If you want to get a reaction from any native of Catskill or Athens, New York, just ask one question: "Can I talk to you about The Cannon?" In an instant, a smile will appear, followed by a chuckle: "The cannon?"
Catskill and Athens are small, generally quiet towns only four miles apart. Just to their east flows the Hudson River; to the west rise the renowned Catskill Mountains, rich with green, rolling hillsides and clustered knolls of pine, maple, and oak trees. The beauty of the region is shared by the villages, which also share a special kinship reinforced by marriages and friendships down through the years.
The two towns have been called sister villages, and they have maintained close relations for nearly two centuries. But there was a time when Catskill and Athens residents' lips curled on sight of each other. They were at war, of sorts - a war over the ownership of a 660-pound bronze cannon.
It all started not long after the War of 1812. Both Catskill and Athens had hosted artillery companies during that war, and when the conflict ended, the U.S. government recalled all the weapons from these companies - all, that is, except a six pounder cannon that was left behind (as it happened, in Athens) to defend both towns.
Request Denied
Just before the Fourth of July in 1820, the good people of Catskill decided to have a grand celebration in honor of Independence Day. And what better way to do so, they thought, than to fire the cannon, giving everyone in town an opportunity to enjoy its thunderous clatter. So the Catskillians sent a petition to Athens, whose good burghers (either for spite or just plain fun) denied the request. The rebuff did not sit well in Catskill.
That evening, a group of spirited Catskill men gathered to grumble over their situation. It was, of course, the principle of the thing that riled them: Imagine - Athens had refused to share its cannon for such an important celebration! The more the men talked it over, the more ale passed their lips, and the more enraged they grew. They devised a plan to be carried out two days before the Fourth.
There was a crescent moon the night the Catskill raiders rode out toward Athens. Some were on horseback; others traveled in a strong open wagon, the sturdiest they could find, with a back gate that dropped to the ground.
In the pitch-darkness, the men moved northward. Their adrenaline flowed faster as they neared their destination. Every candle in Athens had been snuffed out hours earlier, and the residents slept peacefully, unaware their tiny village was being invaded.
The Catskillians, their hearts beating fast, found the object of their search locked in the old Athens arsenal. As quickly and quietly as possible, the men hauled the heavy cannon up the homemade gangplank into the wagon. Then, almost tipsy from their find, they headed for home, making such a racket in the humid July air that the Athenians were stirred from their slumbers.
The people of Athens knew what
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