September 3, 2025 • 43 mins
Dive into the eerie and enchanting world of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow, a captivating short story by Washington Irving. Part of his collection, The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent., this tale was penned during his time in Birmingham, England, and first saw the light of day in 1820. Inspired by a German folktale, it immerses readers in the Dutch culture of Post-Revolutionary War New York State. Alongside Irvings renowned Rip Van Winkle, this story stands as one of the earliest and most beloved examples of American fiction that continues to resonate with readers today. (Summary by Wikipedia)
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving, Part one.
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Babnefeld, The Legend of
(00:22):
Sleepy Hollow found among the papers of the late Diedrich Nickerbacher.
A pleasing land of drowsy head. It was of dreams
that wave before the half shot eye, and of gay
castles in the clouds that pass forever flushing round a
summer sky castle of indolence in the bosom of one
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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 Tappanzee, and where they
always prudently shortened say and implore the protection of Saint
Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market town
or rural ports, which by some is called Greensburg, but
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which is more generally and properly known by the name
of Terrytown. 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
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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
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occasional whistle of quail or tapping of a woodpecker is
all almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon
the uniform tranquility. 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 old nature
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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
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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 when its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys.
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Throughout all the neighboring country, a drowsy, dreamy influence seems
to hang over the land, and it pervade the very atmosphere.
Some say that the place was bewitched by a high
German doctor during the early days of the settlement. Are
thes that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard
of his tribe, held his powers there before the country
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was discovered by Master Hendrik Hudson. Certainly 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
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music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds
with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions, Stars shoot
and meteor's 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
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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
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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
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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 collect and collating the floating facts
concerning this specter, alleges that the body of the trooper
having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth
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to the scene of battle in knightly 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
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a wild story in that region of shadows, and the
specter 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 everyone who resides there for a time.
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However wide awake they may have been before them entered
that sleepy region, they are sure in a little time
to inhale the witching influence of the air and begin
to grow imaginative dream dreams and sea apparitions. I mention
this peaceful spot with all possible, lad For it is
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in such little retired Dutch valleys found here and there
imbosomed in the great state of New York, that population, manners,
and customs remained 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
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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
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not still find the same trees and the same families
vegetating in his 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 white
of the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or as
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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
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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
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green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that
it looked like a weather cock perched upon his spindled
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
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descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.
His schoolhouse was a low building of one large room,
rudely constructed of laws, the windows partly glazed and partly
patched with leaves of old copy books. It was most
ingeniously secured at vacant hours by a wife twisted in
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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 at getting out,
an idea most probably borrowed by the architect Yost van
Houtten from the Mystery of an eagle pot. The schoolhouse
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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
pupil's voices conning over their lessons might be heard in
a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive,
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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 laiterier along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth
to say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore
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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
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justice with discrimination rather than severity, taking the burden off
the backs of the week 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
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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 for the
smart urchin that he would remember it and thank him
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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
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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,
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according to country custom in those parts, bordered 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
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his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider 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
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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,
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and like the lion bold which whom so magnanimously the
lamb did hold, he would sit with the 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 solomony.
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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
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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
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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
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kind of idle gentlemanly 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
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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
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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, where the
more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior
elegance and address from his half itinerate life. Also, he
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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,
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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.
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No tail 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 schoolhouse,
And there caln over Old Mather's direful tales until the
gathering dusk of evening made the printed page a mere
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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 whipper will from the hillside, the boding cry
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of the tree he told that harbinger of storm, the
dreary hooting of a screech owl, or the sudden rusting
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
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of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him,
the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghosts
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
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by their doors of an evening, were often filled with
awe at hearing his nasal melody in leaked sweetness, long
drawn outs 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
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as they sat spinning by the fire with a row
of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listened
to their marvelous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted
fields and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges and haunted houses,
and particularly of the headless horsemen, or galloping Hessian of
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the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight
them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft and of the
direful omens and portent to 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
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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 specter dared to show his face,
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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.
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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 cross beneath his feet,
and dread to look over his shoulder lest he should
behold some uncouth being trampling close behind him. And how
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often was he thrown into company 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 fandoms of the mind
that walk in darkness. And though he had seen many
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specters in his time, and had been more than once
beset by Satan in diverse shapes in his lonely perambulations,
yet daylight put an end to all these evils, and
he would have passed a pleasant life of it, and
in despite of the devil in all his works, if
his path had not been crossed by a being that
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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
each week to receive his instructions in solomody, was Katrina
van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial
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Dutch farmer. She was a blooming 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,
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even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient
and modern fashions. As most suited to set off her charms.
She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her
great great grandmother had brought over from Sardom, the tempting
stomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short
petticoat to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the
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country round. Hiccobod Crane had a soft and foolish heart
towards the sex, and it is not to be wondered
at that so tempting. A morel soon found favor in
his eyes, more especially after he had visited her in
her paternal mansion. Old Baltis Fan Tassel was a perfect
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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
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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
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of a barrel, and then stole, sparkling away through the
grass to a neighboring brook that babe along among elders
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
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from morning till night. Swallows and martins skimmed, twittering about
the eaves and 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
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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
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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
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the rich morsel which he had discovered. The pedagogue's mouth
watered as he looked upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious
winter fair. 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
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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 dock's paring coatalie
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.
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Not a turkey, but he beheld daintly trustop with its
gizzard under its wing, and peradventure a necklace of savory sausages.
An even bright chant clear 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
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while living as the enraptured Ikabad fancied all this, And
as he rolled his great green eyes over the fat
meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat of rye buckwheat
and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit
which surrounded the warm tenement of fan Tassel, his heart
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yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains
and 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
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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.
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When he entered the house, the conquest of his hearts
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
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up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails, harnessed,
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
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wandering ecapade entered the hall, which formed the center of
the mansion and the place of usual residence. Here, brows
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
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of dried apples and peaches hung in gay festoons along
the walls, mingled with the god of red peppers, and
a door left the jar gave him a peep into
the best parlor, where the claw footed chairs and dark
mahogany tables shone like mirrors, and irons with their accompanying
shovel and tongs glistened from their Coverts of asparagus tops,
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mock oranges, and conch shells decorated the mantelpiece. Strings of
various colored birds eggs were suspended above it. A great
ostridge egg was hung from the center of the room,
and a corner cupboard knowingly left open displayed immense treasures
of old silver and well mended china. From the moment
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ikobad Lady's 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,
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fiery dragons and such like, easily caught un 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 center of a Christmas pie,
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and then the lady gave him her hand. As a
matter of course, Iccobad, 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,
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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 barely roaring,
roistering blade of the name of Abraham, or, according to
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the Dutch abbreviation Brahm 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
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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
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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 but sat more
mischief than ill will in his composition, and with all
his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish
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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 around in cold weather.
He was distinguished by a fur cap surmounted with a
flotting fox's tail, And when the folks at a country
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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 hoop and halloo,
like a troop of don Cossacks, and the old dames
startled out of their sleep, would listened for a moment
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till the hurry scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, ay,
there go his 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 rusty brawl
occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads and warranted
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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
of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did
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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 nights, a sure sign that his master
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was courting, or as it is termed, sparking within, all
other suitors passed by in despair and carried the war
into other quarters. Sartz was the formidable rival with whom
Ichabod Krane had to contend, and, considering all things, a
stouter man than he would have shrunk from the competition,
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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 jack,
yielding but tough. Though he bends, he never broke. And
though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet the moment
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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 advance in her quiet and gently insinuating manner.
(34:04):
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 the parents, which
is so often a stumbling block in the path of lovers.
Walt van Tassel was an easy, indigent soul. He loved
his daughter better even than his pipe, and, like a
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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
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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
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the barn. In the meantime, Ichobod would carry on his
suit with the daughter by the side of the spring
under the great elm, or sauntering away 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.
(35:27):
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.
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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
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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. Brahm, who had a
degree of tough chivalry in his nature, would fain have
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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 errand of you ore
by single combat. But Ichabod 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
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double the schoolmaster up and lay him on a shovel
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 rob no alternative but
to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition,
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and to play off boorish practical jokes. Upon his arrival
Hiccabad became a subject 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 nights in spite of its
formidable fastenings of wythe and windowsticks, and turned everything topsy turvy,
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so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the
witches in the country held their meetings there. But was
still more annoying. Brahm took all opportunities of turning him
into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a
scoundrel dog whom he taught to wind in the most
ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's to
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instruct her in solomony. 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
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whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little
literary realm. In his hand, he swayed a faerule, that
scepter of despotic power, the birch of justice, reposed on
three nails behind the throne, a constant terrory evildoers. While
on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband
articles and prohibited weapons detected upon the persons of idle urchins,
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such as half munched apples, pop guns, 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
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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 trousers, a round
crowned fragment of a hat like a cap of mercury,
and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half
broken coat, which he managed with a rope by way
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of halter. He came clattering up to the school door
with an invitation to Icibah to attend a merry making
or quilting frolic to be held that evening at mineheir fontassels,
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
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over the brook and was seen scampering away up the hollow,
full of the importance and hurry of his mission. All
was now hustle and hubbub In the late quiet schoolroom.
The scholars were hurried through their lessons without stopping at trifles.
Those who were nimbles skipped over half with impunity, and
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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
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of young imps, yumping and rackening 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 bests 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
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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 still massiliated, a collaric
old Dutchman of the name of Hans van Ripper, and
thus gallantly mounted issued a forth like a knight errant
in quest of adventure. But it is meat I should,
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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 ewn neck and a head
like a hammer. His rusty mane and tail were tangled
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and knotted with birds. 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 metal in his day, if we
may judge from the name he bore of gunpowder. He had,
in fact been a favorite steed of his masters, the
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Colonic van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had
infused very probable some of his own spirit into the animal.
For old and broken down as he looked, there was
more of a lurking devil in him than in any
young philly in the country. Chobod was a suitable figure
for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which
(42:27):
brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle.
His sharp elbow stuck out like grasshoppers. He carried his
whip perpendicularly in his hand like a scepter, 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,
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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 Kabad
and his steed as they shambled out of the gate
of Hans van Repper. And it was altogether such an
apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight.
(43:13):
And of part one
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow by Washington Irving, Part one.
This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
visit LibriVox dot org. Read by Babnefeld, The Legend of
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Sleepy Hollow found among the papers of the late Diedrich Nickerbacher.
A pleasing land of drowsy head. It was of dreams
that wave before the half shot eye, and of gay
castles in the clouds that pass forever flushing round a
summer sky castle of indolence in the bosom of one
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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 Tappanzee, and where they
always prudently shortened say and implore the protection of Saint
Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market town
or rural ports, which by some is called Greensburg, but
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which is more generally and properly known by the name
of Terrytown. 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
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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
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occasional whistle of quail or tapping of a woodpecker is
all almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon
the uniform tranquility. 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 old nature
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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
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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 when its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys.
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Throughout all the neighboring country, a drowsy, dreamy influence seems
to hang over the land, and it pervade the very atmosphere.
Some say that the place was bewitched by a high
German doctor during the early days of the settlement. Are
thes that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard
of his tribe, held his powers there before the country
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was discovered by Master Hendrik Hudson. Certainly 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
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music and voices in the air. The whole neighborhood abounds
with local tales, haunted spots, and twilight superstitions, Stars shoot
and meteor's 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
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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
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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
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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 collect and collating the floating facts
concerning this specter, alleges that the body of the trooper
having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth
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to the scene of battle in knightly 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
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a wild story in that region of shadows, and the
specter 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 everyone who resides there for a time.
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However wide awake they may have been before them entered
that sleepy region, they are sure in a little time
to inhale the witching influence of the air and begin
to grow imaginative dream dreams and sea apparitions. I mention
this peaceful spot with all possible, lad For it is
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in such little retired Dutch valleys found here and there
imbosomed in the great state of New York, that population, manners,
and customs remained 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
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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
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not still find the same trees and the same families
vegetating in his 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 white
of the name of Ichabod Crane, who sojourned, or as
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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
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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
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green glassy eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that
it looked like a weather cock perched upon his spindled
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
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descending upon the earth, or some scarecrow eloped from a cornfield.
His schoolhouse was a low building of one large room,
rudely constructed of laws, the windows partly glazed and partly
patched with leaves of old copy books. It was most
ingeniously secured at vacant hours by a wife twisted in
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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 at getting out,
an idea most probably borrowed by the architect Yost van
Houtten from the Mystery of an eagle pot. The schoolhouse
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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
pupil's voices conning over their lessons might be heard in
a drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive,
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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 laiterier along the flowery path of knowledge. Truth
to say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore
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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
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justice with discrimination rather than severity, taking the burden off
the backs of the week 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
(10:42):
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 for the
smart urchin that he would remember it and thank him
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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
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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,
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according to country custom in those parts, bordered 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
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his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider 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
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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,
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and like the lion bold which whom so magnanimously the
lamb did hold, he would sit with the 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 solomony.
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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
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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
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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
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kind of idle gentlemanly 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
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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
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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, where the
more bashful country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior
elegance and address from his half itinerate life. Also, he
(15:29):
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,
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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.
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No tail 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 schoolhouse,
And there caln over Old Mather's direful tales until the
gathering dusk of evening made the printed page a mere
(16:39):
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 whipper will from the hillside, the boding cry
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of the tree he told that harbinger of storm, the
dreary hooting of a screech owl, or the sudden rusting
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
(17:23):
of a beetle came winging his blundering flight against him,
the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghosts
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
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by their doors of an evening, were often filled with
awe at hearing his nasal melody in leaked sweetness, long
drawn outs 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
(18:06):
as they sat spinning by the fire with a row
of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listened
to their marvelous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted
fields and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges and haunted houses,
and particularly of the headless horsemen, or galloping Hessian of
(18:26):
the Hollow, as they sometimes called him. He would delight
them equally by his anecdotes of witchcraft and of the
direful omens and portent to 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
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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 specter dared to show his face,
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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.
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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 cross beneath his feet,
and dread to look over his shoulder lest he should
behold some uncouth being trampling close behind him. And how
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often was he thrown into company 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 fandoms of the mind
that walk in darkness. And though he had seen many
(20:19):
specters in his time, and had been more than once
beset by Satan in diverse shapes in his lonely perambulations,
yet daylight put an end to all these evils, and
he would have passed a pleasant life of it, and
in despite of the devil in all his works, if
his path had not been crossed by a being that
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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
each week to receive his instructions in solomody, was Katrina
van Tassel, the daughter and only child of a substantial
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Dutch farmer. She was a blooming 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,
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even in her dress, which was a mixture of ancient
and modern fashions. As most suited to set off her charms.
She wore the ornaments of pure yellow gold, which her
great great grandmother had brought over from Sardom, the tempting
stomacher of the olden time, and withal a provokingly short
petticoat to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the
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country round. Hiccobod Crane had a soft and foolish heart
towards the sex, and it is not to be wondered
at that so tempting. A morel soon found favor in
his eyes, more especially after he had visited her in
her paternal mansion. Old Baltis Fan Tassel was a perfect
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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
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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
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of a barrel, and then stole, sparkling away through the
grass to a neighboring brook that babe along among elders
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
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from morning till night. Swallows and martins skimmed, twittering about
the eaves and 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
(23:41):
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
(24:05):
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
(24:28):
the rich morsel which he had discovered. The pedagogue's mouth
watered as he looked upon this sumptuous promise of luxurious
winter fair. 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
(24:51):
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 dock's paring coatalie
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.
(25:13):
Not a turkey, but he beheld daintly trustop with its
gizzard under its wing, and peradventure a necklace of savory sausages.
An even bright chant clear 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
(25:34):
while living as the enraptured Ikabad fancied all this, And
as he rolled his great green eyes over the fat
meadow lands, the rich fields of wheat of rye buckwheat
and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy fruit
which surrounded the warm tenement of fan Tassel, his heart
(25:55):
yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains
and 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
(26:16):
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.
(26:39):
When he entered the house, the conquest of his hearts
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
(26:59):
up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails, harnessed,
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
(27:22):
wandering ecapade entered the hall, which formed the center of
the mansion and the place of usual residence. Here, brows
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
(27:46):
of dried apples and peaches hung in gay festoons along
the walls, mingled with the god of red peppers, and
a door left the jar gave him a peep into
the best parlor, where the claw footed chairs and dark
mahogany tables shone like mirrors, and irons with their accompanying
shovel and tongs glistened from their Coverts of asparagus tops,
(28:10):
mock oranges, and conch shells decorated the mantelpiece. Strings of
various colored birds eggs were suspended above it. A great
ostridge egg was hung from the center of the room,
and a corner cupboard knowingly left open displayed immense treasures
of old silver and well mended china. From the moment
(28:32):
ikobad Lady's 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,
(28:57):
fiery dragons and such like, easily caught un 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 center of a Christmas pie,
(29:17):
and then the lady gave him her hand. As a
matter of course, Iccobad, 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,
(29:40):
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 barely roaring,
roistering blade of the name of Abraham, or, according to
(30:02):
the Dutch abbreviation Brahm 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
(30:24):
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
(30:47):
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 but sat more
mischief than ill will in his composition, and with all
his overbearing roughness, there was a strong dash of waggish
(31:09):
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 around in cold weather.
He was distinguished by a fur cap surmounted with a
flotting fox's tail, And when the folks at a country
(31:31):
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 hoop and halloo,
like a troop of don Cossacks, and the old dames
startled out of their sleep, would listened for a moment
(31:54):
till the hurry scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, ay,
there go his 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 rusty brawl
occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads and warranted
(32:15):
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
of a bear, yet it was whispered that she did
(32:36):
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 nights, a sure sign that his master
(32:56):
was courting, or as it is termed, sparking within, all
other suitors passed by in despair and carried the war
into other quarters. Sartz was the formidable rival with whom
Ichabod Krane had to contend, and, considering all things, a
stouter man than he would have shrunk from the competition,
(33:18):
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 jack,
yielding but tough. Though he bends, he never broke. And
though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet the moment
(33:40):
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 advance in her quiet and gently insinuating manner.
(34:04):
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 the parents, which
is so often a stumbling block in the path of lovers.
Walt van Tassel was an easy, indigent soul. He loved
his daughter better even than his pipe, and, like a
(34:25):
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
(34:45):
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
(35:06):
the barn. In the meantime, Ichobod would carry on his
suit with the daughter by the side of the spring
under the great elm, or sauntering away 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.
(35:27):
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.
(35:50):
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
(36:14):
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. Brahm, who had a
degree of tough chivalry in his nature, would fain have
(36:35):
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 errand of you ore
by single combat. But Ichabod 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
(36:57):
double the schoolmaster up and lay him on a shovel
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 rob no alternative but
to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition,
(37:17):
and to play off boorish practical jokes. Upon his arrival
Hiccabad became a subject 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 nights in spite of its
formidable fastenings of wythe and windowsticks, and turned everything topsy turvy,
(37:41):
so that the poor schoolmaster began to think all the
witches in the country held their meetings there. But was
still more annoying. Brahm took all opportunities of turning him
into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a
scoundrel dog whom he taught to wind in the most
ludicrous manner, and introduced as a rival of Ichabod's to
(38:03):
instruct her in solomony. 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
(38:23):
whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little
literary realm. In his hand, he swayed a faerule, that
scepter of despotic power, the birch of justice, reposed on
three nails behind the throne, a constant terrory evildoers. While
on the desk before him might be seen sundry contraband
articles and prohibited weapons detected upon the persons of idle urchins,
(38:47):
such as half munched apples, pop guns, 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
(39:07):
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 trousers, a round
crowned fragment of a hat like a cap of mercury,
and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half
broken coat, which he managed with a rope by way
(39:29):
of halter. He came clattering up to the school door
with an invitation to Icibah to attend a merry making
or quilting frolic to be held that evening at mineheir fontassels,
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
(39:52):
over the brook and was seen scampering away up the hollow,
full of the importance and hurry of his mission. All
was now hustle and hubbub In the late quiet schoolroom.
The scholars were hurried through their lessons without stopping at trifles.
Those who were nimbles skipped over half with impunity, and
(40:12):
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
(40:33):
of young imps, yumping and rackening 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 bests 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
(40:56):
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 still massiliated, a collaric
old Dutchman of the name of Hans van Ripper, and
thus gallantly mounted issued a forth like a knight errant
in quest of adventure. But it is meat I should,
(41:19):
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 ewn neck and a head
like a hammer. His rusty mane and tail were tangled
(41:42):
and knotted with birds. 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 metal in his day, if we
may judge from the name he bore of gunpowder. He had,
in fact been a favorite steed of his masters, the
(42:05):
Colonic van Ripper, who was a furious rider, and had
infused very probable some of his own spirit into the animal.
For old and broken down as he looked, there was
more of a lurking devil in him than in any
young philly in the country. Chobod was a suitable figure
for such a steed. He rode with short stirrups, which
(42:27):
brought his knees nearly up to the pommel of the saddle.
His sharp elbow stuck out like grasshoppers. He carried his
whip perpendicularly in his hand like a scepter, 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,
(42:49):
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 Kabad
and his steed as they shambled out of the gate
of Hans van Repper. And it was altogether such an
apparition as is seldom to be met with in broad daylight.
(43:13):
And of part one
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