But their graves
need no headstones to tell of the valor, nobleness of purpose,
and self-sacrifice that our nation might live and breathe the
pure air of freedom. As we gazed with tear-stained eyes at these
nameless graves we felt that exaltation of spirit which comes
when some grand triumphant strain of music fills the soul. White
anemones nod on their slender stems and blood root still sheds
its white petals upon the mounds as if to hallow the sacred
spot.
>From New Hamburg you see a curious projection on the west shore
of the river known as the Duyvil's Dans Kamer (Devil's Dance
Chamber). On this projecting rock, containing about one-half
acre, the Indians used to hold their powwows. Here by the glow
of their fires, that brought out weird, spectral shadows they
assembled.
If you could behold this place as it appeared in their day, when
owls sent their mysterious greetings and the melancholy plaint
of the whippoorwill, like voices from wandering spirits, mingled
with the wail of night winds, you would not wonder why the red
man chose this spot to practice his strange rites with wild,
savage ceremonies to invoke the Evil Spirit.
