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Athens, Georgia, “the Classic City,” has many claims to fame, some better known than others.

It is, of course, the home of the University of Georgia, the oldest state-chartered university in the US of A and the alma mater of yr obdt servnt.

Athens also has a flourishing music scene, the most notable products of which are R.E.M. and the B-52s. Numerous bands, bars, and clubs sprouted in the 1970s, and rock music remains a big part of Athens life today.

The city also has a robust bicycle culture that hosts several amateur and professional races each year. The big daddy of the pro races, the Athens Twilight Criterium, has been on the National Cycling Calendar for 18 years.

But in addition, Athens is known for three other claims to fame that, I submit, are just as unique and fascinating. Here is one of them..

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Sitting at the ready on the lawn of Athens City Hall is a relic of the Civil War, appropriately pointing north: an iron cannon featuring twin barrels, side by side.

The cannon is four feet, eight inches long and weighs 1300 pounds. Each bore is three and thirteen-hundredths inches in diameter. The weapon was cast in one piece.

Each barrel has its own touch hole, so it can be fired independently of the other, plus a common touch hole in the center, designed to fire both barrels simultaneously. More or less.

The cannon was designed by Athens native John Gilleland and built at a local foundry in 1863, a time when an attack by invading Northern armies was a very real fear.

Gilleland was a private in the “Mitchell Thunderbolts,” a home guard unit made up of Athens business and professional men.

The home guard was created as an alternative method of service for men who were ineligible to serve in the Confederate Army due to age or disability. But at the time, it was not uncommon for a man of means to pay someone else to go to war in his place. You have to wonder how many men used the home guard to avoid the fighting.

Gilliland’s cannon was designed to be loaded with two balls connected by a length of chain. The barrels would be fired simultaneously, and the cannonballs would whirl out and “mow down the enemy as a scythe cuts wheat.” Yikes!

After the cannon was built, it was taken to a field to be test-fired on a target of upright poles.

Both muzzles were loaded. The connecting chain dangled between the barrels. The cannon was fired.

In 1863, there was no way to fire both barrels at the same precise instant, so the cannonballs did not blast forth exactly together. Instead, one ball left slightly before the other, pulling its mate off course. Then the chain snapped, and the cannonballs went in different and unpredictable directions.

A witness to the firing reported that the projectile “had a kind of circular motion, plowed up an acre of ground, tore up a cornfield, and mowed down saplings.

“The chain broke, the two balls going in opposite directions. One of the balls killed a cow in a distant field, while the other knocked down the chimney from a log cabin.

“The observers scattered as though the entire Yankee army had been turned loose in that vicinity.”

Although the test was widely regarded as a failure, Gilliland insisted that his invention could be fine-tuned and used successfully.

He sent the cannon to the Augusta Arsenal for further tests. The commander of the arsenal tested the cannon and reported it to be a failure.

Gilliland next appealed to the Confederate Secretary of War. After a contentious series of letters, Gilliland was turned down.

He then sent the cannon to the Governor of Georgia and asked for state funds to experiment further. The Governor declined. The cannon was returned to Athens.

Without a workable firing device, the cannon was useless. Gilliland gave up. He presented it to the City of Athens and faded from history.

According to legend, the cannon was placed in front of City Hall and loaded with blank shot. A local dignitary was appointed Master of the Cannon.

The Master’s job was to fire the cannon on the approach of any Yankees. The women and children were to gather in City Hall, and the men were to form a circle around the building and valiantly protect their loved ones.

One Sunday morning, when the women and children were in church and the men were napping at home, a group of mischievous boys fired the cannon. Pandemonium ensued.

The downtown churches emptied. Women ran screaming into the streets. Men ran through the town in their underwear.

It was said that when the dust settled, City Hall was packed full of men, and women were pounding on the door, trying to get in. So much for valor.

Today, a century and a half later, the double-barreled cannon continues its vigil in front of Athens City Hall.

Although no longer primed to fire — a wise decision by the city fathers — the double-barreled cannon remains an object of curiosity for tourists and a favorite subject of photographers.

The double-barreled cannon stands silent watch in Athens, Georgia.