In the southeastern part of New York, thirty miles from the famous metropolitan city, and situated on the banks of that beautiful river which has been so fittingly called the Rhine of America, is the little village of Haverstraw. Just beyond loom the peaks of the Catskills, like grim sentinels in gray, sleeplessly guarding the surrounding country.
Here, as in other regions, Romance has often clasped her golden chain on many a lovely and historic scene. Here also is verified the old adage, that Truth is stranger than Fiction,—and, it may be concluded, sadder.
More than a century since, when our country was in that condition of tumult which must necessarily accompany war,—when the cry of every brave heart echoed and re-echoed Patrick Henry's noble sentiment, "Give me liberty, or give me death,"—a band of miserable men, overcome by slavish fear, deserted the charges entrusted to them, and, with their wives and children, fled from their homes, and sought refuge in the mountains.
