|
Found among the papers of the late
Diedrech Knickerbocker.
A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, Of
dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
Forever flushing round a summer sky.
Castle of Indolence.
In the bosom of one of those spacious
coves which indent the eastern shore of the
Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river
denominated by the ancient Dutch
navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they
always prudently shortened sail and
implored the protection of St. Nicholas
when they crossed, there lies a small
market town or rural port, which by some is
called Greensburgh, but which is more
generally and properly known by the name
of Tarry Town. This name was given, we
are told, in former days, by the good
housewives of the adjacent country, from
the inveterate propensity of their husbands
to linger about the village tavern on market
days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the
fact, but merely advert to it, for the sake of
being precise and authentic. Not far from
this village, perhaps about two miles, there
is a little valley or rather lap of land among
high hills, which is one of the quietest
places in the whole world. A small brook
glides through it, with just murmur enough to
lull one to repose; and the occasional
whistle of a quail or tapping of a
| woodpecker is almost the only sound that
ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.
I recollect that, when a stripling, my first
exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove
of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of
the valley. I had wandered into it at
noontime, when all nature is peculiarly
quiet, and was startled by the roar of my
own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness
around and was prolonged and
reverberated by the angry echoes. If ever I
should wish for a retreat whither I might
steal from the world and its distractions,
and dream quietly away the remnant of a
troubled life, I know of none more promising
than this little valley.
From the listless repose of the place, and
the peculiar character of its inhabitants,
who are descendants from the original
Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has
long been known by the name of SLEEPY
HOLLOW, and its rustic lads are called the
Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the
neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy
influence seems to hang over the land, and
to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say
that the place was bewitched by a High
German doctor, during the early days of the
settlement; others, that an old Indian chief,
the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his
powwows there before the country was
discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson.
Certain it is, the place still continues under
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the sway of some witching power, that
holds a spell over the minds of the good
people, causing them to walk in a continual
reverie. They are given to all kinds of
marvelous beliefs; are subject to trances
and visions, and frequently see strange
sights, and hear music and voices in the air.
The whole neighborhood abounds with
local tales, haunted spots, and twilight
superstitions; stars shoot and meteors
glare oftener across the valley than in any
other part of the country, and the nightmare,
with her whole ninefold, seems to make it
the favorite scene of her gambols.
The dominant spirit, however, that haunts
this enchanted region, and seems to be
commander-in-chief of all the powers of
the air, is the apparition of a figure on
horseback, without a head. It is said by
some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper,
whose head had been carried away by a
cannon-ball, in some nameless battle
during the Revolutionary War, and who is
ever and anon seen by the country folk
hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on
the wings of the wind. His haunts are not
confined to the valley, but extend at times to
the adjacent roads, and especially to the
vicinity of a church at no great distance.
Indeed, certain of the most authentic
historians of those parts, who have been
careful in collecting and collating the floating
facts concerning this spectre, allege that the
body of the trooper having been buried in
the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the
scene of battle in nightly quest of his head,
and that the rushing speed with which he
sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a
midnight blast, is owing to his being
belated, and in a hurry to get back to the
churchyard before daybreak.
Such is the general purport of this legendary
superstition, which has furnished materials
for many a wild story in that region of
| shadows; and the spectre is known at all the
country firesides, by the name of the
Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.
It is remarkable that the visionary propensity
I have mentioned is not confined to the
native inhabitants of the valley, but is
unconsciously imbibed by every one who
resides there for a time. However wide
awake they may have been before they
entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in
a little time, to inhale the witching influence
of the air, and begin to grow imaginative, to
dream dreams, and see apparitions.
I mention this peaceful spot with all possible
laud for it is in such little retired Dutch
valleys, found here and there embosomed
in the great State of New York, that
population, manners, and customs remain
fixed, while the great torrent of migration
and improvement, which is making such
incessant changes in other parts of this
restless country, sweeps by them
unobserved. They are like those little nooks
of still water, which border a rapid stream,
where we may see the straw and
bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly
revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed
by the rush of the passing current. Though
many years have elapsed since I trod the
drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I
question whether I should not still find the
same trees and the same families
vegetating in its sheltered bosom.
In this by-place of nature there abode, in a
remote period of American history, that is to
say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight
of the name of Ichabod Crane, who
sojourned, or, as he expressed it, "tarried,"
in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of
instructing the children of the vicinity. He
was a native of Connecticut, a State which
supplies the Union with pioneers for the
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mind as well as for the forest, and sends
forth yearly its legions of frontier woodmen
and country schoolmasters. The cognomen
of Crane was not inapplicable to his person.
He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with
narrow shoulders, long arms and legs,
hands that dangled a mile out of his
sleeves, feet that might have served for
shovels, and his whole frame most loosely
hung together. His head was small, and flat
at top, with huge ears, large green glassy
eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it
looked like a weather-cock perched upon
his spindle neck to tell which way the wind
blew. To see him striding along the profile
of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes
bagging and fluttering about him, one might
have mistaken him for the genius of famine
descending upon the earth, or some
scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.
His schoolhouse was a low building of one
large room, rudely constructed of logs; the
windows partly glazed, and partly patched
with leaves of old copybooks. It was most
ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a
*withe twisted in the handle of the door, and
stakes set against the window shutters; so
that though a thief might get in with perfect
ease, he would find some embarrassment
in getting out, --an idea most probably
borrowed by the architect, Yost Van
Houten, from the mystery of an eelpot. The
schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but
pleasant situation, just at the foot of a
woody hill, with a brook running close by,
and a formidable birch-tree growing at one
end of it. From hence the low murmur of his
pupils' voices, conning over their lessons,
might be heard in a drowsy summer's day,
like the hum of a beehive; interrupted now
and then by the authoritative voice of the
master, in the tone of menace or command,
or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of
the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer
along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth
| to say, he was a conscientious man, and
ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "Spare
the rod and spoil the child." Ichabod Crane's
scholars certainly were not spoiled.
I would not have it imagined, however, that
he was one of those cruel potentates of the
school who joy in the smart of their
subjects; on the contrary, he administered
justice with discrimination rather than
severity; taking the burden off the backs of
the weak, and laying it on those of the
strong. Your mere puny stripling, that
winced at the least flourish of the rod, was
passed by with indulgence; but the claims
of justice were satisfied by inflicting a
double portion on some little tough wrong
headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who
sulked and swelled and grew dogged and
sullen beneath the birch. All this he called
"doing his duty by their parents;" and he
never inflicted a chastisement without
following it by the assurance, so
consolatory to the smarting urchin, that "he
would remember it and thank him for it the
longest day he had to live."
When school hours were over, he was even
the companion and playmate of the larger
boys; and on holiday afternoons would
convoy some of the smaller ones home,
who happened to have pretty sisters, or
good housewives for mothers, noted for the
comforts of the cupboard. Indeed, it
behooved him to keep on good terms with
his pupils. The revenue arising from his
school was small, and would have been
scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily
bread, for he was a huge feeder, and,
though lank, had the dilating powers of an
anaconda; but to help out his maintenance,
he was, according to country custom in
those parts, boarded and lodged at the
houses of the farmers whose children he
instructed. With these he lived successively
a week at a time, thus going the rounds of
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the neighborhood, with all his worldly
effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief.
That all this might not be too onerous on the
purses of his rustic patrons, who are apt to
considered the costs of schooling a
grievous burden, and schoolmasters as
mere drones he had various ways of
rendering himself both useful and
agreeable. He assisted the farmers
occasionally in the lighter labors of their
farms, helped to make hay, mended the
fences, took the horses to water, drove the
cows from pasture, and cut wood for the
winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the
dominant dignity and absolute sway with
which he lorded it in his little empire, the
school, and became wonderfully gentle and
ingratiating. He found favor in the eyes of
the mothers by petting the children,
particularly the youngest; and like the lion
bold, which whilom so magnanimously the
lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on
one knee, and rock a cradle with his foot for
whole hours together.
In addition to his other vocations, he was the
singing master of the neighborhood, and
picked up many bright shillings by
instructing the young folks in psalmody. It
was a matter of no little vanity to him on
Sundays, to take his station in front of the
church gallery, with a band of chosen
singers; where, in his own mind, he
completely carried away the palm from the
parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded
far above all the rest of the congregation;
and there are peculiar quavers still to be
heard in that church, and which may even be
heard half a mile off, quite to the opposite
side of the mill-pond, on a still Sunday
morning, which are said to be legitimately
descended from the nose of Ichabod
Crane. Thus, by divers little makeshifts, in
that ingenious way which is commonly
denominated "by hook and by crook," the
| worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough,
and was thought, by all who understood
nothing of the labor of headwork, to have a
wonderfully easy life of it.
The schoolmaster is generally a man of
some importance in the female circle of a
rural neighborhood; being considered a
kind of idle, gentlemanlike personage, of
vastly superior taste and accomplishments
to the rough country swains, and, indeed,
inferior in learning only to the parson. His
appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion
some little stir at the tea-table of a
farmhouse, and the addition of a
supernumerary dish of cakes or
sweetmeats, or, peradventure, the parade
of a silver teapot. Our man of letters,
therefore, was peculiarly happy in the
smiles of all the country damsels. How he
would figure among them in the churchyard,
between services on Sundays; gathering
grapes for them from the wild vines that
overran the surrounding trees; reciting for
their amusement all the epitaphs on the
tombstones; or sauntering, with a whole
bevy of them, along the banks of the
adjacent mill-pond; while the more bashful
country bumpkins hung sheepishly back,
envying his superior elegance and address.
From his half-itinerant life, also, he was a
kind of traveling gazette, carrying the whole
budget of local gossip from house to house,
so that his appearance was always greeted
with satisfaction. He was, moreover,
esteemed by the women as a man of great
erudition, for he had read several books
quite through, and was a perfect master of
Cotton Mather's "History of New England
Witchcraft," in which, by the way, he most
firmly and potently believed.
He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small
shrewdness and simple credulity. His
appetite for the marvelous, and his powers
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of digesting it, were equally extraordinary;
and both had been increased by his
residence in this spell-bound region. No
tale was too gross or monstrous for his
capacious swallow. It was often his delight,
after his school was dismissed in the
afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed
of clover bordering the little brook that
whimpered by his school-house, and there
con over old Mather's direful tales, until the
gathering dusk of evening made the printed
page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as
he wended his way by swamp and stream
and awful woodland, to the farmhouse
where he happened to be quartered, every
sound of nature, at that witching hour,
fluttered his excited imagination, --the
moan of the whip-poor-will from the
hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, that
harbinger of storm, the dreary hooting of the
screech owl, to the sudden rustling in the
thicket of birds frightened from their roost.
The fireflies, too, which sparkled most
vividly in the darkest places, now and then
startled him, as one of uncommon
brightness would stream across his path;
and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a
beetle came winging his blundering flight
against him, the poor varlet was ready to
give up the ghost, with the idea that he was
struck with a witch's token. His only
resource on such occasions, either to
drown thought or drive away evil spirits,
was to sing psalm tunes and the good
people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by
their doors of an evening, were often filled
with awe at hearing his nasal melody, "in
linked sweetness long drawn out," floating
from the distant hill, or along the dusky road.
Another of his sources of fearful pleasure
was to pass long winter evenings with the
old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the
fire, with a row of apples roasting and
spluttering along the hearth, and listen to
their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins,
| and haunted fields, and haunted brooks,
and haunted bridges, and haunted houses,
and particularly of the headless horseman,
or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they
sometimes called him. He would delight
them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft,
and of the direful omens and portentous
sights and sounds in the air, which
prevailed in the earlier times of
Connecticut; and would frighten them
woefully with speculations upon comets and
shooting stars; and with the alarming fact
that the world did absolutely turn round, and
that they were half the time topsy-turvy!
But if there was a pleasure in all this, while
snugly cuddling in the chimney corner of a
chamber that was all of a ruddy glow from
the crackling wood fire, and where, of
course, no spectre dared to show its face, it
was dearly purchased by the terrors of his
subsequent walk homewards. What fearful
shapes and shadows beset his path,
amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy
night! With what wistful look did he eye every
trembling ray of light streaming across the
waste fields from some distant window!
How often was he appalled by some shrub
covered with snow, which, like a sheeted
spectre, beset his very path! How often did
he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of
his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his
feet; and dread to look over his shoulder,
lest he should behold some uncouth being
tramping close behind him! and how often
was he thrown into complete dismay by
some rushing blast, howling among the
trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping
Hessian on one of his nightly scourings!
All these, however, were mere terrors of the
night, phantoms of the mind that walk in
darkness; and though he had seen many
spectres in his time, and been more than
once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his
lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an
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end to all these evils; and he would have
passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the
Devil and all his works, if his path had not
been crossed by a being that causes more
perplexity to mortal man than ghosts,
goblins, and the whole race of witches put
together, and that was--a woman.
Among the musical disciples who
assembled, one evening in each week, to
receive his instructions in psalmody, was
Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only
child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was
a booming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as
a partridge; ripe and melting and rosy-
cheeked as one of her father's peaches,
and universally famed, not merely for her
beauty, but her vast expectations. She was
withal a little of a coquette, as might be
perceived even in her dress, which was a
mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as
most suited to set of her charms. She wore
the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which
her great-great-grandmother had brought
over from Saar dam; the tempting
stomacher of the olden time, and withal a
provokingly short petticoat, to display the
prettiest foot and ankle in the country round.
Ichahod Crane had a soft and foolish heart
towards the sex; and it is not to be
wondered at, that so tempting a morsel
soon found favor in his eyes, more
especially after he had visited her in her
paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel
was a perfect picture of a thriving,
contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He
seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his
thoughts beyond the boundaries of his own
farm; but within those everything was snug,
happy and well-conditioned. He was
satisfied with his wealth, but not proud of it;
and piqued himself upon the hearty
abundance, rather than the style in which he
lived. His stronghold was situated on the
banks of the Hudson, in one of those green,
| sheltered, fertile nooks in which the Dutch
farmers are so fond of nestling. A great elm
tree spread its broad branches over it, at
the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the
softest and sweetest water, in a little well
formed of a barrel; and then stole sparkling
away through the grass, to a neighboring
brook, that babbled along among alders
and dwarf willows. Hard by the farmhouse
was a vast barn, that might have served for
a church; every window and crevice of
which seemed bursting forth with the
treasures of the farm; the flail was busily
resounding within it from morning to night;
swallows and martins skimmed twittering
about the eaves; an rows of pigeons, some
with one eye turned up, as if watching the
weather, some with their heads under their
wings or buried in their bosoms, and others
swelling, and cooing, and bowing about
their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on
the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers were
grunting in the repose and abundance of
their pens, from whence sallied forth, now
and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to
snuff the air. A stately squadron of snowy
geese were riding in an adjoining pond,
convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments
of turkeys were gobbling through the
farmyard, and Guinea fowls fretting about
it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their
peevish, discontented cry. Before the barn
door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of
a husband, a warrior and a fine gentleman,
clapping his burnished wings and crowing
in the pride and gladness of his heart, --
sometimes tearing up the earth with his
feet, and then generously calling his ever-
hungry family of wives and children to enjoy
the rich morsel which he had discovered.
The pedagogue's mouth watered as he
looked upon this sumptuous promise of
luxurious winter fare. In his devouring
mind's eye, he pictured to himself every
roasting-pig running about with a pudding
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in his belly, and an apple in his mouth; the
pigeons were snugly put to bed in a
comfortable pie, and tucked in with a
coverlet of crust; the geese were swimming
in their own gravy; and the ducks pairing
cosily in dishes, like snug married couples,
with a decent competency of onion sauce.
In the porkers he saw carved out the future
sleek side of bacon, and juicy relishing
ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily
trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing,
and, peradventure, a necklace of savory
sausages; and even bright chanticleer
himself lay sprawling on his back, in a side
dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that
quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained
to ask while living.
As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this,
and as he rolled his great green eyes over
the fat meadow lands, the rich fields of
wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian
corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy
fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement
of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the
damsel who was to inherit these domains,
and his imagination expanded with the
idea, how they might be readily turned into
cash, and the money invested in immense
tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in
the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already
realized his hopes, and presented to him
the blooming Katrina, with a whole family of
children, mounted on the top of a wagon
loaded with household trumpery, with pots
and kettles dangling beneath; and he
beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare,
with a colt at her heels, setting out for
Kentucky, Tennessee, --or the Lord knows
where!
When he entered the house, the conquest of
his heart was complete. It was one of those
spacious farmhouses, with high ridged but
lowly sloping roofs, built in the style handed
down from the first Dutch settlers; the low
| projecting eaves forming a piazza along the
front, capable of being closed up in bad
weather. Under this were hung flails,
harness, various utensils of husbandry, and
nets for fishing in the neighboring river.
Benches were built along the sides for
summer use; and a great spinning-wheel at
one end, and a churn at the other, showed
the various uses to which this important
porch might be devoted. From this piazza
the wondering Ichabod entered the hall,
which formed the centre of the mansion,
and the place of usual residence. Here rows
of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long
dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner
stood a huge bag of wool, ready to be spun;
in another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey just
from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and
strings of dried apples and peaches, hung
in gay festoons along the walls, mingled
with the gaud of red peppers; and a door
left ajar gave him a peep into the best
parlor, where the claw-footed chairs and
dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors;
andirons, with their accompanying shovel
and tongs, glistened from their covert of
asparagus tops; mock oranges and conch
shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of
various-colored birds eggs were
suspended above it; a great ostrich egg
was hung from the centre of the room, and a
corner cupboard, knowingly left open,
displayed immense treasures of old silver
and well-mended china.
From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes
upon these regions of delight, the peace of
his mind was at an end, and his only study
was how to gain the affections of the
peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this
enterprise, however, he had more real
difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a
knight-errant of yore, who seldom had
anything but giants, enchanters, fiery
dragons, and such like easily conquered
adversaries, to contend with and had to
|
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make his way merely through gates of iron
and brass, and walls of adamant to the
castle keep, where the lady of his heart was
confined; all which he achieved as easily as
a man would carve his way to the centre of a
Christmas pie; and then the lady gave him
her hand as a matter of course. Ichabod, on
the contrary, had to win his way to the heart
of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth
of whims and caprices, which were forever
presenting new difficulties and
impediments; and he had to encounter a
host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and
blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who
beset every portal to her heart, keeping a
watchful and angry eye upon each other, but
ready to fly out in the common cause
against any new competitor.
Among these, the most formidable was a
burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name
of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch
abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of
the country round which rang with his feats
of strength and hardihood. He was broad-
shouldered and double-jointed, with short
curly black hair, and a bluff but not
unpleasant countenance, having a mingled
air of fun and arrogance From his
Herculean frame and great powers of limb
he had received the nickname of BROM
BONES, by which he was universally
known. He was famed for great knowledge
and skill in horsemanship, being as
dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He
was foremost at all races and cock fights;
and, with the ascendancy which bodily
strength always acquires in rustic life, was
the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on
one side, and giving his decisions with an
air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or
appeal. He was always ready for either a
fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than
ill-will in his composition; and with all his
overbearing roughness, there was a strong
dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He
| had three or four boon companions, who
regarded him as their model, and at the
head of whom he scoured the country,
attending every scene of feud or merriment
for miles round. In cold weather he was
distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with
a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a
country gathering descried this well-known
crest at a distance, whisking about among
a squad of hard riders, they always stood by
for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be
heard dashing along past the farmhouses at
midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a
troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames,
startled out of their sleep, would listen for a
moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered
by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom
Bones and his gang!" The neighbors looked
upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration,
and good-will; and, when any madcap
prank or rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity,
always shook their heads, and warranted
Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.
This rantipole hero had for some time
singled out the blooming Katrina for the
object of his uncouth gallantries, and
though his amorous toyings were
something like the gentle caresses and
endearments ofa bear, yet it was
whispered that she did not altogether
discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his
advances were signals for rival candidates
to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a
lion in his amours; insomuch, that when his
horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's paling,
on a Sunday night, a sure sign that his
master was courting, or, as it is termed, "
sparking," within, all other suitors passed by
in despair, and carried the war into other
quarters.
Such was the formidable rival with whom
Ichabod Crane had to contend, and,
considering, all things, a stouter man than
he would have shrunk from the competition,
|
-8- |
and a wiser man would have despaired. He
had, however, a happy mixture of pliability
and perseverance in his nature; he was in
form and spirit like a supple-jackÄyielding,
but tough; though he bent, he never broke;
and though he bowed beneath the slightest
pressure, yet, the moment it was away--
jerk!--he was as erect, and carried his
head as high as ever.
To have taken the field openly against his
rival would have been madness; for he was
not a man to be thwarted in his amours, any
more than that stormy lover, Achilles.
Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a
quiet and gently insinuating manner. Under
cover of his character of singing-master, he
made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not
that he had anything to apprehend from the
meddlesome interference of parents, which
is so often a stumbling-block in the path of
lovers. Balt Van Tassel was an easy
indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better
even than his pipe, and, like a reasonable
man and an excellent father, let her have her
way in everything. His notable little wife,
too, had enough to do to attend to her
housekeeping and manage her poultry; for,
as she sagely observed, ducks and geese
are foolish things, and must be looked after,
but girls can take care of themselves. Thus,
while the busy dame bustled about the
house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one
end of the piazza, honest Balt would sit
smoking his evening pipe at the other,
watching the achievements of a little
wooden warrior, who, armed with a sword
in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the
wind on the pinnacle of the barn. In the mean
time, Ichabod would carry on his suit with
the daughter by the side of the spring under
the great elm, or sauntering along in the
twilight, that hour so favorable to the lover's
eloquence.
I profess not to know how women's hearts
| are wooed and won. To me they have
always been matters of riddle and
admiration. Some seem to have but one
vulnerable point, or door of access; while
others have a thousand avenues, and may
be captured in a thousand different ways. It
is a great triumph of skill to gain the former,
but a still greater proof of generalship to
maintain possession of the latter, for man
must battle for his fortress at every door and
window. He who wins a thousand common
hearts is therefore entitled to some renown;
but he who keeps undisputed sway over the
heart of a coquette is indeed a hero. Certain
it is, this was not the case with the
redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the
moment Ichabod Crane made his
advances, the interests of the former
evidently declined: his horse was no longer
seen tied to the palings on Sunday nights,
and a deadly feud gradually arose between
him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow.
Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in
his nature, would fain have carried matters
to open warfare and have settled their
pretensions to the lady, according to the
mode of those most concise and simple
reasoners, the knights-errant of yore, by
single combat; but lchabod was too
conscious of the superior might of his
adversary to enter the lists against him; he
had overheard a boast of Bones, that he
would "double the schoolmaster up, and lay
him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse;" and
he was too wary to give him an opportunity.
There was something extremely provoking,
in this obstinately pacific system; it left
Brom no alternative but to draw upon the
funds of rustic waggery in his disposition,
and to play off boorish practical jokes upon
his rival. Ichabod became the object of
whimsical persecution to Bones and his
gang of rough riders. They harried his
hitherto peaceful domains, smoked out his
singing school by stopping up the chimney,
|
-9- |
broke into the schoolhouse at night, in spite
of its formidable fastenings of withe and
window stakes, and turned everything
topsy-turvy, so that the poor schoolmaster
began to think all the witches in the country
held their meetings there. But what was still
more annoying, Brom took all Opportunities
of turning him into ridicule in presence of his
mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom
he taught to whine in the most ludicrous
manner, and introduced as a rival of
Ichabod's, to instruct her in psalmody.
In this way matters went on for some time,
without producing any material effect on the
relative situations of the contending
powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon,
Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on
the lofty stool from whence he usually
watched all the concerns of his little literary
realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that
sceptre of despotic power; the birch of
justice reposed on three nails behind the
throne, a constant terror to evil doers, while
on the desk before him might be seen
sundry contraband articles and prohibited
weapons, detected upon the persons of
idle urchins, such as half-munched apples,
popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole
legions of rampant little paper game-cocks.
Apparently there had been some appalling
act of justice recently inflicted, for his
scholars were all busily intent upon their
books, or slyly whispering behind them with
one eye kept upon the master; and a kind of
buzzing stillness reigned throughout the
schoolroom. It was suddenly interrupted by
the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth
jacket and trowsers. a round-crowned
fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mercury,
and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild,
half-broken colt, which he managed with a
rope by way of halter. He came clattering up
to the school-door with an invitation to
Ichabod to attend a merry making or
"quilting-frolic," to be held that evening at
| Mynheer Van Tassel's; and having,
delivered his message with that air of
importance and effort at fine language
which a negro is apt to display on petty
embassies of the kind, he dashed over the
brook, and was seen scampering, away up
the Hollow, full of the importance and hurry
of his mission.
All was now bustle and hubbub in the late
quiet schoolroom. The scholars were
hurried through their lessons without
stopping at trifles; those who were nimble
skipped over half with impunity, and those
who were tardy had a smart application
now and then in the rear, to quicken their
speed or help them over a tall word. Books
were flung aside without being put away on
the shelves, inkstands were overturned,
benches thrown down, and the whole
school was turned loose an hour before the
usual time, bursting forth like a legion of
young imps, yelping and racketing about the
green in joy at their early emancipation.
The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an
extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and
furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit
of rusty black, and arranging his locks by a
bit of broken looking-glass that hung up in
the schoolhouse. That he might make his
appearance before his mistress in the true
style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse
from the farmer with whom he was
domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman of the
name of Hans Van Ripper, and, thus
gallantly mounted, issued forth like a knight
errant in quest of adventures. But it is meet I
should, in the true spirit of romantic story,
give some account of the looks and
equipments of my hero and his steed. The
animal he bestrode was a broken-down
plow-horse, that had outlived almost
everything but its viciousness. He was gaunt
and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a head
like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were
|
-10- |
tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had
lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral,
but the other had the gleam of a genuine
devil in it. Still he must have had fire and
mettle in his day, if we may judge from the
name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in
fact, been a favorite steed of his master's,
the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious
rider, and had infused, very probably, some
of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and
broken-down as he looked, there was
more of the lurking devil in him than in any
young filly in the country.
Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a
steed . He rode with short stirrups, which
brought his knees nearly up to the pommel
of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out
like grasshoppers'; he carried his whip
perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre,
and as his horse jogged on, the motion of
his arms was not unlike the flapping of a
pair of wings. A small wool hat rested on the
top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of
forehead might be called, and the skirts of
his black coat fluttered out almost to the
horses tail. Such was the appearance of
Ichabod and his steed as they shambled out
of the gate of Hans Van Ripper, and it was
altogether such an apparition as is seldom
to be met with in broad daylight.
It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day;
the sky was clear and serene, and nature
wore that rich and golden livery which we
always associate with the idea of
abundance. The forests had put on their
sober brown and yellow, while some trees
of the tenderer kind had been nipped by the
frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple,
and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks
began to make their appearance high in the
air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard
from the groves of beech and hickory nuts,
and the pensive whistle of the quail at
intervals from the neighboring stubble field.
| The small birds were taking their farewell
banquets. In the fullness of their revelry, they
fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush
to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from
the very profusion and variety around them.
There was the honest cockrobin, the
favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with
its loud querulous note; and the twittering
blackbirds flying in sable clouds, and the
golden winged woodpecker with his
crimson crest, his broad black gorget, and
splendid plumage; and the cedar-bird, with
its red tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its
little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue
jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light blue
coat and white underclothes, screaming
and chattering, nodding and bobbing and
bowing, and pretending to be on good
terms with every songster of the grove.
As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his
eye, ever open to every symptom of culinary
abundance, ranged with delight over the
treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides he
beheld vast store of apples: some hanging
in oppressive opulence on the trees; some
gathered into baskets and barrels for the
market; others heaped up in rich piles for
the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great
fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears
peeping from their leafy coverts, and
holding out the promise of cakes and hasty
pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying
beneath them, turning up their fair round
bellies to the sun, and giving ample
prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and
anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat
fields breathing the odor of the beehive,
and as he beheld them, soft anticipations
stole over his mind of dainty slap-jacks,
well buttered, and garnished with honey or
treacle, by the delicate little dimpled hand of
Katrina Van Tassel.
Thus feeding his mind with many sweet
thoughts and "sugared suppositions," he
|
-11- |
journeyed along the sides of a range of hills
which look out upon some of the goodliest
scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun
gradually wheeled his broad disk down in
the west. The wide bosom of the Tappan
Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting
that here and there a gentle undulation
waved and prolonged the blue shallow of
the distant mountain. A few amber clouds
floated in the sky, without a breath of air to
move them. The horizon was of a fine
golden tint, changing gradually into a pure
apple green, and from that into the deep
blue of the mid heaven. A slanting ray
lingered on the woody crests of the
precipices that overhung some parts of the
river, giving greater depth to the dark gray
and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop was
loitering in the distance, dropping slowly
down with the tide, her sail hanging
uselessly against the mast; and as the
reflection of the sky gleamed along the still
water, it seemed as if the vessel was
suspended in the air.
It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived
at the castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which
he found thronged with the pride and flower
of the adjacent country Old farmers, a
spare leathern faced race, in homespun
coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge
shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles.
Their brisk, withered little dames, in close
crimped caps, long waisted short-gowns,
homespun petticoats, with scissors and
pin-cushions, and gay calico pockets
hanging on the outside. Buxom lasses,
almost as antiquated as their mothers,
excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon,
or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of
city innovation. The sons, in short square-
skirted coats, with rows of stupendous
brass buttons, and their hair generally
queued in the fashion of the times,
especially if they could procure an eelskin
for the purpose, it being esteemed
| throughout the country as a potent nourisher
and strengthener of the hair.
Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the
scene, having come to the gathering on his
favorite steed Daredevil, a creature, like
himself, full of mettle and mischief, and
which no one but himself could manage. He
was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious
animals, given to all kinds of tricks which
kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for
he held a tractable, wellbroken horse as
unworthy of a lad of spirit.
Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world
of charms that burst upon the enraptured
gaze of my hero, as he entered the state
parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those
of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their
luxurious display of red and white; but the
ample charms of a genuine Dutch country
tea-table, in the sumptuous time of autumn.
Such heaped up platters of cakes of various
and almost indescribable kinds, known only
to experienced Dutch housewives! There
was the doughty doughnut, the tender
olykoek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller;
sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes
and honey cakes, and the whole family of
cakes. And then there were apple pies, and
peach pies, and pumpkin pies; besides
slices of ham and smoked beef; and
moreover delectable dishes of preserved
plums, and peaches, and pears, and
quinces; not to mention broiled shad and
roasted chickens; together with bowls of
milk and cream, all mingled higgledy
pigglely, pretty much as I have enumerated
them, with the motherly teapot sending up
its clouds of vapor from the midst Heaven
bless the mark! I want breath and time to
discuss this banquet as it deserves, and am
too eager to get on with my story. Happily,
Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry
as his historian, but did ample justice to
every dainty.
|
-12- |
He was a kind and thankful creature, whose
heart dilated in proportion as his skin was
filled with good cheer, and whose spirits
rose with eating, as some men's do with
drink. He could not help, too, rolling his large
eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling
with the possibility that he might one day be
lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable
luxury and splendor. Then, he thought, how
soon he 'd turn his back upon the old
schoolhouse; snap his fingers in the face of
Hans Van Ripper, and every other niggardly
patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue
out of doors that should dare to call him
comrade!
Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among
his guests with a face dilated with content
and goodhumor, round and jolly as the
harvest moon. His hospitable attentions
were brief, but expressive, being confined
to a shake of the hand, a slap on the
shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing
invitation to "fall to, and help themselves."
And now the sound of the music from the
common room, or hall, summoned to the
dance. The musician was an old gray-
headed negro, who had been the itinerant
orchestra of the neighborhood for more
than half a century. His instrument was as
old and battered as himself. The greater
part of the time he scraped on two or three
strings, accompanying every movement of
the bow with a motion of the head; bowing
almost to the ground, and stamping with his
foot whenever a fresh couple were to start.
Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as
much as upon his vocal powers. Not a limb,
not a fibre about him was idle; and to have
seen his loosely hung frame in full motion,
and clattering about the room, you would
have thought St. Vitus himself, that blessed
patron of the dance, was figuring before
you in person. He was the admiration of all
| the negroes; who, having gathered, of all
ages and sizes, from the farm and the
neighborhood, stood forming a pyramid of
shining black faces at every door and
window; gazing with delight at the scene;
rolling their white eye-balls, and showing
grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. How
could the flogger of urchins be otherwise
than animated and joyous? the lady of his
heart was his partner in the dance, and
smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous
oglings; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten
with love and jealousy, sat brooding by
himself in one corner.
When the dance was at an end, Ichabod
was attracted to a knot of the sager folks,
who, with Old V an Tassel, sat smoking at
one end of the piazza, gossiping over
former times, and drawing out long stories
about the war. This neighborhood, at the
time of which I am speaking, was one of
those highly favored places which abound
with chronicle and great men. The British
and American line had run near it during the
war; it had, therefore], been the scene of
marauding and infested with refugees,
cow-boys, and all kinds of border chivalry.
Just sufficient time had elapsed to enable
each story-teller to dress up his tale with a
little becoming fiction, and, in the
indistinctness of his recollection, to make
himself the hero of every exploit.
There was the story of Doffue Martling, a
large blue-bearded Dutchman, who had
nearly taken a British frigate with an old iron
nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only
that his gun burst at the sixth discharge. And
there was an old gentleman who shall be
nameless, being too rich a mynheer to be
lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of White
Plains, being an excellent master of
defence, parried a musket-ball with a
small-sword, insomuch that he absolutely
felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off at
|
-13- |
the hilt; in proof of which he was ready at
any time to show the sword, with the hilt a
little bent. There were several more that had
been equally great in the field, not one of
whom but was persuaded that he had a
considerable hand in bringing the war to a
happy termination.
But all these were nothing to the tales of
ghosts and apparitions that succeeded. The
neighborhood is rich in legendary treasures
of the kind. Local tales and superstitions
thrive best in these sheltered, long settled
retreats; but are trampled under foot by the
shifting throng that forms the population of
most of our country places. Besides, there
is no encouragement for ghosts in most of
our villages, for they have scarcely had time
to finish their first nap and turn themselves in
their graves, before their surviving friends
have travelled away from the neighborhood;
so that when they turn out at night to walk
their rounds, they have no acquaintance left
to call upon. This is perhaps the reason why
we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our
long-established Dutch communities.
The immediate cause, however, of the
prevalence of supernatural stories in these
parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of
Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion in
the very air that blew from that haunted
region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of
dreams and fancies infecting all the land.
Several of the Sleepy Hollow people were
present at Van Tassel's, and, as usual,
were doling out their wild and wonderful
legends. Many dismal tales were told about
funeral trains, and mourning cries and
wailings heard and seen about the great
tree where the unfortunate Major Andre
was taken, and which stood in the
neighborhood. Some mention was made
also of the woman in white, that haunted the
dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often
heard to shriek on winter nights before a
| storm, having perished there in the snow.
The chief part of the stories, however,
turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy
Hollow, the Headless Horseman, who had
been heard several times of late, patrolling
the country; and, it was said, tethered his
horse nightly among the graves in the
churchyard.
The sequestered situation of this church
seems always to have made it a favorite
haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll,
surrounded by locust, trees and lofty elms,
from among which its decent, whitewashed
walls shine modestly forth, like Christian
purity beaming through the shades of
retirement. A gentle slope descends from it
to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high
trees, between which, peeps may be
caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To
look upon its grass-grown yard, where the
sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one
would think that there at least the dead
might rest in peace. On one side of the
church extends a wide woody dell, along
which raves a large brook among broken
rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep
black part of the stream, not far from the
church, was formerly thrown a wooden
bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge
itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging
trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in
the daytime; but occasioned a fearful
darkness at night. Such was one of the
favorite haunts of the Headless Horseman,
and the place where he was most frequently
encountered. The tale was told of old
Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in
ghosts, how he met the Horseman returning
from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was
obliged to get up behind him; how they
galloped over bush and brake, over hill and
swamp, until they reached the bridge; when
the Horseman suddenly turned into a
skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook,
and sprang away over the tree-tops with a
|
-14- |
clap of thunder.
This story was immediately matched by a
thrice marvellous adventure of Brom Bones,
who made light of the Galloping Hessian as
an arrant jockey. He affirmed that on
returning one night from the neighboring
village of Sing Sing, he had been overtaken
by this midnight trooper; that he had offered
to race with him for a bowl of punch, and
should have won it too, for Daredevil beat
the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they
came to the church bridge, the Hessian
bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire.
All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone
with which men talk in the dark, the
countenances of the listeners only now and
then receiving a casual gleam from the
glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of
Ichabod. He repaid them in kind with large
extracts from his invaluable author, Cotton
Mather, and added many marvellous events
that had taken place in his native State of
Connecticut, and fearful sights which he
had seen in his nightly walks about Sleepy
Hollow.
The revel now gradually broke up. The old
farmers gathered together their families in
their wagons, and were heard for some
time rattling along the hollow roads, and
over the distant hills. Some of the damsels
mounted on pillions behind their favorite
swains, and their light-hearted laughter,
mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed
along the silent woodlands, sounding
fainter and fainter, until they gradually died
away, --and the late scene of noise and
frolic was all silent and deserted. Ichabod
only lingered behind, according to the
custom of country lovers, to have a tete-a-
tete with the heiress; fully convinced that he
was now on the high road to success. What
passed at this interview I will not pretend to
say, for in fact I do not know. Something,
| however, I fear me, must have gone wrong,
for he certainly sallied forth, after no very
great interval, with an air quite desolate and
chapfallen. Oh, these women! these
women! Could that girl have been playing
off any of her coquettish tricks? Was her
encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a
mere sham to secure her conquest of his
rival? Heaven only knows, not I! Let it suffice
to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of one
who had been sacking a henroost, rather
than a fair lady's heart. Without looking to the
right or left to notice the scene of rural
wealth, on which he had so often gloated,
he went straight to the stable, and with
several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his
steed most uncourteously from the
comfortable quarters in which he was
soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of
corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy
and clover.
It was the very witching time of night that
Ichabod, heavy hearted and crest-fallen,
pursued his travels homewards, along the
sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry
Town, and which he had traversed so
cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as
dismal as himself. Far below him the
Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct
waste of waters, with here and there the tall
mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor
under the land. In the dead hush of midnight,
he could even hear the barking of the
watchdog from the opposite shore of the
Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as
only to give an idea of his distance from this
faithful companion of man. Now and then,
too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock,
accidentally awakened, would sound far,
far off, from some farmhouse away among
the hills--but it was like a dreaming sound
in his ear. No signs of life occurred near
him, but occasionally the melancholy chirp
of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of
a bull-frog from a neighboring marsh, as if
|
-15- |
sleeping uncomfortably and turning
suddenly in his bed.
All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he
had heard in the afternoon now came
crowding upon his recollection. The night
grew darker and darker; the stars seemed
to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds
occasionally hid them from his sight. He had
never felt so lonely and dismal. He was,
moreover, approaching the very place
where many of the scenes of the ghost
stories had been laid. In the centre of the
road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which
towered like a giant above all the other trees
of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of
landmark. Its limbs were gnarled and
fantastic, large enough to form trunks for
ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the
earth, and rising again into the air. It was
connected with the tragical story of the
unfortunate Andre, who had been taken
prisoner hard by; and was universally
known by the name of Major Andre's tree.
The common people regarded it with a
mixture of respect and superstition, partly
out of sympathy for the fate of its ill starred
namesake, and partly from the tales of
strange sights, and doleful lamentations,
told concerning it.
As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he
began to whistle; he thought his whistle was
answered; it was but a blast sweeping
sharply through the dry branches. As he
approached a little nearer, he thought he
saw something white, hanging in the midst
of the tree: he paused, and ceased
whistling but, on looking more narrowly,
perceived that it was a place where the tree
had been scathed by lightning, and the
white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a
groan--his teeth chattered, and his knees
smote against the saddle: it was but the
rubbing of one huge bough upon another,
as they were swayed about by the breeze.
| He passed the tree in safety, but new perils
lay before him.
About two hundred yards from the tree, a
small brook crossed the road, and ran into a
marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by
the name of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough
logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge
over this stream. On that side of the road
where the brook entered the wood, a group
of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with
wild grape-vines, threw a cavernous gloom
over it. To pass this bridge was the severest
trial. It was at this identical spot that the
unfortunate Andre was captured, and under
the covert of those chestnuts and vines
were the sturdy yeomen concealed who
surprised him. This has ever since been
considered a haunted stream, and fearful
are the feelings of the school-boy who has
to pass it alone after dark.
As he approached the stream, his heart
began to thump he summoned up, however,
all his resolution, gave his horse half a score
of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash
briskly across the bridge; but instead of
starting forward, the perverse old animal
made a lateral movement, and ran
broadside against the fence. Ichabod,
whose fears increased with the delay,
jerked the reins on the other side, and
kicked lustily with the contrary foot: it was all
in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was
only to plunge to the opposite side of the
road into a thicket of brambles and alder-
bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed
both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs
of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward,
snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand
just by the bridge, with a suddenness that
had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his
head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by
the side of the bridge caught the sensitive
ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the
grove, on the margin of the brook, he
|
-16- |
beheld something huge, misshapen and
towering. It stirred not, but seemed
gathered up in the gloom, like some
gigantic monster ready to spring upon the
traveller.
The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose
upon his head with terror. What was to be
done? To turn and fly was now too late; and
besides, what chance was there of
escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was,
which could ride upon the wings of the
wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of
courage, he demanded in stammering
accents, " Who are you?" He received no
reply. He repeated his demand in a still
more agitated voice. Still there was no
answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides
of the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting
his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor
into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy
object of alarm put itself in motion, and with
a scramble and a bound stood at once in the
middle of the road. Though the night was
dark and dismal, yet the form of the
unknown might now in some degree be
ascertained. He appeared to be a
horseman of large dimensions, and
mounted on a black horse of powerful
frame. He made no offer of molestation or
sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the
road, jogging along on the blind side of old
Gunpowder, who had now got over his
fright and waywardness.
Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange
midnight companion, and bethought himself
of the adventure of Brom Bones with the
Galloping Hessian, now quickened his
steed in hopes of leaving him behind. The
stranger, however, quickened his horse to
an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up, and fell
into a walk, thinking to lag behind, --the
other did the same. His heart began to sink
within him; he endeavored to resume his
psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to
| the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter
a stave. There was something in the moody
and dogged silence of this pertinacious
companion that was mysterious and
appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted
for. On mounting a rising ground, which
brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in
relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and
muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-
struck on perceiving that he was headless!
but his horror was still more increased on
observing that the head, which should have
rested on his shoulders, was carried before
him on the pommel of his saddle! His terror
rose to desperation; he rained a shower of
kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping
by a sudden movement to give his
companion the slip; but the spectre started
full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed
through thick and thin; stones flying and
sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's
flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as he
stretched his long lank body away over his
horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight.
They had now reached the road which turns
off to Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who
seemed possessed with a demon, instead
of keeping up it, made an opposite turn,
and plunged headlong down hill to the left.
This road leads through a sandy hollow
shaded by trees for about a quarter of a
mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in
goblin story; and just beyond swells the
green knoll on which stands the
whitewashed church.
As yet the panic of the steed had given his
unskilful rider an apparent advantage in the
chase, but just as he had got half way
through the hollow, the girths of the saddle
gave way, and he felt it slipping from under
him. He seized it by the pommel, and
endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and
had just time to save himself by clasping old
Gunpowder round the neck, when the
|
-17- |
saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it
trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a
moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's
wrath passed across his mind, --for it was
his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for
petty fears; the goblin was hard on his
haunches; and (unskilful rider that he was!)
he had much ado to maintain his seat;
sometimes slipping on one side,
sometimes on another, and sometimes
jolted on the high ridge of his horse's
backbone, with a violence that he verily
feared would cleave him asunder.
An opening, in the trees now cheered him
with the hopes that the church bridge was at
hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star
in the bosom of the brook told him that he
was not mistaken. He saw the walls of the
church dimly glaring under the trees beyond.
He recollected the place where Brom
Bones' ghostly competitor had disappeard.
"If I can but reach that bridge," thought
Ichabod, " I am safe." Just then he heard the
black steed panting and blowing close
behind him; he even fancied that he felt his
hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the
ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the
bridge; he thundered over the resounding
planks; he gained the opposite side; and
now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his
pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in
a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he
saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in
the very act of hurling his head at him.
Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible
missile, but too late. It encountered his
cranium with a tremendous crash, --he was
tumbled headlong into the dust, and
Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin
rider, passed by like a whirlwind.
The next morning the old horse was found
without his saddle, and with the bridle under
his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his
master's gate. Ichabod did not make his
| appearance at breakfast; dinner-hour
came, but no Ichabod. The boys assembled
at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about
the banks of the brook; but no
schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began
to feel some uneasiness about the fate of
poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry
was set on foot, and after diligent
investigation they came upon his traces. In
one part of the road leading to the church
was found the saddle trampled in the dirt;
the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented in
the road, and evidently at furious speed,
were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on
the bank of a broad part of the brook, where
the water ran deep and black, was found
the head of the unfortunate Ichabod, and
close beside it a shattered pumpkin.
The brook was searched, but the body of
the schoolmaster was not to be discovered.
Hans Van Ripper as executor of his estate,
examined the bundle which contained all his
worldly effects. They consisted of two shirts
and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or
two of worsted stockings; an old pair of
corduroy small clothes; a rusty razor; a book
of psalm tunes full of dog's-ears; and a
broken pitch-pipe. As to the books and
furniture of the schoolhouse, they belonged
to the community, excepting Cotton
Mather's History of Witchcraft, a New
England Almanac, and book of dreams and
fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of
foolscap much scribbled and blotted in
several fruitless attempts to make a copy of
verses in honor of the heiress of Van
Tassel. These magic books and the poetic
scrawl were forthwith consigned to the
flames by Hans Van Ripper; who, from that
time forward, determined to send his
children no more to school; observing that
he never knew any good come of this same
reading and writing. Whatever money the
schoolmaster possessed, and he had
received his quarter's pay but a day or two
|
-18- |
before, he must have had about his person
at the time of his disappearance.
The mysterious event caused much
speculation at the church on the following
Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were
collected in the churchyard, at the bridge,
and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin
had been found. The stories of Brouwer, of
Bones, and a whole budget of others were
called to mind; and when they had diligently
considered them all, and compared them
with the symptoms of the present case, they
shook their heads, and came to the
conclusion chat Ichabod had been carried
off by the Galloping Hessian. As he was a
bachelor, and in nobody's debt, nobody
troubled his head any more about him; the
school was removed to a different quarter
of the Hollow, and another pedagogue
reigned in his stead.
It is true, an old farmer, who had been down
to New York on a visit several years after,
and from whom this account of the ghostly
adventure was received, brought home the
intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still
alive; that he had left the neighborhood
partly through fear of the goblin and Hans
Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at
having been suddenly dismissed by the
heiress; that he had changed his quarters to
a distant part of the country; had kept school
and studied law at the same time; had been
admitted to the bar; turned politician;
electioneered; written for the newspapers;
and finally had been made a justice of the
ten pound court. Brom Bones, too, who,
shortly after his rival's disappearance
conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph
to the altar, was observed to look
exceedingly knowing whenever the story of
Ichabod was related, and always burst into
a hearty laugh at the mention of the
pumpkin; which led some to suspect that he
knew more about the matter than he chose
| to tell. The old country wives, however, who
are the best judges of these matters,
maintain to this day that Ichabod was
spirited away by supernatural means; and it
is a favorite story often told about the
neighborhood round the winter evening fire.
The bridge became more than ever an
object of superstitious awe; and that may
be the reason why the road has been
altered of late years, so as to approach the
church by the border of the mill-pond. The
schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to
decay, and was reported to be haunted by
the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue and
the plough-boy, loitering homeward of a still
summer evening, has often fancied his
voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy
psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of
Sleepy Hollow. |
-19- |
