A short distance from the green in old Winchester, about a half mile from the center on the turnpike leading to Colebrook, is a patch of land low and marshy and now covered with sprouts. In the center of this spot is an eminence of considerable height as round as an inverted bowl. Many have thought that this was an Indian mound, while in the early days some believed it to be the tomb of the powerful chieftains Nepaug and Ouleout. The following account of the last and wonderful battle between those two famous warriors is taken from an old Black Letter volume long out of print:
Nepaug was an old chieftain whose wigwam and hunting ground was in North Torrington, later known as Newfield. His figure was short and almost squat, his face round and of the color of rusty copper, while from his prominent nose and large ears depended rings that had been out of some arm or shin bone of an enemy. He was the reigning chief over a band of unruly warriors that were a bunch of regular land pirates. Another chief equally grave and most successful in battle was Ouleout, whose wigwam was near the Goshen line, on the border of Winchester, not far from the famous trout stream that winds through Hall Meadow. Ouleout was a noble specimen of the Indian warrior. He stood about six feet in his moccasins and his rich blanket was covered with wampum and parti-colored beads. His braves were young and athletic. War clouds gathered between these two selfish chieftains. They had trespassed upon each other's hunting grounds and their Indian blood was up and war was declared.
Old Nepaug with his band of warriors crept slyly up the hills and through the dark forests, up by the old dugway in Sucker Brook and over Brewer hill, where he came to a halt and awaited the approach of his hated rival. Chief Ouleout, too, with his faithful band came toward the north and over the Ben Preston trail, or by Prestonville, as it was called, and skulking through the weeds and brush until they reached the battleground near the present turnpike.
It was near to midnight and only the stars looked upon the scene. Ouleout soon caught glimpse of the scalplock of old Nepaug and with a terrible whoop rushed upon his foe. The battle at once became general. Around the base of the mound were fearful strugglings and many a life went out at the foot of that marvelous mound. Ouleout and his braves were determined to conquer or die. Chief Nepaug, soon wounded and bleeding, fled in dismay, followed by his disheartened band, back to their wigwams in Newfield, while Ouleout and his victorious braves filled the night with their exultant whoops.
Nepaug lived but a few years, moody and melancholy, and one autumn morning died and was hid away under a bluff back of the meeting house on the west side of the road, where a rude stone may be seen that marks his last resting place.
Ouleout, victorious, returned to his wigwam in Winchester, where he lived in honor on his old hunting ground for many years. He finally succumbed to time and age and his remains were deposited at the foot of a large rock, on whose face the figures of a tomahawk and scalping knife are faintly discernible even to the present day. It is the only rock of such huge proportions on the mountain, and it was around this same boulder that the brave warriors performed their war dance from time to time to the music of their infernal howlings, while their squaws swung their papooses from the branches of the trees that encircled it.
The names of the warriors are forgotten, but around their last battleground at the dead of night it is whispered that wonderful sights may be witnessed and strange sounds be heard. It is said at certain changes of the moon a phantom fight can be seen around and over that old ghost-haunted mound and headless warriors and screaming squaws can be seen flying.
Another old brave called Paugnut, who was at the last battle of Chief Ouleout, saw him laid away at the foot of the great boulder with all due rites and ceremonies, and then took his departure from the mountain that had been his home so long, forever. He wandered lone and melancholy for a time over the countryside, sad and broken-hearted. At last he sought the wild and romantic spot near Winsted known as Still River Falls. There on a huge boulder or cliff stood the gnarled trunk of a gigantic tree. Upon its branches he hung his favorite bow, struck his tomahawk into its body and in a low and dirgelike tone chanted his death song and then threw himself headlong into the boiling waters below. Thus perished theh last of the braves who were wont to tread the rugged soil of old Winchester.