fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the stream, not farfrom the church, was formerly thrown a wooden bridge; the road that ledto it, and the bridge itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees,which cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned afearful darkness at night. Such was one of the favorite haunts ofthe Headless Horseman, and the place where he was most frequentlyencountered. The tale was told of old Brouwer, a most hereticaldisbeliever in ghosts, how he met the Horseman returning from his forayinto Sleepy Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how theygalloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until they reachedthe bridge; when the Horseman suddenly turned into a skeleton, threw oldBrouwer into the brook, and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clapof thunder.
This story was immediately matched by a thrice marvellous adventure ofBrom Bones, who made light of the Galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey.He affirmed that on returning one night from the neighboring village ofSing Sing, he had been overtaken by this midnight trooper; that he hadoffered to race with him for a bowl of punch, and should have won ittoo, for Daredevil beat the goblin horse all hollow, but just as theycame to the church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a flashof fire.
All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with which men talk inthe dark, the countenances of the listeners only now and then receivinga casual gleam from the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind ofIchabod. He repaid them in kind with large extracts from his invaluableauthor, Cotton Mather, and added many marvellous events that had takenplace in his native State of Connecticut, and fearful sights which hehad seen in his nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow.
The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered togethertheir families in their wagons, and were heard for some time rattlingalong the hollow roads, and over the distant hills. Some of thedamsels mounted on pillions behind their favorite swains, and theirlight-hearted laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed alongthe silent woodlands, sounding fainter and fainter, until they graduallydied away,--and the late scene of noise and frolic was all silent anddeserted. Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom ofcountry lovers, to have a tete-a-tete with the heiress; fully convincedthat he was now on the high road to success. What passed at thisinterview I will not pretend to say, for in fact I do not know.Something, however, I fear me, must have gone wrong, for he certainlysallied forth, after no very great interval, with an air quite desolateand chapfallen. Oh, these women! these women! Could that girl have beenplaying off any of her coquettish tricks? Was her encouragement of thepoor pedagogue all a mere sham to secure her conquest of his rival?Heaven only knows, not I! Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forthwith the air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than a fairlady's heart. Without looking to the right or left to notice the sceneof rural wealth, on which he had so often gloated, he went straight tothe stable, and with several hearty cuffs and kicks roused his steedmost uncourteously from the comfortable quarters in which he was soundlysleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and oats, and whole valleys oftimothy and clover.
It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, heavy-hearted andcrestfallen, pursued his travels homewards, along the sides of thelofty hills which rise above Tarry Town, and which he had traversed socheerily in the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far belowhim the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indistinct waste of waters, withhere and there the tall mast of a sloop, riding quietly at anchor underthe land. In the dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barkingof the watchdog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but it wasso vague and faint as only to give an idea of his distance from thisfaithful companion of man. Now and then, too, the long-drawn crowingof a cock, accidentally awakened, would sound far, far off, from somefarmhouse away among the hills--but it was like a dreaming sound in hisear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasionally the melancholychirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural twang of a bullfrog from aneighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably and turning suddenly inhis bed.
All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard in the afternoonnow came crowding upon his recollection. The night grew darker anddarker; the stars seemed to sink deeper in the sky, and driving cloudsoccasionally hid them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely anddismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place where many of thescenes of the ghost stories had been laid. In the centre of the roadstood an enormous tulip-tree, which towered like a giant above all theother trees of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Itslimbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form trunks forordinary trees, twisting down almost to the earth, and rising again intothe air. It was connected with the tragical story of the unfortunateAndre, who had been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally knownby the name of Major Andre's tree. The common people regarded it with amixture of respect and superstition, partly out of sympathy for thefate of its ill-starred namesake, and partly from the tales of strangesights, and doleful lamentations, told concerning it.
As Ichabod approached this fearful tree, he began to whistle; he thoughthis whistle was answered; it was but a blast sweeping sharply throughthe dry branches. As he approached a little nearer, he thought he sawsomething white, hanging in the midst of the tree: he paused and ceasedwhistling but, on looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a placewhere the tree had been scathed by lightning, and the white wood laidbare. Suddenly he heard a groan--his teeth chattered, and his kneessmote against the saddle: it was but the rubbing of one huge bough uponanother, as they were swayed about by the breeze. He passed the tree insafety, 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 ofWiley's Swamp. A few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridgeover this stream. On that side of the road where the brook entered thewood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted thick with wild grape-vines,threw a cavernous gloom over it. To pass this bridge was the severesttrial. It was at this identical spot that the unfortunate Andre wascaptured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines were thesturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. This has ever since beenconsidered a haunted stream, and fearful are the feelings of theschoolboy 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 theribs, and attempted to dash briskly across the bridge; but instead ofstarting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral movement, andran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, whose fears increased with thedelay, jerked the reins on the other side, and kicked lustily with thecontrary foot: it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, butit was only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a thicket ofbrambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip andheel upon the starveling ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward,snuffling and snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with asuddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head.Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught thesensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the grove, on the marginof the brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen and towering. Itstirred not, but seemed gathered up in the gloom, like some giganticmonster 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, whichcould ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, therefore, ashow of courage, he demanded in stammering accents, "Who are you?"He received no reply. He repeated his demand in a still more agitatedvoice. Still there was no answer. Once more he cudgelled the sidesof the inflexible Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke forth withinvoluntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object ofalarm put itself in motion, and with a scramble and a bound stood atonce in the middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dism
al,yet the form of the unknown might now in some degree be ascertained. Heappeared to be a horseman of large dimensions, and mounted on a blackhorse 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 sideof old Gunpowder, who had now got over his fright and waywardness.
Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, andbethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones with the GallopingHessian, now quickened his steed in hopes of leaving him behind. Thestranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulledup, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind,--the other did thesame. His heart began to sink within him; he endeavored to resume hispsalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, andhe could not utter a stave. There was something in the moody anddogged silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious andappalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow Page 6
