idea gnarled sensitive sociability
dismal covert gigantic desperation
inquiry violence opposite evidently
The party now gradually broke up. The old farmers gathered together their
families in their wagons, and were heard for some time rattling along the
hollow roads and over the distant hills. Their light-hearted laughter,
mingling with the clatter of hoofs, echoed along the silent woodlands,
growing fainter and fainter till they gradually died away, and the late
scene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted.
It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod pursued his travel
homeward. In the dead hush of midnight he could hear the barking of a dog
on the opposite shore of the Hudson, but it was so vague and faint as only
to give an idea of the distance between them. No signs of life occurred
near, but now and then the chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the guttural
twang of a bullfrog from a neighboring marsh, as if sleeping uncomfortably
and turning suddenly in his bed.
All the stories that Ichabod had heard about ghosts and goblins now came
crowding into his mind. The night grew darker and darker. The stars seemed
to sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid them from
his sight. He had never felt so lonely and dismal. He was, moreover,
approaching the very place where many of the scenes of the ghost stories
had been laid. In the center of the road stood an enormous tulip tree,
which towered like a giant above all the other trees of the neighborhood
and formed a kind of landmark. Its limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large
as the trunks of ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the ground, and
rising again into the air.
As Ichabod approached this tree, he began to whistle. He thought his
whistle was answered: it was but a blast sweeping sharply through the
dry branches. Coming a little nearer, he thought he saw something white
hanging in the midst of the tree. He paused, and ceased whistling, but, on
looking more narrowly, perceived that it was a place where the tree had
been struck by lightning, and the white wood laid bare. Suddenly he heard
a groan. His teeth chattered, and his knees smote against the saddle. It
was but the rubbing of one huge bough upon another, as they were swayed
about by the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils lay
before him.
About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook crossed the road, and
ran into a marshy and thickly wooded glen. A few rough logs laid side
by side served for a bridge over this stream. To pass this bridge was
the severest trial; for it was here that the unfortunate André had been
captured, and under covert of the thicket of chestnuts and vines by the
side of the road had the sturdy yeomen, who surprised him, lain concealed.
The stream has ever since been considered a haunted stream, and fearful
are the feelings of the schoolboy who has to pass it alone after dark.
As Ichabod approached the stream his heart began to thump. He gave his
horse half a score of kicks in the ribs, and tried to dash briskly across
the bridge; but instead of starting forward, the perverse old animal made
a lateral movement, and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod jerked
the rein on the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot. It
was all in vain. His steed started, it is true, but it was only to plunge
to the opposite side of the road into a thicket of brambles.
The schoolmaster now bestowed both whip and heel upon the ribs of old
Gunpowder, who dashed forward, but came to a stand just by the bridge
with a suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over his head.
Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the side of the bridge caught the
sensitive ear of Ichabod. In the dark shadow of the trees he beheld
something huge, black, and towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered
up in the gloom, like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon the
traveler.
The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his head with terror.
What was to be done? Summoning up a show of courage, he called out in
stammering accents, “Who are you?” He received no reply. He repeated his
demand in a still more agitated voice. Still there was no answer. Once
more he cudgeled the sides of Gunpowder, and, shutting his eyes, broke
forth into a psalm tune. Just then the shadowy object of alarm put itself
in motion, and, with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in the middle
of the road.
Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might
now in some degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of large
dimensions, and mounted on a horse of powerful frame. He made no offer
of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road,
jogging along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now got over his
fright and waywardness.
Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight companion, and
bethought himself of the adventure of Brom Bones and the headless
horseman, now quickened his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The
stranger, however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod drew up,
and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind; the other did the same.
His heart began to sink within him. There was something in the moody and
dogged silence of his companion that was mysterious and appalling. It was
soon fearfully accounted for.
On mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his
fellow-traveler in relief against the sky, Ichabod was horror-struck on
perceiving that he was headless; but his horror was still more increased
on observing that the head, which should have rested on his shoulders,
was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle. His terror rose to
desperation. He rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping,
by sudden movement, to give his companion the slip; but the specter
started full jump with him.
Away, then, they dashed, through thick and thin, stones flying and sparks
flashing at every bound. Ichabod’s flimsy garments fluttered in the air
as he stretched his long, lank body away over his horse’s head, in the
eagerness of his flight.
They had now reached the road which turns off to Sleepy Hollow; but
Gunpowder, who seemed possessed with a demon, instead of keeping up it,
made an opposite turn, and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This
road leads through a sandy hollow, shaded by trees for about a quarter
of a mile, where it crosses the bridge famous in goblin story; and just
beyond swells the green knoll on which stands the whitewashed church.
Just as he had got halfway through the hollow, the girths of the saddle
gave way, and Ichabod felt it slipping from under him. He seized it by the
pommel, and tried to hold it firm, but in vain. He had just time to save
himself by clasping Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle fell to the
earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by his pursuer. For a moment
the terror of its owner’s wrath passed across his mind, for it was his
Sunday saddle; but this was no time for petty fears. He had much ado to
keep his seat, sometimes slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and
sometimes jolted on the high ridge of his horse’s backbone with a violence
that was far from pleasant.
An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hope that the church
bridge was at hand. “If I can but reach that bridge,” thought Ichabod, “I
am safe.” Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close
behind him. He even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another kick in
the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the
resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod cast a
look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish in a flash of fire and
brimstone.
Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act
of hurling his head at him. Ichabod tried to dodge the horrible missile,
but too late. It encountered his cranium with a tremendous crash. He was
tumbled headlong into the dust; and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the
goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind.
The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the
bridle under his feet, soberly cropping the grass at his master’s gate.
Ichabod did not make his appearance at breakfast. Dinner hour came, but no
Ichabod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse, and strolled idly about
the banks of the brook; but no schoolmaster.
An inquiry was set on foot, and after much investigation they came upon
his traces. In one part of the road by the church was found the saddle
trampled in the dirt. The tracks of horses’ hoofs deeply dented in the
road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the bridge, beyond
which, on the bank of a broad part of the brook, where the water ran
deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close
beside it a shattered pumpkin. The brook was searched, but the body of the
schoolmaster was not to be discovered.
As Ichabod was a bachelor, and in nobody’s debt, nobody troubled his head
any more about him. It is true, an old farmer, who went down to New York
on a visit several years after, brought home the intelligence that Ichabod
Crane was still alive; that he had left the neighborhood, partly through
fear of the goblin and the farmer whose horse he had ridden, and partly
for other reasons; that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of
the country, had kept school and studied law, and finally had been made a
justice of the Ten Pound Court. Brom Bones, too, was observed to look very
knowing whenever the story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a
hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin, which led some to suppose that
he knew more about the matter than he chose to tell.
--WASHINGTON IRVING.