neighborhood, and picked up many bright shillings by instructing the
young folks in psalmody. 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 quavers still to
be heard in that church, and which may 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 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 kind of idle
gentlemanlike 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 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 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; while the more bashful
country bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior elegance and
address.
From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of travelling 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, 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 marvellous, and his powers of digesting it, were
equally extraordinary; and both had been increased by his residence
in this spellbound region. No tale 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 school-house, and
there con over old Mather’s direful tales, until the gathering dusk of
the evening made the printed page a mere 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
whip-poor-will[4] from the hillside; the boding cry of the tree-toad,
that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the screech-owl, or the
sudden rustling 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 of a beetle came winging
his blundering flight against him, the poor varlet was ready to give up
the ghost, 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 by their doors of an evening, were often filled with
awe at hearing his nasal melody, “in linked sweetness long drawn out,”
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, as they sat spinning by the fire, with
a row of apples roasting and spluttering along the hearth, and listen to
their marvellous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields, and
haunted brooks, and haunted bridges, and haunted houses, and particularly
of the headless horseman, or galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they
sometimes called him. He would delight them equally by his anecdotes of
witchcraft, and of the direful omens and portentous 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 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, 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!—How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with
snow, which, like a sheeted specter, beset his very path!—How often did
he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty
crust beneath his feet; and dreaded to look over his shoulder, lest he
should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him!—and how often
was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among
the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his
nightly scourings!
All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind
that walked in darkness; and though he had seen many specters in his
time, and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his
lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and
he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the devil and
all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that 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 in each week,
to receive his instructions in psalmody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the
daughter and only child of a substantial 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 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 Saardam; the tempting
stomacher of the olden time; and withal a provokingly short petticoat, to
display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country road.
Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart towards the sex; and it is
not to be wondered at that so tempting a morsel soon found favor in his
eyes; more especially after he had visited her in her paternal mansion.
Old Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect 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 which he lived. His stronghold was
situated on the banks of the Hudson, in one of those green, sheltered,
fertile nooks, in which 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
of a barrel; and then stole sparkling away through the grass, to a
neighboring brook, that bubbled along among alders 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
from morning to 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
grunting in the repose and abundance of their pens; 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, 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
the rich morsel which he had discovered.
The pedagogue’s mouth watered, as he looked upon this sumptuous promise
of luxurious winter fare. 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 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 ducks pairing cosily 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; not a turkey but he beheld daintily trussed up, with
its gizzard under its wing, and, peradventure, a necklace of savory
sausages; and even bright chanticleer 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 while living.
As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he rolled his great
green eyes over the fat meadow-lands, the rich fields of wheat, of rye,
of buckwheat, and Indian corn, and the orchards burdened with ruddy
fruit, which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, his heart
yearned after the damsel who was to inherit these domains, and his
imagination expanded with the idea, how they might be readily turned into
cash, and the money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle
palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already realized his
hopes, and presented to him the blooming Katrina, with a whole family of
children, mounted on the top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery,
with pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld himself bestriding
a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, setting out for Kentucky,
Tennessee, or the Lord knows where.
When he entered the house the conquest of his heart was complete. It was
one of those spacious farmhouses, with high-ridged, but lowly-sloping
roofs, built in the style handed down from the first Dutch settlers,
the low projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable of
being closed up in bad weather. Under this were hung flails, harness,
various utensils of husbandry, and nets for fishing in the neighboring
river. Benches were built along the sides for summer use; and a great
spinning-wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the various
uses to which this important porch might be devoted. From this piazza
the wondering Ichabod entered the hall, which formed the center of the
mansion and the place of usual residence. Here, rows of resplendent
pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. In one corner
stood a huge bag of wool ready to be spun; in another a quantity of
linsey-woolsey just from the loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of
dried apples and peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled
with the gaud of red peppers, and a door left ajar gave him a peep
into the best parlor, where the claw-footed chairs, and dark mahogany
tables, shone like mirrors. Andirons, with their accompanying shovel
and tongs, glistened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges
and conch-shells decorated the mantel-piece; strings of various colored
birds’ eggs were suspended above it. A great ostrich 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 Ichabod laid his eyes upon these regions of delight, the
peace of his mind was at an end, and his only study was how to gain the
affections of the peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise,
however, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to the lot of
a knight-errant of yore, who seldom had anything but giants, enchanters,
fiery dragons, and such like easily conquered adversaries, to contend
with; and had to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass,
and walls of adamant, to the castle keep, where the lady of his heart
was confined, all of which he achieved as easily as a man would carve
his way to the center of a Christmas pie, and then the lady gave him her
hand as a matter of course. Ichabod, on the contrary, had to win his way
to the heart of a country coquette, beset with a labyrinth of whims and
caprices, which were forever presenting new difficulties and impediments;
and he had to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and
blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every portal to her heart,
keeping a watchful and angry eye upon each other, but ready to fly out in
the common cause against any new competitor.
Among these the most formidable was a burly, roaring, roystering blade,
of the name of Abraham, or, according to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom
Van Brunt, the hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of
strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and double-jointed, with
short curly black hair, and a bluff, but not unpleasant countenance,
having a mingled air of fun and arrogance. From his Herculean frame and
great powers of limb, he had received the nickname of BROM BONES, by
which he was universally known. He was famed for great knowledge and
skill in horsemanship, being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He
was foremost at all races and cock-fights; and, with the ascendency
which bodily strength acquires in rustic life, was the umpire in all
disputes, setting his hat on one side, and giving his decisions with
an air and tone admitting of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready
for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief than ill-will in
his composition; and, with all his overbearing roughness, there was a
strong dash of waggish good humor at bottom. He had three or four boon
companions, who regarded him as their model, and at the head of whom he
scoured the country, attending every scene of feud or merriment for miles
round. In cold weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted
with a flaunting fox’s tail; and when the folks at a country gathering
descried this well-known crest at a distance, whisking about among a
squad of hard riders, they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his
crew would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at midnight,
with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don Cossacks; and the old
dames, startled out of their sleep, would listen for a moment till the
hurry-scurry had clattered by, and then exclaim, “Ay, there goes Brom
Bones and his gang!” The neighbors looked upon him with a mixture of awe,
admiration, and good will; and when any madcap prank or rustic brawl
occurred in the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted Brom
Bones was at the bottom of it.
This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the blooming Katrina
for the object of his uncouth gallantries, and though his amorous toyings
were something like the gentle caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it
was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his hopes. Certain
it is, his advances were signals for rival candidates to retire, who
felt no inclination to cross a lion in his amours; insomuch, that when
his horse was seen tied to Van Tassel’s paling, on a Sunday night, a
sure sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed, “sparking,”
within, all other suitors passed by in despair, and carried the war into
other quarters.
Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod Crane had to contend,
and, considering all things, a stouter man than he would have shrunk from
the competition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had, however,
a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance in his nature; he was in
form and spirit like a supple-jack—yielding, but tough; though he bent,
he never broke; and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet,
the moment it was away—jerk! he was as erect, and carried his head as
high as ever.
To have taken the field openly against his rival would have been madness;
for he was not a man to be thwarted in his amours, any more than that
stormy lover, Achilles. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a
quiet and gently-insinuating manner. Under cover of his character of
singing-master, he made frequent visits at the farmhouse; not that he had
anything to apprehend from the meddlesome interference of parents, which
is so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers. Balt Van Tassel
was an easy, indulgent soul; he loved his daughter better even than his
pipe, and like a reasonable man and an excellent father, let her have
her way in everything. His notable little wife, too, had enough to do
to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry; for, as she sagely
observed, ducks and geese are foolish things, and must be looked after,
but girls can take care of themselves. Thus while the busy dame bustled
about the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the piazza,
honest Balt would sit smoking his evening pipe at the other, watching the
achievements of a little wooden warrior, who, armed with a sword in each
hand, was most valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn.
In the meantime, Ichabod would carry on his suit with the daughter by
the side of the spring under the great elm, or sauntering along in the
twilight, that hour so favorable to the lover’s eloquence.
I profess not to know how women’s hearts are wooed and won. To me they
have always been matters of riddle and admiration. Some seem to have but
one vulnerable point, or door of access; while others have a thousand
avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different ways. It is a
great triumph of skill to gain the former, but a still greater proof of
generalship to maintain possession of the latter, for the man must battle
for his fortress at every door and window. He who wins a thousand common
hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who keeps undisputed
sway over the heart of a coquette, is indeed a hero. Certain it is, this
was not the case with the redoubtable Brom Bones; and from the moment
Ichabod Crane made his advances, the interests of the former evidently
declined; his horse was no longer seen tied at the palings on Sunday
nights, and a deadly feud gradually arose between him and the preceptor
of Sleepy Hollow.
Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his nature, would fain have
carried matters to open warfare, and have settled their pretensions
to the lady, according to the mode of those most concise and simple
reasoners, the knights-errant of yore—by single combat; but 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 “double the
schoolmaster up, and lay him on a shelf of his own school-house”; and he
was too wary to give him an opportunity. There was something extremely
provoking in this obstinately pacific system; it left Brom no alternative
but to draw upon the funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and
to play off boorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became
the object of whimsical persecution to Bones, and his gang of rough
riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful domains; smoked out his
singing-school, by stopping up the chimney; broke into the school-house
at night, in spite of its formidable fastenings of withe and window
stakes, and turned everything topsy-turvy: so that the poor schoolmaster
began to think all the witches in the country held their meetings there.
But what was still more annoying, Brom took all opportunities of turning
him into ridicule in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog
whom he taught to whine in the most ludicrous manner, and introduced as a
rival of Ichabod’s to instruct her in psalmody.
In this way matters went on for some time, without producing any
material effect on the relative situation of the contending powers.
On a fine autumnal afternoon, Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned
on the lofty stool whence he usually watched all the concerns of his
little literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that scepter of
despotic power; the birch of justice reposed on three nails, behind
the throne, a constant terror to evil doers; while on the desk before
him might be seen sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons,
detected upon the persons of idle urchins; such as half-munched apples,
popguns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole legions of rampant little paper
game-cocks. Apparently there had been some appalling act of justice
recently inflicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their
books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept upon the master;
and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned throughout the school-room. It
was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a negro, in tow-doth jacket
and trousers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like the cap of Mercury,
and mounted on the back of a ragged, wild, half-broken colt, which he
managed with a rope by way of halter. He came clattering up to the school
door with an invitation to Ichabod to attend a merry-making or “quilting
frolic,” to be held that evening at Mynheer Van Tassel’s; and having
delivered his message with that air of importance, and effort at fine
language, which a negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind,
he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering away up the hollow,
full of the importance and hurry of his mission.
All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet school-room. The scholars
were hurried through their lessons, without stopping at trifles; those
who were nimble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were
tardy, had a smart application now and then in the rear, to quicken their
speed, or help them over a tall word. Books were flung aside without
being put away on the shelves, ink-stands were overturned, benches thrown
down, and the whole school was turned loose an hour before the usual
time, bursting forth like a legion of young imps, yelping, and racketing
about the green, in joy at their early emancipation.