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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.
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Click here for Part One
Click here for Part Two
Click here for Part Three
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