quake shook Boston today, it would result in as much as $5 billion in damage and hundreds of deaths."  

and.....

"...the major earthquake of November 18, 1755, east of Cape Ann, Massachusetts, affected a large area (about 777,000 square kilometers), including all of Vermont."

Some accounts state that DeGrau then settled in the Bristol area and continued to search for his lost treasure until his death.  He was never able to retrieve it, so perhaps it is somewhere deep in the ground in Hell's Half Acre?

On this same topic, Joe Citro explains that upon his return to Vermont, DeGrau actually told the towns people of Bristol a big fat fib about the alleged treasure at the location where he was discovered by some local young men, upon hearing banging and clanging, they went to investigate the sounds.  They discovered the now elderly DeGrau with a pick ax in hand, attempting to find what had been lost to Mother Nature.  

Locals, being suspicious of strangers, questioned him as to why he was trespassing on private property.  DeGrau went on to explain (all the while his nose growing in length) that "his name was DeGrau, that he was Spanish, and had visited the area many years ago as a child. His father and a group of associates were miners who had randomly prospected throughout New England. There on South Mountain in Bristol (then called Pocock) they discovered a rich vein of silver and had begun a mining operation."

"Eventually they accumulated a massive amount of high grade ore which they smelted into silver bars. In the fall, while preparing to leave, they discovered they had far too much wealth to carry away. They walled the surplus treasure up in an oven-shaped cave and disguised the entrance with earth and vegetation, planning to return for it later."

"Before departing for their faraway homes the miners agreed that in order to reclaim the loot they must all travel together, as a group. For various reasons they never coordinated the return trip. Presumably, they had already carted off enough wealth and never had to refill their coffers. Over the years the original miners died off until Señor DeGrau – now quite elderly -- was the only one left."

"After some deliberation, the villagers decided that the Spaniard's story had the ring of truth. Ultimately, they believed him."  - Joseph Citro

So, Degrau was able to elicit the help of many of the local townspeople.  He continued his search until his death, or as I have read, he just gave up and disappeared.   I am unable to locate any grave with his name, on findagrave.com.

It is interesting to note that one old doubloon (a Spanish coin) was found in the South Mountain region in 1961.  Also giving credence to this story, a crucible (a container for molted metal) was discovered however, it could not be dated, but it could be verified as being of Spanish origin.  

The fever for those seeking treasure, has continued many with metal detectors in hand have tried and failed, to date.  The cache could be worth multiple millions, if ever located.....

BUT...before you head out with your metal detector and/pickax, take heed!  

Again, from Joe Citro:

"In the years to come an array of Bristol locals picked up ax and continued where the Spaniard had left off. They discovered some ancient signs of a mining operation, a mysterious marked container, and a few nondescript odds and ends. These worthless finds inspired more treasure hunters, but years of intermittent excavations revealed no mine and no silver. 

For decades Bristol treasure hunters were joined by opportunists from far and wide, all determined to secure the Spaniard's silver.  In the mid-1800s a group of Canadians arrived and organized a stock company. An affable sixty-year-old, florid-faced giant known as "Uncle Sim" directed the operation. He spurred the diggers on with humor and charisma, taking his directions from trusted fortune-tellers. One was a woman from Pawlet whom Uncle Sim regularly consulted. Another was an "old Frenchman" who conjured from his cabin on the eastern side of the mountain. Without callusing their hands or wielding an ax, their paranormal vision allowed them to identify the spot where the treasure lay. The amount that would eventually be unearthed, they promised, was $3,100,000 [over $50,000,000 in today’s coin].

Uncle Sim raised funds by promising a hundred dollar return on every dollar invested.

From 1840 to 1852 they dug shaft after shaft, some through solid rock, some 40 and 50 feet deep. One sank to well over 100! Still the silver remained just out of reach.  Shafts caved in, filled with stifling gas, or flooded with water. As much effort went into reclaiming holes as digging them. But no treasure came to light. After more than twelve years and thousands of dollars, Uncle Sim gave up.

But unlike the rock face of South Mountain, Uncle Sim’s faith was never shattered. About a decade later he returned alone. He had met a new conjurer who assured him that by moving just a few stones he could open a passage leading directly to the treasure.  By then he must have been in his eighties, a frail and broken man. His effort was short lived. Defeated, he tottered off into oblivion.

In spite of repeated failures, organized efforts to find the Spaniard's silver continued intermittently. 

As recently as 1934 a man from New Haven took up the cause. His treasure finding techniques were more modern than Uncle Sim’s. Instead of consulting conjurers, he used his "divining rod," then began digging and dynamiting until little was left of the earlier excavations. It wasn’t long before he too left, tired, and discouraged.

The forlorn remnants of Addison’s Big Dig remain on South Mountain to this day. “The Money Diggings”, as they are locally called, are on private land. With permission, you can traverse the inhospitable terrain (as nasty as any in the state). You can still discover the rough rock caves where Uncle Sim’s crew lived during their twelve years on what has become known as “Hell’s Half Acre.” 

You can locate the filled shafts and — if you’re brave enough -- descend into the only pit that remains open. It drops at a precarious 45-degree angle into – so they say -- a hand-dug cavern large enough to hold a dance hall. From there, three additional shafts burrow into the bowels of the mountain.

It is a dangerous spot, perhaps more so because of the hell hound and demon boy Uncle Sim swore will eternally guard the true path to the treasure.


The bottom line is that in two hundred years Addison’s Big Dig has produced nothing but questions: Was there ever any silver or treasure of any kind? Did one of the diggers secretly find the stash and covertly carry it away? Or is it still there, securely hidden, ready to inspire another century of treasure hunting? 

Quite possibly someone is digging there now.  Strange, almost fleshy rock faces: slippery, alien, and almost always hazardous." - Jospeh Citro

Joe tells a great story, doesn't he?  Anyway, I was thinking.... I have a metal detector, and a pickax, and a shovel, and boots... maybe I will take a little journey north, come spring....

Vershire Copper Mine - Abandoned Vermont

Vershire is the smallest town in Orange County, with a population of just about 600 people.  The copper mine is now a ghost town. 

A gentleman by the name of Lenox Titus settled  the town of Vershire in 1779 as its first permanent settler.  In August of 1781, Vermont granted the 21,961 acres that were to become the Town of Vershire to *Capt. Abner Seelye and "and sixty-four associates".  Vershire was originally named Malden, but was changed to Vershire as an amalgam of Vermont and New Hamshire.  (If you are local, you would pronounce the name "Ver-sure", with the accent on the first syllable.)

*Captain Seelye, originally of New Hamshire was of Warner’s Continental Regiment, 5th July, 1776; resigned 1st June 1778; Captain Vermont Militia in 1781. 

Vershire was also known as Copperfield, because of the discovery of a copper mine on it's land. 

Ely Mine was said to have been discovered, was quite by accident.  You see, "Sometime during the second war with England" [1812], as witnessed by the daughter of the owner of the farm - Bessie Richardson Powell Wolcott - reported that a young lass who worked on the farm was in the orchard of her father's farm when the girl stepped into a mound of earth, that was raised up like a biscuit, and promptly sunk up to her knee into the ground.  When she extracted her foot from odorous sulphery mess, it was covered in an orange mud.  Bessie promptly reported this to her father, who's eyebrows certainly raised, as this  discovery could be indicative of something richer.  That farmer was John Richardson, who owned the property where the copper mine opened a few short years later.

Another story goes: "The copper mining industry in the region, which centered around South Strafford, the Ely mine in Vershire and the Pike mine in Corinth, began in 1793 when men tapping maples in South Strafford noticed a rust color staining the snow."

"The mine opened in 1809....At the Ely mine in Vershire, which began operation in the 1830s, unrest was common. In 1883, during the so-called Ely War, the miners, who were mainly immigrants from Ireland and Cornwall, in the southwest of England, demanded long overdue back pay and better working conditions. They threatened to blow up the mine unless their demands were met. Then-governor John Barstow called out the state militia to suppress the strikes. Mine safety didn't operate with the same level of checks and precautions that it does now.  Men drilled for copperas without any kind of ear protection, and packed their ears with cotton to try to mitigate the noise. None of the mines will ever reopen. But in Vershire, it’s still possible to see, partially hidden by trees and brambles, the remaining stone walls and cellar holes of the houses and stores that sprang up around the mine. The mines were abandoned long ago but their historic legacy remains."

Workers at Pike Hill Mine

Approximately 10% of Vershire's population back then, fought in the Civil War and 13 men never came home.  About 20 years after the War, the Vermont Copper Mining Company was founded in 1854.  A Mr. Smith Ely ran the operation and it actually became the largest copper mine in America at that time, with around 850 workers, which included a large population of Cornish immigrants, along with the Irish, German, French, Armenian, Italian and Canadian miners.  Some of the miners were as young as 10 years old!

It is hard to imagine today, in the sleepy hills of Vershire, that "more than 100 buildings were erected in the village that sprang up around the mine. There was a tailor, a photography studio, confectionery, meat market, livery stable, doctor's office, barber, millenary shop, library, and blacksmith. There were also Catholic and Methodist churches."

Smith Ely

In 1876, Smith Ely's grandson, Ely Goddard, took over the operation, changing his surname to Ely- Goddard in honor of his patron.  Ely-Goddard built a mansion called Elysium in the mining village, wore fancy clothing, and invited friends from New York, Paris, and Newport to parties, picnics, dinners, and dances. A private theatre put on shows and orchestra were imported form the cities. (The mansion was later moved to overlook Lake Fairlee and now can easily be seen from VT 244.)

The Elys also became a political force in Vermont. Goddard was elected to the House of Representatives in 1878 and 1880 and the company lawyer, Roswell Farnum, became Governor in 1880. In 1878, the citizens of Vershire voted to change the town name to Ely, a vote reversed four years later. But Ely Depot, where the copper was loaded onto trains after the drive down from the mine, has retained the name. It is located at the intersection of VT 144 and US 5.

 Meanwhile, the company was struggling. In 1881, Smith Ely sold his shares in the mine to Goddard and Francis Cazin, a German engineer. They poured money into the operation, but it did not regain its profitability. Goddard fired Cazin, who then sued the company. By 1883, lawsuits, poor investments, and the falling price of copper as western mines opened brought the company to a crisis. On June 29, 1883, the day before pay day, the directors posted a sign that the mine would be closed unless the miners would take a pay cut. The men, who had gone two months without pay, revolted in what is called the Ely War. They went on strike, raided the company store, and marched on Smith Ely's home in West Fairlee, chanting "Bread or Blood!" Ely met with the workers, blamed the mess on Cazin, and promised they would be paid. The miners, doubting this, seized the company gunpowder and stated that they would destroy all company property if pay were not forthcoming. 

Acting on the request of the Sheriff, the Governor called out the National Guard, sending 184 soldiers into town at dawn on Saturday July 6th. Expecting to meet an unruly mob, they found instead a quiet village, whose awakening inhabitants soon told of their grievances. The soldiers, disturbed by what had happened, gave their food to the miners and their families and marched back to the train. 

This was the most important instance of labor unrest in Vermont history. The workers, naturally, received almost nothing. The company was declared bankrupt and was sold at auction in 1888. The Cornish Methodist church was moved first to South Vershire and, in 1978, to Vershire Village, where it is now the community center and symbol of the town. The Catholic church became a laundry in West Fairlee.

Following the collapse, the mine changed hands many times and there were attempts to reopen it, to no avail. It is now owned by a British pension fund, which has offered to donate it to the state, which has refused the "gift." The mine is a Superfund site under the EPA, which tries to prevent it from contaminating Copper Creek and the groundwater that reaches into West Fairlee.

With the closure of the mine, Vershire shortly lost two-thirds of its population. Its soil was played out, the mine was closed, and it was far from transportation corridors. By 1920, it held fewer people than it had in 1791 and the numbers continued to drop until only there were only 236 inhabitants in 1960.

Ariel of Ely Copper Mine today

Since 1960, Vershire has grown slowly, to 560 people in the 1990 census. It is now the smallest town in Orange County, having wrested that title from West Fairlee in recent years."  

Source:  http://www.usgennet.org/usa/vt/county/orange/vershire/

Ricker Mills a.k.a. Ricker Basin, Vermont - Ghost Town

The following content is taken directly from Obscure Vermont ~ It is so perfectly written, I could not do it justice on my own.   

"In the early 1800s, pioneers cleared fields, rocks, and stumps in Ricker Basin and Cotton Brook. A settlement of 50 or so families once lived in this area that became known as “Ricker Mills” due to the large number of people who settled there bearing the same last name. The hard demands of the land and harsh weather forced younger generations to eventually abandon the farms and buildings of the village.

On November 3 and 4, 1927, torrential rains created a disastrous flood that paralyzed Vermont. Little River’s rising waters drove the valley residents to their roofs and isolated the hillside farmers. By then, most of the population had moved away, and in 1934 a second flood occurred that put an end to community. The 1934 flood inspired the construction of Waterbury Dam, which created the Waterbury Reservoir that flooded the remains of much of the community. Five thousand men of the U. S. Army Corps of Engineers and the Civilian Conservation Corps (C. C. C.) completed the dam in 1938.

Today, old cemeteries, sawmill remains, old town roads, bridges and many cellar holes can still be seen as evidence of a past community. Little River State Park owns the land now, and a walk on one of it’s many hiking trails make these ruins easily accessible for anyone who wants to see them.

But does something else remain here other then stone foundations and weathered gravestones? Does something unknown skulk among the trees and silent swampland? I've heard rumors that Little River State Park was haunted, but never have actually heard any specific accounts of anything happening, that is until I heard this story."

"A few years ago, John, an experienced hunter took a hike into the wilds of Ricker Mountain. His plans were to spend a few days in the woods hunting and camping under the stars – a little much needed rest and relaxation.  Being an experienced woodsman, he planned carefully. He found a suitable spot for his campsite, and began to clear it of brush and tree branches. He even found some nice flat stones nearby to construct a fire pit from. The first night, he was almost asleep inside his tent when he heard a strange noise. In the darkness, he listened carefully. It sounded like fingertips that were scratching the outside of his tent. He knew he had cleared the area of any tree branches, and it was a windless night, so he thought it had to be an animal. But he noticed that the woods had descended into an eerie silence, a silence he has never heard before.  And the tapping stopped. He waited for it to start up again, but it didn't.  He soon forgot about it and fell asleep.

The next night, he awoke to the sound of someone-or something, tugging at his tent straps. Again the woods fell into that eerie silence. He sat up and tried to assess the situation, but couldn't really think about what to do other than wait for something to happen. The tugging soon stopped, and nothing ever happened. But he didn't go back to sleep – and spent the rest of the night in anticipation, waiting until the sun rose. The next morning he noticed that the tent strap hadn't just been pulled, it had been cut! It was a clean cut, as done with a knife, Yet he hadn't heard the sound of tearing fabric, or the sounds of any other human around.

Weighing his options, he decided to stay another night, probably trying to jump to a logical conclusion that could explain the previous nights events while wishing he could just forget about them. But on the third night, John got the surprise of his life. He woke up suddenly when the bottom of his sleeping bag, which was touching the tent wall, was grabbed violently “as with human hands” and forcefully yanked towards the tent door. He instinctively grabbed his shotgun next to him and yelled “try that again and you’ll be sorry!” and waited with baited breath for something to happen. And nothing did. Again he noticed the eerie, almost unnatural silence of the woods. There was absolutely nothing making a sound. He knew it would be foolish to leave in the middle of the night, especially because he didn't know exactly what was out there waiting for him. So he spent the rest of the night awake, shot gun at the ready, and as soon as the sun’s light hit the mountains he packed his things.


As he took down his tent and began to leave, he noticed something peculiar. One of the stones he had used for a fire pit had been turned over, revealing it to be an old gravestone. Somehow, unknowingly, he had used some fallen gravestones from an old cemetery as the circle of his fire pit. I asked John if he would ever go back to Ricker Mountain, now knowing what may just have been the cause of the bizarre events that plagued him on that camping trip. He just shook his head and said “nope”. I guess I can’t blame him."

TOWN SPOTLIGHT: GLASTENBURY ~ Ghost Town

The "ghost town" of Glastenbury and Glastenbury Mountain lies in the center of what is known as the "Bennington Triangle"  in Southern Vermont, which is surrounded by Bennington, Shaftsbury, Somerset and Woodford.  What exactly makes up the mysterious Bennington Triangle is not all together clear, but the area obtained it's name because many people have disappeared over the years; most, never to be heard from again!

Glastonbury, chartered in 1761 and founded by New Hampshire Governor, Benning Wentworth.  Though several families attempted to live in this region, they did not stay for long.  Nearly a century later, by 1872, the town's lumber resource was discovered and a railroad was constructed into Glastenbury Mountain.  Many transient workers settled in the surrounding region to tap this natural resource for logging.   Apparently, dozens of kilns were built as the town began to produce charcoal (converting it's lumber into charcoal, which "fed" the iron industry in nearby towns).

"By the late 1880s, however, the mountain had been cleared of nearly all of its mature trees, and the town’s economy dipped dramatically. In 1889 the railroad operation ceased. It was revived briefly in 1894 as an electric passenger trolley run by the Bennington & Woodford Railroad and a brief and initially promising effort was made to convert South Glastenbury to a tourist attraction. A small fortune was spent to convert the area into a mountain resort area which opened in the summer of 1898. Unfortunately, a "freshet" wiped out the railroad tracks that winter, marking the beginning of the end of Glastenbury as a functioning town. Population dwindled in the early twentieth century, down to only seven in 1937, when the legislature unincorporated the town." - Wikipedia

..."Stories of strange happenings had been told about Glastenbury and the surrounding area for many years prior to the disappearances in the 1940s, the best-known of which is probably that of Paula Jean Welden.

Between 1945 and 1950 five people disappeared in the Bennington area. The first occurred on November 12, 1945 when 74-year-old Middie Rivers disappeared while out hunting. Rivers was guiding a group of four hunters up the mountains. On the way back Rivers got ahead of the rest of the group and was never seen again. An extensive search was conducted and the only evidence found was a single rifle shell that was found in a stream. The speculation was that Rivers had leaned over and the shell had dropped out of his pocket into the water. The disappearance had occurred in the Long Trail Road area and U.S. Route 9. Rivers was an experienced hunter and fisherman and was familiar with the local area.

Paula Welden, 18, disappeared about a year later on December 1, 1946. Welden was an a sophomore at Bennington College. She had set out for a hike on the Long Trail. Many saw her go, including Ernest Whitman, a Bennington Banner employee who gave her directions. She was alleged to have been seen on the trail itself by an elderly couple who were about a 100 yards (91 m) behind her. According to them, she turned a corner in the trail, and when they reached the same corner, she had disappeared.  When Welden never returned to her college an extensive search was conducted which included the posting of a $5,000 reward and help from the FBI, however, no evidence of her was ever found. Unconfirmed rumors speculated that she had moved to Canada with a boyfriend or that she become a recluse living in the mountains.

The third occurrence took place when a veteran James E. Tedford (also spelled as Teford or Tetford) disappeared on December 1, 1949, exactly three years after Paula Welden had disappeared. Tedford was a resident of the Bennington Soldiers' Home. He had been in St. Albans visiting relatives. He was returning home on the local bus when he vanished. According to witnesses, Tedford got on the bus and was still on the bus at the last stop before arriving in Bennington. Somewhere between the last stop and Bennington, Tedford vanished. His belongings were still in the luggage rack and an open bus timetable was on his vacant seat.

The fourth person to vanish was eight-year-old Paul Jepson. On October 12, 1950, Jepson had accompanied his mother in a truck. She left her son unattended while she fed some pigs. His mother was gone for about an hour. When she returned her son was nowhere in sight. Search parties were formed to look for the child. Nothing was ever found, though Jepson was wearing a bright red jacket that should have made him more visible.  According to one story, bloodhounds tracked the boy to a local highway, where, according to local legend, four years earlier Paula Welden had disappeared.

The fifth and last disappearance occurred sixteen days after Jepson had vanished. On October 28, 1950, Freida Langer, 53, and her cousin Herbert Elsner left their family campsite near the Somerset Reservoir to go on a hike. During the hike Langer slipped and fell into stream. She told Elsner if he would wait, she would go back to the campsite, change clothes and catch up to him. When she did not return, Elsner made his way back to the campsite and found Langer had not returned and that nobody had seen her since they had left. Over the next two weeks a total of five searches were conducted involving aircraft, helicopters and up to 300 searchers. No trace of the woman was found then. On May 12, 1951, her body was found near Somerset Reservoir, in an area that had been extensively searched seven months previously. Because of the long time the body had been exposed to the elements, no cause of death could be determined.

Langer was last person to disappear and the only one whose body was found. No direct connections have been identified that tie these cases together – other than general geographic area and time period." - Wikipedia