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Click here for Part Two
Click here for Part Three
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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 of the brook, where the water
ran deep and black, was found the head 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.
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Click here
for Part One
Click here for Part Two
Click here for Part Three
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