The
Legend of Sleepy Hollow
Washington
Irving
FOUND
AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH 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,
For
ever 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 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 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
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 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 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 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 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, 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-jack-yielding, 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, 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 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 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.
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 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 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 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
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 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 oŁ the brook, where the water ran
deep and black, was found the hat 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 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.
- THE END -
