Maret 18, 2017
the legend of sleepy hollowby washington irving "a pleasing land of drowsy head it was,of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye; and of gay castles in the clouds that pass,forever flushing round a summer sky." —castle of indolence in the bosom of one of those spacious coveswhich indent the eastern shore of the hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominatedby the ancient dutch navigators the tappaan 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 it, 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 three 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 soundthat ever 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 noon-time, when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and wasstartled by roar of my own gun, as it broke the sabbath stillness around and was prolongedand reverberated by the angry echoes. if ever i should wish for a retreat whither i mightsteal 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 marvelous beliefs;are subject to trances and visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voicesin the air. the whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilightsuperstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare
oftener across the valley than in any otherpart of the country, and the nightmare, with her whole nine fold, seems to make it thefavorite 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 battle duringthe revolutionary war, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk, hurrying alongin the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. his haunts are not confined tothe valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of achurch that is 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 specter, 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 specter 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 a longsnipe nose, so that it looked like a weathercock perched upon his spindle neck to tell whichway the wind blew. to see him striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, withhis clothes bagging and fluttering about him, one might have mistaken him for the geniusof 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 copy-books. it was most ingeniouslysecured at vacant hours by a withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes setagainst the window-shutters; so that, though a thief might get in with perfect case, hewould find some embarrassment in getting out—an idea most probably borrowed by the architect,yost van houten, from the mystery of an ellpot. the schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely butpleasant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close byand a formidable birch-tree growing at one end of it. from hence the low murmur of hispupils' voices, conning over their lessons,
might be heard of a drowsy summer's day, likethe hum of a beehive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the masterin the tone of menace or command; or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as heurged some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. truth to say, he was aconscientious man, that ever bore in mind the golden maxim, "spare the rod and spoilthe 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 and layingit 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 holyday 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 to takehis 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 mill-pond, 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 head-work, 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 idlegentleman-like 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 overrun
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 mill-pond; 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 traveling 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 themarvelous, 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 brookthat whimpered by his schoolhouse, and there con over old mather's direful tales, untilthe gathering 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 hill-side; the boding cry of thetree-toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screech-owl, or the suddenrustling in the thicket of birds frightened from their roost. the fire-flies, 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 sputteringalong the hearth, and listen to their marvelous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fieldsand 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 wofully 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 specter dared to show its face, it was dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequentwalk homeward. what fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amid the dim and ghastly glareof a snowy night!—with what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streamingacross the waste fields from some distant window!—how often was he appalled by someshrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted specter, beset his very path!—how oftendid he shrink with curdling awe at the sound
of his own steps on the frosty crust beneathhis feet, and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being trampingclose 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 hisnightly scourings! all these, however, were mere terrors of thenight, phantoms of the mind, that walk in darkness: and though he had seen many spectersin his time, and had 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 hearttoward 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 these, everything was snug, happy, and well-conditioned. he was satisfied withhis wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty abundance, ratherthan the style in which he lived. his stronghold was situated on the banks of the hudson, inone of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks
in which the dutch farmers are so fond ofnestling. a great elm-tree spread its broad branches over it, at the foot of which bubbledup a spring 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 guinea-fowlsfretting about it like ill-tempered housewives, with their peevish, discontented cry. beforethe barn door strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior and a finegentleman, clapping his burnished wings and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart—sometimestearing up the earth with his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry familyof 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 about,with a pudding in its belly and an apple in its mouth; the pigeons were snugly put tobed 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 invested inimmense tracts of wild land and shingle palaces in the wilderness. nay, his busy fancy alreadyrealized 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 kettlesdangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, settingout 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 at theother showed the various uses to which this
important porch might be devoted. from thispiazza the wonderful ichabod entered the hall, which formed the center of the mansion, andthe 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 driedapples 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 andtongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges and conch shells decoratedthe mantel-piece; strings of various colored
birds' eggs were suspended above it; a greatostrich egg was hung from the center 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 center 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, roistering blade, of the name of abraham, or, according to the dutch abbreviation,brom van brunt, the hero of the country round,
which rung with his feats of strength andhardihood. 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 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 ascendency 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;had more mischief than ill-will in his composition;
and, with all his overbearing roughness, therewas a strong dash of waggish good-humor at bottom. he had three or four boon companionsof his own stamp, 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 weather,he 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, alwaysshook 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 the 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 meantime, 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, fora man must battle for his fortress at every door and window. he that 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 at 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 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 the boast of bones, that he would "double the schoolmaster up, andput him on a shelf"; and he was too wary to give him an opportunity. there was somethingextremely provoking in this obstinately pacific system; it left brom no alternative but todraw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish practicaljokes upon his rival. ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to bones and hisgang 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 formidablefastenings of withe and window stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy; so that thepoor 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 ridiculein presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrousmanner, 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 therelative situations of the contending powers. on a fine autumnal afternoon, ichabod, inpensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concernsof his little literary realm. in his hand
he swayed a ferule, that scepter of despoticpower; the birch of justice reposed on three nails, behind the throne, a constant terrorto evil doers; while on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband articles andprohibited 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 scholarswere all busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eyekept 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 trousers,a round crowned fragment of a hat, like the
cap of mercury, and mounted on the back ofa ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter. he cameclattering up to the school door with an invitation to ichabod to attend a merry-making, or "quiltingfrolic," to be held that evening at mynheer van tassel's; and having delivered his messagewith that air of importance, and effort at fine language, which a negro is apt to displayon petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering awayup 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 hurriedthrough their lessons, without stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped overhalf with impunity, and those who were tardy
had a smart application now and then in therear, 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, andthe whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time; bursting forth likea 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 andfurbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his looks bya bit of broken looking-glass that hung up in the schoolhouse. that he might make hisappearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse fromthe farmer with whom he was domiciliated,
a choleric old dutchman, of the name of hansvan 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 thelooks and equipments of my hero and his steed. the animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horsethat had outlived almost everything but his viciousness. he was gaunt and shagged, witha ewe neck and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted withburrs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had thegleam of a genuine devil in it. still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if wemay judge from his name, which was gunpowder. he had, in fact, been a favorite steed ofhis master's, the choleric van ripper, who
was a furious rider, and had infused, veryprobably, 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 broughthis 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 scepter, and as the horse joggedon, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. a small woolhat 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 horse's tail. such was theappearance 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 worethat rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. theforests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind hadbeen nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. streamingfiles of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrelmight be heard from the groves of beech and hickory-nuts, and the pensive whistle of thequail at intervals from the neighboring stubble-field. 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-tipped wings and yellow-tipped 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.further 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 slap-jacks,
well-buttered, and garnished with honey ortreacle, 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 into the west. the wide bosom ofthe tappaan zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting that here and there a gentle undulationwaved and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant mountain. a few amber clouds floatedin 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 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-waistedgowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors
and pin-cushions, 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 innovations. 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 eelskin for the purpose,it being esteemed throughout the country as a potent nourisher and strengthener of thehair. 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 away on two or three strings, accompanying every movementof the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping with hisfoot whenever a fresh couple were to start. ichabod prided himself upon his dancing asmuch as upon his vocal powers. not a limb, not a fiber 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 drawling 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 kind of borderchivalry. just sufficient time had elapsed to enable each story-teller 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 defense, 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 traveled 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 specterof sleepy hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard several times of late, patrollingthe country, and, it is 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 treetopswith a clap of thunder.
this story was immediately matched by a thricemarvelous 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, sunk deep in the mind of ichabod. he repaid themin kind with large extracts from his invaluable
author, cotton mather, and added many marvelousevents 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 the latescene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted. ichabod only lingered behind, accordingto the custom of country lovers, to have a
tete-a-tete with the heiress, fully convincedthat he was now on the high road to success. what passed at this interview i will not pretendto 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 desolateand chapfallen.—oh, these women! these women! could that girl have been playing off anyof her coquettish tricks?—was her encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secureher conquest of his rival?—heaven only knows, not i!—let it suffice to say, ichabod stoleforth with the air of one who had been sacking a hen-roost, rather than a fair lady's heart.without looking to the right or left to notice the scene of rural wealth on which he hadso often gloated, he went straight to the
stable, and with several hearty cuffs andkicks roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which hewas soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothyand clover. it was the very witching time of night thatichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued his travel homeward, along the sides of thelofty hills which rise above tarry town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in theafternoon. the hour was as dismal as himself. far below him the tappaan 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 watch-dog 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 centerof 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 a schoolboy who has to pass it alone afterdark. 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, black and towering. it stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom,like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveler.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?" hereceived no reply. he repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice. still therewas no answer. once more he cudgeled the sides
of the inflexible gunpowder, and shuttinghis eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. just then the shadowy objectof alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood at once in themiddle of the road. though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown mightnow in some degree be ascertained. he appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, andmounted 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 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-traveler in relief against thesky, 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 the head,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 specter startedfull jump with him. away, then, they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying andsparks flashing at every bound. ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in the air, as hestretched 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 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 unskillful rider an apparent advantage inthe chase; but just as he had got half-way through the hollow, the girths of the saddlegave way, 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 goblin washard on his haunches; and (unskillful 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 sprungupon 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," anew england almanac, and a book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheetof foolscap much scribbled and blotted, by 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 mill-pond.the schoolhouse being deserted, soon fell to decay, and was reported to be haunted bythe ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue; and the plow-boy, loitering homeward of a stillsummer evening, has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy psalmtune among the tranquil solitudes of sleepy hollow. postscriptfound in the handwriting of mr. knickerbocker the preceding tale is given, almost in theprecise words in which i heard it related at a corporation meeting of the ancient cityof the manhattoes, at which were present many of its sagest and most illustrious burghers.the narrator was a pleasant, shabby, gentlemanly
old fellow in pepper-and-salt clothes, witha sadly humorous face; and one whom i strongly suspected of being poor—he made such effortsto be entertaining. when his story was concluded there was much laughter and approbation, particularlyfrom two or three deputy aldermen, who had been asleep the greater part of the time.there was, however, one tall, dry-looking old gentleman, with beetling eyebrows, whomaintained a grave and rather severe face throughout; now and then folding his arms,inclining his head, and looking down upon the floor, as if turning a doubt over in hismind. he was one of your wary men, who never laugh but upon good grounds—when they havereason and the law on their side. when the mirth of the rest of the company had subsided,and silence was restored, he leaned one arm
on the elbow of his chair, and sticking theother a-kimbo, demanded, with a slight but exceedingly sage motion of the head and contractionof the brow, what was the moral of the story, and what it went to prove.the story-teller, who was just putting a glass of wine to his lips, as a refreshment afterhis toils, paused for a moment, looked at his inquirer with an air of infinite deference,and lowering the glass slowly to the table, observed that the story was intended mostlogically to prove: "that there is no situation in life but hasits advantages and pleasures—provided we will but take a joke as we find it;"that, therefore, he that runs races with goblin troopers is likely to have rough ridingof it;
"ergo, for a country schoolmaster to be refusedthe hand of a dutch heiress is a certain step to high preferment in the state."the cautious old gentleman knit his brows tenfold closer after this explanation, beingsorely puzzled by the ratiocination of the syllogism; while, methought, the one in pepper-and-salteyed him with something of a triumphant leer. at length he observed, that all this was verywell, but still he thought the story a little on the extravagant—there were one or twopoints on which he had his doubts: "faith, sir," replied the story-teller, "asto that matter, i don't believe one-half of it myself."d. k.
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