I. THE SCHOOLMASTER
In a remote period of American history,
there lived in Sleepy Hollow a worthy man whose name was Ichabod Crane. He
sojourned, or, as he expressed it, "tarried" in that quiet little valley
for the purpose of instructing the children of the vicinity. He was a
native of Connecticut. He was tall, but very lank, with narrow shoulders,
long arms and legs, hands that dangled, a mile out of his sleeves, and
feet that might have served' as shovels. His head was small, with huge
ears, large glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose. To see him striding. along
the crest of a hill on a windy day, with his. ill-fitting clothes
fluttering about him, one might. have" mistaken him for some scarecrow
escaped from a cornfield.
His schoolhouse was a low building of one
large room, rudely built of logs.. It stood in a rather lonely but
pleasant place, just at the foot of a woody; hill, with a brook running
close by, and a birch tree growing near one end of it. From this place of
learning the low murmur of children's voices, conning over their lessons,
might be heard on a drowsy summer day like the hum of a beehive. Now and
then this was interrupted by the stern voice of the master, or perhaps by
the appalling sound of a birch twig, as some loiterer was urged along the
flowery path of knowledge.
When school hours were over, the teacher
forgot that he was the master, and was even the companion and-playmate of
the older boys; and on holiday afternoons, he liked to go home with some
of the smaller ones who happened to have pretty sisters, or mothers noted
for their skill in cooking. Indeed, it was a wise thing for him to keep on
good terms with his pupils. He earned so little by teaching school, that
he would scarcely have had enough to eat, had he not, according to country
custom, boarded at the houses of the children whom he instructed. With
these he lived, by turns, a week at a time, thus going the rounds of the
neighbor-hood, with all his worldly goods tied up in a cotton
handkerchief
He had many ways of making himself both
useful and agreeable. He helped the farmers in the lighter labors of their
farms, raked the hay at harvest time, mended the fences, took the horses
to water, drove the cows from pasture, and cut wood for the winter fire.
He found favor in the eyes of the mothers by petting the children,
particularly the youngest; and he would often sit with a child on one
knee, and reek a cradle with his foot for whole hours together.
He was a man of some importance among the
women of the neighborhood, being looked upon as a kind of idle,
gentlemanlike personage of finer tastes and better manners than the rough
young men who had been brought up in the country. He was always welcome at
the tea table of a farmhouse; and his presence was almost sure to bring
out an extra dish of cakes or sweetmeats, or the parade of a silver
teapot. He was happy, too, in the smiles of all the young ladies. He would
walk with them in the "churchyard, between services on Sundays; gathering
, grapes for them from the wild vines that overrun the surrounding trees;
or sauntering with a whole bevy of them along the banks of the adjacent
mill pond; while the bashful country youngsters hung sheepishly back and
hated him for his fine manners.
Another of his sources of pleasure was to
pass long winter evenings with the wives of the Dutch farmers, as they sat
spinning by the fire with a long row of apples roasting and sputtering
along the hearth. He listened to their wondrous 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. And then he would
entertain them with stories of witchcraft, and would frighten them with
woeful speculations about comets and shooting stars, and by telling them
that the world did really turn round, and that they were half the time
topsy-turvy.
There was pleasure in all this while snugly
cuddling in the chimney corner of a room that was lighted by the ruddy
glow from a crackling wood fire, and where no ghost dared show its face;
but it was a pleasure dearly bought by the terrors which would beset him
during his walk homewards. How fearful were the shapes and shadows that
fell across his way in the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! How
often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a
sheeted specter, 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!
II. THE INVITATION
On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in
pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool from whence he watched the
doings of his little school. In his hand he held a ferule, .that scepter
of despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails behind the
stool, a constant terror to evil doers ; while on the desk were sundry
contraband articles taken. from idle urchins, such as half-eaten apples,
popguns, whirligigs, and fly cages. 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.
This stillness was suddenly interrupted by
the appearance of a negro, in tow-cloth jacket and trowsers, who, mounted
on the back of a ragged, wild, halfbroken colt, came clattering up to the
schoolhouse door. He brought an invitation to Ichabod to attend a
merrymaking, or quilting frolic," to be held that evening at the house of
Mynheer Van Tassel; and having delivered his message, 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. Those
who were nimble skipped over half without being noticed; and those who
were slow were hurried along by a smart application of the rod. Then 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, the children yelping and racketing. about the
green, in joy at their early freedom.
The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an
extra half hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing his best and only
suit of rusty black, and arranging his looks by a bit of broken
looking-glass that hung up in the schoolhouse. That he might make his
appearance at. the party in the true style of a cavalier, he borrowed a
horse from the farmer with whom he was boarding, and, thus gallantly
mounted, rode forth, like a knight-errant in quest of adventures.The
animal he bestrode was a broken-down plow horse, that had outlived most
everything but hisviciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with a slender
neck, and a head like a hammer. His mane and tail were tangled and knotted
with burs. One eye had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral, but
the other still gleamed with genuine wickedness. He must have had plenty
of fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from his name, which was
Gunpowder.
Ichabod was a rider suited for such a
steed. He rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly up to
the pommel of the saddle; his elbows stuck out like a grasshopper's; and
as the 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 horse's tail. Such was the appearance of
Ichabod and his steed as they shambled along the highway; 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. The forests had put on their sober
brown and yellow, while. some trees of the tenderer kind had been nipped
by the frost 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,
and the pensive whistle of the quail at intervals from the neighboring
stubblefields.
The small birds fluttered, chirping and
frolicking from bush to bush, and tree to tree, gay and happy because of
the plenty and variety around them. There were the twittering blackbirds,
flying in sable clouds; and the golden-winged woodpecker, with his crimson
crest and splendid plumage; and the cedar bird, with its red-tipped wings
and yellow-tipped tail; and the blue jay, in his gay, light-blue coat and
white underclothes, screaming and chattering, nodding and bowing, and
pretending to be on good terms with every songster of the grove.
As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his
eye ranged with delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides
he beheld vast store of apples,--some still hanging 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. There, too, were multitudes of
yellow pumpkins turning up their yellow sides 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, he dreamed of dainty slapjacks, well buttered, and garnished with
honey, by the delicate little dimpled hand of Katrina, the daughter of
Mynheer 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 into the
west. 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 midheaven. 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.
III. THE "QUILTTING FROLIC"
It was toward evening when Ichabod arrived
at the castle of the Herr Van Tassel. He found it thronged with the
pride and flower of the adjacent country,---old farmers, in homespun coats
andbreeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent pewter buckles;
their brisk little dames, in close-crimped caps, long-wasted gowns,
homespun petticoats, with scissors and pincushions,and gay calico pockets
hanging on the outside; buxom lasses, almost as antiquated as their
mothers, excepting where a straw hat, a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white
frock, showed signs of city innovations; the sons, in short,
square-skirted coats with rows of huge brass buttons, and their hair
generally queued in the fashion of the times, especially if an eel-skin
could be had for that purpose, it being esteemed as a potent nourisher and
strengthener of the hair.
What a world of charms burst upon the gaze
of my hero, as he entered the state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion-
the ample charms of a Dutch country tea table, in the sumptuous time of
autumn! Such heaped-up platters of cakes, of various and indescribable
kinds, known only to experienced Dutch housewives! There was the doughty
doughnut, and the crisp, 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; and slices of ham
and smoked beef; and dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, and pears,
and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and roasted chickens, together
with bowls of milk and cream; all mingled, higgledy-piggledy, --with the
motherly teapot sending up its clouds of vapor from the midst! I want
breath and time to describe this banquet as I ought, and am too eager to
get on with my story. Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great a hurry,
but did ample justice to every dainty.
And now, supper being ended, the sound of
music from the common room 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 away on two
or three strings, moving his head with every movement of the bow, and
stamping his foot whenever a fresh couple were to start.
Ichabod prided himself on his dancing. Not
a limb, not a fiber about him was idle. How could the flogger of urchins
be otherwise than animated and joyous ? And pretty Katrina Van Tassel, the
lady of his heart, was his partner in the dance, stalling graciously in
reply to all his gallant remarks. When the dance was over, Ichabod joined
a circle of the older folks, who, with Mynheer Van Tassel, sat smoking at
one end of the piazza, and told stories of the war and wild and wonderful
legends of ghosts and other supernatural beings. Some mention was made of
a woman in white that haunted the dark glen at Raven Rock, and was often
heard to shriek on wintry nights before a storm, having perished there in
the snow. The chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the favorite
specter of Sleepy Hollow, the headless horseman, who had been heard
several times of late, patrolling the country. One man told how he had
once met the horseman returning from a 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 by the church, when the
horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw him into the brook, and
sprang away over the treetops with a clap of thunder. A wild, roystering
young man, who was called Brom Bones, declared that the headless horseman
was, after all, no rider compared with himself. He said that 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 would have won it, too, but just as they came to the church
bridge,the specter bolted and vanished in a flash of fire.
The party 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.Same 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, growing fainter and fainter till
they gradually died away, and the late scene of noise and frolic was all
silent and deserted. Ichabod alone lingered behind, to have a parting word
with the pretty Katrina. What he Said to her, and what was her reply, I do
not know. Something, however, must have gone wrong; for he sallied forth,
after no great length of time, with an air quite desolate and chopfallen.
IV. THE HEADLESS HORSEMAN
It was the very witching time of night that
Ichabod pursued his travel homewards. In the dead hush of midnight he
could hear the barking of a dog on the opposite shore of the Hudson, but
it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of the distance between
them. No signs of life occurred near, but now and then the chirp of a
cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bullfrog from a neighboring
marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed.
All the stories that Ichabod had heard
about ghosts and goblins, now came crowding into his mind. 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, more over, approaching the very place where many of
the scenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the center 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 as the trunks of ordinary trees,
twisting down almost to the ground, and rising again into the air.
As Ichabod approached this tree, he began
to whistle. He thought his whistle was answered: it was but a blast
sweeping sharply through the dry branches. Coming 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 struck 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. A few rough logs laid side by side served for a
bridge over this stream. To pass this bridge was the severest trial; for
it was here that the unfortunate Andre had been captured, and under covert
of the thicket of chestnuts and vines by the side of the road, had the
sturdy yeomen, who surprised him, lain concealed. The stream has ever
since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of
the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.
As Ichabod approached the stream his heart
began to thump. He gave his horse half a score of kicks to in the ribs,
and tried 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 jerked the rein 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. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip
and heel upon the ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward 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
trees, he beheld something huge, black, and towering. It stirred not, but
seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to
spring upon the traveler.
The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose
upon his head with terror. What was to be done ? Summoning up a show
of courage, he called out 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 cudgeled the sides of
Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth 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 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 oldGunpowder 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
and the headless horseman, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving
him behind. The stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace.
Ichabod drew up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind; the other
did the same. His heart began to sink within him. There was something in
the moody and dogged silence of his companion that was mysterious and
appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for.
On mounting a rising ground, which brought
the figure of his fellow-traveler in relief against the sky, 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
specter 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.
Just as he had got halfway through the
hollow, the girths of the saddle gave way, and Ichabod felt it slipping
from under him. He seized it by the pommel, and tried to hold it firm, but
in vain. He had just time to save himself by clasping 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 its owner's wrath passed
across his mind, for it was his Sunday saddle; but this was no time for
petty fears. He had much ado to keep 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 was far from pleasant.
An opening in the trees now cheered him
with the hope that the church bridge was at hand. "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 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 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 tried 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. An inquiry was set on foot, and after much investigation
they came upon his traces. In one part of the road by the church was found
the saddle trampled in the dirt. The tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented
in the road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge,
beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water
ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, andclose
beside it a shattered pumpkin. The brook was searched, but the body of the
schoolmaster was not to be discovered.
As Ichabod was a bachelor, and in nobody's
debt, nobody troubled his head any more about him. It is true, an old
farmer, who went down to New York on a visit several years after, brought
home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane was still alive; that he had left
the neighborhood, partly through fear of the goblin and the farmer whose
horse he had ridden, and partly for other reasons; that he had changed his
quarters to a distant part of the country, had kept school and studied law
at the same time, had written for the newspapers, and finally had been
made a justice of the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones, too, who, shortly after
the schoolmaster's disappearance, had married the blooming Katrina Van
Tassel, was observed to look very 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 suppose that he knew more about the matter than
he chose to tell.
Washington Irving
(1783-1859)
