In hushed tones, they called them “shovers of the queer.” The “queer” was money, homemade money. Today we would call them counterfeiters.

In the early 1800s, according to newspaper clippings, a gang of these culprits operated out of the remote town of Chesterville for several years. There they minted their money in secret and spent it freely on trading trips all over Maine and Canada. Four men were directly involved in the scheme. Legend has it that many more in Chesterville knew, or at least suspected, what was going on, but kept their mouths shut. For years these thieves made and spent their own currency and lived quietly without detection.

The counterfeiters made “silver” by melting lead and mixing it with pounded glass. The powdered glass gave the coins a shine and ring that made them seem like real silver. They poured the molten mixture into molds and pressed an image onto each coin to make the engraving look genuine. The result was illicit but believable silver dollars and half dollars. Rumor has it that the gang also printed paper money and could turn out passable one-, two- and five dollar bills.

The residents of Chesterville kept quiet about what they knew or suspected, possibly because the affluent counterfeiters were good for business in the small community. And if local people were taking counterfeit money for their produce, they would want to be able to spend it outside of town without suspicion.

Eventually, suspicion grew, and the authorities descended upon the tiny community. However, suspicion and apprehension are two different things, and the criminals proved hard to catch. One time, law enforcement officers zeroed in on two gang members in Chesterville when they were carrying quantities of the counterfeit silver. The culprits ran into the woods with the law chasing them. Deep in the trees, the crooks stopped at an overturned birch stump, dropped the silver into the hole beneath, and placed the stump back over the hole. When the authorities caught up with them, the suspects had no money in their pockets. No money, no conviction.

Another time, local authorities thought they had their man. He was high on a ladder, shingling the roof of a two-story house in Chesterville Mills. In his pocket was a wad of counterfeit bills. While an officer was climbing up his ladder to apprehend him, the crook took the bills from his pocket and smoothed them out on the roof. He covered the bills with a shingle and hammered it down. Once again, the officer found no money. No evidence, no conviction.

Legend has it that time finally ran out for two of the counterfeiters, who were tried, convicted and sent to Thomaston, and that this was enough of a deterrent for the others to stop their illegal ways.

For a long time after Chesterville’s black market currency had ceased circulating, traces of the town’s shady past continued to surface. Years later, workers repairing a roof in Chesterville Mills were amazed to discover a pile of money beneath a shingle. The bills were crisp and clean and looked as fresh and new as the day they were made.

Luann Yetter has researched and written a history column for the Sun Journal for the past 10 years. She teaches writing at the University of Maine at Farmington. Additional research for this column was provided by University of Farmington student David Farady.