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  • THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW by Washington Irving

  • FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER.

  • A pleasing land of drowsy head it was, Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;

  • And of gay castles in the clouds that pass, Forever flushing round a summer sky.

  • CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.

  • In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern shore of the Hudson,

  • at that broad expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan

  • Zee, and where they always prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas

  • when they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, which by some is called

  • Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly known by the name of Tarry Town.

  • This name was given, we are told, in former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent

  • country, from the inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village

  • tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, but merely advert

  • to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about two

  • miles, there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one

  • of the quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with just

  • murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of

  • a woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.

  • I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in squirrel-shooting was in a grove

  • of tall walnut-trees that shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime,

  • when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it

  • broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes.

  • If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I might steal from the world and its distractions,

  • and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this

  • little valley. From the listless repose of the place, and

  • the peculiar character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch

  • settlers, this sequestered glen has long been known by the name of SLEEPY HOLLOW, and its

  • rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neighboring country. A

  • drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmosphere.

  • Some say that the place was bewitched by a High German doctor, during the early days

  • of the settlement; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of his tribe,

  • held his powwows there before the country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson.

  • Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that holds

  • a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie.

  • They are given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs, are subject to trances and visions,

  • and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood

  • abounds with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors

  • glare oftener across the valley than in any other part of the country, and the nightmare,

  • with her whole ninefold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her gambols.

  • The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief

  • of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head.

  • It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away

  • by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever

  • and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the

  • wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the

  • adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed,

  • certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting

  • and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the

  • trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle

  • in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes

  • along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry

  • to get back to the churchyard before daybreak. Such is the general purport of this legendary

  • superstition, which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows;

  • and the spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman

  • of Sleepy Hollow. It is remarkable that the visionary propensity

  • I have mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously

  • imbibed by every one who resides there for a time. However wide awake they may have been

  • before they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time, to inhale the

  • witching influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative, to dream dreams, and see

  • apparitions. I mention this peaceful spot with all possible

  • laud, for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there embosomed in

  • the great State of New York, that population, manners, and customs remain fixed, while the

  • great torrent of migration and improvement, which is making such incessant changes in

  • other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved. They are like those little

  • nooks of still water, which border a rapid stream, where we may see the straw and bubble

  • riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the

  • rush of the passing current. Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades

  • of Sleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I should not still find the same trees and the

  • same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom.

  • In this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote period of American history, that

  • is to say, some thirty years since, a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned,

  • or, as he expressed it, "tarried," in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the

  • children of the vicinity. He was a native of Connecticut, a State which supplies the

  • Union with pioneers for the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its

  • legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters. The cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable

  • to his person. He was tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and

  • legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels,

  • and his whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was small, and flat at top, with

  • huge ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a

  • weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell which way the wind blew. To see him

  • striding along the profile of a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering

  • about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine descending upon the earth,

  • or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. His schoolhouse was a low building of one

  • large room, rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly patched

  • with leaves of old copybooks. It was most ingeniously secured at vacant hours, by a

  • withe twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so

  • that though a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in

  • getting out,—an idea most probably borrowed by the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the

  • mystery of an eelpot. The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation,

  • just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by, and a formidable birch-tree

  • growing at one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over

  • their lessons, might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive; interrupted

  • now and then by the authoritative voice of the master, in the tone of menace or command,

  • or, peradventure, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy loiterer

  • along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, and ever

  • bore in mind the golden maxim, "Spare the rod and spoil the child." Ichabod Crane's

  • scholars certainly were not spoiled. I would not have it imagined, however, that

  • he was one of those cruel potentates of the school who joy in the smart of their subjects;

  • on the contrary, he administered justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking

  • the burden off the backs of the weak, and laying it on those of the strong. Your mere

  • puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by with indulgence;

  • but the claims of justice were satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little

  • tough wrong-headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and swelled and grew dogged and

  • sullen beneath the birch. All this he called "doing his duty by their parents;" and he

  • never inflicted a chastisement without following it by the assurance, so consolatory to the

  • smarting urchin, that "he would remember it and thank him for it the longest day he had

  • to live." When school hours were over, he was even the

  • companion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would convoy some

  • of the smaller ones home, who happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives for

  • mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. Indeed, it behooved him to keep on good terms

  • with his pupils. The revenue arising from his school was small, and would have been

  • scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and, though

  • lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help out his maintenance, he was, according

  • to country custom in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the farmers whose

  • children he instructed. With these he lived successively a week at a time, thus going

  • the rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied up in a cotton handkerchief.

  • That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his rustic patrons, who are

  • apt to consider the costs of schooling a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as mere drones,

  • he had various ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers

  • occasionally in the lighter labors of their farms, helped to make hay, mended the fences,

  • took the horses to water, drove the cows from pasture, and cut wood for the winter fire.

  • He laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it

  • in his little empire, the school, and became wonderfully gentle and ingratiating. He found

  • favor in the eyes of the mothers by petting the children, particularly the youngest; and

  • like the lion bold, which whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold, he would sit with a child

  • on one knee, and rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together.

  • In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing-master of the neighborhood, and

  • picked up many bright shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody. It was a matter

  • of no little vanity to him on Sundays, to take his station in front of the church gallery,

  • with a band of chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely carried away the palm

  • from the parson. Certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the rest of the congregation;

  • and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in that church, and which may even be

  • heard half a mile off, quite to the opposite side of the millpond, on a still Sunday morning,

  • which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by divers

  • little makeshifts, in that ingenious way which is commonly denominated "by hook and by crook,"

  • the worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough, and was thought, by all who understood nothing

  • of the labor of headwork, to have a wonderfully easy life of it.

  • The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in the female circle of a rural

  • neighborhood; being considered a kind of idle, gentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior

  • taste and accomplishments to the rough country swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning

  • only to the parson. His appearance, therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at the

  • tea-table of a farmhouse, and the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweetmeats,

  • or, peradventure, the parade of a silver teapot. Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly

  • happy in the smiles of all the country damsels. How he would figure among them in the churchyard,

  • between services on Sundays; gathering grapes for them from the wild vines that overran

  • the surrounding trees; reciting for their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones;

  • or sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks of the adjacent millpond;

  • while the more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance

  • and address. From his half-itinerant life, also, he was

  • a kind of travelling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from house to

  • house, so that his appearance was always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, esteemed

  • by the women as a man of great erudition, for he had read several books quite through,

  • and was a perfect master of Cotton Mather's "History of New England Witchcraft," in which,

  • by the way, he most firmly and potently believed. He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness

  • and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvellous, and his powers of digesting it,

  • were equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence in this spell-bound

  • region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow. It was often his

  • delight, after his school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich

  • bed of clover bordering the little brook that whimpered by his schoolhouse, and there con

  • over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of evening made the printed

  • page a mere mist before his eyes. Then, as he wended his way by swamp and stream and

  • awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of nature,

  • at that witching hour, fluttered his excited imagination,—the moan of the whip-poor-will

  • from the hillside, the boding cry of the tree toad, that harbinger of storm, the dreary

  • hooting of the screech owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket of birds frightened

  • from their roost. The fireflies, too, which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places,

  • now and then startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across his path; and

  • if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against

  • him, the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck

  • with a witch's token. His only resource on such occasions, either to drown thought or

  • drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes and the good people of Sleepy Hollow,

  • as they sat by their doors of an evening, were often filled with awe at hearing his

  • nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the distant hill, or along

  • the dusky road. Another of his sources of fearful pleasure

  • was to pass long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by the

  • fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to their marvellous

  • tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and

  • haunted houses, and particularly of the headless horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow,

  • as they sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft,

  • and of the direful omens and portentous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in

  • the earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations upon

  • comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did absolutely turn round,

  • and that they were half the time topsy-turvy! But if there was a pleasure in all this, while

  • snugly cuddling in the chimney corner of a chamber that was all of a ruddy glow from

  • the crackling wood fire, and where, of course, no spectre dared to show its face, it was

  • dearly purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk homewards. What fearful shapes and shadows

  • beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! With what wistful

  • look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some

  • distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like

  • a sheeted spectre, beset his very path! How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the

  • sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his

  • shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! And how often

  • was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in

  • the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings!

  • All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness;

  • and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan

  • in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils;

  • and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works,

  • if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man

  • than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was—a woman.

  • Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in each week, to receive his instructions

  • in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch farmer.

  • She was a 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 was withal a little of a coquette, as might be

  • perceived even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited

  • to set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother

  • had brought over from Saardam; the tempting stomacher of the olden time, and withal a

  • provokingly short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country round.

  • Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex; and it is not to be wondered

  • at that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in his eyes, more especially after he had

  • visited her in her paternal mansion. Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving,

  • contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts

  • beyond the boundaries of his own farm; but within those everything was snug, happy and

  • well-conditioned. He was satisfied with his wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself

  • upon the hearty abundance, rather than the style in which he lived. His stronghold was

  • situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in

  • which the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A great elm tree spread its broad branches

  • over it, at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest water,

  • in a little well formed of a barrel; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to

  • a neighboring brook, that babbled along among alders and dwarf willows. Hard by the farmhouse

  • was a vast barn, that might have served for a church; every window and crevice of which

  • seemed bursting forth with the treasures of the farm; the flail was busily resounding

  • within it from morning to night; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about the eaves;

  • and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned up, as if watching the weather, some with

  • their heads under their wings or buried in their bosoms, and others swelling, and cooing,

  • and bowing about their dames, were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek unwieldy porkers

  • were grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens, from whence sallied forth,

  • now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the air. A stately squadron of snowy

  • geese were riding in an adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of turkeys

  • were gobbling through the farmyard, and Guinea fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered

  • housewives, with their peevish, discontented cry. Before the barn door strutted the gallant

  • cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior and a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished

  • wings and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart,—sometimes tearing up the earth

  • with his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family of wives and children

  • to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered. The pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked

  • upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his devouring mind's eye, he pictured

  • to himself every roasting-pig running about with a pudding in his belly, and an apple

  • in his mouth; the pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in

  • with a coverlet of crust; the geese were swimming in their own gravy; and the ducks pairing

  • cosily in dishes, like snug married couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce. In

  • the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy relishing ham; not

  • a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure,

  • a necklace of savory sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back,

  • in a side dish, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter which his chivalrous

  • spirit disdained to ask while living. As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this,

  • and as he rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat,

  • of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit, which

  • surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel who was

  • to inherit these domains, and his imagination expanded with the idea, how they might be

  • readily turned into cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle

  • palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, and presented

  • to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the top of

  • a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he

  • beheld himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky,

  • Tennessee,—or the Lord knows where! When he entered the house, the conquest of

  • his heart was complete. It was one of those spacious farmhouses, with high-ridged but

  • lowly sloping roofs, built in the style handed down from the first Dutch settlers; the low

  • projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of being closed up in bad weather.

  • Under this were hung flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing

  • in the neighboring river. Benches were built along the sides for summer use; and a great

  • spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the various uses to which

  • this important porch might be devoted. From this piazza the wondering Ichabod entered

  • the hall, which formed the centre of the mansion, and the place of usual residence. Here rows

  • of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner stood a huge

  • bag of wool, ready to be spun; in another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the

  • loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons

  • along the walls, mingled with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave him

  • a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables shone like

  • mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying shovel and tongs, glistened from their covert

  • of asparagus tops; mock-oranges and conch-shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of various-colored

  • birds eggs were suspended above it; a great ostrich egg was hung from the centre of the

  • room, and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old silver

  • and well-mended china. From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon

  • these regions of delight, the peace of his mind was at an end, and his only study was

  • how to gain the affections of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise,

  • however, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a knight-errant

  • of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons, and such like easily

  • conquered adversaries, to contend with and had to make his way merely through gates of

  • iron and brass, and walls of adamant to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart was

  • confined; all which he achieved as easily as a man would carve his way to the centre

  • of a Christmas pie; and then the lady gave him her hand as a matter of course. Ichabod,

  • on the contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a country coquette, beset with a

  • labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and impediments;

  • and he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood, the numerous

  • rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her heart, keeping a watchful and angry eye

  • upon each other, but ready to fly out in the common cause against any new competitor.

  • Among these, the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade, of the name of

  • Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round,

  • which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed,

  • with short curly black hair, and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled

  • air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and great powers of limb he had received

  • the nickname of BROM BONES, by which he was universally known. He was famed for great

  • knowledge and skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He

  • was foremost at all races and cock fights; and, with the ascendancy which bodily strength

  • always acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side,

  • and giving his decisions with an air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or appeal. He

  • was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in his

  • composition; and with all his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish

  • good humor at bottom. He had three or four boon companions, who regarded him as their

  • model, and at the head of whom he scoured the country, attending every scene of feud

  • or merriment for miles round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted

  • with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a country gathering descried this

  • well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always

  • stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses

  • at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames,

  • startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had clattered

  • by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones and his gang!" The neighbors looked

  • upon him with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good-will; and, when any madcap prank

  • or rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom

  • Bones was at the bottom of it. This rantipole hero had for some time singled

  • out the blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous

  • toyings were something like the gentle caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it was whispered

  • that she did not altogether discourage his hopes. Certain it is, his advances were signals

  • for rival candidates to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours;

  • insomuch, that when his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's paling, on a Sunday night,

  • a sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed, "sparking," within, all

  • other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the war into other quarters.

  • Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend, and, considering all

  • things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would

  • have despaired. He had, however, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature;

  • he was in form and spirit like a supple-jackyielding, but tough; though he bent, he never broke;

  • and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the moment it was awayjerk!—he

  • was as erect, and carried his head as high as ever.

  • To have taken the field openly against his rival would have been madness; for he was

  • not a man to be thwarted in his amours, any more than that stormy lover, Achilles. Ichabod,

  • therefore, made his advances in a quiet and gently insinuating manner. Under cover of

  • his character of singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not that he had anything

  • to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a stumbling-block

  • in the path of lovers. Balt Van Tassel was an easy indulgent soul; he loved his daughter

  • better even than his pipe, and, like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her have

  • her way in everything. His notable little wife, too, had enough to do to attend to her

  • housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are

  • foolish things, and must be looked after, but girls can take care of themselves. Thus,

  • while the busy dame bustled about the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one end of

  • the piazza, honest Balt would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching the

  • achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a sword in each hand, was most

  • valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn. In the mean time, Ichabod would

  • carry on his suit with the daughter by the side of the spring under the great elm, or

  • sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so favorable to the lover's eloquence.

  • I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. To me they have always been

  • matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door

  • of access; while others have a thousand avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different

  • ways. It is a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of generalship

  • to maintain possession of the latter, for man must battle for his fortress at every

  • door and window. He who wins a thousand common hearts is therefore entitled to some renown;

  • but he who keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero. Certain

  • it is, this was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment Ichabod Crane

  • made his advances, the interests of the former evidently declined: his horse was no longer

  • seen tied to the palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between

  • him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow. Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in

  • his nature, would fain have carried matters to open warfare and have settled their pretensions

  • to the lady, according to the mode of those most concise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant

  • of yore,—by single combat; but Ichabod was too conscious of the superior might of his

  • adversary to enter the lists against him; he had overheard a boast of Bones, that he

  • would "double the schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse;" and

  • he was too wary to give him an opportunity. There was something extremely provoking in

  • this obstinately pacific system; it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds

  • of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish practical jokes upon his

  • rival. Ichabod became the object of whimsical persecution to Bones and his gang of rough

  • riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains; smoked out his singing school by

  • stopping up the chimney; broke into the schoolhouse at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings

  • of withe and window stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy, so that the poor schoolmaster

  • began to think all the witches in the country held their meetings there. But what was still

  • more annoying, Brom took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of

  • his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner,

  • and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's, to instruct her in psalmody.

  • In this way matters went on for some time, without producing any material effect on the

  • relative situations of the contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in

  • pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched all the concerns

  • of his little literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic

  • power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails behind the throne, a constant terror

  • to evil doers, while on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband articles and

  • prohibited weapons, detected upon the persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples,

  • popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper gamecocks.

  • Apparently there had been some appalling act of justice recently inflicted, for his scholars

  • were all busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye

  • kept upon the master; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the schoolroom.

  • It was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth jacket and trowsers,

  • a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of

  • a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter. He came

  • clattering up to the school door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry-making or "quilting

  • frolic," to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel's; and having delivered his message

  • with that air of importance, and effort at fine language, which a negro is apt to display

  • on petty embassies of the kind, he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering away

  • up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his mission.

  • All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet schoolroom. The scholars were hurried

  • through their lessons without stopping at trifles; those who were nimble skipped over

  • half with impunity, and those who were tardy had a smart application now and then in the

  • rear, to quicken their speed or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside without

  • being put away on the shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown down, and the whole

  • school was turned loose an hour before the usual time, bursting forth like a legion of

  • young imps, yelping and racketing about the green in joy at their early emancipation.

  • The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and

  • furbishing up his best, and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks by

  • a bit of broken looking-glass that hung up in the schoolhouse. That he might make his

  • appearance before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a horse from

  • the farmer with whom he was domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman of the name of Hans

  • Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like a knight-errant in quest of adventures.

  • But it is meet I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the

  • looks and equipments of my hero and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow-horse,

  • that had outlived almost everything but its viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with

  • a ewe neck, and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and knotted

  • with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but the other had

  • the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day,

  • if we may judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been a favorite steed of

  • his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had infused, very

  • probably, some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked,

  • there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young filly in the country.

  • Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which brought

  • his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like grasshoppers';

  • he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand, like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged

  • on, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings. A small wool

  • hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called,

  • and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to the horses tail. Such was the

  • appearance of Ichabod and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans Van Ripper,

  • and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight.

  • It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was clear and serene, and nature wore

  • that rich and golden livery which we always associate with the idea of abundance. The

  • forests had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had

  • been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, purple, and scarlet. Streaming

  • files of wild ducks began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the squirrel

  • might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory-nuts, and the pensive whistle of the

  • quail at intervals from the neighboring stubble field.

  • The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. In the fullness of their revelry,

  • they fluttered, chirping and frolicking from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious

  • from the very profusion and variety around them. There was the honest cock robin, the

  • favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note; and the twittering

  • blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker with his crimson

  • crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the cedar bird, with its red-tipt

  • wings and yellow-tipt tail and its little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay,

  • that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light blue coat and white underclothes, screaming and

  • chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms with every

  • songster of the grove. As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye,

  • ever open to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the treasures of

  • jolly autumn. On all sides he beheld vast store of apples; some hanging in oppressive

  • opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets and barrels for the market; others

  • heaped up in rich piles for the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great fields of Indian

  • corn, with its golden ears peeping from their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise

  • of cakes and hasty-pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up their

  • fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects of the most luxurious of pies;

  • and anon he passed the fragrant buckwheat fields breathing the odor of the beehive,

  • and as he beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty 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 along the sides of a range of hills which look out

  • upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually wheeled his broad

  • disk down in the west. The wide bosom of the Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, excepting

  • that here and there a gentle undulation waved and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant

  • mountain. A few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air to move them.

  • The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a pure apple green, and from

  • that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven. A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests

  • of the precipices that overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth to the

  • dark gray and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop was loitering in the distance, dropping

  • slowly down with the tide, her sail hanging uselessly against the mast; and as the reflection

  • of the sky gleamed along the still water, it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in

  • the air. It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived

  • at the castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and flower

  • of the adjacent country. Old farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in homespun coats and

  • breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles. Their brisk, withered

  • little dames, in close-crimped caps, long-waisted short gowns, homespun petticoats, with scissors

  • and pincushions, and gay calico pockets hanging on the outside. Buxom lasses, almost as antiquated

  • as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white frock,

  • gave symptoms of city innovation. The sons, in short square-skirted coats, with rows of

  • stupendous brass buttons, and their hair generally queued in the fashion of the times, especially

  • if they could procure an eel-skin for the purpose, it being esteemed throughout the

  • country as a potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair.

  • Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having come to the gathering on his favorite

  • steed Daredevil, a creature, like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which no

  • one but himself could manage. He was, in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, given

  • to all kinds of tricks which kept the rider in constant risk of his neck, for he held

  • a tractable, well-broken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit.

  • Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that burst upon the enraptured gaze

  • of my hero, as he entered the state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not those of the

  • bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxurious display of red and white; but the ample charms

  • of a genuine Dutch country tea-table, in the sumptuous time of autumn. Such heaped up platters

  • of cakes of various and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experienced Dutch housewives!

  • There was the doughty doughnut, the tender oly koek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller;

  • sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes.

  • And then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and pumpkin pies; besides slices of

  • ham and smoked beef; and moreover delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and

  • pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens; together with bowls

  • of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with

  • the motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the midstHeaven bless the

  • mark! I want breath and time to discuss this banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to

  • get on with my story. Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his historian,

  • but did ample justice to every dainty. He was a kind and thankful creature, whose

  • heart dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer, and whose spirits

  • rose with eating, as some men's do with drink. He could not help, too, rolling his large

  • eyes round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility that he might one day be lord

  • of all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury and splendor. Then, he thought, how soon he'd

  • turn his back upon the old schoolhouse; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper,

  • and every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue out of doors that

  • should dare to call him comrade! Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his

  • guests with a face dilated with content and good 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 loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to "fall

  • to, and help themselves." And now the sound of the music from the common

  • room, or hall, summoned to the dance. The musician was an old gray-headed negro, who

  • had been the itinerant orchestra of the neighborhood for more than half a century. His instrument

  • was as old and battered as himself. The greater part of the time he scraped on two or three

  • strings, accompanying every movement of the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost

  • to the ground, and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to start.

  • Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his vocal powers. Not a limb,

  • not a fibre about him was idle; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion,

  • and clattering about the room, you would have thought St. Vitus himself, that blessed patron

  • of the dance, was figuring before you in person. He was the admiration of all the negroes;

  • who, having gathered, of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, stood

  • forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and window, gazing with delight

  • at the scene, rolling their white eyeballs, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear

  • to ear. How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and joyous? The lady

  • of his heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously in reply to all his

  • amorous oglings; while Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding

  • by himself in one corner. When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was

  • attracted to a knot of the sager folks, who, with Old 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 I am speaking, was one of those highly favored

  • places which abound with chronicle and great men. The British and American line had run

  • near it during the war; it had, therefore, been the scene of marauding and infested with

  • refugees, cowboys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufficient time had elapsed

  • to enable each storyteller to dress up his tale with a little becoming fiction, and,

  • in the indistinctness of his recollection, to make himself the hero of every exploit.

  • There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue-bearded Dutchman, who had nearly

  • taken a British frigate with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only that his gun burst

  • at the sixth discharge. And there was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, being too

  • rich a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, in the battle of White Plains, being an excellent

  • master of defence, parried a musket-ball with a small sword, insomuch that he absolutely

  • felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off at the hilt; in proof of which he was ready

  • at any time to show the sword, with the hilt a little bent. There were several more that

  • had been equally great in the field, not one of whom but was persuaded that he had a considerable

  • hand in bringing the war to a happy termination. But all these were nothing to the tales of

  • ghosts and apparitions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in legendary treasures

  • of the kind. Local tales and superstitions thrive best in these sheltered, long-settled

  • retreats; but are trampled under foot by the shifting throng that forms the population

  • of most of our country places. Besides, there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of

  • our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish their first nap and turn themselves

  • in their graves, before their surviving friends have travelled away from the neighborhood;

  • so that when they turn out at night to walk their rounds, they have no acquaintance left

  • to call upon. This is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our

  • long-established Dutch communities. The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence

  • of supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the vicinity of Sleepy

  • Hollow. There was a contagion in the very air that blew from that haunted region; it

  • breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land. Several of

  • the Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling out their

  • wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning

  • cries and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the unfortunate Major André

  • was taken, and which stood in the neighborhood. Some mention was made also of the woman in

  • white, that haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to shriek on winter

  • nights before a storm, having perished there in the snow. The chief part of the stories,

  • however, turned upon the favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the Headless Horseman, who

  • had been heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it was said, tethered his

  • horse nightly among the graves in the churchyard. The sequestered situation of this church seems

  • always to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It stands on a knoll, surrounded

  • by locust-trees and lofty elms, from among which its decent, whitewashed walls shine

  • modestly forth, like Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement. A gentle

  • slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high trees, between which,

  • peeps may be caught at the blue hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard,

  • where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that there at least the dead

  • might rest in peace. On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves

  • a large brook among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of

  • the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that led

  • to it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a

  • gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness at night. Such was one

  • of the favorite haunts of the Headless Horseman, and the place where he was most frequently

  • encountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how

  • he met the Horseman returning from his foray into Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get

  • up behind him; how they galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they

  • reached the bridge; when the Horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer

  • into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder.

  • This story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure of Brom Bones, who made

  • light of the Galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed that on returning one

  • night from the neighboring village of Sing Sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight

  • trooper; that he had offered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have won

  • it too, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as they came to the church

  • bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flash of fire.

  • All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which men talk in the dark, the countenances

  • of the listeners only now and then receiving a casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank

  • deep in the mind of Ichabod. He repaid them in kind with large extracts from his invaluable

  • author, Cotton Mather, and added many marvellous events that had taken place in his native

  • State of Connecticut, and fearful sights which he had seen in his nightly walks about Sleepy

  • Hollow. The revel now gradually broke up. The old

  • farmers gathered together their families in their wagons, and were heard for some time

  • rattling along the hollow roads, and over the distant hills. Some of the damsels mounted

  • on pillions behind their favorite swains, and their light-hearted laughter, mingling

  • with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter,

  • until they gradually died away,—and the late scene of noise and frolic was all silent

  • and deserted. Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom of country lovers,

  • to have a tête-à-tête with the heiress; fully convinced that he was now on the high

  • road to success. What passed at this interview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do

  • not know. Something, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he certainly sallied

  • forth, after no very great interval, with an air quite desolate and chapfallen. Oh,

  • these women! these women! Could that girl have been playing off any of her coquettish

  • tricks? Was her encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure her conquest

  • of his rival? Heaven only knows, not I! Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with

  • the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady's heart. Without looking

  • to the right or left to notice the scene of rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated,

  • he went straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his steed most

  • uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming

  • of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover.

  • It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted and crestfallen, pursued

  • his travels homewards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town,

  • and which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself.

  • Far below him the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here

  • and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the dead

  • hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the watchdog from the opposite shore of

  • the Hudson; but it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from

  • this faithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock, accidentally

  • awakened, would sound far, far off, from some farmhouse away among the hillsbut it was

  • like a dreaming sound in his ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally

  • the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bullfrog from a neighboring

  • marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and turning suddenly in his bed.

  • All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoon now came crowding

  • upon his recollection. The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper

  • in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt

  • so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of the scenes of

  • the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the road stood an enormous tulip-tree,

  • which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind

  • of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks for ordinary trees,

  • twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again into the air. It was connected with

  • the tragical story of the unfortunate André, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was

  • universally known by the name of Major André's tree. The common people regarded it with a

  • mixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred

  • namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights, and doleful lamentations, told concerning

  • it. As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he

  • began to whistle; he thought his whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply

  • through the dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw something

  • white, hanging in the midst of the tree: he paused and ceased whistling but, on looking

  • more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had been scathed by lightning,

  • and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard a groanhis teeth chattered, and his

  • knees smote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another,

  • as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils

  • lay before him. About two hundred yards from the tree, a small

  • brook crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by the name

  • of Wiley's Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over this stream.

  • On that side of the road where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted

  • thick with wild grape-vines, threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the

  • severest trial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate André was captured,

  • and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen concealed who

  • surprised him. This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings

  • of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.

  • As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump; he summoned up, however, all his

  • resolution, gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly

  • across the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral

  • movement, and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay,

  • jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot: it was all

  • in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge to the opposite side

  • of the road into a thicket of brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed

  • both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling

  • and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that had nearly

  • sent his rider sprawling over his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side

  • of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove,

  • on the margin of the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering. It stirred not,

  • but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon

  • the traveller. The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose

  • upon his head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late; and

  • besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could

  • ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded

  • in stammering accents, "Who are you?" He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still

  • more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible

  • Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune.

  • Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and

  • a bound stood at once in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dismal,

  • yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a

  • horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He made

  • no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging

  • along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness.

  • Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and bethought himself

  • of the adventure of Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed in hopes

  • of leaving him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod

  • pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind,—the other did the same. His

  • heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his parched

  • tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave. There was something

  • in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and appalling.

  • It was soon fearfully accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure

  • of his fellow-traveller in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in

  • a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless!—but his horror was

  • still more increased on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders,

  • was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle! His terror rose to desperation; he

  • rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion

  • the slip; but the spectre started full jump with him. Away, then, they dashed through

  • thick and thin; stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments

  • fluttered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse's head,

  • in the eagerness of his flight. They had now reached the road which turns

  • off to Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping

  • up it, made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong downhill to the left. This road leads

  • through a sandy hollow shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses

  • the bridge famous in goblin story; and just beyond swells the green knoll on which stands

  • the whitewashed church. As yet the panic of the steed had given his

  • unskilful rider an apparent advantage in the chase, but just as he had got half way through

  • the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him.

  • He seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just

  • time to save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle fell to the

  • earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment the terror of

  • Hans Van Ripper's wrath passed across his mind,—for it was his Sunday saddle; but

  • this was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches; and (unskilful rider

  • that he was!) he had much ado to maintain his seat; sometimes slipping on one side,

  • sometimes on another, and sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse's backbone,

  • with a violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder.

  • An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand.

  • The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was

  • not mistaken. He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He recollected

  • the place where Brom Bones's ghostly competitor had disappeared. "If I can but reach that

  • bridge," thought Ichabod, "I am safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting and

  • blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive

  • kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding

  • planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a look behind to see if his pursuer

  • should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the

  • goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod

  • endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered his cranium with

  • a tremendous crash,—he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed,

  • and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind. The next morning the old horse was found without

  • his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master's

  • gate. Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast; dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod.

  • The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the brook;

  • but no schoolmaster. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some uneasiness about the fate of

  • poor Ichabod, and his saddle. An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation

  • they came upon his traces. In one part of the road leading to the church was found the

  • saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and

  • evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a

  • broad part of the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate

  • Ichabod, and close beside it a shattered pumpkin. The brook was searched, but the body of the

  • schoolmaster was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper as executor of his estate, examined

  • the bundle which contained all his worldly effects. They consisted of two shirts and

  • a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy

  • small-clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes full of dog's-ears; and a broken pitch-pipe.

  • As to the books and furniture of the schoolhouse, they belonged to the community, excepting

  • Cotton Mather's "History of Witchcraft," a "New England Almanac," and a book of dreams

  • and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap much scribbled and blotted in

  • several fruitless attempts to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress of Van Tassel.

  • These magic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned to the flames by Hans

  • Van Ripper; who, from that time forward, determined to send his children no more to school, observing

  • that he never knew any good come of this same reading and writing. Whatever money the schoolmaster

  • possessed, and he had received his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must have

  • had about his person at the time of his disappearance. The mysterious event caused much speculation

  • at the church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and gossips were collected in the

  • churchyard, at the bridge, and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been found.

  • The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole budget of others were called to mind; and

  • when they had diligently considered them all, and compared them with the symptoms of the

  • present case, they shook their heads, and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been

  • carried off by the Galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, and in nobody's debt, nobody

  • troubled his head any more about him; the school was removed to a different quarter

  • of the hollow, and another pedagogue reigned in his stead.

  • It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New York on a visit several years after,

  • and from whom this account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence

  • that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighborhood partly through fear

  • of the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been suddenly dismissed

  • by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the country; had kept

  • school and studied law at the same time; had been admitted to the bar; turned politician;

  • electioneered; written for the newspapers; and finally had been made a justice of the

  • Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones, too, who, shortly after his rival's disappearance conducted

  • the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever

  • the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of

  • the pumpkin; which led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he chose

  • to tell. The old country wives, however, who are the

  • best judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited away by

  • supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round the

  • winter evening fire. The bridge became more than ever an object of superstitious awe;

  • and that may be the reason why the road has been altered of late years, so as to approach

  • the church by the border of the millpond. The schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to

  • decay, and was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue and the

  • plowboy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice at a

  • distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.

  • POSTSCRIPT. FOUND IN THE HANDWRITING OF MR. KNICKERBOCKER.

  • The preceding tale is given almost in the precise words in which I heard it related

  • at a Corporation meeting at the ancient city of 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, with a sadly humourous face, and one whom I strongly

  • suspected of being poor--he made such efforts to be entertaining. When his story was concluded,

  • there was much laughter and approbation, particularly from 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, who maintained 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 his mind. He was one of your wary men, who never

  • laugh but upon good grounds--when they have reason and 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 the other akimbo, demanded, with a slight, but exceedingly

  • sage motion of the head, and contraction of 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 after his 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 most logically to prove--

  • "That there is no situation in life but has its 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 riding of it.

  • "Ergo, for a country schoolmaster to be refused the 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, being sorely puzzled by the ratiocination of the

  • syllogism, while, methought, the one in pepper-and-salt eyed him with something of a triumphant leer.

  • At length he observed that all this was very well, but still he thought the story a little

  • on the extravagant--there were one or two points on which he had his doubts.

  • "Faith, sir," replied the story-teller, "as to that matter, I don't believe one-half of

  • it myself." D. K.

  • THE END.

THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW by Washington Irving

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