Maret 17, 2017
this is a librivox recording. all librivoxrecordings are in the public domain. for more information and to find out how you can volunteer,please visit librivox.org. recorded by chip in tampa, florida on january 24th, 2006. the legend of sleepy hollow by washingtonirving found among the papers of the late diedrichknickerbocker. 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. from 'castle of indolence'. in the bosom of one of those spacious coveswhich indent the eastern shore of the hudson,
at that broad expansion of the river denominatedby the ancient dutch navigators the tappan zee, and where they always prudently shortenedsail and implored the protection of st. nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small markettown or rural port, which by some is called greensburgh, but which is more generally andproperly known by the name of tarry town. this name was given, we are told, in formerdays, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate propensity oftheir 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 ratherlap 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 theoccasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound thatever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity. i recollect that, when a stripling, my firstexploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one sideof the valley. i had wandered into it at noontime, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and wasstartled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the sabbath stillness around and wasprolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes. if ever i should wish for a retreat whitheri might steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubledlife, 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 beenknown by the name of sleepy hollow, and its rustic lads are called the sleepy hollow boysthroughout all the neighboring country. a drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang overthe land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. some say that the place was bewitched by ahigh german doctor, during the early days of the settlement; others, that an old indianchief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the countrywas discovered by master hendrick hudson. certain it is, the place still continues underthe 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 marvellousbeliefs, are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hearmusic and voices in the air. the whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, andtwilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in anyother part of the country, and the nightmare, with her whole ninefold, seems to make itthe favorite scene of her gambols. the dominant spirit, however, that hauntsthis enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparitionof a figure on horseback, without a head. it is said by some to be the ghost of a hessiantrooper, whose head had been carried away
by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battleduring the revolutionary war, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurryingalong in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. his haunts are not confinedto the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinityof a church at no great distance. indeed, certain of the most authentic historians ofthose parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerningthis 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 therushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the hollow, like a midnight blast, isowing 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 materialsfor many a wild story in that region of shadows; and the spectre is known at all the countryfiresides, 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 nativeinhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides there fora time. however wide awake they may have been before they entered that sleepy region, theyare sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching influence of the air, and begin togrow imaginative, to dream dreams, and see apparitions.i mention this peaceful spot with all possible
laud, for it is in such little retired dutchvalleys, 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, sweepsby them unobserved. they are like those little nooks of still water, which border a rapidstream, where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolvingin their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. though many yearshave elapsed since i trod the drowsy shades of sleepy hollow, yet i question whether ishould not still find the same trees and the same families vegetating in its shelteredbosom.
in this by-place of nature there abode, ina remote period of american history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a worthywight of the name of ichabod crane, who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, "tarried," in sleepyhollow, for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity. he was a nativeof connecticut, a state which supplies the union with pioneers for the mind as well asfor 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 exceedinglylank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of hissleeves, 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 along snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neckto tell which way the wind blew. to see him striding along the profile of a hill on awindy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him forthe 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; thewindows partly glazed, and partly patched with leaves of old copybooks. it was mostingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, andstakes set against the window shutters; so that though a thief might get in with perfectease, he would find some embarrassment in
getting out,—an idea most probably borrowedby the architect, yost van houten, from the mystery of an eelpot. the schoolhouse stoodin a rather lonely but pleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brookrunning close by, and a formidable birch-tree growing at one end of it. from hence the lowmurmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a drowsysummer's day, like the hum of a beehive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice ofthe master, in the tone of menace or command, or, peradventure, by the appalling sound ofthe birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. truthto say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "spare therod 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 theschool who joy in the smart of their subjects; on the contrary, he administered justice withdiscrimination rather than severity; taking the burden off the backs of the weak, andlaying it on those of the strong. your mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourishof the rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied byinflicting 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 followingit by the assurance, so consolatory to the
smarting urchin, that "he would remember itand 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 tohave 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 fromhis school was small, and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with dailybread, 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, boardedand lodged at the houses of the farmers whose
children he instructed. with these he livedsuccessively a week at a time, thus going the rounds of the neighborhood, with all hisworldly effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief. that all this might not be too onerous onthe purses of his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of schooling a grievousburden, and schoolmasters as mere drones, he had various ways of rendering himself bothuseful and agreeable. he assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labors of theirfarms, helped to make hay, mended the fences, took the horses to water, drove the cows frompasture, and cut wood for the winter fire. he laid aside, too, all the dominant dignityand absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little empire, the school, and becamewonderfully gentle and ingratiating. he found
favor in the eyes of the mothers by pettingthe children, particularly the youngest; and like the lion bold, which whilom so magnanimouslythe lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with his footfor whole hours together. in addition to his other vocations, he wasthe singing-master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright shillings by instructingthe young folks in psalmody. it was a matter of no little vanity to him on sundays, totake his station in front of the church gallery, with a band of chosen singers; where, in hisown mind, he completely carried away the palm from the parson. certain it is, his voiceresounded far above all the rest of the congregation; and there are peculiar quavers still to beheard in that church, and which may even be
heard half a mile off, quite to the oppositeside of the millpond, on a still sunday morning, which are said to be legitimately descendedfrom the nose of ichabod crane. thus, by divers little makeshifts, in that ingenious way whichis 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 wonderfullyeasy life of it. the schoolmaster is generally a man of someimportance 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 countryswains, 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 additionof 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 grapesfor them from the wild vines that overran the surrounding trees; reciting for theiramusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or sauntering, with a whole bevy of them,along the banks of the adjacent millpond; while the more bashful country bumpkins hungsheepishly back, envying his superior elegance and address.from his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling gazette, carrying thewhole budget of local gossip from house to
house, so that his appearance was always greetedwith 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 themarvellous, and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had beenincreased by his residence in this spell-bound region. no tale was too gross or monstrousfor his capacious swallow. it was often his delight, after his school was dismissed inthe afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover bordering the little brook thatwhimpered by his schoolhouse, and there con
over old mather's direful tales, until thegathering dusk of evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. then, ashe wended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to the farmhouse where hehappened to be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excitedimagination,—the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside, the boding cry of the treetoad, that harbinger of storm, the dreary hooting of the screech owl, or the suddenrustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. the fireflies, too, whichsparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then startled him, as one of uncommonbrightness would stream across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetlecame winging his blundering flight against
him, the poor varlet was ready to give upthe ghost, with the idea that he was struck with a witch's token. his only resource onsuch occasions, either to drown thought or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalmtunes 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 drawnout," floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road.another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long winter evenings with theold dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting and splutteringalong 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 headlesshorseman, or galloping hessian of the hollow, as they sometimes called him. he would delightthem equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sightsand sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of connecticut; and wouldfrighten them woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarmingfact 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 achamber 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 subsequentwalk homewards. what fearful shapes and shadows
beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastlyglare of a snowy night! with what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of lightstreaming across the waste fields from some distant window! how often was he appalledby some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path! howoften did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crustbeneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouthbeing tramping close behind him! and how often was he thrown into complete dismay by somerushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the galloping hessianon one of his nightly scourings! all these, however, were mere terrors of thenight, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness;
and though he had seen many spectres in histime, 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 ofit, in despite of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a beingthat causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race ofwitches 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 daughterand only child of a substantial dutch farmer. she was a blooming 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 waswithal a little of a coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a mixtureof ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set off her charms. she wore the ornamentsof pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had brought over from saardam; the temptingstomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to display theprettiest foot and ankle in the country round. ichabod crane had a soft and foolish hearttowards the sex; and it is not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon found favorin his eyes, more especially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion. old baltusvan 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; butwithin those everything was snug, happy and well-conditioned. he was satisfied with hiswealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty abundance, rather than thestyle in which he lived. his stronghold was situated on the banks of the hudson, in oneof 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 aspring of the softest and sweetest water, in a little well formed of a barrel; and thenstole sparkling away through the grass, to a neighboring brook, that babbled along amongalders and dwarf willows. hard by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that might have served fora church; every window and crevice of which
seemed bursting forth with the treasures ofthe farm; the flail was busily resounding within it from morning to night; swallowsand martins skimmed twittering about the eaves; and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turnedup, as if watching the weather, some with their heads under their wings or buried intheir bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing, and bowing about their dames, were enjoyingthe sunshine on the roof. sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in the repose and abundanceof their pens, from whence sallied forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as ifto snuff the air. a stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining pond, convoyingwhole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys were gobbling through the farmyard, and guineafowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered
housewives, with their peevish, discontentedcry. before the barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a warriorand a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished wings and crowing in the pride and gladnessof his heart,—sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet, and then generously callinghis 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 winterfare. in his devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running aboutwith a pudding in his belly, and an apple in his mouth; the pigeons were snugly putto bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were swimmingin 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 sleekside 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 brightchanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back, in a side dish, with uplifted claws, as ifcraving 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 overthe fat meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and indian corn, andthe 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 imaginationexpanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, and the money investedin immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the wilderness. nay, his busy fancyalready realized his hopes, and presented to him the blooming katrina, with a wholefamily of children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, withpots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, witha 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 thosespacious farmhouses, with high-ridged but lowly sloping roofs, built in the style handeddown from the first dutch settlers; the low
projecting eaves forming a piazza along thefront, capable of being closed up in bad weather. under this were hung flails, harness, variousutensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring river. benches were builtalong the sides for summer use; and a great spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn atthe other, showed the various uses to which this important porch might be devoted. fromthis 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 ofdried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons
along the walls, mingled with the gaud ofred peppers; and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footedchairs and dark mahogany tables shone like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanyingshovel and tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges and conch-shellsdecorated the mantelpiece; strings of various-colored birds eggs were suspended above it; a greatostrich egg was hung from the centre of the room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly leftopen, 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 hismind was at an end, and his only study was how to gain the affections of the peerlessdaughter of van tassel. in this enterprise,
however, he had more real difficulties thangenerally 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 andhad to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass, and walls of adamant to thecastle keep, where the lady of his heart was confined; all which he achieved as easilyas a man would carve his way to the centre of a christmas pie; and then the lady gavehim her hand as a matter of course. ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way to theheart of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which wereforever presenting new difficulties and impediments; and he had to encounter a host of fearfuladversaries of real flesh and blood, the numerous
rustic admirers, who beset every portal toher heart, keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but ready to fly out in thecommon 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 andhardihood. he was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff butnot unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. from his herculeanframe and great powers of limb he had received the nickname of brom bones, by which he wasuniversally known. he was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, beingas 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 umpirein all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with an air and tonethat 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 overbearingroughness, there was a strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. he had three or fourboon companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scouredthe country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles round. in cold weatherhe was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when thefolks at a country gathering descried this
well-known crest at a distance, whisking aboutamong a squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall. sometimes his crewwould be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like atroop of don cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, would listenfor a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, "ay, there goes brombones 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 ofhis uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous
toyings were something like the gentle caressesand endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did not altogether discourage hishopes. certain it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates to retire, who felt noinclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch, that when his horse was seen tiedto 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 carriedthe war into other quarters. such was the formidable rival with whom ichabodcrane had to contend, and, considering all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunkfrom the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. he had, however, a happy mixtureof 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 slightestpressure, yet, the moment it was away—jerk!—he was as erect, and carried his head as highas ever. to have taken the field openly against hisrival would have been madness; for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours, anymore than that stormy lover, achilles. ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a quiet andgently insinuating manner. under cover of his character of singing-master, he made frequentvisits at the farmhouse; not that he had anything to apprehend from the meddlesome interferenceof parents, which is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers. balt van tassel wasan easy indulgent soul; he loved his daughter
better even than his pipe, and, like a reasonableman and an excellent father, let her have her way in everything. his notable littlewife, 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 smokinghis 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 pinnacleof the barn. in the mean time, ichabod would carry on his suit with the daughter by theside of the spring under the great elm, or
sauntering along in the twilight, that hourso favorable to the lover's eloquence. i profess not to know how women's hearts arewooed and won. to me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration. some seemto 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 gainthe former, but a still greater proof of generalship to maintain possession of the latter, forman must battle for his fortress at every door and window. he who wins a thousand commonhearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed sway over theheart of a coquette is indeed a hero. certain it is, this was not the case with the redoubtablebrom bones; and from the moment ichabod crane
made his advances, the interests of the formerevidently 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 mattersto open warfare and have settled their pretensions to the lady, according to the mode of thosemost concise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant of yore,—by single combat; but ichabod wastoo 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 layhim 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 bromno alternative but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, andto play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. ichabod became the object of whimsicalpersecution to bones and his gang of rough riders. they harried his hitherto peacefuldomains; smoked out his singing school by stopping up the chimney; broke into the schoolhouseat night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe and window stakes, and turned everythingtopsy-turvy, so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the countryheld their meetings there. but what was still more annoying, brom took all opportunitiesof turning him into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whomhe taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner,
and introduced as a rival of ichabod's, toinstruct 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 stoolfrom whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little literary realm. in his handhe swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on threenails behind the throne, a constant terror to evil doers, while on the desk before himmight be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons, detected upon the personsof idle urchins, such as half-munched apples, popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and wholelegions of rampant little paper gamecocks.
apparently there had been some appalling actof justice recently inflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their books, orslyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the master; and a kind of buzzingstillness reigned throughout the schoolroom. it was suddenly interrupted by the appearanceof a negro in tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like thecap of mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which hemanaged with a rope by way of halter. he came clattering up to the school door with an invitationto ichabod to attend a merry-making or "quilting frolic," to be held that evening at mynheervan tassel's; and having delivered his message with that air of importance, and effort atfine language, which a negro is apt to display
on petty embassies of the kind, he dashedover the brook, and was seen scampering away up the hollow, full of the importance andhurry of his mission. all was now bustle and hubbub in the latequiet schoolroom. the scholars were hurried through their lessons without stopping attrifles; those who were nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were tardyhad a smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their speed or help themover a tall word. books were flung aside without being put away on the shelves, inkstands wereoverturned, benches thrown down, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before theusual time, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing about thegreen in joy at their early emancipation.
the gallant ichabod now spent at least anextra half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only suitof rusty black, and arranging his locks by a bit of broken looking-glass that hung upin the schoolhouse. that he might make his appearance before his mistress in the truestyle 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, issuedforth like a knight-errant in quest of adventures. but it is meet i should, in the true spiritof 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 itsviciousness. he was gaunt and shagged, with
a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; hisrusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, andwas glaring and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. stillhe 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, whowas a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own spirit into theanimal; for, old and broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking devil in himthan 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 hishand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion of his arms was not unlikethe flapping of a pair of wings. a small wool hat rested on the top of his nose, for sohis scanty strip of forehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat flutteredout almost to the horses tail. such was the appearance of ichabod and his steed as theyshambled out of the gate of hans van ripper, and it was altogether such an apparition asis 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 alwaysassociate 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 dyesof orange, purple, and scarlet. streaming files of wild ducks began to make their appearancehigh in the air; the bark of the squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech andhickory-nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring stubblefield. the small birds were taking their farewellbanquets. in the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and frolicking frombush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from the very profusion and variety aroundthem. there was the honest cock robin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, withits loud querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and thegolden-winged woodpecker with his crimson
crest, his broad black gorget, and splendidplumage; and the cedar bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its littlemonteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light bluecoat 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 vaststore of apples; some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees; some gathered intobaskets 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 theirleafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty-pudding; and the yellowpumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their fair round bellies to the sun, and givingample prospects of the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheatfields breathing the odor of the beehive, and as he beheld them, soft anticipationsstole over his mind of dainty slapjacks, 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 alongthe sides of a range of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mightyhudson. the sun gradually wheeled his broad
disk down in the west. the wide bosom of thetappan zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a gentle undulation wavedand prolonged the blue shadow of the distant mountain. a few amber clouds floated in thesky, without a breath of air to move them. the horizon was of a fine golden tint, changinggradually 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 partsof 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 hanginguselessly 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, whichhe found thronged with the pride and flower of the adjacent country. old farmers, a spareleathern-faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, andmagnificent pewter buckles. their brisk, withered little dames, in close-crimped caps, long-waistedshort gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors and pincushions, and gay calico pockets hangingon the outside. buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a strawhat, 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 generallyqueued in the fashion of the times, especially
if they could procure an eel-skin for thepurpose, it being esteemed throughout the country as a potent nourisher and strengthenerof 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 riderin constant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable, well-broken horse as unworthyof a lad of spirit. fain would i pause to dwell upon the worldof charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered the state parlorof van tassel's mansion. not those of the
bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxuriousdisplay of red and white; but the ample charms of a genuine dutch country tea-table, in thesumptuous time of autumn. such heaped up platters of cakes of various and almost indescribablekinds, known only to experienced dutch housewives! there was the doughty doughnut, the tenderoly koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakesand honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. and then there were apple pies, and peachpies, and pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover delectabledishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and quinces; not to mention broiledshad and roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy,pretty much as i have enumerated them, with
the motherly teapot sending up its cloudsof vapor from the midst—heaven bless the mark! i want breath and time to discuss thisbanquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. happily, ichabod cranewas 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 wasfilled 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 withthe possibility that he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxuryand splendor. then, he thought, how soon he'd turn his back upon the old schoolhouse; snaphis fingers in the face of hans van ripper,
and every other niggardly patron, and kickany 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 andgood humor, 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 loudlaugh, 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. themusician was an old gray-headed negro, who had been the itinerant orchestra of the neighborhoodfor more than half a century. his instrument was as old and battered as himself. the greaterpart of the time he scraped on two or three
strings, accompanying every movement of thebow with a motion of the head; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping with his footwhenever a fresh couple were to start. ichabod prided himself upon his dancing asmuch as upon his vocal powers. not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to haveseen his loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering about the room, you would havethought 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 atevery door and window, gazing with delight at the scene, rolling their white eyeballs,and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear
to ear. how could the flogger of urchins beotherwise 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, sorelysmitten 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 van 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 iam speaking, was one of those highly favored places which abound with chronicle and greatmen. the british and american line had run near it during the war; it had, therefore,been the scene of marauding and infested with
refugees, cowboys, and all kinds of borderchivalry. just sufficient time had elapsed to enable each storyteller to dress up histale 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, alarge blue-bearded dutchman, who had nearly taken a british frigate with an old iron nine-pounderfrom a mud breastwork, only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge. and there was an oldgentleman 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 witha small sword, insomuch that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, and glance offat the hilt; in proof of which he was ready
at any time to show the sword, with the hilta little bent. there were several more that had been equally great in the field, not oneof 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. theneighborhood is rich in legendary treasures of the kind. local tales and superstitionsthrive best in these sheltered, long-settled retreats; but are trampled under foot by theshifting throng that forms the population of most of our country places. besides, thereis no encouragement for ghosts in most of our villages, for they have scarcely had timeto finish their first nap and turn themselves in their graves, before their surviving friendshave travelled away from the neighborhood;
so that when they turn out at night to walktheir rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon. this is perhaps the reason whywe 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, wasdoubtless owing to the vicinity of sleepy hollow. there was a contagion in the veryair that blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams andfancies infecting all the land. several of the sleepy hollow people were present at vantassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful legends. many dismal taleswere told about funeral trains, and mourning cries and wailings heard and seen about thegreat tree where the unfortunate major andrã©
was taken, and which stood in the neighborhood.some mention was made also of the woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at ravenrock, and was often heard to shriek on winter nights before a storm, having perished therein the snow. the chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the favorite spectreof sleepy hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard several times of late, patrollingthe 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 oftroubled spirits. it stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust-trees and lofty elms, from amongwhich its decent, whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like christian purity beamingthrough the shades of retirement. a gentle
slope descends from it to a silver sheet ofwater, bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue hills of thehudson. 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 churchextends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and trunksof fallen trees. over a deep black part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerlythrown a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself, were thicklyshaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioneda 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 forayinto sleepy hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they galloped over bushand brake, over hill and swamp, until they reached the bridge; when the horseman suddenlyturned into a skeleton, threw old brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-topswith a clap of thunder. this story was immediately matched by a thricemarvellous adventure of brom bones, who made light of the galloping hessian as an arrantjockey. he affirmed that on returning one night from the neighboring village of singsing, he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; that he had offered to race withhim for a bowl of punch, and should have won
it too, for daredevil beat the goblin horseall hollow, but just as they came to the church bridge, the hessian bolted, and vanished ina flash of fire. all these tales, told in that drowsy undertonewith which men talk in the dark, the countenances of the listeners only now and then receivinga casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of ichabod. he repaid themin kind with large extracts from his invaluable author, cotton mather, and added many marvellousevents that had taken place in his native state of connecticut, and fearful sights whichhe had seen in his nightly walks about sleepy hollow.the revel now gradually broke up. the old farmers gathered together their families intheir wagons, and were heard for some time
rattling along the hollow roads, and overthe 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 thesilent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter, until they gradually died away,—and thelate scene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted. ichabod only lingered behind,according to the custom of country lovers, to have a tãªte-ã -tãªte with the heiress;fully convinced that he was now on the high road to success. what passed at this interviewi will not pretend to say, for in fact i do not know. something, however, i fear me, musthave gone wrong, for he certainly sallied forth, after no very great interval, withan air quite desolate and chapfallen. oh,
these women! these women! could that girlhave been playing off any of her coquettish tricks? was her encouragement of the poorpedagogue all a mere sham to secure her conquest of his rival? heaven only knows, not i! letit 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 ofrural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight to the stable, and with severalhearty cuffs and kicks roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quartersin which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleysof timothy and clover. it was the very witching time of night thatichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued
his travels homewards, along the sides ofthe lofty hills which rise above tarry town, and which he had traversed so cheerily inthe afternoon. the hour was as dismal as himself. far below him the tappan zee spread its duskyand indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of a sloop, ridingquietly at anchor under the land. in the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barkingof the watchdog from the opposite shore of the hudson; but it was so vague and faintas 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 somefarmhouse away among the hills—but it was like a dreaming sound in his ear. no signsof life occurred near him, but occasionally
the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhapsthe guttural twang of a bullfrog from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and turningsuddenly in his bed. all the stories of ghosts and goblins thathe had heard in the afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection. the night grew darkerand darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionallyhid them from his sight. he had never felt so lonely and dismal. he was, moreover, approachingthe very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. in the centreof the road stood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the othertrees 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 risingagain into the air. it was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunate andrã©,who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally known by the name of major andrã©'stree. the common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, partlyout of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strangesights, and doleful lamentations, told concerning it.as ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thought his whistle wasanswered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. as he approacheda little nearer, he thought he saw something white, hanging in the midst of the tree: hepaused and ceased whistling but, on looking
more narrowly, perceived that it was a placewhere the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. suddenly heheard a groan—his teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle: it was butthe rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze. hepassed 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 marshyand thickly-wooded glen, known by the name of wiley's swamp. a few rough logs, laid sideby side, served for a bridge over this stream. on that side of the road where the brook enteredthe wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines, threw a cavernousgloom over it. to pass this bridge was the
severest trial. it was at this identical spotthat the unfortunate andrã© was captured, and under the covert of those chestnuts andvines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. this has ever since been considereda haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it aloneafter dark. as he approached the stream, his heart beganto thump; he summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a score ofkicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead of startingforward, 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 kickedlustily with the contrary foot: it was all
in vain; his steed started, it is true, butit was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles andalder bushes. the schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribsof old gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just bythe bridge, with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head. justat this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear ofichabod. in the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the brook, he beheld somethinghuge, misshapen and towering. it stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, likesome gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.the hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose
upon his head with terror. what was to bedone? to turn and fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there of escapingghost or goblin, if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind? summoningup, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering accents, "who are you?" he receivedno 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 forthwith involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. just then the shadowy object of alarm putitself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood at once in the middle of theroad. though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in somedegree be ascertained. he appeared to be a
horseman of large dimensions, and mountedon a black horse of powerful frame. he made no offer of molestation or sociability, butkept 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 strangemidnight companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of brom bones with the gallopinghessian, 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, thinkingto lag behind,—the other did the same. his heart began to sink within him; he endeavoredto resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, andhe could not utter a stave. there was something
in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinaciouscompanion that was mysterious and appalling. it was soon fearfully accounted for. on mountinga rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller in relief againstthe sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, ichabod was horror-struck on perceivingthat he was headless!—but his horror was still more increased on observing that thehead, which should have rested on his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of hissaddle! 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 jumpwith him. away, then, they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashingat every bound. ichabod's flimsy garments
fluttered in the air, as he stretched hislong 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 seemedpossessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, and plungedheadlong downhill to the left. this road leads through a sandy hollow shaded by trees forabout a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and justbeyond 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 thechase, but just as he had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gaveway, and he felt it slipping from under him.
he seized it by the pommel, and endeavoredto hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by clasping old gunpowderround the neck, when the saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under footby his pursuer. for a moment the terror of hans van ripper's wrath passed across hismind,—for it was his sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the goblinwas hard on his haunches; and (unskilful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintainhis seat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes joltedon the high ridge of his horse's backbone, with a violence that he verily feared wouldcleave him asunder. an opening in the trees now cheered him withthe hopes that the church bridge was at hand.
the wavering reflection of a silver star inthe bosom of the brook told him that he was not mistaken. he saw the walls of the churchdimly glaring under the trees beyond. he recollected the place where brom bones's ghostly competitorhad disappeared. "if i can but reach that bridge," thought ichabod, "i am safe." justthen he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fanciedthat he felt his hot breath. another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old gunpowder sprangupon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and nowichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flashof fire and brimstone. just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in thevery 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 headlonginto 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 hisfeet, soberly cropping the grass at his master's gate. ichabod did not make his appearanceat breakfast; dinner-hour came, but no ichabod. the boys assembled at the schoolhouse, andstrolled idly about the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster. hans van ripper now beganto feel some uneasiness about the fate of poor ichabod, and his saddle. an inquiry wasset on foot, and after diligent investigation they came upon his traces. in one part ofthe road leading to the church was found the
saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks ofhorses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced tothe bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water randeep 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. hansvan ripper as executor of his estate, examined the bundle which contained all his worldlyeffects. they consisted of two shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair ortwo of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalmtunes 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 a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheetof foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts to make a copyof verses in honor of the heiress of van tassel. these magic books and the poetic scrawl wereforthwith consigned to the flames by hans van ripper; who, from that time forward, determinedto send his children no more to school, observing that he never knew any good come of this samereading and writing. whatever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had received his quarter'spay 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. knotsof gazers and gossips were collected in the
churchyard, at the bridge, and at the spotwhere the hat and pumpkin had been found. the stories of brouwer, of bones, and a wholebudget 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, andcame to the conclusion that ichabod had been carried off by the galloping hessian. as hewas a bachelor, and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him; theschool was removed to a different quarter of the hollow, and another pedagogue reignedin his stead. it is true, an old farmer, who had been downto new york on a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the ghostlyadventure was received, brought home the intelligence
that ichabod crane was still alive; that hehad left the neighborhood partly through fear of the goblin and hans van ripper, and partlyin mortification at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quartersto a distant part of the country; had kept school and studied law at the same time; hadbeen 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, shortlyafter 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 alwaysburst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led some to suspect thathe knew more about the matter than he chose
to tell.the old country wives, however, who are the best judges of these matters, maintain tothis day that ichabod was spirited away by supernatural means; and it is a favorite storyoften told about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire. the bridge became morethan ever an object of superstitious awe; and that may be the reason why the road hasbeen altered of late years, so as to approach the church by the border of the millpond.the schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted by theghost of the unfortunate pedagogue and the plowboy, loitering homeward of a still summerevening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tuneamong the tranquil solitudes of sleepy hollow.
and so ends the legend of sleepy hollow bywashington irving.
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