The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

Hi i just wanted to say a few words before you read this story. first off 
this is a great classic so enjoy. second this was written a long time ago
so please be patient with the wording. thanks for listening, 
~R.Alexander~ 








Found among the papers of the late Diedrech Knickerbocker.








      A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,


       Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;


       And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,


       Forever flushing round a summer sky.


                   Castle of Indolence.








   In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the


eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river


denominated by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and


where they always prudently shortened sail and implored the


protection of St. Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small


market town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh,


but which is more generally and properly known by the name of


Tarry Town.  This name was given, we are told, in former days, by


the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the inveterate


propensity of their husbands to linger about the village tavern


on market days.  Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact,


but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and


authentic.  Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles,


there is a little valley or rather lap of land among high hills,


which is one of the quietest places in the whole world.  A small


brook glides through it, with just murmur enough to lull one to


repose; and the occasional whistle of a quail or tapping of a


woodpecker is almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the


uniform tranquillity.





   I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in


squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades


one side of the valley.  I had wandered into it at noontime, when


all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of


my own gun, as it broke the Sabbath stillness around and was


prolonged and reverberated by the angry echoes.  If ever I should


wish for a retreat whither I might steal from the world and its


distractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a troubled


life, I know of none more promising than this little valley.





   From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar


character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from the


original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long been


known by the name of SLEEPY HOLLOW, and its rustic lads are


called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the neighboring


country.  A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the land,


and to pervade the very atmosphere.  Some say that the place was


bewitched by a High German doctor, during the early days of the


settlement; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or


wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the country


was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson.  Certain it is, the


place still continues under the sway of some witching power, that


holds a spell over the minds of the good people, causing them to


walk in a continual reverie.  They are given to all kinds of


marvelous beliefs; are subject to trances and visions, and


frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in the


air.  The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted


spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare


oftener across the valley than in any other part of the country,


and the nightmare, with her whole ninefold, seems to make it the


favorite scene of her gambols.





   The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted


region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of


the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a


head.  It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper,


whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some


nameless battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever and


anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of


night, as if on the wings of the wind.  His haunts are not


confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent


roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great


distance.  Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of


those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating


the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body


of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost


rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head,


and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along


the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated,


and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.





   Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition,


which has furnished materials for many a wild story in that


region of shadows; and the spectre is known at all the country


firesides, by the name of the Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.





   It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have


mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of the


valley, but is unconsciously imbibed by every one who resides


there for a time.  However wide awake they may have been before


they entered that sleepy region, they are sure, in a little time,


to inhale the witching influence of the air, and begin to grow


imaginative, to dream dreams, and see apparitions.





   I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laud for it


is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here and there


embosomed in the great State of New York, that population,


manners, and customs remain fixed, while the great torrent of


migration and improvement, which is making such incessant changes


in other parts of this restless country, sweeps by them


unobserved.  They are like those little nooks of still water,


which border a rapid stream, where we may see the straw and


bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their


mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current. 


Though many years have elapsed since I trod the drowsy shades of


Sleepy Hollow, yet I question whether I should not still find the


same trees and the same families vegetating in its sheltered


bosom.





   In this by-place of nature there abode, in a remote period


of American history, that is to say, some thirty years since, a


worthy wight of the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or, as


he expressed it, "tarried," in Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of


instructing the children of the vicinity.  He was a native of


Connecticut, a State which supplies the Union with pioneers for


the mind as well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its


legions of frontier woodmen and country schoolmasters.  The


cognomen of Crane was not inapplicable to his person.  He was


tall, but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, long arms and


legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his sleeves, feet that


might have served for shovels, and his whole frame most loosely


hung together.  His head was small, and flat at top, with huge


ears, large green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it


looked like a weather-cock perched upon his spindle neck to tell


which way the wind blew.  To see him striding along the profile of


a hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and fluttering


about him, one might have mistaken him for the genius of famine


descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a


cornfield.





   His schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, rudely


constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, and partly


patched with leaves of old copybooks.  It was most ingeniously


secured at vacant hours, by a *withe twisted in the handle of the


door, and stakes set against the window shutters; so that though


a thief might get in with perfect ease, he would find some


embarrassment in getting out, --an idea most probably borrowed by


the architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eelpot. 


The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleasant situation,


just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook running close by,


and a formidable birch-tree growing at one end of it.  From hence


the low murmur of his pupils' voices, conning over their lessons,


might be heard in a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a


beehive; interrupted now and then by the authoritative voice of


the master, in the tone of menace or command, or, peradventure,


by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged some tardy


loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge.  Truth to say, he


was a conscientious man, and ever bore in mind the golden maxim,


"Spare the rod and spoil the child." Ichabod Crane's scholars


certainly were not spoiled.





   I would not have it imagined, however, that he was one of


those cruel potentates of the school who joy in the smart of


their subjects; on the contrary, he administered justice with


discrimination rather than severity; taking the burden off the


backs of the weak, and laying it on those of the strong.  Your


mere puny stripling, that winced at the least flourish of the


rod, was passed by with indulgence; but the claims of justice


were satisfied by inflicting a double portion on some little


tough wrong headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and


swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch.  All this he


called "doing his duty by their parents;" and he never inflicted


a chastisement without following it by the assurance, so


consolatory to the smarting urchin, that "he would remember it


and thank him for it the longest day he had to live."





   When school hours were over, he was even the companion and


playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday afternoons would


convoy some of the smaller ones home, who happened to have pretty


sisters, or good housewives for mothers, noted for the comforts


of the cupboard.  Indeed, it behooved him to keep on good terms


with his pupils.  The revenue arising from his school was small,


and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him with daily


bread, for he was a huge feeder, and, though lank, had the


dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help out his maintenance,


he was, according to country custom in those parts, boarded and


lodged at the houses of the farmers whose children he instructed. 


With these he lived successively a week at a time, thus going the


rounds of the neighborhood, with all his worldly effects tied up


in a cotton handkerchief.





   That all this might not be too onerous on the purses of his


rustic patrons, who are apt to considered the costs of schooling


a grievous burden, and schoolmasters as mere drones he had


various ways of rendering himself both useful and agreeable.


He assisted the farmers occasionally in the lighter labors of


their farms, helped to make hay, mended the fences, took the


horses to water, drove the cows from pasture, and cut wood


for the winter fire.  He laid aside, too, all the dominant


dignity and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his


little empire, the school, and became wonderfully gentle


and ingratiating.  He found favor in the eyes of the mothers


by petting the children, particularly the youngest; and like


the lion bold, which whilom so magnanimously the lamb did hold,


he would sit with a child on one knee, and rock a cradle with


his foot for whole hours together.





   In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing-


master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright shillings


by instructing the young folks in psalmody.  It was a matter of no


little vanity to him on Sundays, to take his station in front of


the church gallery, with a band of chosen singers; where, in his


own mind, he completely carried away the palm from the parson. 


Certain it is, his voice resounded far above all the rest of the


congregation; and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in


that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, quite


to the opposite side of the mill-pond, on a still Sunday morning,


which are said to be legitimately descended from the nose of


Ichabod Crane.  Thus, by divers little makeshifts, in that


ingenious way which is commonly denominated "by hook and by


crook," the worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough, and was


thought, by all who understood nothing of the labor of headwork,


to have a wonderfully easy life of it.





   The schoolmaster is generally a man of some importance in


the female circle of a rural neighborhood; being considered a


kind of idle, gentlemanlike personage, of vastly superior taste


and accomplishments to the rough country swains, and, indeed,


inferior in learning only to the parson.  His appearance,


therefore, is apt to occasion some little stir at the tea-table


of a farmhouse, and the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes


or sweetmeats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver teapot. 


Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in the smiles


of all the country damsels.  How he would figure among them in the


churchyard, between services on Sundays; gathering grapes for


them from the wild vines that overran the surrounding trees;


reciting for their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones;


or sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks of the


adjacent mill-pond; while the more bashful country bumpkins hung


sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance and address.





   From his half-itinerant life, also, he was a kind of


traveling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local gossip from


house to house, so that his appearance was always greeted with


satisfaction.  He was, moreover, esteemed by the women as a man of


great erudition, for he had read several books quite through, and


was a perfect master of Cotton  Mather's "History of New England


Witchcraft," in which, by the way, he most firmly and potently


believed.





   He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness and


simple credulity.  His appetite for the marvelous, and his powers


of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; and both had been


increased by his residence in this spell-bound region.  No tale


was too gross or monstrous for his capacious swallow.  It was


often his delight, after his school was dismissed in the


afternoon, to stretch himself on the rich bed of clover bordering


the little brook that whimpered by his school-house, and there


con over old Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of


evening made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes.  Then,


as he wended his way by swamp and stream and awful woodland, to


the farmhouse where he happened to be quartered, every sound of


nature, at that witching hour, fluttered his excited


imagination, --the moan of the whip-poor-will from the hillside,


the boding cry of the tree toad, that harbinger of storm, the


dreary hooting of the screech owl, to the sudden rustling in the


thicket of birds frightened from their roost.  The fireflies, too,


which sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then


startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream across


his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a beetle came


winging his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was


ready to give up the ghost, with the idea that he was struck with


a witch's token.  His only resource on such occasions, either to


drown thought or drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes


and the good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors


of an evening, were often filled with awe at hearing his nasal


melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," floating from the


distant hill, or along the dusky road.





   Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was to pass long


winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they sat spinning by


the fire, with a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the


hearth, and listen to their marvellous tales of ghosts and


goblins, and haunted fields, and haunted brooks, and haunted


bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly of the headless


horseman, or Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes


called him.  He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of


witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous sights and


sounds in the air, which prevailed in the earlier times of


Connecticut; and would frighten them woefully with speculations


upon comets and shooting stars; and with the alarming fact that


the world did absolutely turn round, and that they were half the


time topsy-turvy!





   But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly


cuddling in the chimney corner of a chamber that was all of a


ruddy glow from the crackling wood fire, and where, of course, no


spectre dared to show its face, it was dearly purchased by the


terrors of his subsequent walk homewards.  What fearful shapes and


shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a


snowy night!  With what wistful look did he eye every trembling


ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant


window!  How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with


snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path!  How


often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own


steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look


over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being


tramping close behind him! and how often was he thrown into


complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees,


in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his


nightly scourings!





   All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms


of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many


spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in


divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an


end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life


of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works, if his path had


not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal


man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put


together, and that was--a woman.





   Among the musical disciples who assembled, one evening in


each week, to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina


Van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial Dutch


farmer.  She was a booming lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a


partridge; ripe and melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her


father's peaches, and universally famed, not merely for her


beauty, but her vast expectations.  She was withal a little of a


coquette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which was a


mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most suited to set of


her charms.  She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her


great-great-grandmother had brought over from Saar dam; the


tempting stomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly


short petticoat, to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the


country round.





   Ichahod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex;


and it is not to be wondered at, that so tempting a morsel soon


found favor in his eyes, more especially after he had visited her


in her paternal mansion.  Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect


picture of a thriving, contented, liberal-hearted farmer.  He


seldom, it is true, sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond


the boundaries of his own farm; but within those everything was


snug, happy and well-conditioned.  He was satisfied with his


wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the hearty


abundance, rather than the style in which he lived.  His


stronghold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of


those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which the Dutch farmers


are so fond of nestling.  A great elm tree spread its broad


branches over it, at the foot of which bubbled up a spring of the


softest and sweetest water, in a little well formed of a barrel;


and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to a neighboring


brook, that babbled  along among alders and dwarf willows.  Hard


by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that might have served for a


church; every window and crevice of which seemed bursting


forth with the treasures of the farm; the flail was busily


resounding within it from morning to night; swallows and martins


skimmed twittering about the eaves; an rows of pigeons, some with


one eye turned up, as if watching the weather, some with their


heads under their wings or buried in their bosoms, and others


swelling, and cooing, and bowing about their dames, were enjoying


the sunshine on the roof.  Sleek unwieldy porkers were grunting in


the repose and abundance of their pens, from whence sallied


forth, now and then, troops of sucking pigs, as if to snuff the


air.  A stately squadron of snowy geese were riding in an


adjoining pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks; regiments of


turkeys were gobbling through the farmyard, and Guinea fowls


fretting about it, like ill-tempered housewives, with their


peevish, discontented cry.  Before the barn door strutted the


gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a warrior and a fine


gentleman, clapping his burnished wings and crowing in the pride


and gladness of his heart, --sometimes tearing up the earth with


his feet, and then generously calling his ever-hungry family of


wives and children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had


discovered.





   The pedagogue's mouth watered as he looked upon this


sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare.  In his devouring


mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roasting-pig running


about with a pudding in his belly, and an apple in his mouth; the


pigeons were snugly put to bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked


in with a coverlet of crust; the geese were swimming in their own


gravy; and the ducks pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married


couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce.  In the porkers


he saw carved out the future sleek side of bacon, and juicy


relishing ham; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up,


with its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of


savory sausages; and even bright chanticleer himself lay


sprawling on his back, in a side dish, with uplifted claws, as if


craving that quarter which his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask


while living.





   As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled


his great green eyes over the fat meadow lands, the rich fields


of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards


burdened with ruddy fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of


Van Tassel, his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit


these domains, and his imagination expanded with the idea, how


they might be readily turned into cash, and the money invested in


immense tracts of wild land, and shingle palaces in the


wilderness.  Nay, his busy fancy already realized his hopes, and


presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole family of


children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household


trumpery, with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld


himself bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels,


setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee, --or the Lord knows where!





   When he entered the house, the conquest of his heart was


complete.  It was one of those spacious farmhouses, with high-


ridged but lowly sloping roofs, built in the style handed down


from the first Dutch settlers; the low projecting eaves forming a


piazza along the front, capable of being closed up in bad


weather.  Under this were hung flails, harness, various utensils


of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring river. 


Benches were built along the sides for summer use; and a great


spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the


various uses to which this important porch might be devoted.  From


this piazza the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which formed


the centre of the mansion, and the place of usual residence.  Here


rows of resplendent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his


eyes.  In one corner stood a huge bag of wool, ready to be spun;


in another, a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears


of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and peaches, hung in


gay festoons along the walls, mingled with the gaud of red


peppers; and a door left ajar gave him a peep into the best


parlor, where the claw-footed chairs and dark mahogany tables


shone like mirrors; andirons, with their accompanying shovel and


tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-


oranges and conch - shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of


various-colored birds eggs were suspended above it; a great


ostrich egg was hung from the centre of the room, and a corner


cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed immense treasures of old


silver and well-mended china.





   From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of


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


was how to gain the affections of the peerless daughter of Van


Tassel.  In this enterprise, however, he had more real


difficulties than generally fell to the lot of a knight-errant of


yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters, fiery


dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, to contend


with and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and


brass, and walls of adamant to the castle keep, where the lady of


his heart was confined; all which he achieved as easily as a man


would carve his way to the centre of a Christmas pie; and then


the lady gave him her hand as a matter of course.  Ichabod, on the


contrary, had to win his way to the heart of a country coquette,


beset with a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were forever


presenting new difficulties and impediments; and he had to


encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and blood,


the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her


heart, keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but


ready to fly out in the common cause against any new competitor.





   Among these, the most formidable was a burly, roaring,


roystering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, according to the


Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the hero of the country round


which rang with his feats of strength and hardihood.  He was


broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with short curly black hair,


and a bluff but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled air


of fun and arrogance From his Herculean frame and great powers of


limb he had received the nickname of BROM BONES, by which he was


universally known.  He was famed for great knowledge and skill in


horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar.  He was


foremost at all races and cock fights; and, with the ascendancy


which bodily strength always acquires in rustic life, was the


umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving


his decisions with an air and tone that admitted of no gainsay or


appeal.  He was always ready for either a fight or a frolic; but


had more mischief than ill-will in his composition; and with all


his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish


good humor at bottom.  He had three or four boon companions, who


regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he scoured


the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for


miles round.  In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap,


surmounted with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a


country gathering descried this well-known crest at a distance,


whisking about among a squad of hard riders, they always stood by


for a squall.  Sometimes his crew would be heard dashing along


past the farmhouses at midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a


troop of Don Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their


sleep, would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had


clattered by, and then exclaim, "Ay, there goes Brom Bones


and his gang!"  The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture


of awe, admiration, and good-will; and, when any madcap prank


or rustic brawl occurred in the vicinity, always shook their


heads, and warranted Brom Bones was at the bottom of it.





   This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the


blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and


though his amorous toyings were something like the gentle


caresses and endearments ofa bear, yet it was whispered that she


did not altogether discourage his hopes.  Certain it is, his


advances were signals for rival candidates to retire, who felt no


inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch, that when


his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel's paling, on a Sunday


night, a sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is


termed, " sparking," within, all other suitors passed by in


despair, and  carried the war into other quarters.





   Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to


contend, and, considering, all things, a stouter man than he


would have shrunk from the competition, and a wiser man would


have despaired.  He had, however, a happy mixture of pliability


and perseverance in his nature; he was in form and spirit like a


supple-jackÄyielding, but tough; though he bent, he never broke;


and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, the


moment it was away--jerk!--he was as erect, and carried his


head as high as ever.





   To have taken the field openly against his rival would have


been madness; for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours,


any more than that stormy lover, Achilles.  Ichabod, therefore,


made his advances in a quiet and gently insinuating manner.  Under


cover of his character of singing-master, he made frequent visits


at the farmhouse; not that he had anything to apprehend from the


meddlesome interference of parents, which is so often a


stumbling-block in the path of lovers.  Balt Van Tassel was an


easy indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better even than his


pipe, and, like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her


have her way in everything.  His notable little wife, too, had


enough to do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her


poultry; for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish


things, and must be looked after, but girls can take care of


themselves.  Thus, while the busy dame bustled about the house, or


plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the piazza, honest Balt


would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching the


achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a sword


in each hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on the


pinnacle of the barn.  In the mean time, Ichabod would carry on


his suit with the daughter by the side of the spring under the


great elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so


favorable to the lover's eloquence.





   I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed and won. 


To me they have always been matters of riddle and admiration. 


Some seem to have but one vulnerable point, or door of access;


while others have a thousand avenues, and may be captured in a


thousand different ways.  It is a great triumph of skill to gain


the former, but a still greater proof of generalship to maintain


possession of the latter, for man must battle for his fortress at


every door and window.  He who wins a thousand common hearts is


therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed


sway over the heart of a coquette is indeed a hero.  Certain it


is, this was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and


from the moment Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of


the former evidently declined:  his horse was no longer seen tied


to the palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually


arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow.





   Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature,


would fain have carried matters to open warfare and have settled


their pretensions to the lady, according to the mode of those


most concise and simple reasoners, the knights-errant of yore, --


by single combat; but lchabod was too conscious of the superior


might of his adversary to enter the lists against him; he had


overheard a boast of Bones, that he would "double the


schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse;"


and he was too wary to give him an opportunity.  There was


something extremely provoking, in this obstinately pacific


system; it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the funds of


rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off boorish


practical jokes upon his rival.  Ichabod became the object of


whimsical persecution to Bones and his gang of rough riders.  They


harried his hitherto peaceful domains, smoked out his singing-


school by stopping up the chimney, broke into the schoolhouse at


night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe and window


stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy, so that the poor


schoolmaster began to think all the witches in the country held


their meetings there.  But what was still more annoying, Brom took


all Opportunities of turning him into ridicule in presence of his


mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom he taught to whine in the


most ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's, to


instruct her in psalmody.





   In this way matters went on for some time, without producing


any material effect on the relative situations of the contending


powers.  On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood,


sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he usually watched


all the concerns of his little literary realm.  In his hand he


swayed a ferule, that sceptre of despotic power; the birch of


justice reposed on three nails behind the throne, a constant


terror to evil doers, while on the desk before him might be seen


sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons, detected upon


the persons of idle urchins, such as half-munched apples,


popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant


little paper game-cocks.  Apparently there had been some appalling


act of justice recently inflicted, for his scholars were all


busily intent upon their books, or slyly whispering behind them


with one eye kept upon the master; and a kind of buzzing


stillness reigned throughout the schoolroom.  It was suddenly


interrupted by the appearance of a negro in tow-cloth jacket and


trowsers.  a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of


Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken


colt, which he managed with a rope by way of halter.  He came


clattering up to the school-door with an invitation to Ichabod to


attend a merry - making or "quilting-frolic,"  to be held that


evening at Mynheer Van Tassel's; and having, delivered his


message with that air of importance and effort at fine language


which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind,


he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering, away up the


Hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his mission.





   All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet schoolroom. 


The scholars were hurried through their lessons without stopping


at trifles; those who were nimble skipped over half with


impunity, and those who were tardy had a smart application now


and then in the rear, to quicken their speed or help them over a


tall word.  Books were flung aside without being put away on the


shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown down, and the


whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual time,


bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping and racketing


about the green in joy at their early emancipation.





   The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half hour at


his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, and indeed only


suit of rusty black, and arranging his locks by a bit of broken


looking-glass that hung up in the schoolhouse.  That he might make


his appearance before his mistress in the true style of a


cavalier, he borrowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was


domiciliated, a choleric old Dutchman of the name of Hans Van


Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth like a knight-


errant in quest of adventures.  But it is meet I should, in the


true spirit of romantic story, give some account of the looks and


equipments of my hero and his steed.  The animal he bestrode was a


broken-down plow-horse, that had outlived almost everything but


its viciousness.  He was gaunt and shagged, with a ewe neck, and a


head like a hammer; his rusty mane and tail were tangled and


knotted with burs; one eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring


and spectral, but the other had the gleam of a genuine devil in


it.  Still he must have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may


judge from the name he bore of Gunpowder.  He had, in fact, been a


favorite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, who was


a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, some of his own


spirit into the animal; for, old and broken-down as he looked,


there was more of the lurking devil in him than in any young


filly in the country.





   Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed .  He rode


with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to the


pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck out like


grasshoppers'; he carried his whip perpendicularly in his hand,


like a sceptre, and as his horse jogged on, the motion of his


arms was not unlike the flapping of a pair of wings.  A small wool


hat rested on the top of his nose, for so his scanty strip of


forehead might be called, and the skirts of his black coat


fluttered out almost to the horses tail.  Such was the appearance


of Ichabod and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans


Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an apparition as is seldom


to be met with in broad daylight.





   It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky was


clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and golden livery


which we always associate with the idea of abundance.  The forests


had put on their sober brown and yellow, while some trees of the


tenderer kind had been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes


of orange, purple, and scarlet.  Streaming files of wild ducks


began to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the


squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and hickory-


nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the


neighboring stubble field.





   The small birds were taking their farewell banquets.  In the


fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping and


frolicking from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious from


the very profusion and variety around them.  There was the honest


cockrobin, the favorite game of stripling sportsmen, with its


loud querulous note; and the twittering blackbirds flying in


sable clouds, and the golden- winged woodpecker with his crimson


crest, his broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the


cedar-bird, with its red tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail and its


little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, that noisy


coxcomb, in his gay light blue coat and white underclothes,


screaming and chattering, nodding and bobbing and bowing, and


pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the grove.





   As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open to


every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with delight over the


treasures of jolly autumn.  On all sides he beheld vast store of


apples:  some hanging in oppressive opulence on the trees; some


gathered into baskets and barrels for the market; others heaped


up in rich piles for the cider-press.  Farther on he beheld great


fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears peeping from their


leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes and hasty-


pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying beneath them, turning up


their fair round bellies to the sun, and giving ample prospects


of the most luxurious of pies; and anon he passed the fragrant


buckwheat fields breathing the odor of the beehive, and as he


beheld them, soft anticipations stole over his mind of dainty


slap-jacks, well buttered, and garnished with honey or treacle,


by the delicate little dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel.





   Thus feeding his mind with many sweet thoughts and "sugared


suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of a range of hills


which look out upon some of the goodliest scenes of the mighty


Hudson.  The sun gradually wheeled his broad disk down in the


west.  The wide bosom of the Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy,


excepting that here and there a gentle undulation waved and


prolonged the blue shallow of the distant mountain.  A few amber


clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of air to move them. 


The horizon was of a fine golden tint, changing gradually into a


pure apple green, and from that into the deep blue of the mid-


heaven.  A slanting ray lingered on the woody crests of the


precipices that overhung some parts of the river, giving greater


depth to the dark gray and purple of their rocky sides.  A sloop


was loitering in the distance, dropping slowly down with the


tide, her sail hanging uselessly against the mast; and as the


reflection of the sky gleamed along the still water, it seemed as


if the vessel was suspended in the air.





   It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the castle of


the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged with the pride and


flower of the adjacent country Old farmers, a spare leathern-


faced race, in homespun coats and breeches, blue stockings, huge


shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles.  Their brisk, withered


little dames, in close crimped caps, long waisted short-gowns,


homespun petticoats, with scissors and pin-cushions, and gay


calico pockets hanging on the outside.  Buxom lasses, almost as


antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine


ribbon, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms of city


innovation.  The sons, in short square-skirted coats, with rows of


stupendous brass buttons, and their hair generally queued in the


fashion of the times, especially if they could procure an eelskin


for the purpose, it being esteemed throughout the country as a


potent nourisher and strengthener of the hair.





   Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, having come


to the gathering on his favorite steed Daredevil, a creature,


like himself, full of mettle and mischief, and which no one but


himself could manage.  He was, in fact, noted for preferring


vicious animals, given to all kinds of tricks which kept the


rider in constant risk of his neck, for he held a tractable,


wellbroken horse as unworthy of a lad of spirit.





   Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms that


burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he entered the


state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion.  Not those of the bevy of


buxom lasses, with their luxurious display of red and white; but


the ample charms of a genuine Dutch country tea-table, in the


sumptuous time of autumn.  Such heaped up platters of cakes of


various and almost indescribable kinds, known only to experienced


Dutch housewives!  There was the doughty doughnut, the tender


olykoek, and the crisp and crumbling cruller; sweet cakes and


short cakes, ginger cakes and honey cakes, and the whole family


of cakes.  And then there were apple pies, and peach pies, and


pumpkin pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and moreover


delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears, and


quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens;


together with bowls of milk and cream, all mingled higgledy-


pigglely, pretty much as I have enumerated them, with the


motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the midst--


Heaven bless the mark!  I want breath and time to discuss this


banquet as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my story. 


Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry as his


historian, but did ample justice to every dainty.





   He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart dilated in


proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer, and whose


spirits rose with eating, as some men's do with drink.  He could


not help, too, rolling his large eyes round him as he ate, and


chuckling with the possibility that he might one day be lord of


all this scene of almost unimaginable luxury and splendor.  Then,


he thought, how soon he 'd turn his back upon the old


schoolhouse; snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and


every other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue


out of doors that should dare to call him comrade!





   Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests with a


face dilated with content and goodhumor, round and jolly as the


harvest moon.  His hospitable attentions were brief, but


expressive, being confined to a shake of the hand, a slap on the


shoulder, a loud laugh, and a pressing invitation to "fall to,


and help themselves."





   And now the sound of the music from the common room, or


hall, summoned to the dance.  The musician was an old gray-headed


negro, who had been the itinerant orchestra of the neighborhood


for more than half a century.  His instrument was as old and


battered as himself.  The greater part of the time he scraped on


two or three strings, accompanying every movement of the bow with


a motion of the head; bowing almost to the ground, and stamping


with his foot whenever a fresh couple were to start.





   Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as upon his


vocal powers.  Not a limb, not a fibre about him was idle; and to


have seen his loosely hung frame in full motion, and clattering


about the room, you would have thought St. Vitus himself, that


blessed patron of the dance, was figuring before you in person. 


He was the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered,


of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, stood


forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every door and


window; gazing with delight at the scene; rolling their white


eye-balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory from ear to ear. 


How could the flogger of urchins be otherwise than animated and


joyous? the lady of his heart was his partner in the dance, and


smiling graciously in reply to all his amorous oglings; while


Brom Bones, sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding


by himself in one corner.





   When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted to a


knot of the sager folks, who, with Old V an Tassel, sat smoking


at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former times, and


drawing out long stories about the war.


This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speaking, was one of


those highly favored places which abound with chronicle and great


men.  The British and American line had run near it during the


war; it had, therefore], been the scene of marauding and infested


with refugees, cow-boys, and all kinds of border chivalry.  Just


sufficient time had elapsed to enable each story-teller to dress


up his tale with a little becoming fiction, and, in the


indistinctness of his recollection, to make himself the hero of


every exploit.





   There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large blue-bearded


Dutchman, who had nearly taken a British frigate with an old iron


nine-pounder from a mud breastwork, only that his gun burst at


the sixth discharge.  And there was an old gentleman who shall be


nameless, being too rich a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who,


in the battle of White Plains, being an excellent master of


defence, parried a musket-ball with a small-sword, insomuch that


he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, and glance off at the


hilt; in proof of which he was ready at any time to show the


sword, with the hilt a little bent.  There were several more that


had been equally great in the field, not one of whom but was


persuaded that he had a considerable hand in bringing the war to


a happy termination.





   But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and


apparitions that succeeded.  The neighborhood is rich in legendary


treasures of the kind.  Local tales and superstitions thrive best


in these sheltered, long settled retreats; but are trampled under


foot by the shifting throng that forms the population of most of


our country places.  Besides, there is no encouragement for ghosts


in most of our villages, for they have scarcely had time to


finish their first nap and turn themselves in their graves,


before their surviving friends have travelled away from the


neighborhood; so that when they turn out at night to walk their


rounds, they have no acquaintance left to call upon.  This is


perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear of ghosts except in our


long-established Dutch communities.





   The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of


supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing to the


vicinity of Sleepy Hollow.  There was a contagion in the very air


that blew from that haunted region; it breathed forth an


atmosphere of dreams and fancies infecting all the land.  Several


of the Sleepy Hollow people were present at Van Tassel's, and, as


usual, were doling out their wild and wonderful legends.  Many


dismal tales were told about funeral trains, and mourning cries


and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where the


unfortunate Major Andre was taken, and which stood in the


neighborhood.  Some mention was made also of the woman in white,


that haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often heard to


shriek on winter nights before a storm, having perished there in


the snow.  The chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the


favorite spectre of Sleepy Hollow, the Headless Horseman, who had


been heard several times of late, patrolling the country; and, it


was said, tethered his horse nightly among the graves in the


churchyard.





   The sequestered situation of this church seems always to


have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits.  It stands on a


knoll, surrounded by locust, trees and lofty elms, from among


which its decent, whitewashed walls shine modestly forth, like


Christian purity beaming through the shades of retirement.  A


gentle slope descends from it to a silver sheet of water,


bordered by high trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the


blue hills of the Hudson.  To look upon its grass-grown yard,


where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would think that


there at least the dead might rest in peace.  On one side of the


church extends a wide woody dell, along which raves a large brook


among broken rocks and trunks of fallen trees.  Over a deep black


part of the stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown


a wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge itself,


were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which cast a gloom


about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned a fearful darkness


at night.  Such was one of the favorite haunts of the Headless


Horseman, and the place where he was most frequently encountered. 


The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in


ghosts, how he met the Horseman returning from his foray into


Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they


galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they


reached the bridge; when the Horseman suddenly turned into a


skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, and sprang away over


the tree-tops with a clap of thunder.





   This story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous


adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the Galloping Hessian


as an arrant jockey.  He affirmed that on returning one night from


the neighboring village of Sing Sing, he had been overtaken by


this midnight trooper; that he had offered to race with him for a


bowl of punch, and should have won it too, for Daredevil beat the


goblin horse all hollow, but just as they came to the church


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





   All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which


men talk in the dark, the countenances of the listeners only now


and then receiving a casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank


deep in the mind of Ichabod.  He repaid them in kind with large


extracts from his invaluable author, Cotton Mather, and added


many marvellous events that had taken place in his native State


of Connecticut, and fearful sights which he had seen in his


nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow.





   The revel now gradually broke up.  The old farmers gathered


together their families in their wagons, and were heard for some


time rattling along the hollow roads, and over the distant hills. 


Some of the damsels mounted on pillions behind their favorite


swains, and their light-hearted laughter, mingling with the


clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent woodlands, sounding


fainter and fainter, until they gradually died away, --and the


late scene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted. 


Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom of country


lovers, to have a tete-a-tete with the heiress; fully convinced


that he was now on the high road to success.  What passed at this


interview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know. 


Something, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he


certainly sallied forth, after no very great interval, with an


air quite desolate and chapfallen.  Oh, these women! these women! 


Could that girl have been playing off any of her coquettish tricks?


Was her encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham to


secure her conquest of his rival? Heaven only knows, not I!


Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the air of


one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fair lady's


heart.  Without looking to the right or left to notice the scene


of rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went


straight to the stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks


roused his steed most uncourteously from the comfortable quarters


in which he was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn


and oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover.





   It was the very witching time of night  that Ichabod, heavy


hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travels homewards, along


the sides of the lofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and


which he had traversed so cheerily in the afternoon.  The hour was


as dismal as himself.  Far below him the Tappan Zee spread its


dusky and indistinct waste of waters, with here and there the


tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land.  In


the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of the


watchdog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it was so


vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from this


faithful companion of man.  Now and then, too, the long-drawn


crowing of a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far


off, from some farmhouse away among the hills--but it was like a


dreaming sound in his ear.  No signs of life occurred near him,


but occasionally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps


the guttural twang of a bull-frog from a neighboring marsh, as if


sleeping uncomfortably and turning suddenly in his bed.





   All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in


the afternoon now came crowding upon his recollection.  The night


grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the


sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from his sight.  He


had never felt so lonely and dismal.  He was, moreover,


approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost


stories had been laid.  In the centre of the road stood an


enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all the


other trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. 


Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks


for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising


again into the air.  It was connected with the tragical story of


the unfortunate Andre, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and


was universally known by the name of Major Andre's tree.  The


common people regarded it with a mixture of respect and


superstition, partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-


starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strange sights,


and doleful lamentations, told concerning it.





   As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to


whistle; he thought his whistle was answered; it was but a blast


sweeping sharply through the dry branches.  As he approached a


little nearer, he thought he saw something white, hanging in the


midst of the tree:  he paused, and ceased whistling but, on


looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the


tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. 


Suddenly he heard a groan--his teeth chattered, and his knees


smote against the saddle:  it was but the rubbing of one huge


bough upon another, as they were swayed about by the breeze.  He


passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay before him.





   About two hundred yards from the tree, a small brook crossed


the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly-wooded glen, known by


the name of Wiley's Swamp.  A few rough logs, laid side by side,


served for a bridge over this stream.  On that side of the road


where the brook entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts,


matted thick with wild grape-vines, threw a cavernous gloom over


it.  To pass this bridge was the severest trial.  It was at this


identical spot that the unfortunate Andre was captured, and under


the covert of those chestnuts and vines were the sturdy yeomen


concealed who surprised him.  This has ever since been considered


a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of the school-boy


who has to pass it alone after dark.





   As he approached the stream, his heart began to thump he


summoned up, however, all his resolution, gave his horse half a


score of kicks in the ribs, and attempted to dash briskly across


the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old


animal made a lateral movement, and ran broadside against the


fence.  Ichabod, whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the


reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary


foot:  it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it


was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a


thicket of brambles and alder-bushes.  The schoolmaster now


bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling ribs of old


Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and snorting, but came


to a stand just by the bridge, with a suddenness that had nearly


sent his rider sprawling over his head.  Just at this moment a


plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear


of Ichabod.  In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the


brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering.  It


stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some


gigantic monster ready to spring upon the traveller.





   The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with


terror.  What was to be done? To turn and fly was now too late;


and besides, what chance was there of escaping ghost or goblin,


if such it was, which could ride upon the wings of the wind?


Summoning up, therefore, a show of courage, he demanded in


stammering accents, " Who are you?" He received no reply.  He


repeated his demand in a still more agitated voice.   Still there


was no answer.  Once more he cudgelled the sides of the inflexible


Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth with involuntary


fervor into a psalm tune.  Just then the shadowy object of alarm


put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood at


once in the middle of the road.  Though the night was dark and


dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be


ascertained.  He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions,


and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame.  He made no offer


of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the


road, jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had


now got over his fright and waywardness.





   Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight


companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones


with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened his steed in hopes of


leaving him behind.  The stranger, however, quickened his horse to


an equal pace.  Ichabod pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking


to lag behind, --the other did the same.  His heart began to sink


within him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his


parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not


utter a stave.  There was something in the moody and dogged


silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and


appalling.  It was soon fearfully accounted for.  On mounting a


rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow-traveller


in relief against the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a


cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was


headless! but his horror was still more increased on observing


that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders, was


carried before him on the pommel of his saddle!  His terror rose


to desperation; he rained a shower of kicks and blows upon


Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion the


slip; but the spectre started full jump with him.  Away, then,


they dashed through thick and thin; stones flying and sparks


flashing at every bound.  Ichabod's flimsy garments fluttered in


the air, as he stretched his long lank body away over his horse's


head, in the eagerness of his flight.





   They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy


Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead


of keeping up it, made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong


down hill to the left.  This road leads through a sandy hollow


shaded by trees for about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses


the bridge famous in goblin story; and just beyond swells the


green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.





   As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskilful rider


an apparent advantage in the chase, but just as he had got half


way through the hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and he


felt it slipping from under him.  He seized it by the pommel, and


endeavored to hold it firm, but in vain; and had just time to


save himself by clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the


saddle fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by


his pursuer.  For a moment the terror of Hans Van Ripper's wrath


passed across his mind, --for it was his Sunday saddle; but this


was no time for petty fears; the goblin was hard on his haunches;


and (unskilful rider that he was!) he had much ado to maintain


his seat; sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another,


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


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





   An opening, in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that


the church bridge was at hand.  The wavering reflection of a


silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that he was not


mistaken.  He saw the walls of the church dimly glaring under the


trees beyond.  He recollected the place where Brom Bones' ghostly


competitor had disappeard.  "If I can but reach that bridge,"


thought Ichabod, " I am safe." Just then he heard the black steed


panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he


felt his hot breath.  Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old


Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the


resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod


cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according


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


goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his


head at him.  Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile,


but too late.  It encountered his cranium with a tremendous


crash, --he was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder,


the black steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind.





   The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle,


and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at


his master's gate.  Ichabod did not make his appearance at


breakfast; dinner-hour came, but no Ichabod.  The boys assembled


at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about the banks of the


brook; but no schoolmaster.  Hans Van Ripper now began to feel


some uneasiness about the fate of poor Ichabod, and his saddle. 


An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investigation they


came upon his traces.  In one part of the road leading to the


church was found the saddle trampled in the dirt; the tracks of


horses' hoofs deeply dented in the road, and evidently at furious


speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a


broad part oœ the brook, where the water ran deep and black, was


found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a


shattered pumpkin.





   The brook was searched, but the body of the schoolmaster was


not to be discovered.  Hans Van Ripper as executor of his estate,


examined the bundle which contained all his worldly effects.  They


consisted of  two shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a


pair or two of worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small-


clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes full of dog's-ears;


and a broken pitch-pipe.  As to the books and furniture of the


schoolhouse, they belonged to the community, excepting Cotton


Mather's History of Witchcraft, a New England Almanac, and


book of dreams and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of


foolscap much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts


to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress of Van Tassel. 


These magic books and the poetic scrawl were forthwith consigned


to the flames by Hans Van Ripper; who, from that time forward,


determined to send his children no more to school; observing that


he never knew any good come of this same reading and writing. 


Whatever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had received


his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must have had about


his person at the time of his disappearance.





   The mysterious event caused much speculation at the church


on the following Sunday.  Knots of gazers and gossips were


collected in the churchyard, at the bridge, and at the spot where


the hat and pumpkin had been found.  The stories of Brouwer, of


Bones, and a whole budget of others were called to mind; and when


they had diligently considered them all, and compared them with


the symptoms of the present case, they shook their heads, and


came to the conclusion chat Ichabod had been carried off by the


Galloping Hessian.  As he was a bachelor, and in nobody's debt,


nobody troubled his head any more about him; the school was


removed to a different quarter of the Hollow, and another


pedagogue reigned in his stead.





   It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New York on


a visit several years after, and from whom this account of the


ghostly adventure was received, brought home the intelligence


that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left the


neighborhood partly through fear of the goblin and Hans Van


Ripper, and partly in mortification at having been suddenly


dismissed by the heiress; that he had changed his quarters to a


distant part of the country; had kept school and studied law at


the same time; had been admitted to the bar; turned politician;


electioneered; written for the newspapers; and finally had been


made a justice of the ten pound court.  Brom Bones, too, who,


shortly after his rival's disappearance conducted the blooming


Katrina in triumph to the altar, was observed to look exceedingly


knowing whenever the story of Ichabod was related, and always


burst into a hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which


led some to suspect that he knew more about the matter than he


chose to tell.





   The old country wives, however, who are the best judges of


these matters, maintain to this day that Ichabod was spirited


away by supernatural means; and it is a favorite story often told


about the neighborhood round the winter evening fire.  The bridge


became more than ever an object of superstitious awe; and that


may be the reason why the road has been altered of late years, so


as to approach the church by the border of the mill-pond.  The


schoolhouse being deserted soon fell to decay, and was reported


to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortunate pedagogue and


the plough-boy, loitering homeward of a still summer evening,


has often fancied his voice at a distance, chanting a melancholy


psalm tune among the tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow.






THE END