This tale originally appeared in Episode 003 – Salty Bill’s Limp Richard

One of our favorite ghosts here at Booze + Spirits, for reasons that are immediately apparent, is that of William Richardson, sometimes called “The Pitcher Man”…

Richard lived during the American Revolutionary War in Goose Creek, which today is part of Rockport, ME. During the war it was common for all the men of fit and fighting age to get sent off on the front lines, so small outlying communities like Goose River were often left solely to the care of the women, children, infirmed, and elderly. As you might imagine this made these small towns easy targets, and as such Goose River was often hounded by Redcoats looking to break support for the Revolutionaries by harassing locals and raiding homes for supplies.

Interestingly, rather than breaking the locals though, the constant harassment by their agitators instead inspired them to look for ways to cock things up for the annoying Brits wherever they could. (Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose, non?) The remaining inhabitants of Goose River would often hide in the tree lines and take pot shots at Redcoat landing parties rowing to shore from their ships. A couple of the older men starting wreaking havoc by sitting just in earshot of the Redcoats, one playing roll call on his drum while the other yelled out military commands, giving the impression of regiments of Patriots nearby just out of sight. But it was the real star of the group, William Richardson, who would go down in local history for his actions.

One evening, American privateer Samuel Tucker had acquired a large shipment of tea from a poorly watched British vessel and as a result soon found himself being pursued by an imperial warship down the Maine coast. Being an avid fisherman and possessed with intimate knowledge of the narrow rocky island passes that dot the area, William Richardson came to Tucker’s aid, helping him navigate the hazardous coastline, and guiding him to a hiding spot near Harpswell.

Harpswell lies in a channel in the middle of Sebascodegan Island, and the Brits were well aware of the dangerous, irregular channels throughout. Knowing that their warship couldn’t pursue Tucker through the treacherous passages, they decided instead to play a waiting game and set up a blockade, waiting for the moment Tucker and Richardson would inevitably have to come back out of hiding and attempt to flee to safety before daylight exposed their position. Tucker was worried, but William Richardson knew these seas and the more importantly the weather well, eventually convincing him they just needed to sit tight until the next storm.

Sure enough, a storm rolled in, and the squall demanded much of the Brits attention. Again, using that intimate knowledge of the local waters, Richardson and Tucker crept their vessels through the rough waters and escaped unseen past the blockade. By the time the Brits realized what had happened, Tucker was long gone and well on his way to the safety of Boston Harbor.

When the war ended in 1783, all of Goose River celebrated, and none more than William Richardson. He threw a large party at his home, but as the last guest departed for the evening, he decided that was no reason to let the party die out. Richard set to grabbing a pitcher, filling it with ale, and began roaming into town, greeting folks in the streets, knocking on doors, and trying to rally some compatriot party-goers.

While crossing the Goose River bridge, Richardson ran across three men and approached them, as he had everyone he encountered that evening, to join in his festivities. Unbeknownst to him, these three were Tories–men still loyal to the British crown, and none too happy about the colonists recent victory. One man clubbed him in the head, and trio left him unconscious on the bridge, where he succumbed to his injury and died before someone else happened to find him.

Ever since then, Goose Creek bridge and its different incarnations and modernizations over the years have been haunted by Richardson, often seen staggering around, pitcher in-hand and looking for more party goers. He is often simply called ‘The Pitcher Man’.

The biggest spat of Pitcher Man sightings comes from the 1950’s, when the area became popular as a ‘Lover’s Lane’ spot for hot and bothered teens to park their car and get frisky where they wouldn’t be noticed by prying eyes. So they were all the more surprised to see a man in Revolutionary-era clothing stumble out of the woods, pitcher in-hand, and tapping on their car window looking for someone to share a drink with him. Reports of The Pitcher Man became such an issue that eventually a sign was posted on the site, reading “no trespassing between sunset and sunrise” (though some more skeptical folks might think it has more to do with the teenage canoodling).

Either way, an American hero and a ghost that never wants to see the party die is definitely a ghost that we here at Booze + Spirits feel is worthy of remembering and celebrating.

Cover photo by Eric Muhr on Unsplash